Creepy - Burnin' Down the Ozarks

Episode Date: June 3, 2019

Deep in the woods, people have wants...***Written by Baron Fist with guest narration by Owen McCuen, Atticus Jackson, Nate Dufort and Molly Lankford***Content warning: racism***Please consider supporting the podcast at Patreon.com/Creepypod ***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin, Puzzle Audio***Title music by Alex Aldea***Artwork by Dakota Miller ***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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.

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Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depiction, of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Burning down the Ozarks.

Credited to Barren Fist. With guest narration by Owen McKeown, Atticus Jackson, Nate DuFort, and Molly Lakeford. Another day, another dollar toward the beer money. I thought as I pulled into my company, parking lot. As I walked into the office, I heard the gruff, deep voice of my manager Jerry say, Hey, Bub, you're going out of area today.

Out of area, meaning I was going to be driving to the middle of nowhere. It may be one job completed and then have to be back here by sundown. As I was pondering my shitty situation, Jerry walked up to me and slapped me on the back like a mildly alcoholic dad who doesn't know the meeting it too hard and said. hear me, Bobby? Yeah, I'm making less money for the good of the company, right? Jerry's brow furrowed. The sarcasm in my voice was almost beyond his grasp,

but eventually he got it. Listen here, you little ass clown. The company will pay double for your gas, will take the drive into account for your bonus, and give you free service for your truck. They treat us good if you do good by them. Jerry, poorly balding, middle-aged, middle-managed, Gensure gave the same speech and the same tone to anyone who ever complained about doing anything extra.

Of course, though, I had to ask him why the heck I had to do it today. Because Roger, Jerry said, referring to the guy that worked the northernmost tip of our area. Decided that he hated you and called off this morning. Yeah, but why am I the one who has to take his work? I asked mildly surprised of Jerry's own sarcasm. Because I think you're a limp-dicked asshole Who needs to learn him some work ethic And don't go talking about how you served in the Marines

And you worked hard, blah, blah, blah, blah. I fought in the Gulf under General H. Norman Schwarzkopf And I know hard work. People like you turned the Corps into a bunch of pussies. Jerry, if you didn't notice, was a Marine like myself. But he served in the Corps in the time before the Pussy Generation, as he so eloquently dubbed millennials. But to be honest, he was a warehouse manager, like he is now, while I was in the core.

I was busy dodging pissed off Taliban snipers and IEDs, so screw him. I know, Jerry. I'm a pussy because I actually wore my body armor. But anywho, before we started dick measuring contest, where the hell am I going? I asked trying to avoid our normal arguments. Jerry sighed and said. Out in the Ozarks near Grand Gap. Grand Gap.

Literally a post office in the general store smack dab in the middle of a mess of forest. The place is on a side road slash driveway that goes for about two miles off AR7. Custer needs two rooms done and a satellite dish set up. Jerry finished. He sounded like he may have felt bad because he knew how much I hated setting up those dishes. And on top of that, the chance of us actually getting a signal for the satellite was little than none. So I'm driving 120 miles out to the mountain so I can tell some backwoods imbred he can't get his TV because of the trees. I must have been a murderer in a past life, man.

I complained. and yes, Jerry, I freaking know I'll be compensated regardless. A couple minutes later, I loaded up my truck and started the long trip north into the mountains and away from the safety of familiarity. I knew the drive would take well over an hour and a half on relatively empty roads, so I started to let my mind wander. I had been with cable, satellites, and more, for about two years now. And it still amazes me I haven't quit and or killed myself.

yet. The hours suck. The pay is sub-bar. And upper management spends most of their time on their knees sucking off the big cable companies begging for scraps. Now you may be asking yourself, how the hell did a combat veteran with access to the GI Bill and four years of leadership training end up in selling cable in Arkansas? Well, the best way to answer that is instead of taking classes and getting a skilled labor job, I wanted to be a badass. At 18, I only wanted one gig, the infantry. It gives you the ability to act under pressure and learn out to lead men into combat. But when you get out, most jobs want people with applicable skills.

So, I tried college. The state school filled with former professionals turned professors, expansive libraries, brimming with information, companies from all over the world recruiting to get the pick of the best candidates. Oh, and girls. Lots and lots of girls. Now, I probably don't have to tell you, but I only paid any attention to the last one. See, when you spend four years of your life surrounded by dudes, a plethora of chicks and yoga pants, kind of distract you.

Seriously, being the only non-bearded non-vaping alpha male on campus got me laid. A lot. Like, I'm talking Ron Jeremy's hairy ass who, be jealous of me. From my frequency of fornication, not my GPA. But shit happens. And I got this gig while I was directionless. Directionless, by the way, is the word used to describe me by my court-appointed therapist.

I'll leave most of the details out, but some punk bitch decided to tell me not to sleep with his girlfriend while I was at stake. I decided him eating my fist would be. the best way for me to convey my feelings of distaste for his sentiment. One thing let do another and I have to go see a shrink for my PTSD. PTSD my ass. I liked what I did over there. Get up, go on patrol, possibly shoot some Hodgis, and go back to the F.O.B.

Simple. Now life is complicated. I gotta pay rent. I gotta be politically correct. I can't shoot. shoot anyone. Even the people who drive slowly in the left fucking lane? Oh, whatever.

Maybe I'll be lucky, and whoever this customer is will be a super hot art student staying at her parents' cabin for winter break. She'll answer the door half naked, take one look at my manly frame, hopefully ignoring the pudge hanging over my belt, and invite me in to help her keep warm for the winter. I let my thoughts wander thinking about the pre-year-old. pretty blonde. No, maybe Brunette waiting for me. Looking back, Ellie wished that was the case. As I got closer to the address, the GPS on my phone surerad acting a bit finicky, but it was able to steer me to the

right driveway. Well, driveway was a word. It was more or less a dirt path shrouded by old as hell white oak and cottonwood. I heard leaves and pines crinkle under the weight of my truck as I steered down the narrow track. As I drove deeper, I noticed that this part of the forest was dense and looked barely touched. See, I went camping in the Ozarks every year with my dad up until I was 17. Almost everywhere we went, you could tell the woods had been affected by people in some way. You know, random patches of trash, carved initials at young lovers, tire or human tracks, and all that shit.

These trees, this path, and everything that encompassed seemed to overmation. unscathed, even though someone apparently lived out here. It was strange, to say the least, especially because there seemed to be no tire tracks going up the driveway. The path dragged on and on, and it seemed to narrow out to the point where I didn't think I could fit my truck on it much longer. Then I saw a small patch of brighter earth and an open area about 200 yards ahead of me. I silently thanked the man upstairs that I wouldn't have to lug all my equipment through

the woods. As I approached the opening, I caught my first glimpse of the house. Or better yet shit pile, I'd be working on today. It stood, well, it slumped, at around two stories. The rotted wood siding and maybe two or ten windows not smashed in. Front lawn was just dirt, leaves and pine cones scattered around. Couldn't fucking believe my eyes. How am I supposed to insult TV bosses?

when there's no power, I thought. It's probably some redneck with a makeshift wind turbine strapped to a tree. I'm probably going to ask why he can't get his NASCAR. I scanned for the front door inside dilapidated a plant covering the largest of the house's orifices. I decided that was my best bed as a front door. At this point, I was just honestly hoping no one was home. There was no car. Everything was overrun.

there couldn't possibly be a decent source of power anywhere on the property. But God was definitely not on my side that day. As I approached the front door, I saw movement beyond one of the non-smashed-in windows. I may have seen some shit overseas. Someone actually living out here in this busted house couldn't be someone I wanted to be alone with. But if I didn't at least try to complete the job, I wouldn't get paid any bonus. As I arrived at the plank slash door, I slowly reached my hand and knock, but before I could reach, it swung open.

Behind the door was a person. At the least, what was left of a person after spending a few months at a concentration camp. This guy stood at six foot tall, no more than 120 pounds. Why does a ghost and seem to be made of only bones and thinly stretched skin? It looked like somebody sucked all the fat and sinew out of his body. But the creepiest part was his eyes. They seemed empty. The pupil is so expansive that I couldn't make out the color, barely see the whites.

I realized I've been staring and looked down at my paperwork. Good morning, sir. Is this the residence of Mr. Vitter? I barely got it out. Before you open the black hole that was his mouth. Why have you come? His words rolled off his tongue, heavy laden with a thick, syrupy Scandinavian accent, barely could respond. Here I was trying to insult a satellite for Count Dracula, and he doesn't ask me what I want or who I am, but why have I come here?

Who the hell says that? Uh, I'm your cable technician. Here to get your TV set up, stammered. It was all I could get out with his pitch black eyes staring right through me. He continued to stare what felt like an hour until he opened the hole in his face. Ah, yes, come forth into my home. I will show you where you will be working, but be warned. I do not like anything in my home touched.

Your business here is the television's only. Is that understood? This guy looked like fucking skeletor and sounded like a James Bond villain, I thought. Aloud, I said. Yes, sir. I won't touch any of your stuff or knickknacks or personals.

I just want to set up the TVs and head back to Little Rock. He stared at me for a second, turned towards a dark house, beckoning for me to follow. As I trail my gaunt host into the ramshackle house, I couldn't help. help but notice the nauseating scent of decaying meat mixed with a tinge of rusted copper. It was as if I wandered into an abandoned slaughterhouse that could smell the years of blood

and decomposition of millions of animal parts. Don't think like that, man. This guy's probably a hunter. Lose off the grid and finally decided he missed ESPN and called us up, I thought. But the smell wasn't the only off-putting characteristic of Mr. Vitter's home. It was the decor, or lack thereof. The front door opened directly into what could barely be described as a living room. The only sign that an actual human lived here was a decrepit rocking chair that looked like it was a sole survivor of Dresden.

The wood was badly scorched. The only parts that weren't burned were heavily frayed. I felt like if I sat down and ended up being pulling a thousand splinters out of my ass and wiping flexed chard wood off my pants for eternity. I took my eyes off the chair and finally saw the TV I'd be connecting the receiver to. I say TV sarcastically, because I'm pretty sure the set I grew up with 29 years ago was more advanced. I saw that the ancient beast still had the original wood paneling and everything. I hoped to God I had some sort of adapter in the truck, because no way I was telling Dr. Frankenstein I didn't have the parts. Now this is the first television.

It is a zenith from 1949. I was told your company specialized in connecting new age media to these types of TV sets. Am I correct? Mr. Vitter turned and looked at me with his empty eyes as he asked this. Should be. I can always figure it out. I lied. The oldest TV I set up was from the 90s.

I'm so fucked. I thought, I'm gonna punch that punk bitch Roger in the fucking throat as soon as I see him. Motherfucker better buy me a beer for calling out. Good. I would be very disappointed if I do not have my shows. Vetter, I think, smiled as he said this and put an intense emphasis on very. He let me pause in the living room to assess the back of the TV. One look was all I needed.

One look told me I was utterly fucked. This TV did not have a single connection I recognized. But I had an idea. The job description I received from Mr. Vitter stated he did not want the satellite on the roof. He wanted it on a pole. And from my experience with these types of mounts, there's a high chance that this guy won't get a signal, or the ground ain't right for a mount. All I had to do is take my satellite reader and pretend there wasn't a trace of a signal.

And I forgot to mention Explained to this guy He wasn't getting his shows Until my manager came out and verified Huh Fuck it Jerkin die for the company he loves I'll get over it

As my spirit started to lighten And my mood turned from depressed And terrified to less depressed And slightly hopeful My customer decided I was staring at his TV For too long I will lead you to the next TV Hopefully this one will not take too long for you to study

He sounded pissed So I gave him the go-ahead to bring me further into his creepy ass house So I uh I saw the power outlet behind the TV but no power lines to the house Is there a generator connected somewhere? I had to ask because I didn't hear the loud hum of a generator Nor did I see any sign of power being run to the house My host turned to look at me with his vacant eyes and hissed. How my homeworks should not concern you.

As he said this, I could see what little blood this guy had in his body rushed to his face. He was angry, and seemed barely able to contain it. He turned back around and started heading further and further towards the back of the house. I was about to apologize as I fought to keep up with him. something caught my eyes there was a picture on the wall one of those old timely portraits you see in people's grandparents' house

I could only take a quick look but from what I could tell even in black and white one of the men in the portrait looked exactly like Mr. Vitter like to a T the only difference was the guy in the picture I'd normalize

and didn't look so disproportionate it couldn't be him this picture had to be from the 1880s or something. Vitter stopped abruptly before I could finish studying the picture and point towards an open doorway to our right. He said, This is where the last TV is, and it is exactly like the first one.

Do you need to stare at it incessantly, or will the information I have given you be enough? As he asked this, I could literally feel the sarcasm and frustration pouring out of him. The fuck is this guy's problem? I thought. Then aloud, I said with a forced smile. Just knowing the type and where O.B. is enough for me. The weirdo seemed satisfied with my answer and took me a bit further to a back door, flinked by two more busted out windows.

He opened the door and walked through them to the backyard, which was as equally disheveled as the front. Okay, sir. I know you want the satellite somewhere in the yard, so I'm going to go ahead and try to find a signal. I'll come knock on the door when I do. He looked at me and said, I will stay outside.

You seem young, and I generally do not trust the youth. How the fuck are you supposed to respond to that? I looked over him, Mr. Creepie and said, Uh, okay. It's kind of boring, but feel free to watch. No other way to follow someone telling you, doesn't trust you. Well, who could blame him?

I was planning on saying there was no signal, even if there was one going home. As I started wandering around the yard, hitting random buttons on my signal finder to further help my goal of pretending to find a signal, I was able to take in more of my host. His eyes and ugly-ass face kept me from looking at what he was wearing. His clothing looked as worn as he did. His long black coat was covered in Irish penance and his white buttoned up shirt was slathered and old stains. Jesus, this guy's all sorts of fucked up, I thought. As I wandered around the yard, I also noticed something else was a bit suspect.

Every three to five yards or so there seemed to be a little hole recently covered up. It looked like he was planting a garden or maybe some trees. I would have asked, but it was clearly not much of a conversation. analyst. After about 10 minutes of drifting around and hitting random buttons, my host's eyes never left me, and I decided it was now or never to tell him I had no signal. Sir, I hate to say this, but due to the trees in the area, I have no line to your provider's satellite. To me, the only option would be to remove some of the foliage. I was barely able to finish before the anger flashed in his big dead eyes and blood rushed to his face again.

You will not cut any of my trees. They are precious to me. As he screamed this, he closed the 10-yard gap between us in three steps. And you will give me my shows. He was so close to me at this point

that the lifeless holes in his face from your centimeters away. Okay. This is my final fucking straw with this goddamn psycho. But alas, I'd lose my gig if I blew up on one more customer.

I took a deep breath and said my best customer service voice. I understand you are upset, sir. I think the best way to resolve the dilemma is to try and get my manager out here. To myself, I thought, fuck Jerry. Let's see how tough his old core is when he meets this crazy motherfucker. As I said this, Vader seemed to settle down and the blood stopped pooling in his face. Very well, but you must know I care very deep. deeply about my forest. You mustn't torment in any way."

He still contained a hint of his anger. What needs to be done next? Well, I need to go get the proper forms through to sign and we can go ahead and call Jerry, my manager, and do not worry about the trees. We won't touch them. I said trying not to smirk. Is this Jerry as insolent as you and is uncaring about my forest? He asked with heavy disdain.

I looked up at him, trying to tell him I might not to look pissed and said, only slightly sarcastically, I might add. Not at all. He is a perfect gentleman and he loves trees. I mean, the guy's at least 12 in his backyard. Somehow this satisfied the tree-loving the psycho. Okay, well, I'm going to run over to my truck and get the forms. Want me to meet you inside?

I asked hoping he would say no and that I wouldn't have to go back into that terrifying place. No, I will be out here waiting. As he said this, he seemed to have rid himself on the spot he was standing, like his trees, and remained unmoving. I took this as my sign to get the fuck back to my truck and get Jerry's fat ass out here. Not wanting to go through that horror show of a house, I took the long way around the side and back to the safety of my waiting truck. truck. As I passed aside of the house, I saw something that caught my eye. A massive painting was hung on the wall, possibly being the only object not completely dilapidated, but still very creepy. The painting was of a massive tree, but it looked like all the branches ended with a human head

with no eyes and dripping out blood. But the trunk of the tree decided it had to outdo the branches and the most fucked up contest ever. The trunk was shaped like a man whose legs were firmly rooted into the ground. Its body straight as an arrow and its arms held high in the air, turning into the aforementioned branches. But the face of that trunk man took the cake for the macabre challenge. The mouth was locked in a permanent scream, spewing rivulets of blood that pulled up at the tree's roots.

The eyes were wide open, seemingly fixated on the branches above as if in a trance with a gorestein scene going on above its head. A fuck? I mumbled to myself. If you were smart, Bobby, you would leave. But alas, I'm a dumb redneck grunt from Little Rock and I refuse to leave until the paperwork was signed. I had bills to pay. So I decided to ignore the mass of evidence that this place was probably not too. safe and continued on to my truck.

As I approached my truck, I couldn't help but notice that it looked significantly lower. Now, before you have to ask, yes, my truck was lifted, and I may or may not be compensating for something. Regardless of my inadequacies, as I got closer, I saw that my two front tires have gone flat. I said aloud to myself, fuck me sideways. How the fuck? Fuck. I nearly yelled that last fuck, but I kept it down so I wouldn't have to deal with Vitter.

I walked over to my now useless vehicle and inspected the tires. When I realized what had happened, I silently cursed myself. Since I was so busy trying to avoid lugging equipment around, I had not noticed I parked directly on top of an upraised tree root. Fuck. Now I had not only to make Jerry come here. But I'd need him to pick me up some spares. He was gonna be pissed. I took one more look at the depressing site

that was my lifted 24-inch custom tires and opened the front cab. I started fumbling around with my little folder filled with different paperwork until I found the right documents. Thankfully, I had one copy left. First good news of the fucking day. The shitty part of the no-signal process

is that you need the customer to verbally confirm with the manager that they want the side issue confirmed. Don't ask me why. Probably some legal bullshit. I started making my way back to the yard, but this time I took the side I didn't have the creepy-ass painting on it. As I arrived again in the backyard,

I couldn't help but notice the absence of Mr. Vitter. Shit, I muttered myself. I headed towards where he was last standing. Maybe he was taking a leak behind one of his precious trees, and God knows there was no plumbing in that horror show of a house. I made my way towards the end of the yard, carefully avoiding the little mounds and started to scan in the tree line. After about 30 seconds, I started to turn away and make the walk to the front door,

hoping that he didn't want me to come inside. But as I was turning, I caught a glimpse of something black billowing about 100 yards away in the woods. I moved in a bit closer and further away from the house, and could sort of make out the object. It was Vitter's jacket. As I took a closer look, I saw a black boot only a few feet from where I was standing, and another roughly 30 yards past that.

Did this guy just stripped down and wander into the woods? Well, that was it. Weirdest fucking day of my life. Now you may be thinking, why didn't I book it and flagged down the first car I'd, song get the hell out of Dodge. The answer is, I'm an idiot, and I'm curious by nature.

Also, I couldn't just leave a job. I'd apparently jeopardize the trust between my small company and the big ones we contract for. My next step would be to call Jerry and figure out what the hell I need to do. I pulled up my phone and hit Jerry's number as I waited for the familiar grub voice to ask.

What the fuck do you want? The phone cut off. I looked down at my screen and saw the dreaded call was lost to pop up in front of my screen. Fuck me right in the goddamn ass. I tried again, and this time it wouldn't even ring once. I started wandering around the backyard hoping there was a stronger signal somewhere when I finally gave up. My efforts were fruitless. It dawned on me that Jerry was with one of our new guys today up near Mountain View,

but a hundred miles east where I was in a good two-hour drive. On top of that, the cell service may have been even worse out there. Shit. No other manager was in today. Even if I could get service that wouldn't pick up. My only option was to call the dispatch office for the satellite company. Folks over there have about zero sympathy for us not completing a job that was given to us. But having someone at least be aware of my situation may stop me from being canned.

I made my way to the front yard and thankfully found a signal bar service. Just in case I tried Jerry again, but not. I started scrolling through my contact list and found the number I was looking for. It started ringing. Thank God for small miracles. Thankfully, I heard a pleasant female voice. Wow. All this time saying, I got to call someone.

I had no idea what to tell them exactly. Um, hi. I'm a contractor out of Little Rock. And, uh, I have a bit of an issue with my current appointment. I waited for a moment and heard lady sigh and saying an annoyed voice. These fucking heartless bastards. I needed a small amount of assistance, but it's too much of a fucking problem to take a call. SOP dictates you speak to your manager before calling us.

I've heard a hundred and fifty times. I wanted to say, well, yeah, bitch, he has no service. I barely got this call going, but instead I tried a more diplomatic approach. I apologize. I know this isn't standard, but I cannot reach my boss. He is out of service. I waited, praying she would have some sympathy in her heart. And like that, I was sitting there in the middle of nowhere, listening to the soft melodies

of Loggins and Messina while waiting from a dispatcher. The music abruptly stopped and I heard an equally pleasant yet male voice on the other end. This is Jack. I heard you got a little problem out there in Little Rock. Thank God this guy wasn't a dick. Hey Jack, I got some weird stuff going on out here. I'm definitely nowhere near Little Rock. I'm in the Ozarks deep down and some backwood stuck with an MIA customer.

I blurt it out. No shit, job number. Here it is. 306-742. I heard Jack typing away at his keyboard and a few mouse clicks later, he said. Okay, uh, Mr. Vitter. Oh, yeah.

He is totally out of your work area. How'd you end up out there? Fucking call out, man. I said, realizing these phone calls may be monitored and I should ease up on the cussing. Okay, so you said he is, uh, MIA? Like, he isn't home? No, Jack, I went to my truck to grab some shit, I mean stuff. And I came back and this guy was just gone.

The weirdest part, though, I saw a trail of his clothes leading into the forest. His clothes? Yeah, man. His clothes. From what I could see, it was his jacket and both his boots. Even I was starting to think this was made up. There was no way this guy, believe me. My notes here in, there is not a single SOP explaining what to do if a customer wanders off into the woods.

But I am pulling up some satellite images of the area, and I do see a small, pond formation about half a kilometer from his house. Maybe he went swimming. As he said this, I could hear him stifling his laughter. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but there's a whole bunch of creepy-ass stuff going on around here. This guy is terrifying-looking. The house is barren except for an almost 70-year-old zenith in a ratty-ass rocking chair,

not to mention the painting. I replied hearing the frustration in my own voice. Painting? Jack asked. Either moved by my tirade or trying to avoid a confrontation with a crazy person. I couldn't tell,

but he definitely sounded less lighthearted. After he asked this, I gave him a brief description of the picture I saw. What the guy looked like and even the weird little mounds. For a fleeting moment, he was silent.

I don't know how to tell you this, but as long as he wasn't a danger to you or under the influence of alcohol, you're going to need the paperwork signed. Jack stated matter-factly. But to me, that would be absurd. This whole situation sounds crazier than a group of shithouse rats. And I think you should just call it a day.

I mean, I wouldn't want to be there. And I'm sure your company would let it slide if you said you felt uncomfortable. I like this guy. He didn't just state the guidelines and hang up. He reacted in a logical manner and said something a non-office drone would say. Never thought I made a company man who thinks like an actual person Well, I'd say that situation would cover the rest of my problems But I got another issue

My two front tires are blown out and I only got one spare I could hear the defeat in my voice I'll contact a local to As Jack was about to offer me my salvation from this mess I heard the high-pitched scream of a woman coming from out in the forest Last time I heard a scream like that some Sivian Afghanistan found her kid torn her shreds by an IED. Bobby?

You all right? What was that? I could hear Jack, but my senses were dialed up to ten, and I could feel goose flesh forming on my skin. Bobby, did you hear me? What the fuck was that? Jack asked again, but this time I answered. Some ladies screaming bloody murder right in the goddamn direction

that weirdo walked in. I whispered trying to keep myself unnoticeable. Jack, my mind's telling me to run down this driveway and don't look back. But if I leave some woman out there to some horrible fate, I hate myself for it. Bobby, everything about this place sounds horrifying. But that had to be a neighbor or something. I cut Jack off. Man, you got the sad images.

They're in a single fucking person around except for crazy eyes out there. He hadn't upstairs. Could have been keeping a chick up there for all we know. And the minute I left grabbed her and took her into the woods. I couldn't finish the sentence. I was already all nerves. I'm thinking as someone getting killed or worse out there might have put me over the edge.

Jack, by the time the cops get out here, if someone's getting hurt, I think I need to get out there. I couldn't hear Jack on the other end. He was contemplating what I said. If you're dead set on wandering off into the woods and confronting whatever it is out there, go grab your Bluetooth and bring me along

for the ride. I'll try to call the local PD on the other line. Jack said. I honestly thought he would at least try to stop me. Okay, Jack, I will. Let me just get some stuff from a truck. I responded, thankful I wouldn't be alone. I made my way into my truck and reached under the seat to grab my piece. Call me a band wagner, but I do love me a Glock. I put the gun in the front seat and put my Bluetooth in my ear. Jack, you hear me? I asked. Those Bluetooth ear pieces were finicky at best and I didn't want to lose my only companion. Now he's asking.

Yeah, man. Some poor lady might be getting hurt out there. It's my civic fucking duty. I said trying not to reveal how terrified I was. I grabbed a magazine from the toolbox and started pushing 40 caliber rounds into it. I slammed that bad boy in the pistol and pulled the slide back with an audible click. Jack asked hesitantly. You bet you're a sweet ass I do.

I'm in Arkansas. We actually have the right to defend ourselves out here. Just glad you have some protection. I mean, SOP dictates I have you fired, but the situation seems to call for a gun. Thanks, Jack. My hint of a smile formed on my face as a question came to my mind. Jack? Yeah?

Are you in a cubicle right now? I asked, thinking of the irony of a guy wrapped up. in his pre-death coffin listening to me embark on an adventure, or quite possibly my utter demise. That's really what you're going to ask me. You convinced me not to walk into the scary woods towards a screaming person? Or, why are you condoning this, Jack? He blurted out, sounded a bit exasperated.

I can answer the last. I spent eight years in the army. My old lady wanted me to take a desk job when we had a kid. Now I'm stuck running away in a desk, hoping for just a tape. I felt for the guy. I mean, I'd rather be in a temperature-controlled office building, not worrying about monsters or whatever the fuck was out there. But still, I'd probably rather die than have to make small talk with a bunch of office drones every day,

so I guess I was on the fence about who had it worse. I'm actually in management. Just took over for one of my guys who's sick. So I'm not in a cubicle, you prick. I'm in my own office. I have a window. Jack said triumphantly. I couldn't help a laugh a little

Look like this guy got screwed by a call-out too The walk from my truck to the edge of the forest Was less than a football field But every step felt like a mile I could feel my heart beating my throat My stomach was turned to knots The perspiration on my forehead Started drip into my eyes

As I made my way towards the tree line I decided that maybe talking While I still could Reliate some of the fear that was building up I wiped sweat away from my eyes I said the first thing that came to mind. So, Jack, what did you do in the Army? I heard a sign on the other end of the line and then said,

After OCS, I went straight to job training in civil affairs, then airborne, and her assault, and lastly ranger school. After four years I made captain, went to Psiops and transferred over to first Special Forces Command. Another odd question to ask at a time like this, Bobby. First part sounded rehearsed. You probably got asked a lot. Yeah, just trying to build up courage here. Sciops, huh?

Passing out flyers or doing shady shit? I asked, hoping I didn't sound too judgmental. With none of the lightheartedness I heard him speak with before he stated, Shady shit. All my experiences with anyone, even support personnel, and special forces was generally negative. They were always trying to be mysterious and act like whatever they did was secretive, the clandestine. In reality, there was probably a 23-year-old NSA intern with a pimply face and thick brimmed

glasses that had more security clearance than these super soldiers. But I like Jack. And I know Cyops guys probably really do some weird ship besides yelling at Talban on a loudspeaker, so I gave him the benefit of a doubt. But I definitely passed out my fair share of flyers on my first tour with Cyops. Jack continued with a hint of a laugh. You seem to know a thing or two about the military. You serve?

Yeah, man. USMC-0-3-1-1. I said with gusto. I heard another sign, Jack stated. Well, if you survive, I'll buy you dinner. Gallon of glue and a brand-new box of Crayola sound good to you? I let out a laugh. Some of the fear of swage, and I said lightheartingly.

Fuck you. Not my best comeback, but I had reached the edge of the forest, and the humor I felt moments ago dissipated. It was replaced by that stomach-not-in-fearting. fear. All right, Jack. I just made it to the... Again, another ear-piercing scream came from further into the woods. But unlike the last, this one didn't finish. It seemed to be cut off at the last second.

It was time to go. I started running full tilt into the unknown. Who's out there's going to hear you coming. And besides whoever was screaming, doesn't sound like they made it. Jack whispered in my ear. See, that's the difference when a guy like me and a guy like Jack. I think tactively, and in the short term, Jack, obviously a strategy thinker,

decided there was no point risking me or a chance to stop whatever was out there for someone who's probably dead. Fuck it, though. Maybe this girl was hot. If she wasn't too jacked up, maybe I might get a blow you out of this. I don't hear you slowing down, Bobby.

Yeah? Because I'm a crayon-eating Marine, and I want to kick her. Some of the scream followed by. The rest cut off by another scream from the speaker, followed by a vulgar tearing sound and a noise I can only describe as a bucket of chum being dumped out on a dry dock.

The screams this time came from maybe 30 yards ahead of me, but the sounds had stopped completely, being everything eerily quiet. I heeded Jack's advice and slowed my sprint to a walk. I got down and started low-crawling to where I thought the screams came from. As I inch closer, I could feel the roots and sticks making small cuts on my stomach. As if the whole forest had turned against me.

But the pains subsided when I smelled something familiar. Rusted copper. Blood. I saw a large tree in my path and could make out a clearing beyond its massive base. I inch behind the tree and took a quick glance into the clearing. I felt bile reached the back of my throat. Vader had his back to me, as he was lifting up an axe and bringing it down on the body of a rather rotund and definitely dead woman. I guess you're never too fat to be kidnapped.

He kept bringing the axe down over and over again and this lady's already decimated corpse, blood misting and squirting over her newly opened orifices. I also caught a glimpse of what had made the splattering chum noise. About three feet away from her body, it looked as if her stomach was so. torn out and all her innards were spilled onto the ground. It was a squirmy mass of intestines, kidneys, and other organs, all leaking blood and other fluids. The smell of blood, half-digested food and shit from her puncture colon permeated the air. It was so strong I felt as if I could taste it.

I whispered as quietly as I could into the Bluetooth. This guy's disembowl the chickens chopping her into pieces. Jack didn't respond for what felt like. 10 years until I heard a quiet munching. Grabed a snack. Snickers really do help hunger pings, you know. Fuck, Jack. I'm all here watching some lady get

butchered by a psychopath and you're eating a Snickers. I whispered trying my heart is to keep Vitteran unaware of my presence. Sorry, Bobby. You weren't saying much and I needed a snack. You're still alive, so nothing too crazy happened. Jack stated, matter-factly. Avoiding the topic of the horror show in front of me, he continued.

Also, I think I'm on to something. I did some research while you were fucking around in the woods, and I think I may know what you're dealing with. But you ain't going to like it, brother. I was getting impatient and trying not to retaste my daily egg McMuffin, so I said as quietly as I could while expressing my annoyance. What? Just tell me.

I doubt I can get more creeped out than I already am. Well, between the tree, the mounds, and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Terrify. I think you're dealing with the evil Danish god of the forest. Jack said without a hint of humor. What the fuck are you talking about? I just incredulously. And possibly, a bit too loud because Vitter suddenly stopped hacking. Nah, shit, this is it.

This is how I fucking die. I thought. But the footsteps in sudden death never came, and the hacking resumed. Jack then spoke up. So, anywho, I'll explain what I found. I went on to some sort of occult Google. Never seen this search engine before. But basically, you type in a description of a monster or whatever shit you're dealing with,

and it tells you what it is. And I'm pretty positive, from what you've told me, that you are dealing with a Danish forest god. Who happens to be an evil prick? Like, super evil. He requires pieces of a thousand-quarter... corpses to build his army of humanoid tree monsters. So, for example, if you were to dig up those little mounds you saw,

you'd be finding fingers, toes, ears, and other human parts used as little seeds to grow his forest friends. As Jack was speaking, I poked at a mound near my foot. As I did, the loose pile of dirt revealed a piece of a human ear or tongue or something. I don't fucking know. I'm not a doctor. Jack continued. Next up is what he looks like See, his body isn't a tree

Per se But it's a tree with a face Screaming his commands And looking to the heavens Oh yeah There's severed heads on the tips Of its branches that spout blood To help his tree babies grow

Any of this sound familiar Jack stated sounding almost amused Sick fuck I thought A loud I whispered So Vitter is some sort of a nut serial killer trying to complete his masterpiece of a god he worships? After asking, I took another peek behind the tree and saw Vitter bent over and pick up the lady's head.

He then walked over to the other side of the clearing and pulled out a massive ladder while balancing the blood-soaked head under his arm. Every time I looked out from my little cover, it seemed as if it were more and more blood. I would say it was just from that chick's cut-open body, but it seemed to me. as if the whole clearing was covered in fresh, undisturbed pools of blood. That's when I realized I had hidden behind the wrong fucking tree. I looked up and saw the backs of hundreds of severed heads. If I didn't see that painting, I would have thought they looked like coconuts. But I knew better.

And to solidify that what I was seeing was real, a huge glob of blood spute out of one of the heads and landed in the clearing with an audible splash. So here I was in the middle of the Ozarks leaning against some crazy effigy of a forgotten god with the psycho no more than 15 feet away from you lugging around ahead. This is within the top five of the worst positions I have ever been in. Jack then spoke on the headset. Hey, so here's something else in case your day wasn't already ruined. Apparently Burstuck, that's the god, by the way, has a sidekick that he grants immortality to for their service. The servant is described as being of great height, little girth, and eyes as black as coal.

That describes Veta, right? I swear Jack almost sounded excited about all this. I took a quick glimpse into the clearing, and Vitter was failing at his balancing act and trying with great intensity to grasp both the ladder and the head. I took his moment of distraction and slowly made my way back towards where I came from to get a safer vantage point. Jack, I made it back about 20 yards. Can you do me a favor and call the cops? I don't think I can do much more for that lady.

I whispered, still trying to keep quiet. Yeah, just got to further ruin your day. I've tried about five times. Each time I try reaching the town you're in, the call goes dead. I tried calling the police out here in Manhattan to see if they could do anything. They laughed and told me they can't do much for somebody in the middle of the O's. I think you may be on your own. Well, except for me, buddy.

If it's any consolation and you get killed by crazy devil worshiper and his pet tree god, I'll avenge you. Okay, Jack was either the calmest motherfucker on the planet or he was truly enjoying all this. So what the hell should I do, Jack? And why the fuck are you so calm? Jack took a deep breath and spoke calmly, almost coldly. Put two rounds in his chest and one in his head. I highly doubt this guy or his tree or actually anything supernatural.

Just a nut job who's obsessed with Danish folklore. And to answer your question, I spent a large amount of my life fighting some of the most violent, despicable terrorists on the planet. Some lady getting her guts spilled out and a skinny weirdo serial killer cutting people's heads off isn't too far from the shit I've seen. Damn, this dude is hard. I thought, probably the best dispatcher I could have had today.

Aloud, I asked. Okay, but what if they're, you know, supernatural? Once again, in that cold voice, Jack spoke up. Per the article on these guys, you will need to set aflame the old god Burstuck, and the servant will again be mortal. So set Burstuck on fire before he comes alive and then shoot Vitter. Easy, peasy. Damn.

I bet this gung-ho ass Army man wouldn't be so tough if you were here facing this thing alone. Why, he sounds confident. And I gotta have some face, I thought. I closed my eyes and kept my back to my new cover. You're gonna do this kid? Just go up there, tell him to freeze, put a few rounds in him, and when the cops finally show up, just say he charged you. Oh yeah, I should mention this call isn't being monitored,

and you probably shouldn't mention parts of this conversation happening. Jack said, Okay, I'm ready to put this asshole down and get the hell out of here. I said, hoping I sounded less terrified than I felt. Jack said, trying to motivate me. You got this, buddy. I started back towards the clearing with the nightmarish theme and a rotting pile of innards as quietly as I could.

As I got closer, I could see Vitter on his ladder, fumbling the place the head on top of a branch. If it wasn't so horrifying to look at, you'd think he was an ordinary guy just putzing around his backyard. Not a psychopath, burying and hanging parts at desecrated corpses. I gathered up what was my shot in nerves and bellowed, Hey, Dickbag! Vitter turned his head towards me and I snuck up behind him. Get down off the ladder, slowly. Once you hit the ground, turn around and put your hands up.

I felt and sounded like a testosterone-fueled cop. It was almost as cool as being a testosterone-fueled marine. But instead of listening to me, Vader hopped down off the top of the ladder and turned to face me. With a devilish sneer, he said, Is my TV ready, cable boy? He laughed in my perplexed look. What? Do you think I should fear you and your mortal weapons? As he was speaking, he stared toward the axe that was resting between us.

Lord Bustor, Graham. granted me the gift of an unending life as long as I facilitated his rebirth in our world and assisted him in becoming the ruler of the forest once more. He was no less than five feet from the axe when I yelled. I'm warning you, Nut Job. Do not take one more step. I will fucking spray your goddamn treepupple with your fucking brain matter. In my ear, Jack shouted.

Nice line. Would you hear that? A movie? ignoring the psycho in my ear canal and keeping focus on the psycho reaching for the axe in front of me. I took a few steps back so to avoid any axe swings if Vitter reached for it. You are a fool, boy. I have been rebuilding the garden of Bustock for over a century. Many mortals have tried to stop me,

but their bodies and their glorious life's blood belong to my lord. and soon Burst Duke's revival will be completed but you you will never bask in the glory of my lord for I shall bring down his justice

and let his children bathe in your blood as he said this he charged forward reaching for the axe I warned him not to move but he made his choice I felt the welcome feeling of the gun recoiling in my hand

the vibrations that sent up my arm. My aim was bit off, but all three rounds found a home. The first two ripped into his stomach, filling the already stink and clearing with the smell of rotted meat and fecal stew. The third snapped his head back as it buried its way between those black as night eyes. Fulfilling my promise is spraying his precious tree with his brain matter and skull fragments. Vader crumpled in a heap on the ground adjacent to the leftover pieces of the girly burglary. I was touched earlier. I heard crackling on a Bluetooth.

Is he dead? Jack asked. Again with that ice-cold voice he dawned when he was talking about taking lives and stacking bodies. I was pretty sure, but I started walking over to make certain I'd be facing manslaughter charges in my near future. I was a foot away when Vitter's hand bolted out and grabbed my ankle. Pain shot out my leg. This gripped like a bear trap. I put two more rounds in his skull, which caused his head to once again violently flail backwards, smashing into the ground. But his fucking hand stood strong. I reached down and grabbed the axe and took a powerful downward swing,

severing his bony appendage and releasing the pressure on my ankle. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the fear. But one thing I finally noticed was that he wasn't bleeding. Five bullets in a detached hand but barely any blood. just a small trickle from the axe wound. I swear I saw brain and skull fly out when I popped him in the head. Jack, he isn't fucking bleeding. I put five fucking rounds in this asshole and chopped off his hand.

Just a few drops. I said desperately trying to express my confusion. From what I can read, the servant will drain all his blood to feed the early parts of Burstuck's development. Jack said, finally with a hint of work, in his voice. Bobby, I think this might be the real thing. As Jack spoke the last word,

Vitter's eyes turned towards me as the holes in his face healed themselves. He let out a gutter or laugh and roared. I have already proclaimed. I have been given the gift of immortality by the great Lord Burstook, and no corporeal weapons can scape me. If you heard him, he stays down for a minute.

Do something and get the fuck out of that. There. Jack yelled through the headset, and he was right. I picked up the axe before Vader could make a move and brought it down onto his skull, splitting it almost clean in half. I saw as what was left if his brain matter spilled out onto the forest floor. No way he's getting up from that any time soon. I said into the mic, I cut that fucker's head clean in half. Still, instead of admiring your morbid handiwork, why don't you get the fuck out of there?

Jack yelled into my ear. He was right. I started booking it through the woods, hopefully towards my truck and the large can of gasoline I kept in the bed. Even though I was at most 200 yards away from my truck, my swollen ankle kept me from getting there quickly. Vid was probably already healed up and fixing to feed me to his tree. Luckily, I had Jack help me keep my shit straight as I made my way back to my waiting ram 1500. When I made it to the yard, I went around the side with the painting and made sure to give Burstook the bird and said, I'm gonna burn you down, motherfucker.

And all your little tree babies. Oh, and your servant bitter? I'm gonna gut him slow. Just you wait, bitch. Jack chirped in my ear. You may need some therapy when this is all said and done. Way ahead of you. Apparently I have PTSD.

I responded. Don't we all. Jack said with a bit of humor in his voice. When we were talking, I made it back to the ram and started sifting through all my junk looking for my gas. can. Found it. I said triumphantly. My lucky ladder's in the dash. Jack, I may not die today. You should set your standards a bit higher. But let's hold off from celebrating until you ice the

tree monster and his sidekick. Heard? Jack asked. Heard. I responded. Slightly annoyed. He wouldn't let me have at least one second to chill. Then I grinned to myself as I pulled out the naked woman-shaped ladder I'd had since I was 18. It was the last birthday gift I got for my pops. Yeah, he was the kind of guy that bought his son a tit-covered lighter that had nipples that glowed in the dark. I love my pops. All right, Jack, I'm taking a long walk back. Hopefully I don't run into Vitter.

Bullets in him and keep moving. Jack said, back with that frigid voice of his. I started my way back toward that god-awful scene in the woods to when my best remain quiet and unseen. The pain of my ankle subsided, or my mind gave up on trying to tell me to lay off it for a while, so I was able to move a bit quicker. My ultimate goal was to get back there and find Vitter split open like a pinata. I made it about 10 feet out when I say a familiar semi-nude man standing in the clearing, as if he was waiting for me.

I guess no luck on him still spilling guts on the dirt. Jack, fuckface is standing again. I'm going to pop a few more rounds in and maybe hack off a foot. Don't waste any time, man. Who knows how close burstuck is to coming back? Put a round in Vitter's skull and sat that fucking tree on fire. Jack commanded. He was right.

I charged forward and before Vitter could react, I placed another round between the little shit's eyes. Crumpled back to the ground. And just for shits and giggles, I grabbed the axe and swung it right in the back of his skull. I turned around to face the nightmare tree and tried to figure out how to go about burrs. burning down this monster. Bobby, from what I can tell, all you got to do is set the trunk on fire. That should take care of it. Jack instructed from the headset.

Also, it says something in the article you should probably hear. Do not speak to the old God because he can and will bend you to his purpose. So don't talk to the tree. Great. I'm going to get Jedi mine fucked from a fucking tree. Can't wait to tell him a shrink. And that's when I saw this thing's face. It was just like the painting, but more expressive, angrier.

I started pouring the gas in the base of the tree trunk, which added another wonderful smell that this already shit and death-filled clearing. As I poured the last of the gas on a burst, he decided he was going to speak up. Hello, Robin. His voice sounded like Barry White after I bought a laryngitis. Why do you attack me? Why have you hurt my faithful servant? we meant you no harm

All we want is to bless the world with my glory I looked at the old God's face while he was talking but now once did I see his mouth move was as if he was speaking in my mind Don't talk to him Bobby Just light him up and go home I thought Then his voice spoke up again

Robert you have accomplished nothing Since leaving your warrior class. I can grant you immortality in the life of bliss. New women every day. Your coffers filled with limitless gold and powers over all of the men. Take my root and drink

deeply from my life's blood. And your every desire will be fulfilled. As he said this, a spigot formed from his trunk directly in front of my face. Jack, the tree is talking, and mumbled. Don't listen, Bobby. Jack yelled from the headset. He's just distracting you.

He doesn't need two slaves. Think about it. As Jack was yelling, I felt myself drawn to the spigot-shaped rip protruding from Brestook's body. Fight it, Bobby. For some reason, being accused of licking windows pulled me back to reality. It was almost too late. Vitter was sneaking up behind me with the same axe. I split his skull.

with twice. At the last second, I dodged his swing by jumping backwards into Burstook as I felt the axe sweat past my face. As I dodged the attack, I dropped my lighter into a tangle of Burstook's ruts. I was able to lift up my 40 and pull the trigger four times, but only three rounds came out the barrel. The last got jammed in the chamber. I watched as one of the bullets struck right where his heart should be. But this time, Bitter didn't even go down. He stumbled slightly and closer, laughing maniacally the whole time. Fool! Burst took his close to being completed, and his power has fueled me to unprecedented strengths.

Now be still, and I will end this quick." Vitter proclaimed, do me a favor, and answer two questions, and I won't fight anymore. I said in my most defeated voice, Vitter seemed to ignore my request until... Let him speed, my faithful servant. Burstuck boomed. His weapon has ceased to be useful and can do us no harm. His begging for life will amuse me. I heard in my ear.

Jack begged. Ignoring Jack, I got onto my knees and discreetly grabbed my lighter while feigning injury. Dying on your knees. How pathetic. Vitter mocked. Ask your questions. and be done with it. I looked Vitter in his dead eyes and asked,

why would you ever let me distract you? As I asked Vitter this question, I hit the starter on my pops old lighter and dove forward as I felt my ass being scorched from the burning gasoline fumes. An unholy scream erupted in my head, causing my ears to ache and my head to spin. Burstook couldn't finish the sentence because the flames reached his face.

I saw as the bark that was his flesh charred and burned. The whole while he was screaming into my head. I was able to shake off the shock and turn my attention back to Vitter, hoping he was no longer immortal. He just stood there, staring at his master with tears welling up in his eyes. Why have you done the part of the great Lord Burstook? But you have slain him. Vitter cried.

my last act as his servant will be to avenge him and take the life of... Before I let this asshole finish the sentence, I unjammed my Glock and shot him in the stomach, just so I get the chance to watch him die slowly. I looked down in Vitter, and it seemed to spell or whatever it was had begun to wear off, because he looked like he was in pain. His intestines were spilling out of his intestines were spilling out of his. the gaping wound in his gut and I finally saw the right amount of blood starting to pool in the dirt. In a weak voice, he said,

My whole life in servitude to my lord, ended by a low man, a servant. As he spoke, I saw blood trickle out the side of his mouth. I guess a bullet fragment ended up in his lungs. I felt that was the right time to ask my last question. Oh, yeah, before I forget, and before you die. Why the fuck did you order satellite TV? I asked hoping I would find out why I was out there in the first place.

Vitter smiled, bloody smile, looked me in the eyes and said softly. I... I missed the view. That raven's... Simone, it's a hoot. I thought my opinion of this pathetic shit couldn't get any lower. But when he said the view was the reason my ass was out here, I emptied the rest of my magazine into his skull,

spraying his fucking brains for the last time onto the forest floor. Jack, it's over. The trees burning up and Vitter emptied his insides on the ground. If it wasn't for you, buddy, I had never made it. I owe you a drink, brother, I said into the mic. So an ancient deity and his undying sycophant killed by an out-of-shaped former Marine-turned cable technician. Who the hell would have thought? Jack said.

I'm glad you're okay, buddy. But looks like the local PD finally noticed. They gave me a holler on the other line and the frigging sheep. A thief of police gave me a serious tongue lashing, yelling about some crazy nut blasting off rounds in the woods. I'm about 85% positive. I just saved the world, and I'm probably going to get arrested for murder. I complained. Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll probably get popped for helping your ass out. So, want to be prison roomies?

Jack asked with a hanny humor. I grunted in response as I heard the distant sirens. Oh, well. at least I won't have to install cable anymore. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com.

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