Creepy - Beware Unknown Scarecrows & The Horrific Legend of Mary Knot

Episode Date: May 5, 2022

Beware Unknown Scarecrows***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***The Horrific Legend of Mary Knot***Written By: HorrorQueen1212 and Narrated By: Rissa Montanez***Content Warning: bullying, kidnapping/abduction, death of a child***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the Bloody Disgusting Network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of books. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Beware unknown scarecrows. Written by no one of consequence and narrated by Danielle Hewitt. Looking out my bedroom window, I see the same thing I always see. Fields of corn as far as the property line goes. I've spent my whole life on the family farm. Chores from sun up to sundown have given me a great body. I don't mind the hard work, but I've always wondered what else the world has to offer.

My boyfriend Travis and I are college-bound in a month, so hopefully I'll find out what else there is. Until that day, its work as usual. I won't go into the details, but it's a lot of the same thing. One of my least favorite chores, though a rather important one, is scarecrow maintenance. It's surprising the amount of work that's required for those creepy things. You can't just stuff some hay and clothing and put it in the fields never to be messed with again.

Also, the idea that a farm only needs one scarecrow is completely laughable. Try one per field, and yet that's still just the tip of the iceberg. Our farm has a total of 13 scarecrows. One for each field, plus one extra. Travis lives in town so he didn't understand why anyone would need a scarecrow on standby. I have to explain a lot of things to him when it comes to farm work, but it's cute when he tries. Birds are smarter than people give them credit for. If you simply put a plain scarecrow in a field, eventually they will realize that it's not a threat.

Over the years, I've had to get really inventive. Unfortunately, due to my successes, Daddy has put me in charge of these things. Since I was little, I always thought they were creepy from a distance, so I tend to refer to them as creepers. Each of my creepers has their own special trait. It does tend to be windy in these parts, so I found several ways to use that to my advantage. One creeper is equipped with brightly colored windsocks

that stretch out six feet when the wind is strong. Another has large reflective spinners that make him look like an airplane. The most effective of my wind-powered creepers is set up with those whistles that used to come in Nerf footballs. Whistler, as Daddy calls him, isn't allowed near the house because he can get really loud

and painfully annoying. Loading up my creeper in reserve, nicknamed Milton, into the four-wheeler, Daddy tells me his usual schick about avoiding any scarecrow I didn't set up. Ever since I took over detail, he's always said it, to treat unknown ones like stranger danger.

He still hasn't told me why, so I just reply the way I always do. I mumble. I could set the fields on fire, and he tells Milton to shut up, whether that creeper is around or not. Did I mention Milton is a clapper, and has several bright red staplers hanging from his arms? He needed some repair work last week, so while rotating each scarecrow to the next field over, also known as musical creepers, Milton got pulled. As usual, I check one last thing before heading out. A holster, on the left side of my belt, is home to a 4-10 revolver. I'm not the best shot, but when it comes to a pissed-off snake, birdshot doesn't require more

than me pointing it in the little bastard's general direction. I've only had to use it a few times in the three years Daddy had let me carry it. Travis thinks a hot brunette with a gun on her belt is crazy hot. And I agree. On occasion, he'll come out and help on musical Creeper Day, mostly because I have an interesting habit. I hate tan lines, and working on a farm has a nasty tendency to provide them. Close to the end of musical creepers when I'm far enough from the house and guaranteed to be alone. I stripped down and sunbathe naked to even out my tan. I keep my tan as light as possible so it doesn't take that long,

but Travis takes whatever he can get. Rotating the scarecrow's between fields isn't enough. I also have to change their positions in the field. As a believer in the Work Smarter Not Harder mentality, I've spent years laying the groundwork for this. Each field is broken up into four square quadrants. During the planting process when the fields are bare,

I bury one metal post stand in the middle of each quadrant, and a fifth dead center. These stands go down two feet, and the scarecrow post fits snugly inside. Instead of having to dig 12 new holes on a weekly basis, all I have to do is take down my creeper, pull out the pole, move it to the next stand, slip it in, and secure the new creeper. I'm very organized with this process.

Before Daddy got me my first smartphone, I used to have a binder that held all my maps of each quadrant, and the notes on past placements. I may be a hot piece of ass with a gun, but I've got a brain too, so look out. The day is hot and I'm sweaty as hell. Just finished with Field Nine and parked the four-wheeler at number ten. It's early enough, and to be honest, I've been looking forward to stripping down. There's something thrilling and liberating about being naked outdoors, but that's not what I'm looking forward to. It's dumping a cold bottle of water over myself,

and wiping away the sweaty grime from my body I want. Three of the post stands had dirt inside of them. I had to dig out by hand. Standing on the roof of the four-wheeler, I look back toward the house, and everything in between. No one is supposed to be out this far, and it's not. looks like the coast is clear. Being thorough as I am, I look completely around.

I almost stumble and fall off my roof and surprise. At the far edge of Field Ten is a dark figure. The corn is currently six feet tall, so whatever is out there is looming over the field like one of my creepers. I'm annoyed. My cool-down and naked time won't be happening after all. Driving up the side road, I know I shouldn't be doing this. Every week Daddy warns me against approaching unknown scarecrow.

but it has never made sense to me. Until now, there's never been a scarecrow on our farm that we didn't put up, and I've never heard of it happening to anyone before. I didn't think I could be creeped out like this in broad daylight, but here I am. Maybe it's years of hearing Daddy's warnings, or it could just be the sight of it. The shape is all wrong, arms stretched way too far. Its torso is short, but the legs are about the most normal aspect of it. The head is too bold.

and round with an oversized hat fit snug. The clothes on this ugly monstrosity are old and soiled. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this thing had been down here for a few decades. Getting closer for a better look, I wish I'd listened to Daddy's warning. The smell coming off of this thing has me wanting to throw up. Something out here is dead, and not recently.

I'm no artist when it comes to the design of my scarecrow's. Out of my current stock, Milton is the only one that has a face. I had to give him glasses, a small mouth, an intimidated expression just to be true to the character. This horrible thing has the worst face I've ever seen. It's like old leather with eye and mouth slit sewed closed with black thread. My first instinct is to carry out my weekly threat and burn this bitch to ashes. But I won't. Losing an entire field would be financially devastating

And piss everyone off because of all the hard work would be for nothing That's one of the bad parts of farm life A field taken is a double whammy shit salad The twine holding the scarecrow in place is old and frayed One good tug has it falling to the ground with a thud There's more in this thing than hay And I really don't want to know what's inside The fucker is heavy

So I leave it where it is I'm feeling incredibly uneasy and back away slowly with my hand resting on my gun. Fuck this. I mumble as I get out of the field and back to my ride. Field ten can stay the way it is this week. Three days have passed, and I'm out by field six and seven. Daddy is working on the tractor that broke down, and I hand him tools as he needs them. It's a nice day out. Lots of clouds, decent amount of wind. And I can hear Whistler out of Field Eleven.

I've been trying to forget that creepy scarecrow laying out in the back of Field Ten, but that face isn't far from my mind. Standing on top of the tractor, I look in the direction of Field Ten and see the misshaped figure looming over the corn. I asked Daddy if he's been out that way, but he says no. He never goes out that far unless he needs to, and no one's been out there since me. I decide to tell him. There's this creepy scarecrow, and he immediately snaps at me.

He demands that I stay away from it, to not even go into the field it's in or the two adjacent. He also says he'll be accompanying me, or musical creepers, until the unknown scarecrow moves along. As his way for ending the conversation, he gives me $50 and tells me to go have some fun tonight. He doesn't care what I do, as long as I don't out or subtract from the population or get arrested. What has me so flabbergasted is how he talked about the scarecrow as if it was alive. From what I saw, alive is not a word I'd associate with that old leather face. So what isn't Daddy telling me? And if it's so important to stay away from it,

why not tell me why? Travis is good at taking my mind off of things. He's got a good amount of muscle, very little body fat, and I love the way his ass looks in jeans. His talents are extensive when it comes to making my toes curl. And I'd like nothing more than twin-en-jerk. enjoy those talents. After a nice date night, we end up in the bed of his pickup with a cold six-pack and a pack of smokes. This isn't your average pack of smokes. The tobacco is mixed with some nice

weed. I'm three beers and two smokes in, but no amount of making out between drinks and smoke is taking my mind off of it. Daddy's reaction freaked me out more than I realized, and Travis is picking up on it. Eventually, he drags it out of me. I know I tore that thing off its post, but there it was back in place. No one on the farm touched it or knew it was there, save for me. So who put it back after I tore it down? There's so many things off about this, and I can't get that messed up face out of my head. Being a man of action, not so much with the thinking.

Travis decides the only way to make his baby happy is to get rid of this dumb-ass scarecrow himself. Between the drink and smoke, I'm inebriated enough not to argue. With a clear sky and bright moon, it's not hard to get the field 10 without alerting Daddy we're there. Hell, normally we're parked out in the fields to have our private time. The only reason we weren't at the beginning of the night was because of the very scarecrow we're trying to see. The plan is to drag it off its post, drop it in the truck bed, take it to the big fire pit down by the barn, and torch that creepy fucker. The air is still and the night is eerily quiet.

Normally there are noises, general sounds of nature that I've realized I've taken for granted. The only sound I hear is the metal clinking of Travis's truck cooling off. I don't like this. But Travis persists. I know he's thinking if he gets rid of this creepy thing, I'll reward him with sex. While that may be true, that's for later. And right now I'm just creeped out. It's not like I can wait in the truck.

I have to show him where it is. The corn is thick, and finally there's noise in the air, but it doesn't make me feel better. It's the noise of us moving, alerting anything in proximity that we're here. No amount of moonlight can be bright enough in a cornfield, but neither of us has a flashlight. Even in the darkness I know these fields and it doesn't take long to get there. The silence is back until Travis lets out a whistle when he sees it, agreeing it's creepy as fuck. The haze of inebriance is still in me, but it's face. the longer we're here.

The skin on the back of my neck is crawling with unease, and I want to leave. I want lights and noise, not this quiet, dark. Travis reaches out to yank the scarecrow down, but we both freeze when we hear it. For a second, I think the sound of movement comes from the scarecrow, that it's come to life and reaching out for us. It's above the corn and in the moonlight so I can see it. and the horrid thing hasn't moved. So what did?

There's rustling in the corn, something moving ahead of us. Doesn't sound big, not man-sized. So maybe a bobcat or coyote? It's rare, but there have been sightings of cougars in the past. Then I hear more movement to the left, shortly followed by more from the right. We aren't alone in the corn, and it has nothing to do with the scarecrow. Let's get the hell out of here, I say, and Travis doesn't argue. We don't bother walking. We full-on run.

Whatever is in the corn with us, it's too dark to see, and we don't have more than a pocket knife to defend ourselves. Only a few yards from the edge of the field, and Travis screams behind me. I look back to see him on the ground, small black forms on his legs and back. I can't see details. But the noises. Oh, my God. Teeth tearing into flesh, the wet sound of blood splashing on dirt.

Travis' gurgling voice telling me to run. Those last yards stretch on impossibly long. But I burst out of the corn unscathed. The truck is just to my right, and I go for the driver's door. Reaching out for the handle, something slams into my leg and I topple over. Pain like nothing I have ever felt erupts up my leg and I scream. One of those things is on my leg. and it's trying to tear a chunk out of me.

I take the knife from my pocket, flick it open, and drive the blade into the little fucker's back. Another one explodes from the corn and slams into my chest. Slashes crisscross my torso as I swipe at it with the knife and manage to clip it. A surprise yelp of pain sounds before it rolls off back into the corn. I pull myself up to my feet and get in the truck. The keys are in the ignition, and I gun it back to the farmhouse. I don't care anymore.

I lay on the horn as I drive dangerously fast. Daddy's the only one home. Mom took my sister and brothers to the movies an hour ago. He rushes out of the house with a shotgun in hand and I finally ease up. I don't have to tell him a thing when he gets me out of the truck. He already has a good idea. What I didn't know he tells me about while cleaning my wounds as we wait for the ambulance. My uncle John had a farm next to this one 15 years ago,

just on the other side of the stream at the back of our property. One day a scarecrow no one had ever saw before appeared in one of their fields. A few days later the incident happened. The official story was a cougar killed Uncle John's wife while she was at the barn and a kerosene lantern fell over. The fire spread out to the fields and everything burned. For as long as there have been scarecrows, there have been urban legends about them. It's usually along the lines of them coming to life and killing. Whatever the story, Uncle John never believed any of them.

Then one day, a scarecrow he didn't put up, appeared in one of his fields. His workday dragged on and it was obvious the horrid-looking thing did not scare off birds. As the sun set, he and his wife went to remove the useless scarecrow before calling it quits for the day. He never saw what killed her and took a chunk of his arm, but he burned everything he owned to destroy them. All he knows is he's not the first to lose someone to them. They're nocturnal. Use the scarecrow as a lure, and they're always hungry. I don't think I'll be coming back after college.

Creepy Presents, the horrific legend of Mary Knot, written by Horror Queen 112, and narrated by Rissa Montanez. Every small town had its legends, and Garrison was no different. Since she was a little girl, Beverly Hollerback had heard about the sports. fine tingling legend of Mary Knot. Everyone knew the story. It was as much part of the town as the paved streets the people walked on. It had happened in the late 1800s. Mary Nott was an innocent 10-year-old girl. She had straight black hair and a plain face and always wore hand-me-down clothes. The Knots were a poor family and all the children of Garrison liked to remind Mary of that fact. She was bullied every day at school. Some kids called her Harry Mary because of her messy,

long locks. Some kids pulled her hair, or knocked her down, or tripped her as she walked. She was treated with cruelty every day. She didn't do anything to deserve this treatment, other than being poor. next to the old school was a small lake that people called the watering hole. Mary liked to sit by the water and read her books. Books were her only escape from an otherwise painful existence. One day, a group of kids went to the watering hole, looking to harass Mary. They knocked down her books and ripped her already tattered dress. She stood up in anger, sick,

of the bullying. She was ready to fight back, to stand up to the cowards that made her young life hell when one particularly large boy, Andrew Harris, charged and knocked her into the water. His intention was just to get her drenched, but he didn't know that she could not swim. The kids thought her struggles were a fit of anger,

and they laughed and laughed, and laughed. She flapped her arms and clawed to get to the surface, but she couldn't do it. That cruel laughter surrounded her, but when she stopped moving and didn't emerge from the water, the laughter stopped. Mary Knott had drowned, and the last thing she heard on this earth was the sound of children's laughter. It said that a pain like that can never go away. But instead stays etched in the place it occurred. It is said that to this day, she haunts the watering hole by the abandoned schoolhouse. Multiple drownings had occurred in that small lake over the years,

and the superstitious people of Garrison fully believed that they were caused by Mary, forever encased by rage in death. No one with any sense went near the watering hole. Some even called it the watering hell. There was even a song that the children sang about Mary Not as they jumped rope. Near the old school, there's a lake. To swim there would be a big mistake. Mary Not rests in the water deep.

Beware the person who disturbs her sleep. For if she hears you splash around, she'll hold you tight and make you drown. And as you die, filled with fear, children's laughter will be the last thing you hear. Beverly wasn't sure if she truly believed the story, but the 12-year-old wasn't about to go near that place. She had always been shy and a goody two-shoes. She had red hair, almost always in braids, and freckles that kissed her face all over. She had friends who always dared her to test her limits. but Beverly liked to play it safe

and going near the watering hell was not playing it safe only the bravest or possibly stupidest of teens would dip their toes into the water as a dare even the adults warned the children about venturing there stating to leave the dead alone

so Beverly stayed far away from that evil place She had just said goodbye to her three best friends as she made the turn down Clarkson Street. Another productive, safe day at school. Her home was only a 15-minute walk from school. She continued down the old suburban street. All of a sudden, she heard a scuffle. She instinctively stopped and turned to her right to see two men in their twenties, engaged in a fistfight in an open garage.

At their feet, lay bagggy. filled with some white powder. You liar! You cheated me! The first man yelled, face red with rage. I did not. The stuff's all in there. The other yelled back. Fists were flying, and insults were being thrown. The two young men were so enthralled in their rage that they forgot that the garage door was opened.

Beverly decided to scurry away, but the movement caused the bigger of the two guys. to notice Beverly watching them in shock. Stop it! Stop it! Some kid is watching! The man said. He was scary-looking. He had a shaved head and a tattoo of a snake coiled around his arm. His blue eyes were slightly glazed over. The shorter of the two men looked over and cursed.

He had brown hair and a big scar on his eyebrow. His eyes were clear, but very cold. The two looked at a little. each other for a moment, seeming to have a silent conversation between each other. Before the big man let out a sigh, Beverly was completely off guard as he bum rushed her and punched her square in the temple. Everything turned black. When Beverly woke up, the sun was already beginning to set. Her head was pounding. It brought tears to her eyes, which somehow made the pain even worse. She couldn't move her arms or legs, she realized, with a panic. Her legs were

tied with something. Whatever it was, the same material seemed to be keeping her arms pinned behind her back. She could feel herself lying on the floor of something, but it kept vibrating. Her senses were slowly coming back to her. First was feeling, hence the pain, and then was hearing. Relax, man. No one comes out here. She could hear a male voice saying, I've been using that old school for storage the past couple of months. Everyone's so scared of a stupid ghost that not even the police come down here. Hey, didn't you grow up here?

Another male voice said. That story is real. Don't be disrespectful. Beverly's sight was swimming back into focus. She realized she was on the floor of a van. They seemed to be stopped. The rumbling of the engine is, what was lightly bouncing her body. Looking at her feet,

she could see zip ties connecting her ankles together. She assumed that was also what was keeping her hands together. Fear hid her like ice water as she realized the situation she was in. What were these guys going to do to her? Disrespectful, the voice mocked. Hey, Mary, he screamed. Mary, come get me. I'm here where you died.

He mockingly sang. He laughed at his own hubris, as if he had made a great joke. Hey, watch it. The other guy said, as his companion continued to laugh. Look, are we going to do this or what? He continued with nervousness in his voice. Whether that nervousness was because of Mary not, or what they were planning to do, Beverly, did not know. Yeah, yeah, I guess we should. conceded the other guy as he shut the engine to the van off. Immediately, the vibrating feeling stopped, and the two men opened their doors.

She could hear footsteps as one of the men walked to the back of the van and opened the doors with a quick jerk. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her towards him. She slid on the dirty bed of the van before being fully encased in his arms. He not so gently threw her over his shoulder like she was a bag of potatoes, making her grunt. She's starting to wake up, the man holding her said. Then let's not prolong her suffering.

The man with a scar in his face said disingenuously, sarcasm and sadistic humor, rich in his voice. Where the other man seemed resigned to harming Beverly, this man seemed to find it funny. Beverly looked around. her suspicions about where she was was verified she could see the lake from her upside down view she knew where they were the watering hole she tried to beg for mercy to plead for her life but a lump in her throat prevented it and all she could do was cry they were walking closer and closer to the lake Sorry, kid, the man holding her said. You were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. With only those few words said, he tossed her into the icy water. He had already began to turn around before she was fully submerged.

It was freezing. She panicked as she realized that her bond stopped her from being able to swim. She was slowly sinking into the darkness of the lake and running out of air. This was it. This was how she was going to die. She was only 12. Thoughts of her parents rushed through her mind, and she felt her heartache even worse than her lungs.

Movement to her left caught her attention. At first, all she saw was a faint glow, which slowly turned into a small figure. It was a girl. A girl was swimming towards her. she looked ethereal with black hair forming a halo and glowing skin giving Beverly a light to see. Her eyes were warm and comforting, and she smiled gently as she took Beverly into her arms. Mary not? This wasn't how Beverly had pictured her at all.

Mary slowly took her into her arms, but instead of dragging her down, She swiftly swam Beverly up to the surface. They were getting closer and closer. She could see the light of the moon through the water. Beverly gasped as she finally broke through the water surface. She looked for Mary, but she was gone. And yet she could still feel small hands, gently lifting her and laying her on the ground by the lake.

Her gasp had caught the attention of her assailants, who were already walking back to their van. What the hell? The smaller of the two men said, confused. They saw Beverly on the ground. They both began walking towards her when they saw movement coming from the water. Rising from the lake came the frightening silhouette of Mary Knott. She looked nothing like she had underwater. Her black dirty hair covered all of her face, except for one bloodshot eye and the corner of a blue mouth.

What could be seen of her skin was blotchy with black marks of rot. Her kind demeanor was changed to one of horrifying rage. She looked at the two men and bent her neck to the side in an awkward, jerky movement. Beverly heard the sound of choking as water began spewing out of both of the men's mouths. They began choking as water continued to pour out of their mouths. The more they tried to cough the water out, the more seemed to take its place. Their eyes bulged and their hands scratched at their necks and faces as if trying to pry something off. As they were falling to the ground, their faces turned blue.

Reality was hitting Beverly like a freight train. The shock of the scene and the night's events were enough to lull Beverly into unconsciousness. Before the blackness overtook her world, she could have swore she heard something. Yes, she swore she could hear the sound of children, laughing. When Beverly woke up hours later, the two men lay dead on the ground. There was no sign of her angel of mercy, or the world. immense angel of death. She found a sharp rock on the ground. She awkwardly used it to slowly cut the ties at her wrists before quickly cutting away the ones at her ankles. On unsteady knees and soaking wet,

Beverly stood up and slowly made her way home. She paused for a moment and turned around, looking at the lake. Thanks, Mary, she whispered to the air. The water was still and the only sound that met her ears was the chirping of crickets. She turned back around and continued on. She didn't see the small head poke up from the water and smile. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative common share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this

podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.