As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Diary Of a Drifter 2: The Arsonist's Lodge by N. Murdock | #CreepyPasta Narration

Starting point is 00:00:09 Today's story is Diary of a Drifter Part 2, The Arsonists Lodge by N. Murdoch. Sometimes life hits you with a curveball, a twist, a kick in the dick that leaves you doubled over, heaving and wretching while you try to figure out what the hell just happened. Maybe your spouse cheats after ten years, two kids, and a puppy named Baxter. Maybe you were a promising athlete in high school until a drunk driver came out of nowhere and left you paralyzed from the neck down. Or, in my case, you meet some scrawny guy in Illinois who tells you about his bad dreams, and you end up being haunted by a goddamn interdimensional doorway to what I can only assume is hell.

Starting point is 00:01:08 Look, if you're reading this and haven't read my previous entry, what the hell are you doing? Who opens a book to chapter two and says, I'm sure this is fine, who needs setup? Screw you. If that seems overly harsh,

Starting point is 00:01:24 maybe go back and you'll understand why I'm not the happiest little camper. If you're a normal person, who reads things in order, then you know the situation. and we can get this show on the road. After my first encounter with the door at a rest stop,

Starting point is 00:01:43 about an hour from Iowa City, I became a lot more particular about the kinds of stories I wanted to hear from people. I wasn't interested in hearing about the so-and-so's me-ma who escaped persecution and crossed the Atlantic to live the life of a free woman. I wanted, hell, I craved the weird and unnatural.

Starting point is 00:02:08 This door incident was such a new and unique experience that, as terrifying as it was, I needed more. Looking back, I think that I was still reeling from the cancer. The idea that the world was so much bigger and maybe even a bit mystical, it gave me hope. Like, maybe if I kept digging, I would find a way to fix. I'd like myself and go back to normal. Meet a girl and settle down.

Starting point is 00:02:40 Maybe even start a family. I'd always wanted to be a dad. I wish like hell that I had just left it all alone. I can see now that the more I dug, the more I poked and prodded, the worse, it made things. But, wishing for something doesn't make it so. Jesus Christ, look at me,

Starting point is 00:03:03 crying about my problems in a suicide note. What a fucking cliche. Let's get back on topic, yeah? Yeah. So, I started really looking for more paranormal stories, and I found myself in the mountains of Colorado. People liked to talk about an abandoned lodge that was supposedly haunted. It sounded like a real hotspot for activity,

Starting point is 00:03:31 so in my nae. I jumped at the chance to check the place out. Driving to the site, I passed several other cabins that were all very nice, if a little bit touristy. I found out later that they were all rentals, all owned by the same company. The upscale feel of the places sank my hopes a bit, at first. When I heard, haunted, I was picturing something more like what you would see in a Scooby-Doo cartoon. Moldy, rotten walls,

Starting point is 00:04:08 creepy branches. Instead, I got lawn gnomes with snow shovels, and some Ned Flanders-looking jackass waving high-didly-ho as I passed by. And then I

Starting point is 00:04:23 saw the door. I had almost missed it at first. A smooth, white finish, blended with the scenery and a snowdrift, had obscured the lower half of it. But as sure as I'm sitting here writing this, that fucking door was there.

Starting point is 00:04:43 I would like to note that this was the first time I had seen the door since the rest stop back in Iowa. So it's fair to say that I was more than a little surprised. I did a quick double-take and audibly exclaimed, What the fuck? And then I might. I've lost control of the car a little bit. I'm fish-tailed for a couple of seconds.

Starting point is 00:05:16 And had to bring the old girl screeching to a halt. The next thing I know, I'm standing knee-deep in the snow to make my way to the door. I mean, one second I'm sitting in my car, and the next I'm outside and tent. to 15 feet away from the road. I'd lost any time in between. While I tried to make sense of everything, the door started to admit that same nauseating aura

Starting point is 00:05:45 that it had in the rest stop. I felt my knees get weak again, and just as I was about to fall to the ground, a voice partly snapped me out of my delirium. The fuck are you doing? I turned and looked for the source, source of the voice, and a large, bearded man in a plow truck was idling behind my abandoned car. I looked at him for a long moment. I think I was more confused than he was. After all, what did he

Starting point is 00:06:19 think I was doing? Couldn't he see the door? It was a little buried in the snow, sure, but it was very obviously there. The guy kind of to shrugged at me and gestured in a way that said, get your ass back in the car and get out of my damn way. Still unable to force words out of my mouth, I made stern eye contact with the man, and immediately vomited down my chest. Nailed it.

Starting point is 00:06:54 I'll spare you the details of that embarrassing conversation and jump to the next major point in the story. The alleged, Haunted Lodge. Although, looking at it, Shack was probably a better description of the place. I'm sure it was nice enough in its heyday, but I don't think the structure had any maintenance or even light care in decades. It was practically falling apart under the weight of the fresh snow. I got in touch with the company that owned the old cabin, and I tried to rent the place out.

Starting point is 00:07:33 The woman I spoke with was older, maybe in her 50s. She was charming, and her voice reminded me of one that I hadn't heard in a long, long time. But when I mentioned which cabin I was interested in, her tone changed. She wasn't rude, but she grew audibly uncomfortable as she spoke. We've taken that cabin off our listings. It's currently... She searched for a good excuse for a long while. I could hear her nervously shuffling papers over the phone.

Starting point is 00:08:12 Unfit for living? She blurted out finally. I could tell that if I was going to get anywhere, I would have to bust out my old tricks and feed her my cancer speech. And it didn't hurt that I offered her an extra $100, and that nobody had to know. Before long, she caved and agreed to meet me with the keys. A part of me felt guilty for using my disease to manipulate the emotions of this poor woman,

Starting point is 00:08:43 but I figured I'd be dead soon anyways, so why dwell on it? The rental woman arrived sometime later, and I suppose time and the extra money had emboldened her a bit. Before she would turn over the keys, she started to ask questions. I don't understand why anybody would willingly stay in this place. Haven't you heard the stories? Are you some kind of devil worshiper? No, ma'am, I chuckled.

Starting point is 00:09:14 I know some people say the place is haunted, but beyond that, the details get kind of fuzzy. You know how it goes when a rumor gains traction? Before long, it's just a game of telephone, and the facts get lost in translation. I'll tell you right now. She thrust a finger in my face. It's not just some ghost story.

Starting point is 00:09:36 This one's the real deal. So, the story goes, that back in 1962, a man by the name of Herman Wickham lived in the old cabin. Nobody had ever even heard the man speak. He wasn't much of a troublemaker, except that he had been caught more than once

Starting point is 00:09:56 stealing newspapers from the neighbor. He would cut articles out and try to return the paper before anybody spotted him. Of course, nobody knew why he did it. The cops couldn't get him to talk either. Around the fall of that year, there were a string of house fires in the little mountain town.

Starting point is 00:10:17 Very clear signs of arson. Each time, at least one person was inside and none of them made it out. Public tensions were at an all-time high when the fifth fire had broken out. The arsonist-slash-mur had 12 deaths under his belt already. A mob poured into the street trying like hell to find him. Somebody in the crowd spotted Herman acting shady, ducking behind buildings and trying to slip into the woods on the edge of town.

Starting point is 00:10:52 So naturally, the whole mob starts chasing the guy. Herman had a decent lead on the mob, so by the time they made it to the tree line, He'd lost them. The mob got organized quickly, though, thanks to the sheriff at the time. Rental lady's uncle, so she claimed, they fanned out and searched those woods until almost dawn. And when they finally found him, all hell broke loose. They found Herman Wickham attacking a teenager. He had wrestled the kid to the ground, and he was smashing a metal gas can over the boy's head.

Starting point is 00:11:31 Townspeople pulled Wickham away and did what they could to help the kid. The whole time, Wickham never made a sound. Even as he kicked and fought to free himself, and he must have fought hard because he managed to break free and took off into a dead sprint back to his home. Now, you hear about vigilante justice back in the Old West, possees getting together and putting an end to a particularly nasty criminal. But you never think about it happening in modern times. At least I didn't.

Starting point is 00:12:11 That mob surrounded Wickham's cabin, smashed out on the door, and flooded as many as could fit inside. They beat him within an inch of his life until his body was so broken and swollen that you could hardly recognize him as a man. Then, they tied a rope around his neck

Starting point is 00:12:35 and they strung him up from the rafters. Not a single person moved after that. Not until they were positive that Herman Wickham, the arsonist and the murderer, was dead.

Starting point is 00:12:51 Herman's death was ruled a suicide. And the townspeople, tried to move on with their lives. The young boy he had attacked in the woods passed away that same night, making the official death toll 13. After his body was removed, Herman's cabin was just left there to rot. Nobody even wanted to acknowledge the place or the man that lived there ever again.

Starting point is 00:13:18 According to the rental lady, and yes, I'm sticking with rental lady. If that upsets you, you can just pretend I gave it. her a stupid moniker like I did with N. Call her R.L. for all I care. Teenagers had since turned the place into a kind of lover's lane. You know how it goes, guys? Bring your girl, or guy, partner, whatever, to an eerie place or scary movie, so when she gets scared, you can put an arm around her and whammo.

Starting point is 00:13:49 Got yourself an opening to move in for a kiss. Which is all fine and dandy. until those teens start reporting that the ghost of Herman Wickham is throwing things off of the walls and scaring the bejesus out of anyone who sets foot in this place. So, naturally, I couldn't wait to see it for myself. I hunkered down that night, ready for some full-blown supernatural encounters. Instead of seeing anything, I passed out around 10.45 p.m., and I woke up the next morning in a puddle of my own.

Starting point is 00:14:25 drool. I rolled out of bed, and I started a pot of coffee. Surprised that the place even had electricity, let alone a pot to brew in. It was when I sat down with my mug that I felt that all too familiar uneasiness that accompanied ends magical door. I felt the warmth and the restfulness sleep out of my body, leaving only a nervous tension and a growing sense of annoyance. Sure enough, the door had manifested itself into the wall behind me.

Starting point is 00:15:05 I got up, warily, and looked the thing over from a safe distance. I couldn't help but feel like I'd be compelled to open it if it got much closer. Static in the air, and the door's unnatural humming grew in intensity. It was almost vibrant, alive even. The hair on my neck prickled and stood.

Starting point is 00:15:36 I felt like I felt like I was being watched. Studied. Finally, my fear gave way to frustration, and I shouted at the damn thing. What do you want? I enunciated. Jesus Christ. First you hypnotize me, or whatever the fuck that was yesterday, drag me out into the snow for who knows how long.

Starting point is 00:16:06 And by the way, if I end up with frostbite because of that little stunt, I swear on God and Sonny Jesus that I will come through there and beat wholesale interdimensional ass from now until the end of time. I'll be the first to admit that, without my coffee and quiet time, I get a bit cranky, and that's on a normal day. But this, it pushed me a little more. I threw my mug against the porthole window and was nearly begging for an answer. What the fuck do you want? And, as if to answer my question, the outlet that the coffee pot was plugged into began to spit sparks.

Starting point is 00:16:50 In the second it took me to turn my head, the doors buzzing reached a crescendo, and the wallpaper around the outlet ignited. I tried frantically to find a fire extinguisher, but moving through the haze of the, I don't know, psychic onslaught, it was hard. Mere seconds later, however, it all came to a stop. The door was gone, the fire was out, and I could move. freely again. I blinked away the vertigo and made sure it was all really over. I sat back down in my chair, breathing a sigh of relief. Honestly, I was just glad that I didn't vomit this time.

Starting point is 00:17:36 And that's when something caught my eye. The wall around the outlet, where the fire had burned, it looked peculiar. I moved in closer to get a better look and as plain as the writing on this page, a word was scorched into the wood. Leave. Well, fuck you very much, Mr. Ghost, or whoever you are, I mocked, pouring myself a new cup of coffee. You're dead, and I paid to be here.

Starting point is 00:18:10 I paid a lot, actually. Did I pay too much? Shit. Not much else happened throughout the day. Save things kind of shaking, or... moving slightly in my periphery. But that night, things started to escalate again. I decided to sit outside and enjoy the crisp mountain air and make use of the fire pit out back.

Starting point is 00:18:34 For the life of me, though, I couldn't get my damn lighter to spark. I even try to spare, but both were just duds. Scrowning around inside, though, I found an old box of matches. Returning to the pit, I struck the match once, twice. On the third strike, the match ignited far more intensely than any match on this planet has any right to. The resulting flame engulfed my hand, then my wrist, and finally stopped at my elbow. I screamed and flailed, trying to put the flame out. The strangest thing was that the fire didn't hurt.

Starting point is 00:19:15 There was no heat. Of course, it's mostly hindsight that I realized that. At that moment, I was crying like a bitch. And if you're reading this, saying stop, drop, and roll, dumbass, I'll have you know that I did the next best thing. I tripped over a stick, and I fell into a snowdrift. I picked myself up and gave myself a once over, but I think my pride was hurt worse than anything else.

Starting point is 00:19:45 Looking at my arm, though, one thing was definitely different. A crude shape had appeared in the skin of my wrist, maybe an inch across. It was black, like a crude tattoo or a fresh brand. It was a straight, diagonal line, with another line branching out from it. I decided that was probably enough excitement for one day and went back inside to turn in, asleep never came though. Every time I felt myself begin to drift off, the strange mark of my arm would itch like crazy.

Starting point is 00:20:24 I mean, it was so intense that I broke the skin trying to scratch the damn thing. When I finally decided to give in and get out of bed, the itch faded. Not completely, but enough to notice. Do you ever have those moments of immense clarity? where the world gets completely quiet and all the pieces just kind of fit together. Whatever problem you're working on clicks and you see the solution that's been staring you in the face the whole time,

Starting point is 00:20:55 that didn't happen here. What did happen is that I started to fixate on that word burned into the wall. Leave. And some way, somehow, my dumb ass put two and two together. The mark on my arm bore a striking, resemblance to the letters on the wall. It was a why.

Starting point is 00:21:17 How in the hell did I not see that? I held my arm up near the word in the wall and did a double take. I started to pick and pull at the wallpaper around the burned area thinking that there might be more letters hidden underneath. Surprise, there weren't. But I was motivated at that point. I scoured the entire place looking for any evidence of more letters. and nothing again.

Starting point is 00:21:44 So less enthusiastic, I wrote all the letters down. Maybe the letters were an anagram for something. And what's that, reader? Did I solve this mystery and get some well-deserved rest, you ask? Nope, sure didn't. I stayed up all night trying to find some kind of clue or answer and got absolutely nowhere. By the time the sun rose, I was exhausted. My brain was fried.

Starting point is 00:22:12 I tried again to fall asleep, but of course this fucking thing on my arm wouldn't let me. I ended up making my way into town. My plan was to buy some heavy-duty cold medicine and knock myself out for a good chunk of the day. Instead, I caught sight of the town hall and the library. Before long, I was pouring over town records looking for any information on the fires and the man who started them. The details about the life of Herman Wickham were few and far in between. His mother had been a nurse in her younger years. From what I could gather, his father didn't stay in the picture for very long,

Starting point is 00:22:53 but nothing I dug up pointed to any kind of motive or explanation. Shifting gears, I focused on the young man that Herman had killed in the woods. Most sources didn't want to name the kid, given that he was technically a minor. But, with enough patience, or obsession, no information is hidden. The kid's name was Arthur fucking Levy. Levy. I shouted in excitement and got a few nasty glares and harsh shushing in return.

Starting point is 00:23:31 This discovery birthed a whole new mystery to solve. Why did the spirit want me to know that name? Was I actually dealing with Arthur's ghost and not Hermann's? Or was there more to the story? I dug a little deeper, but all I was able to find was a record of adoption. Arthur had been taken in by a prominent Levy family here in town when he was four. I got a hold of the Leavies, specifically Carol, Arthur's adoptive mother, and I asked if I could talk with him about their son.

Starting point is 00:24:05 I didn't mention anything about ghosts or the supernatural. I told her that I was new to the area and just recently learned of her son's murder. I said it struck a chord with me, and I just needed to understand why someone would target him. Don't tell my husband I said this. She spoke softly, as if she didn't want anyone to hear us. I know that Wickham boy didn't start those fires. I want to believe he did, for my family's sake. but I know better.

Starting point is 00:24:37 I didn't press her, but she'd caught me off guard. Arthur, she trailed off, briefly. Arthur was troubled. He was a good boy, but he had his demons.

Starting point is 00:24:52 When he was little, he would wet the bed constantly. He never slept through the night. At first, we chalked it up to the stress of losing his parents and being in a new place. But as he got older, it just didn't stop.

Starting point is 00:25:07 One morning he must have been about eight years old. We woke up to the smell of smoke, and our alarms were going crazy. Arthur had lit his soiled sheets on fire. He told me later that he wanted to get rid of them so we wouldn't be mad at him. I felt like she could see the wheels in my head turning, putting the story together, but she continued without letting me cut in. From that point, his fascination with fire grew. We found a hole in the woods, and in it were charred animal remains.

Starting point is 00:25:43 I tried to convince my husband that the boy needed to see a specialist, but he just wouldn't agree to it. He was so proud of Arthur, proud of his son. We weren't ever able to conceive on our own, see, he just couldn't stand the thought of people finding out. And so we let it go. I prayed he would grow out of it, but as I'm sure you've figured out, he didn't. He got worse. His fascinations with death and fire escalated, became an obsession. She was quiet for a long while, staring off into the distance, tears forming in her eyes.

Starting point is 00:26:23 Ma'am, do you mean to tell me I started, and she cut me off? Arthur started those fires, killed those people, that Wickham boy, the boy could barely spell or hold a fork, let alone burn a bunch of houses down. He was special, but he must have been smart enough, figured it all out for himself. He killed Arthur, far as I can tell, to put an end to things, to help people. But he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and those people that strung him up, They only saw what they wanted to see. She looked me over, something like pity, in her eyes. Miss Levy, I started.

Starting point is 00:27:11 If this is such a closely carded secret, why tell a complete stranger? I don't know, she chuckled softly. Maybe I'm just tired of living the lie. Maybe because I just needed to speak the truth out loud, at least once in my life. or maybe it's you. There's something about you. Something not right. Honestly, I don't think you'll be around too long to tell anyone.

Starting point is 00:27:39 I swallowed hard. I couldn't decide if that was a threat or if the things happening to me were more noticeable than I'd realized. Something in your eyes, she continued. You're at death's door and you don't even realize it. I left. Not long after that. I went back to the cabin and packed up my things.

Starting point is 00:28:03 I'd had about enough of that place, and I wanted to move on. Find a different story. Find some answers. When I walked to the front door, the other door was sitting right next to it. I could feel it's luring fingers pulling me to open it. Instead, I just smirked to myself and whispered, go fuck yourself, before I walked outside and got back on the road. Kind of...

Starting point is 00:28:34 Anaclimatic, right? Well, they can't all be winners. Maybe I should have spread the word, tried to help Herman Wickham clear his name, but I didn't. It's really that simple. Maybe you can. After all, you know as much as I do now. but clearing his name, it won't bring him back.

Starting point is 00:29:00 It won't erase the unjust death he was given. And no matter who you tell, there will always be someone who thinks Wickham was a cold-blooded killer, not a misunderstood, disabled man who wanted to help. Am I an asshole for not trying? Yeah, maybe. But I'm dying. So what's your excuse?

Starting point is 00:29:28 After I left, the door became a more constant thing. Over the course of about a week, it went from once or twice a day to near constant. Its presence wasn't as nauseating, but its pull was and is getting stronger all the time. Anyway, I need to piss. And I'm running out of liquor, so I'll write some more later. Oh, and Herman. If you're out there somewhere in the ether, I'm sorry for what happened to you. You probably deserved better.

Starting point is 00:30:15 I hope you find peace. I'm... Well, I'm just not the guy to give it to you. So that was, once again, Diary of Verde. Drifter Part 2 by in Murdoch and if I may say Mr. Murdoch you've written one hell of a sequel and now I'm amazingly excited to read the threequel the part three threequel that's not a word but whatever anyways I'm also curious to see where this series goes you absolutely have my attention my friend and hopefully the attention of my beautiful audience and i hope you all enjoyed it if you

Starting point is 00:31:06 did leave that thumbs up button hit it you can subscribe to the channel if you're new leave a comment from mr murdock let him know what you thought of the story let him know what you think of the series and leave your uh your thoughts down below about the porthole the the door the door if you will i think doors only would really describe it at this point um yeah and all that if you want to support further you know channel memberships page All that stuff. A dollar a month, you can get early access to my content. Higher tiers, get higher stuff like posters, key chains, stickers.

Starting point is 00:31:39 You all like stickers, right? Of course you do. Anyways. Um, I don't know what the Bob Ross thing was there. I hope you all have a beautiful day and I hope I will see you on the next video, but... Until then, my beautiful people. Sleep well.

As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Diary Of a Drifter 2: The Arsonist's Lodge by N. Murdock | #CreepyPasta Narration

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