Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2022 - Day 7: Michigan's Dogman & Campfire Tales

Episode Date: July 25, 2022

The Legend of Michigan's Dogman***written by: CR Productions and narrated by: Nate Dufort***Campfire Tales***Written by: EmpyRealInvective and narrated by: JV Hampton-VanSant***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***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Megan McDuffee 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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Spots are already filling up, so don't miss out on your chance to have your story up here this October. Check out all the details at Creepympie. pod.com slash submissions. Now. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing, creepy fosters, 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 violence and explicit language. listener discretion is advised. Hey, everyone. Hey, John. Well, that was weird as shit.

What's going on? Nothing. Just excited to tell some campfire stories. Oh. I see what's going on here. What? What? Nothing. What?

I mean, nothing's going on here. What possibly do you mean? I guess I should have known this was going to happen sooner or later. I can't say that comes as a surprise. Um, you know? Sure. I took college psych, so clearly I know everything there is a know about the human mind.

I could have seen this coming a mile away. You all have Stockholm syndrome. Its feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage taking by a victim towards a captor. Which, for the legal record, I am not and you are not. What? No, we don't. We were... Yeah, that's it. Stockholm syndrome. Yeah, I've got a bad case of that.

Oh man, I've got so much Stockholm syndrome, it itches. I'm not going to lie. I'm a little glad this is where we're at. It'll make the rest of this just fly by. Now we can just start having fun. Doing all the things I told you that you have to do in order to see your loved ones again. So, who has a story? Thought you all were excited to tell stories. What were you talking about before I walked up to the fire?

How long we think you could hold your breath? Ow! Watch the rings, Chief. Geez. I'll allow it. Nate, you must have a scary story in you somewhere. You're from a barren wasteland of hopelessness. I'm from Detroit. Yeah.

So, what did I say? Um... Okay, sure. This will buy us some time. I can tell you about the legend. of the Michigan dogman. So the officer and I went out there to take a look at it, and, you know, he just tried to chew in around the doors.

And you could see a dog print outside on the window there. So you know it was obviously a dog. The song, Somewhere in the Northwood's darkness, a creature walks upright. And the best advice you may ever get is never to go out at night. The very strange thing happened after the poem was aired on radio

on April 1, 1987, and it became obvious the story was not going to fade away. The first two times the song was played, there was no viewer reaction or calls. Cook and O'Malley were prepared to let the failed prank die when the phone lines started lighting up. People were calling in asking about that weird song. Listeners asked,

Who did that song on the Dogman thing? And when are you going to play it again? O'Malley took a call from an elderly man who stated that he was chilled to the bone after hearing the song because he'd actually seen a similar creature years before. That was the first of many sighting reports that would pour into the station over the next few weeks. Scores of people told of stories and encounters with a creature that was very much like Cook's fabricated dogman.

Within one month, the legend of the dogman became the most requested song on the air, and for a short time was added into the regular rotation of the music. Other stories began to surface and be compared to the Michigan Dogman story. A century old, a mysterious Indian legend revealed shocking similarities. A French fur trader's diary from 1804 told of an encounter with Loop Garou. A letter from 1857 described a creature that stood upright like a man, yet bore the continents of a gray wolf. A real dogman sighting investigated by Lake County Sheriff Deputy Jeff Chamberlain,

who was accompanied by Department of Natural Resources Officer Ron McCarty, was picked up and reported on by Mark Marantette, a reporter for the Cadillac Evening News. Then, other news outlets picked up the story and was later fed down the Associated Press Newswire and thus was picked up by newspapers all across America. It was even mentioned as a strange coincidence in Paul Harvey's national news and comments broadcast.

McCarty called the TV station WTCM, stating that he and Chamberlain had openly joked about how this sighting would fit in with the seventh-year prophecy made in the song. McCarty's voice would later appear in the beginning of the 10th anniversary version of the song, The Legend 97. Suddenly, The Legend soared into national prominence and became a hit song once again,

only this time on a much larger scale. Requests for copies came in from all 50 states and around the world. Eventually, the master tape never, considered to be of real value had been destroyed, and Steve Cook went into the studio again, this time with an upgraded keyboard and recorded the song a second time. A few changes were made to the lyrics to update the legend for summer. When it was finished, the second master recording was shipped to Southfield, Michigan for mass production. The first 500 copies arrived a week later, been sold out in 12 days. The legend had quickly become hot property with record

stores and radio stations across the country calling the station requesting copies. A large record company offered to record and promote the song, and Steve Cook faced the difficult decision of whether to release the legend on a national scale or to keep it local and manageable. Steve chose to keep it local. The music and lyrics were copyrighted by Mindstage Productions, Cook's Marketing and Advertising Company. More and more copies of the tape, which was originally priced at $3, were sold. In the fall of 1987, WTCM held an art contest, which allowed amateur artists the chance to submit works, depicting what they thought the dogman looked like. There were over 100 entries. Some were exceptional, but by far the most chilling and dramatic was an 11 by

17 charcoal sketch done by Brian Rizinski, who was only 23 years old at the time and never had a formal art lesson. The song was never intended to be a marketable vehicle for profit, and Cook made the decision early on that any profits earned derived from its sale would be donated to charity. The first charity was the Traverse City Cherryland Humane Society, which scored $2,500 towards drilling a new water well and the remodeling of the adult dog facility, which included new floor tile and pens. In 2001, Cook was introduced to Brian Manley, founder of A.C. Paw, a no-kill animal rescue program that specializes in lost causes. A.C. Paw takes in animals that have been injured, abused, or neglected, or that have used up to the maximum boarding time in traditional facilities and are about to be euthanized. They rehabilitate animals through a unique foster care network and eventually place them in a loving home. Cook was so impressed with the AC Paw program, he shifted all donations from the proceeds of The Legend to their cause, and thus,

The legend of the dogman's legacy lives on for animals in need. While the legend has never been formally distributed for airplay on other radio stations, it's been heard across the USA and the world. Many young adults grew up hearing it and remembering it scaring them at summer campfire storytelling sessions. The legend has inspired movie screenplays, stage productions, numerous books, term papers, at least one master's thesis and countless classroom projects at all grade levels. In spite of the initial belief that the song would be a radio bit designed to run one day only, interest in The Legend continues to grow.

Steve Cook receives 10 to 20 reported sightings each year, many supported by dramatic evidence. Perhaps the best description of the legacy of The Legend came from WT, DCM morning host Jack O'Malley. The song has been firmly woven into the fabric of Northern Michigan. It is part of the culture now, part of the folklore. The legend will be here long after we are gone. The Gable Film. In an estate sale, an old film was found in a box.

After viewing it, a home video of a strange attack was discovered. The film shows a young boy, filming a film. normal family stuff until a truck ride passing by a field shows a creature of some sort. They stop the truck and film the creature until it charges to attack. The attack is somewhat caught on tape and even shows the mouth of the animal. The mouth rules out ape and dog origin. Some people claim this is the dogman. Encounters

Big Rews Big Rapids, 1961. When I was a boy, my father was the Knight Watchman at a manufacturing plant located in a rural area between Big Rapids and Chippewa Lake, Michigan. Our house, which, if I remember right, was a perk of the night watchman's job, was across the street from the factory. The plant building was right next to a large wilderness area of state land. At that time, it was simply known as the Haymarsh.

but now it is officially called the Haymarsh State Game Area. We didn't understand it at the time, but Dad was always very skittish about letting us play outside after dark. He would sometimes talk about hearing coyotes or bears roaming around in the Haymarsh when he was walking the perimeter of the building at night. One night, in the summer of 1961, Dad walked back to the house to sit on the porch

and have a cup of coffee in a sweet roll. He had a good view of the entire plant property. He saw some movement near a chain-link fence behind the building. This was approximately 3 a.m., so he felt quite sure this person wasn't there by accident. He drew his gun and watched for a few minutes. That's when he noticed. This was not a person at all, but something much taller. He said it appeared to be covered in brown, gray fur.

It had very broad shoulders in a powerful chest. It alternated between walking on four legs, then standing up on two. He said it seemed to be looking for something along the driveway. He said later he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He quietly moved into the house and grabbed his Kodak Signet 35-millimeter camera, which was his pride and joy. At this point, I should mention that Dad was quite a photocetious. buff. His father had owned one of the first camera stores in Ohio, and dad got the shutterbug

from Grandpa. As he stepped back onto the front porch, the creature moved slowly along the driveway, directly under the lights. He adjusted the camera shutter for a long exposure, held it as still as he could. He said he was shaking pretty bad by then, and snapped a picture. I've enclosed a print of it in this letter. Dad said a few seconds later, the thing dropped back down to all fours and slowly moved off into the woods. He sent a print to the local newspaper and sent copies to several magazines. One that I think was called Mysterian published the photo in their spring issue of 1962. Dad had a copy of the magazine for years, but it was misplaced after he passed away. I still have the negative strip that contains this image.

If you would like to have someone examine it, I also still have Dad's Kodak Signet. I haven't shot any pictures with it for several years, but I'm pretty sure it still works. Sparta, 1987. One weekend back around fall, 1987, my two best friends and I were staying at my family's cabin, which is not far from the small town of Sparta,

about 20 minutes north of Grand Rapids. My two friends left to have dinner while I stayed behind at the cabin. Following the dinner, the men headed back towards Sparta and the cabin. What happened next would shock and disturb them for years. It was dark, and they were on a rural road. Suddenly, both of them saw something standing by the side of the road. In the headlights of the car, it appeared to be a human-like figure covered in gray fur. As they got closer and passed the figure, both of them got a very good look at it.

It was the size of a man, stood on two legs. It was covered head to toe in gray fur and had a wolf-like face. It even raised its hands and seemed to snarl at them as they drove by. They said it looked like a werewolf out of a Hollywood movie. My two friends didn't dare stop. They continued driving. And of course, they were peppering each other with questions. Did you see that, too?

Was it a dog? Was that someone dressed up in a costume? And so on. As they're having this animated conversation, they passed by the sign that says, Welcome to Sparta, and drove through the small Main Street and continued on,

out of the town, in the direction of my cabin. Their conversation about what had just happened continued when both of them looked up to see that same welcome to Sparta sign again, followed by the same main street that they had just driven through only moments ago. They hadn't stopped or turned around. They had been traveling in the same direction, on the same road, but somehow, without any noticeable interruption in their journey, they had somehow been sent backwards, several miles.

until this point it would be easy to dismiss the event as someone playing a joke however the time displacement characteristic is what sets this encounter apart while such things are well documented in UFO and alien abduction stories it's something we've not seen before

in dogman sighting reports Andy continues I remember when they finally showed up at my cabin they arrived no later than what I expected them to around 9 p.m. or so. And I remember how animated they were about their strange encounter, but I just assumed that they'd seen a large dog and were telling me an abelish story in order to get a laugh. But 20 years later, both of them still insist that this was no joke. I have no idea what to make of this story. Maybe it was just some teenagers in a werewolf

costume playing pranks. And did my friends really experience lost time afterwards? Or did they just make some wrong turns on their drive and didn't notice because they were talking and distracted? I have no idea, but I would love to know if anyone else has seen similar things in the Sparta area. Reed City, 1993 The area around Reed City, Michigan has been a hotbed of dogman activity.

This report details an event that occurred nearly 20 years ago, but the witness remembers it like it was yesterday, and is unshakable in her story. Her name is Courtney, and her encounter took place the winter of 1993-94. Courtney was a teenager at the time, and was sneaking cigarettes behind her parents' home near Todd Lake northeast of Reed City.

The sun was setting on a clear cold, winter day. Courtney was facing a large abandoned barn on the property next door. The barn had always kind of spooked me. It was filled with rusty old equipment. The outer planks were all rotten and it sagged and leaned in every direction. My dad said to stay away as the whole thing would collapse. On that evening, I was standing about 50 feet from the barn and saw sunlight coming through the gaps in the siding. Courtney took her eyes off the barn for a few minutes. Then something caught her attention again. There was some movement. The light flickered, but I couldn't really tell what it was. Then it turned its head back and looked straight at me. It was at least six feet tall, if not more.

It was dark colored. It had a dog-like appearance, pointy nose and really big pointy ears. Courtney dashed into her house to grab a flashlight. When she returned outside, she shined it toward the barn, but the animal was no longer there. She walked closer to the barn to look for tracks in the heavy snow. When she didn't see any, she realized the creature might still be inside and ran back to the safety of the house.

She never saw the creature again. She later talked to a neighbor who had done. seen something, the size of a buffalo, but the shape of a dog, in the same barn a few months before Courtney's encounter. The neighbor said she'd been so frightened, she was near hysterics for days. Her father had taken his gun and searched the barn, but found nothing there. At the time of these events, neither of the girls had heard of the legend song and did not know about the Michigan Dogman legend until years later. Watersmeat, 1994.

This report comes to us from an anonymous contributor who grew up in Sheboygan County, but spent many summers camping on family property in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. This encounter took place in the area of Watersmeat, home of the famous Paulding Lights phenomenon. Oddly enough, the Paulding Lights are also known, as the dog meadow lights. I was 13. I'd just gotten new rollerblades for Christmas,

and since the main road where our property sits is paved, I couldn't wait to ride around. I went blading by myself and stopped to rest for a second. On this road, the woods are so thick, there's not much space between the roads and the woods at most parts. I remember seeing trees pushed down on the road that my dad said was done by bears. He was an avid bear hunter.

I remember not hearing any of your normal sounds of nature, not even birds. The air was still, and the sky would be pure dark in not too long. I was deciding to turn back when I heard a rustling behind me, and something emerged from the left side of the road. I assumed it was a deer and paused and made myself as quiet as I could so I could watch it, and slumped down to my stomach in the middle of the road. It was about 600 feet ahead of me. When I got myself settled in the road to watch it and looked up,

I realized what I was looking at wasn't a deer. It was on all fours with gray-brown fur. At first, I feared the worst, thinking a bear had caught my scent, until I saw its outline in color. I thought I was looking at a dog until I realized the face was too primitive, like a fox or a coyotes. At this point in my life, I'd never seen a wolf in real life,

and it was too far for me to make out the face exactly. The Michigan Department of Natural Resources has always recognized that wild wolves still roamed in the upper peninsula, although they were thought to be in very limited numbers and only in extremely remote areas. It is conceivable this witness was seeing one of those wolves, but then something very strange happened. It extended its front legs, then the slowest, longest seconds of my life, stood up on its hind legs, sniffed the air, walked for about five steps, then got back down on all fours,

and walked to the other side of the woods, then disappeared. I don't remember how long I laid in the middle of the road in the empty space I saw this thing stand like a human. I remember my jaw hanging down as low as it could and a pool of drool on the cement under it. It finally clicked in my mind that, perhaps, I should rollerblade my butt back to camp as quick as I could. The witness reports that while the creature never stalked or pursued her, she slept very little during the rest of the family camping trip. she never told anyone about what she had seen fearing she might be ridiculed at the time of the sighting she had never heard of the legend song and would not until two thousand four she moved to southern california in two thousand eight and has no interest in camping ever again alpina two thousand one my dad and i have a story to tell about our encounters with the dog man

My dad's story took place in the mid-70s. There's a cemetery behind the Alpena High School and a wooded area behind that. There are many trails that run through here. In this area is a place called the Sandys, where all the young kids would go and party. My dad and two of his buddies were in a canoe in broad daylight paddling from the Sandys around the back of the cemetery. The banks of the river are ten to twelve feet high in places, and some trails, run right to the edge. The three of them saw what looked to be a big dog

running behind them on the trail. They didn't pay much attention to it until they heard a splash. When they looked, it was swimming after them. Then it went from a dog paddle to the chest and front legs coming out of the water and waiting after them.

They decided right then not to wait around to see what it was. honestly, I thought it was BS at the time, and I'm still not sure even to this day if it was something that they'd been smoking or drinking. Then, around 2001, 2002, I was leading some friends through the Sandy's trails. They used to like taking people out there without a flashlight and tell them my dad's story to freak them out. The girls were freaked out before we even got into the woods, so I'd like taking people out. I decided not to scare them at night. In the river are several small islands connected by a small sliver of land.

At that time, there were three such islands chained together, and I took them through to the last one, which was planted with pines and nice even rows. I was the first one back there, about 30 seconds ahead, when one of the girls got her foot hung up on something. As I was going back to help her, there was a spot where the trees made a sort of roof effect, which is really cool looking at night when the moon shining through. At that point, I saw something.

I'm not sure what it was, but it sent me running out double time. When my buddy saw my face, he didn't say a word. He just followed, both of us dragging the girls behind us. When he asked me later why I came out in such a hurry, I told him it was because I thought I had seen something at the other end of the island walking through the trees. I was very tall and not likely human. He may not have believed me, but he never questioned it either. I'm still not sure what I saw.

I could easily have been that I scared myself with Dad's story and was seeing things. But I know this. I still don't like the dark. And even though I love hunting, I hate going out before the sun comes up during dear sea. season. Bendon, 2007. This sighting report is told secondhand by the brother-in-law of the witness. The witness is a prominent person in local government and wishes to remain anonymous. The situation started last night, around midnight, when he was coming home from a friend's house in Benzonia and taking the way back home to Traverse City. He stated that while traveling down

cinder road several miles outside of the town of Bendon, he observed a pair of eyes reflecting off his headlights ahead of him. Thinking that it was probably a deer along the side of the road, he began to slow down. As he got closer, however, he stated that the object was much larger and much darker than a deer. He said that by this time he had slowed to around 30 miles per hour and was at that point several hundred feet from the creature which still hadn't moved. As he approached further, he stated that the only way he could describe the creature was being similar to a very large dark wolf. However, he observed that this thing wasn't on four legs,

but was upright, his back two legs standing near a roadkill deer. He estimated that the creature stood a little over six feet tall and had very dark fur. He stated that, by now, he was going slow enough to bring his truck to a stop in the road and observed the creature, which had not yet moved, and was still staring at him.

He told me that for a brief second, he believed that the object was a giant stuffed animal, put there as some kind of joke due to the fact that he'd never seen anything like this in his life, and that he was able to drive up on it, as close as he was without it having moved an inch he told me however that before he could finish that thought the creature then dropped to all four legs and sprinted across the road and disappeared into the woods on the other side of the roadway he told me that he stayed frozen in his seat for a minute wondering in the middle of the road of what the heck had just happened i jokingly asked him if you had been drinking that night and with a little of the night and with a little of the middle of the road of what the heck had just happened i jokingly asked him if you had been drinking that night and with a little bit of the night and with a deadly serious face. He stated, no, whatever that was. It was for real. As perplexed as he was

that night over what he had seen, he was deathly afraid to go wandering into the woods to investigate further. He said that in using a flashlight, he observed in animals' tracks leading into the woods on the opposite side of the road and was fortunate enough that night to have his digital camera with them. He showed me a photograph of the paw print, which he said appeared to be about seven or eight inches long. He had another picture of the same paw print where he placed a shotgun shell in the middle for scale. He told me that he was lucky that the side of the road was so soft, because he wasn't willing to go any farther than two or three steps away from the door to his truck to get a picture. I inquired if the animal had made any sounds before it disappeared.

and he said that he did not hear it make any noise, and were it not for the picture, he would have thought that he had imagined the whole thing. I asked him if he could have been a bear, and he stated, absolutely not. He bear hunts every year in the Upper Peninsula, so he obviously knows what bears look like up close. That's his story. Believe it if you like. If I didn't know him as well as I do and hadn't seen the pictures, I would have said that he was out of his mind.

I've heard the song and know some of the stories, but always believed it was just for entertainment value. After this happened, though, I'm looking at all of this under a whole new light. Should we be worried that Nate said the poem out loud? No, it's just an urban legend. That doesn't make it any less true. I wouldn't be worried.

Why? Because I'm not the one leaving the campsite in the middle of the night. I don't have to go alone if someone else reads a story. Strength and numbers. Well, I have a... Ow! J.V! Did you put on more rings since the last slap?

Desperate times. I'm not getting stuck here with Jack and Jerry. Who? Doesn't matter, because it's time for me to tell you some campfire tales. Be real invective. Dude, you cough weird. Go on, J.V., you were saying? I will always remember the ragman,

not necessarily for the rags of clothes he wore, his thousand-yard stare, or his way of talking like he was the only one listening, but for the story he told me. You see, stories have become our method of introducing ourselves. The other questions we would normally ask have been rendered useless. There is little point in asking what your job is when you have no job.

There is no point in asking what your favorite TV show is when there is no longer any real functioning electrical system. There is no point in asking about their family. You get the point. I have no real method of telling time anymore. but if I had to hazard a guess, I would assume at least two years have passed since it all started. It feels longer than two years since those undead things came along and began to nod down on our population to nothing but bones.

When they came, the modern world was lost. Generators fell into disrepair, and we were plunged back into what felt like colonial times. I was a huge fan of movies, which, unfortunately, were one of the many casualties of the undead. I have since picked up a new hobby. You could call me a collector of sorts. I gather stories. I collect all sorts of stories, but the ones that intrigue me most are people's experience from the zombie apocalypse. Those stories are the most appealing to me, because everyone has their own unique experience.

They usually pertain to what they were doing on the day of the initial outbreak. Some are sad, some are funny, like this one about the girl who had decided to try DMT for the first time in her life, and thought the zombies were a hallucination brought on by a... bad drug trip for a week straight before realizing that that was way too long to be hallucinating. But only one has really resonated with me these two years. I met the ragman in a burnt-out building. I had been moving from place to place looking for somewhere to stay. The allure of the fire he had built was too great. I ventured into the deteriorating building, ignoring my fear that I could be walking into an ambush. I just wanted a place to stay for the night where I wouldn't drift off

to sleep and fear that I would be woken up by one of those things gnawing on me. I found the ragman crouched in front of the fire. He barely acknowledged my presence, where most would draw their weapon and demand that I identify myself, he merely craned his head up to take a quick look at me before dropping it back down to the crackling fire. I took this as an invitation and sat down near the warmth. It had been the first time in weeks I was able to warm up my body from the cold night's air. The crackling and roaring fire brought memories of spooky campfire tales and rancers. roasting s'mores.

I call him the ragman, because he gave no formal introduction. He was a haggard-looking man in about his 50s. His beard looked like a razor hadn't touched it since the undead started walking around. He was emaciated, and in a world where everyone is practically a walking skeleton, saying he was gaunt is no unmasiated. understatement or literary flourish. His clothes had been reduced to rags by months of strenuous activity. It looked like he had bundled up with two or three layers of clothing, but all had been worn down to strips and rags. We regarded each other in silence for a few moments before he began talking without

introduction or statement of intention. He began. The first few days of the outbreak, we took shelter in a building. It was in that office building where we eked out those first few days. We ate the food that we found in the break room. A lot of people talked about what was happening. The general consensus was that the military was on the way. They had to be. I mean, this was America we were talking about. We expected the military resurgence to be quick and effective. We thought of this hellish plague as being something that would be solved in a matter of days. I had my first real encounter with an infected the night we first went into the office building. One of my group suggested we searched the areas.

to make sure we were truly safe in this barricaded building. Most of the employees had fled. It seemed like no one wanted to spend the apocalypse in their old place of work. There was no one except for one lone worker who had decided to go down with the ship. He was dressed in a white button-up shirt that was stained red. Of course, I was the one who found. him and had to take care of him. He slowly turned towards me.

His mouth was stained red, and he had recently begun to rot. I grabbed the closest weapon I could find, which was a red stapler. I stepped towards him and swung down with all my might. The first blow knocked him right on his ass. I thought I had killed him. But when he started getting up, I quickly realized how resilient these things were. I struck him again and again. At this point, the ragman became quite animated.

As if lost in a trance, he reenacted the vicious attack and brought his right hand down on an invisible target. The ragman continued as he emphasized his story with his actions. I must have beat its head in with that red stapler 20 or 30 times before it finally stopped moving. I took one last look at that bloody bony mess that was once its face before I threw up in a nearby trash can. Then I dragged the body over a window and shoved it out. I didn't watch it impact on the street below. I went back to the others and took it. didn't breathe a word about what I had done.

I wasn't sure why I never told them. I think in the end it was a few parts guilt and a few other parts not wanting to scare them. I had just killed what was once a man quite brutally. I had beat him to death with a stapler in my hand until his face split open and his brain started leaking out. The other part was fear. I didn't want to scare them by letting them know that there were those things here in the building,

and they were practically impossible to kill. Looking back on it, I wish I had told them. We sat huddled in that building for days. I mentioned maybe leaving to find another place or scavenge for food, but my thoughts were quickly shot down. They were convinced that the army was coming to the rescue, and they were only days away. They didn't want to risk going out into this new and dangerous world.

They just wanted to hunker down and wait. We woke up the next day to the sound of helicopter flying overhead. It took me a few seconds to make the connections. The others knew the implications right away, and they shot to their feet and began tearing away at the makeshift barricade we had set to keep those flesh-eating fiends out. They flew out into the streets, waving their hands and trying to catch the helicopter's attention. They made so much sound.

They thought the helicopter was the military coming in to save the day. I didn't. I saw it as the last dying gasp of an entire system collapsing under the onslaught of the dead. That helicopter wasn't here to begin the evacuation of civilians. If anything, it was fleeing from the base as the undead creatures swarmed over it and nod everything to bones. I stood in the doorway and watched them shout and wave. It was in that moment that I realized the difference between me and them. It was hope and fear.

They had hope and thought the military was about to come riding in on their white horses and save the day. I had fear. I had faced one of those undead things. I knew how resilient. and practically impervious to damage they were. I knew that no one was coming to save us, and the only option we had left was to save ourselves. It was my fear that saved me.

They made so much noise. The Ragman paused like there was something he really wanted to say but couldn't find the words. His eyes were red and wet with tears. I wasn't sure if it was the smoke or his memories that made them look that way. He continued. The sounds drew so many of them. In the space of a few seconds, it was too late, and they were on them,

scratching, biting, tearing away at their flesh. They tried to wade through the undead horde to get back to. the building, but it was too late. I did the only thing I could. His voice cracked, and he took a few seconds before he was able to finish that thought. It came out sounding rhythmic like the tolling of a death knell. I shut the door. I knew that there was nothing more I could do. I knew that there was nothing more I could do. There were so many of those undead bastards, and I was so terrified. If killing one of those things was so hard, how could I manage 15? The zombies were distracted now, but if I let them back in, it would be the death of us all.

I started barricading the door. Some made it through the map. of the undead flesh and started pounding on the door. I tried to shut my ears to their supplications and pleading. I kept telling myself that it was too late for them. I told myself I could make it through all of this if I just shut up and ignored them. I could survive if I abandoned them.

They realized what I was doing to them, and they're begging about being let you. being let in turned into curses. They... They called me the worst names imaginable. His entire body sagged like he was a balloon that someone had stuck a pin in. He deflated and managed to squeeze out the last words.

They called me terrible names. They called me, friend, husband, father they they he completely sank into himself and dissolved into tears he sobbed and wept incoherently he said nothing for the rest of the night and i said nothing to him there was nothing i could say to him nothing i wanted to say to him we both went to sleep on separate sides of the fire and despite the warmth i felt a chill throughout my body. I'm not sure why the ragman told me that story. Did he want someone to confess to?

Did he want to be punished for abandoning his family? I'll never know the answer to that question, because when I woke up the next morning, the haggard, ragged man was gone. Only the smouldering fire was left behind as proof that he had, in fact, existed. To be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure if he was even alive to begin with. I mean, how could a man survive after something like that, after losing, no, abandoning his family?

Was he just another victim of the zombies? Was he just another one of the walking dead? Did, uh, did a zombie apocalypse start since we've been out here? John, is that why you brought us out here to save us? Yes. I don't have to walk back to civilization, just to have to run from zombies? It's just a story. Hopefully.

A lot could have happened in the last few weeks. Come on, Nate. I want to get out of here before October. See you, Owen. Wait, what about that pact to not? leave anyone here alone with John because he's probably going to kill us all, but we need to kill him first. The what? Oh yeah. About that. And then there were two. Dude, you really thought I was going to kill you? No. What's that behind your back? Oh, this. This is for roasting marshmallows. It looks like a broomstick

you sharpened into a wooden steak. I'm not a vampire. So stabbing me in the heart with a wooden steak isn't going to kill me. I'm pretty sure stabbing anything in the heart with a wooden steak will kill it. I agree to disagree. I'm going to go get some sleep. See you later. Not if I see you first. Information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

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