CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "There are things in the woods that will never be explained" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 13, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by zachariusfrost: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm... Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY- Alex SpLiNe:►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/dO...►https://www.instagram.com/matt.forsyt...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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and let me find out of your way. Start today not your gratis-proof-periodes on Shopify.b.E. That is Shopify. combe. years ago now that I first met one of the most interesting people I know. True to that nature, I also met him in one of the most interesting and unexpected ways. I was out hiking on a trail in Washington State. It was a remote area, but one which I was fairly familiar with. On that

particular day, I decided to venture far beyond the hiking trail I normally took just for the sake of exploration. After some time, I entered a sunlit god. which led up to a local mountain, rife with blooming conifers and serene, glistening pines. I was alone that day and felt my soul rejuvenate a bit with every breath of fresh mountain air. After probably twenty minutes I was well off the beaten trail and I found something worrying. I was about to take another step when I paused mid-stride, seeing a circular, jagged, metal ring laying just behind a small shrub. It was a good thing I didn't put my foot down, as the ring proved to be an improvised bear trap.

The hell are you doing out here? A gruff male voice suddenly shouted from somewhere unseen. I looked around, trying to find the person who had spoken, when he chose the step forward and revealed himself. An older man sporting a long grey beard, then emerged from the brush. He had amber skin, long greyish black dreadlocks, and a scar on his right cheek. He wore a raggedy brown coat that looked hand woven and old jeans patched in multiple spots by mismatched fabric. His eyes burned like campfires and his hands clutched the bolt-action rifle while his lip cradled a sizable wad of chew. I asked you a question, son. What are you doing here?

After fumbling on my words for a moment, I was finally able to piece together a response. I was just out, hiking. sorry, I didn't know anyone lived out here. The man seemed to silently inspect me for a moment. I felt my pulse sore in my chest as I wondered what he intended on doing. We were, after all, completely alone out there. You see that trap back there, son?

He pointed to the same trap I had narrowly avoided stepping on a minute earlier. I nodded and swallowed hard. He tilted to the side and spewed a mouthful of tobacco spit into the same. the dirt. Guess that means I got to hide him better. He stared at me, completely deadpan, and I felt my heart plunge into the depth of my stomach. I thought he was a maniac hillbilly cannibal hell bent on having me for lunch then. But then he suddenly burst into a fit of raspy

laughter. I was left there, confused, and partially horrified as the man continued to cackle for several seconds. Oh, I'm just kidding, son. He wiped a tear from his eye and recomposed himself as I continued silently debating whether or not I should run like hell. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and smiled at me. Apologies, buddy. My wife always said my sense of humour is a bit... Dark. I eyed the man over and he suddenly seemed less sinister than he had a moment ago. There was a sense of jubilence in his gaze, like he was genuinely happy to see me.

It's hard to explain, but he kept me from running. I forced to laugh myself. Good thing for both of us, I guess. This hiking has given me a major case of swampass. Can't imagine I taste too good. The man burst out into laughter once more, and this time I joined in. In that moment, I knew I had found a new friend. The man formally introduced himself not long after as Mark Hastings.

After conversing for a while He told me that he had lived In that particular area for a couple years at least Though admitted he didn't know exactly how long he'd been there He said he left the city behind in 96 And seemed quite surprised when I told him The current year was 2020 Mark's accent was something which struck me

As quite interesting As it was one I couldn't quite pin down He had a slight southern droll and yet also sounded as though he may have had a bit of a British influence as well. He pronounced words like Again as Again and had a strange vocal inflection. The best way I can really describe it

as the way someone speaks in all black and white movies, proper and yet somehow country. We got the talking and he told me more about himself. He said he used to do construction back in the day but when his wife got sick with cancer he really changed things for him. He said she battled it for almost three years, but eventually lost the fight. Afterwards, he was left alone with a mountain of medical bills to account for.

Rather than pay them off, an attempt to move forward, Mark chose a different path. It's funny, you know, you work your ass off for years, begin building the life you want with a woman of your dreams, and then it all just falls apart for no good reason. Then, when you're at your lowest, good old Uncle Sam comes in and slaps you with a bill, you ain't never going to pay back. So I say, to hell with them. To hell with her taxes and debt. Out here, I'm truly free. There aren't nothing left for me in the real world anyways.

There was a distinct glimmer of pain behind his grey eyes, as he said it, and I felt myself feeling sorry for him. He wasn't at all what I expected when we first met. just a normal guy whose life fell apart through no fault of his own. In a way, I found it sort of admirable. The system beat him down, and rather than just accept it and be a good little wage slave, he left it all behind with one big middle finger. I visited Mark pretty regularly after that

and tried to make the trek out to see him at least once a month. He always seemed to have a smile on his face when I came to visit. Soon enough, he even invited him. He ordered me back to his cabin for a fresh meal and some drinks. I was a bit hesitant at first, but decided to accept. Pardon me, expected him to prepare a meal of squirrels and tree bark when he first offered. But I couldn't have been more wrong. Mark made us a fresh rabbit stew with some homegrown potatoes and bread he had made from scratch.

On top of that, he even made his own home-brewed ale to wash it all down. was surprisingly delicious and really made me admire Mark more for his resourcefulness. He wasn't just some half-ass camper. He was truly a man of the land. His cabin was reminiscent of one that would have been used by early 18th century trappers. A handcrafted stone chimney was his only source of heat while animal belts covered the walls and strips of meat were drying on his jerky rack. There were two couches in the main room constructed of whittled wood and bearing hand-woven pillows stuffed with feathers. He had no electronics of any kind,

claiming he didn't need those technological doohicies anyways. Mark had two bloodhounds, Raleigh and Daisy, that lived there with him and were his only real companions. I eventually asked if he ever missed civilization or got lonely out there,

but he immediately refuted the question. For a while, yeah, but not anymore. It's easy to forget about society when society already forgot about you. I really grew to admire Mark and even cherish our friendship. Over our many meetings, he would tell me stories about his life, told me all about his business and his wife before she passed. The way he spoke about her in particular truly broke my heart.

He was a man who met his soulmate and built a life he loved with her, only to have it all roped away by the cruel hands of fate. more than anything though Mark was always ready to tell me how much he hated the government I think that was what made me like him the most one night he and I were drinking some of his home-brewed honey ale

and chilling around his campfire he had just got done telling a story about a five-point buck that he had narrowly missed a few weeks earlier he finished it with admitting that he heard some weird loud noise from the woods that scared it off before a good fire That detail got me thinking

And since I've always been a fan of the paranormal and whatnot I figured I'd go ahead and ask him You ever seen anything really creepy out here Mark's eyes opened wide And he immediately lowered his mug from his lips He wiped the suds from his bushy beard And stared down at the campfire for a couple of seconds I could tell he knew exactly what I meant

He then chuckled and rocked in his chair with a smug grin. Zach, I tell you, you don't know creepy until you spend some time out here. He then began to tell me a story of when he at first began living out there. He said it took him

close to a year to finally assemble his cabin, at least partially. During that time, he and his dogs were living in a simple tent. Mark said that a couple weeks after living there, he said he started noticing something odd. Every once in a while, while, he'd wake up to find mutilated animals just outside the perimeter of his camp.

Usually, it was just small creatures like rabbits, birds and squirrels. But it didn't stay that way. Over time, Mark began finding more and more corpses left at his camp. He thought it was the work of a Puma at first, despite the fact that the corpses seemed to retain most of the meat. He quickly rethought that though, when he found an actual Puma corpse one morning, He said most of the animals had slash marks along their sides and necks and many had been disemboweled. He began thinking it was the work of some deranged person

but even that thought didn't last long. One night as he was preparing to turn in for the evening he had a rustling sound coming from within the forest he dug down underneath some timber in hopes of catching a glimpse of the culprit both of his dogs were already chained up for the night so he knew it couldn't be one of them. A figure then emerged deeper in the woods. Mark said he didn't see the entire thing,

but he could tell it was bipedal and scrawny. I asked if it could have been a bear with mange, but Mark claimed it was way too skinny for that. He said he'd seen sick bears before, and they looked and moved nothing like that thing. Mark initially planned on trying to shoot it, But after seeing that, he admitted he didn't think that would have been a good idea. The creature dropped something on the perimeter, which Mark discovered the following morning was the corpse of a raccoon.

The thing's head then tilted and appeared to stare directly towards Mark. They just stared there in silence for several seconds, until the dogs began snarling voraciously from inside the tent. They must have caught its scent And the thing suddenly crouched on all fours And dashed off back into the woods As the dogs went ballistic Mark didn't know what he had seen that night And apparently never saw it again

To me it sounded like a Wendigo or Skinwalker Based on his description I told him that But he had no idea what those things were He seemed to think the thing was actually leaving him gifts but I wasn't so sure about that. I asked him about the typical creatures as seen in creepypasta and television law.

I mentioned the windigo, Skinwalker, Slender Man, The Rake, sirenhead, and some of the well-known others. But Mark didn't seem to know anything about any of them. He did, however, know about something called The Whistler. Apparently, ever since he had been out there, he heard an odd whistling sound on occasion.

It started off as little more than a dull, barely audible noise in the distance. He said at times it would come closer, and at others it seemed like it was further away. Mark thought it was a bird for the longest time, but one night he found the truth. He was chopping wood when suddenly the whistling noise emerged. This time it was different, and this time it was closer than ever before. suddenly there was a rustling noise from behind him Mark spun back but only saw a few branches bristling back and forth

he then heard the whistle again louder than ever before he looked up and there it was about 20 feet up in a large oak tree was some kind of figure Mark described it as kind of human with a head that looked like some screwed up eel he said he saw the things

stared down at him with beady black eyes. He just froze, and before he could do anything, the thing suddenly let from the tree. It crashed into another one further away and continued whistling and crashing as it blended into the depths of the woods. I didn't know what to say to that. I have heard legends about the whistlers out in the woods,

but never heard about anyone having actually seen them. The way he described it is sounding quite creative, and I wondered whether he was capable of an imagination so elaborate or if he had actually seen what he claimed. I asked him whether he thought this whistler was the same creature that was leaving him corpses, but he just shook his head.

Without being prompted, he told me another tale about hearing voices in the wood sometimes. Sometimes it was that of an old man, sometimes that of a young girl, and sometimes he didn't sound human at all. I wondered whether my new friend was perhaps schizophrenic or suffering from some mental illness that caused him to hear these things.

I obviously didn't tell him that, but his claims had to be met with some amount of skepticism. What do you think it was? Mark leaned back and his head swiveled on his shoulders. No clue, son. And part of me hopes I'll never find out. He went on to explain that he continued hearing voices

occasion, but never saw who or what was making them. He seemed to think all the voices were coming from the same entity though. Without being prompted, he took the conversation an entirely new accusatory direction. It's the goddamn government, Zach, messing with things they got no business messing with. He then delved into a conspirator rant about how the government, and specifically the guys in black trucks, that were up to some really shady antics. He said that they knew about the gates in the forest and had been actively trying to open them. He didn't elaborate on what exactly he meant by that.

You see them out here? You know, government, CIA. Mark looked confused. CIA? He asked. It was my turn to look confused then. Yeah, Central Intelligence Agency. You know, men in black, M.K. Ultra and whatnot.

Mark still appeared slightly puzzled. I didn't understand how a guy like him who hated the government to such an extreme degree had apparently never heard of the mother of all conspiracy agencies like the CIA. He then seemed to have an epiphany and his eyes lit up in recognition. Oh yeah, I forgot all about them. He then laughed and shook his head as he downed another swig of ale. My memory ain't what it used to be, I'm afraid. God damn, how could I forget them?

Well, in my defence, they don't carry no badges out here, and their vehicles don't exactly advertise who they work for. He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. But you've seen them out here? Mark met my eyes and nodded. Oh yeah. Mark told me that one time he'd been tracking an elk through the woods in late autumn. He followed the trail for a few miles,

when he suddenly heard a noise coming from a grove up ahead. He sounded nothing like a bear though and more like several people arguing. Mark crept slowly forward, taking care not to disturb the foliage and remain out of sight. After a couple seconds

he saw the outline of several people emerge in the grove. One man was on his knees in the centre while four men in black suit surrounded him. The man on his knees had opened wounds and bruises. upon his face, and his clothing was torn and tattered. He was begging for the other's mercy, but they didn't appear to be the forgiving type.

Two of the men were speaking quietly to one another, while the other two stood watch over their apparent captive. The man on his knees was dressed in white, with Mark describing his clothes as looking like a surgeon's uniform, or maybe the attire of someone from an insane asylum. He listened, but couldn't, make out what the two other men were talking about, but they were clearly arguing. The man on his knees appeared to be weeping softly.

Mark said he didn't know what to do, and before he could do anything, one of the two men who had previously been arguing stepped away. Without a word, the man stepped behind the captive, lifted a pistol to the back of the man in White's head, and pulled the trigger. described seeing a splash of red, but said the weapon made a lot less noise than he thought it would. The man in white went limp and fell face first into the dirt. Oh my God, I said, mouth falling agape as Mark concluded his story. I hide him closely, but didn't see any aura of boasting in his eyes.

They didn't twinkle like that of a man who tried telling a fabricated story to simply amaze and impress an audience. He didn't meet my gaze at all, as a matter of fact. He just clasped his hands in front of his mouth and stared into the campfire with a somber gaze. It was clear to me that he was either an accomplished actor or what he had witnessed truly haunted him. Poor boy, couldn't have been much older than you. I wish I would have done something, but I just ran. He shook his head and his eyes seemed to glaze over. I just stayed quiet, as there was nothing I could think to say. After a couple moments of lingering silence, Mark finally spoke again.

Zach, I got to tell you a secret. He looked me in the eye, and I gulped down the lump in my throat. I don't particularly care for the government. I chuckled and Mark let out a small laugh. I think you've mentioned that once or twice. I replied with a laugh. Yeah, I suppose I have. But it's not just because the IRS is after my ass.

It's because of the things like what I saw that day. It's because government corrupts by its very nature. It takes what it wants and destroys those who oppose it. Ain't no justice, no considerations and nothing you can do about it. Now, I don't know the details of what they were disagreeing on that night, but I guarantee you that boy didn't deserve what he got. I nodded, but wasn't entirely convinced that he witnessed what he thought he had. You sure is the government that did that?

Could have been drug dealers or mafia? Mark hunched his shoulders and gave a snide chuckle. What's the difference? I chuckled, but didn't have a response. Well, I see why you'd think that, but that's because you ain't spent as much time out here as I have. But what you don't know and what no one is so, supposed to know.

It's about the tunnels. I peaked an eyebrow at that comment. Tunnels? Mark grinned and nodded back. There are a series of tunnels that run deep below the earth. Got to be a couple dozen of them within a few miles of us. Government knows about them. Maybe they built them.

Well, I doubt that. I think they're just interested by what's inside. And that is, I asked, now on the edge of my seat. Mark scoffed and shook his head. I have no idea, but it's got to be something bad. I was a bit disappointed with that answer, but Mark immediately drew my curiosity back. You want to see one of them?

I nodded without even really thinking. Mark grinned. I figured you might. It's a bit late in the day to go now. So, what do you say we head out first thing in the morning? I agreed without hesitance, and promised to return the next morning to meet up with Mark. I walked back down the trail that day with my imagination running wild.

As I mentioned, I liked Mark and very much enjoyed our conversations. To me, he was somewhat like a compassionate grandfather with a plethora of exuberant stories that may or may not have been slightly exaggerated. I thought about all he had told me, about the animal carcasses, the whistling thing, the voices and the tunnels. I wanted to believe him, but urban legends abound in our day and age. I was well aware that perhaps he had just concocted these stories after his decades of isolation. I needed to season proof for myself.

Due glisten in the leaves illuminated by the crimson sun rising over the hills as I set off the next morning. It was a bit chilly as I walked, but thoughts of the unknown kept me warm as I walked. Before long, I arrived at Mark and I's usual meeting spot, and found him already waiting there for me. He greeted me, and without hesitation, we began to trek out to his spot. We made small talk on the way, mostly about asinine topics like my family and work. After maybe 15 minutes of walking, we rounded a small bend tucked big. behind a small grove of trees. Mark stepped out in front and turned to face me.

He then grinned and outstretched his hand to the right. I followed his gesture and felt my jaw strike the floor. There was an opening on the side of the hill that was lined with smooth stone and brick. It was quite enormous, with the perimeter having to have been at least 15 feet wide. The opening appeared collapsed and the entrance was filled with rubble and dirt. looking as though someone had intentionally yet clumsily sealed it. This is the tunnel? I asked. Mark nodded.

One of many, but it wasn't sealed up like this last time I was here. How long ago was that? Mark shrugged. Don't know, maybe a year or two. I looked back at the collapsed tunnel. It was clear, someone had gone through a great deal of effort to construct it. But the construction didn't look like a mining operation. I'm no expert in mining or anything,

but I can't imagine they would spend time laying brick and creating such a wide entrance. Maybe I'm wrong about that, but the more curious fact was why it had been sealed up. I thought maybe it was just vandals, but that explanation somehow didn't satisfy. What's inside? I asked. Mark paused for a moment

and stared towards the rest of the rest of the rest of the question. He then shook his head and spat into the dirt. Bad things. I hoped he would elaborate on that, but he didn't. I mean, it'd have to be for someone to seal it up like this, right? That's an impressive hole. Would have taken a great deal of effort. He was right about that, but I still felt there was information he was withholding from me.

You think this is the government's work? Mark nodded. Not a single doubt in my mind about it. Mark's head then suddenly flicked to the side and he stared out into the trees as if something had alerted him. I watched the colour drain from his cheeks as his mouth pursed open. We should go. I don't like lingering here for too long. I didn't argue as clearly something had spooked him.

He and I trekked back to his cabin, checking his snares on the way back Mark found a pair of rabbits in his traps and after swiftly snapping their necks he slung them over his shoulder Wee got back to his cabin and Mark set to work and harvests in the meat from the rabbit for his stew I sat around

petting Daisy and rally as they slobbered all over my knee and panted endlessly I don't think I ever told you about the scariest part of living out here did I Mark asked I looked up from the two dogs

and stared at him, heart now beating with excitement. Mark sauntered over, carrying the meat from the rabbits, along with a clump of chopped vegetables. He dumped the plate into the simmering cauldron on the fire, then took a seat across the fire. I stayed silent as he stared down at the flickering flames in deep thought. There are things out there that people don't know about. Creatures, places and things,

they would seem to defy all explanations. The advancement of society and technology has led people to believe they're safe, and for the most part, they're right. So long as they stay out of the woods, those things can't get them. But there is something that can. Mark paused and looked at me dead in the eye. I call it the silence. He paused as if to allow the words to accumulate the dread he felt they deserved. I had an inkling of an idea where the conversation was headed

but just waited for him to explain. There's been rumours about it for a very long time and it's something that has been affecting humanity for centuries, if not millennia. People have only just begun to realise it, but if they knew the true extent of what's going on, well, no one would ever go into the woods again. He paused and leaned in to see him.

stir the pot a bit before sitting back. People disappear, Zach. No reason for it, no explanation and no bodies are ever found. The cases seem to defy all explanation, and it happens again and again. Mark then suddenly grunted and began

rubbing his eye. Ah, down smoke. Sorry, where was I? The disappearances? I replied. Mark seemed suddenly hesitant as if he didn't know whether he should continue. Yeah, the disappearances.

I don't particularly like talking about this, if I'm being honest. It's not really my business. But you're a good kid, Zach, and I know you come out here a lot, and I'd be devastated if anything were to happen to you. Dred crept around me like dozens of little spiders scurrying on my flesh. I couldn't help but raise my guard. and wonder where exactly this conversation was headed.

Mark went on to tell me about the silence he mentioned. He said if I was ever walking through the woods and everything went completely silent, I was to drop to my knees and put my face in the dirt immediately. He said to stay still until the sound returned to normal. And what if the sound doesn't come back? I asked, spine tingling with anxiety. Mark looked me dead in the eye and his words offered nothing of comfort.

Then God help you. He said no more about the subject and I didn't push him on it. It was clear he really wasn't comfortable discussing it beyond his initial warning. If he had any theories about what was responsible he didn't voice them. The whole conversation had given me a strong

missing 4-1-1 vibes and I wondered whether he was referring to the same phenomenon. Both of us just sort of lingered in silence for a while as the stew finished cooking. A few minutes later, Mark leaned in and scooped two servings into a bowl, handing one of them to me. The stew was delicious as usual

and I happily scarfed down as Mark provided his hounds with their dinner as well, although didn't so much as a nibble on his own serving. What do you know about mimics? I don't know why exactly I asked, but the thought had suddenly arisen in my mind. Mark seemed to perk up, but yet stared back with a look of confusion

that seemed to contradict his reaction. I'm sorry, what? Mimics, I clarified. Some people call them impostors or liars, things that look and try to act human but aren't. Mark stared back at me. and a small grin slithered onto his face. Now, what would make you ask a question like that?

Mark's grin evaporated, and he stared back with something akin to contempt. Truth is, some of the things I'd seen from him made me question who he claimed he was. There was just a subtle wrongness to him, in a way, I've never felt the words to accurately describe. Just curious? I replied, staring back. Mark chuckled, but without any humour in his tone. Your kind always is. Ever since your brothers took up arms against one another

in the war of grey and blue, your curiosity has been quite insatiable. You think this land belongs to you, like this country is your own personal proving grounds to pillage and destroy as you please. His forms seem to shift as he's supposed. spoke, his eyes shrinking in their sockets and his skin seemed to twitch. His teeth bared like fangs over cougar, and his long black air flowing like a clump of wild eels.

He leaned forward in a gaze that no longer seemed entirely human. Zach, there are things out here that your world of science and logic will never understand, and these things are better left alone. He and I just stared at one another, and I found my heart. heart beginning to thump away in my chest. I thought about his words, the War of Grey and Blue. Could he have been referring to the American Civil War?

Why referenced that event specifically? What year did you say you moved out here? I asked. Mark grinned again, now appearing more menacing than ever before. 96. 1896. I shook my head.

I don't understand, I replied, shaking my head. Your kind never does. His voice had suddenly changed, becoming much more high-pitched like that of a young girl. His head cocked to the side and his grin grew almost literally ear to ear as his mouth stretched impossibly wide. Your kind has conquered this world, both beast and nature bowed your might. You live in comfort, convinced that there is nothing that can hurt you anymore. His voice had changed again, sounding like a raspy Scottish man with rolled ours.

But you're wrong. His voice had changed again, like that of a young, rebellious boy resisting his parents' wishes in a juvenile defiance. Mark then stood, and his form extended, making him tower over me and the campsite. Even days in Raleigh started altering their form, like they were also simply hiding their true form. I rose and backed away, no longer seeing Mark as the friendly hermit I thought him to be. I thought that moment would be my end, and that the beast which hid itself in the form of Mark was prepared to devour me whole. Before he did, I had one final question to ask,

What are you? Mark chuckled, his form. continuing to grow apparently inhuman. He then shook his mantra's head. Wrong question. His voice bellowed forth, spoken in the chorus of a thousand voices, all in unison.

I took another step back, wondering what he, it could have meant by that. It then struck me. What do you want? The thing I had once known as Mark stared down at me. me to an entirely inhuman gaze.

To watch and protect, we stared at one another and I attempted to understand what was happening. After all he had told me and his time devoted to actually speaking with me, Part of me almost wanted to believe his words were meant to reassure me, like he was conveying that it was me,

or generally humanity as a whole he wished to protect. After ruminating on it for a while, though, I don't think that's the case anymore. Why are you telling me all this? The thing I'd once known as Mark grinned, as if that was the question who was waiting to hear, so that you can tell the world. And so I have. I left Mark and that trail behind, and I've not been back since. That's why I'm here now.

to tell the world as the thing I once knows Mark instructed me to. I don't even know why or what exactly I'm supposed to be telling. Maybe that Mark is not human and that there are things in the woods that will never be fully understood, or maybe that he is watching, and that something is giving him a great deal of power for some reason. I wish I had more answers, but I had to share this, regardless of whether anyone will believe it. And needless to say, I don't think I'll be visiting Mark any time soon.