Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2022 - Day 9: The Heretic's Handbook & Arizona

Episode Date: August 1, 2022

The Heretic's Handbook***Written by: John Ballentine***Arizona***Narrated by: Owen McCuen***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.

Welcome to the Bloody Disgusting Network. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Sarah, Jerry K. Hewitt, Jess, Knight of Ducks, Jim Snow, Theo Judd, and Michelle Morales. To see how you can support the podcast and get rewarded with early commercial free access to all episodes, bonus episodes, and more. Please check out our donation tiers at patreon.com slash creepypod. And before we wrap up our time here at camp, I wanted to announce my first ever chance to talk on a podcast. panel. That's right. On August 24th, a podcast movement in Dallas, Texas. I'll be sharing the stage with Pacific Obadi of SEP Archives and Lake Clarity, and shall be Scott of Scarey to sleep to talk

about how to make horror fiction. Not sure if there are any podcasters in the audience who will be there, but if so, I'd love to meet and chat. Anyway, got to go. Owen's been getting a bit antsy as of now. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and dishealing and dissoning. sternly creepy fosters and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or much simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. The loneliness was what got to me first.

I hadn't seen a soul since turning on to the Cape Road. No wonder Nan's letter It sounded so desperate This time Paul had gone too far Literally The road was climbing Road

It was little more than a rutted track The trees leaned over heavy With dead man's beard The forest was closing in It was like driving in a dark tunnel If my bearings were right There was a lighthouse at the end of the time What do you listen to

to. Camp Fire Radio Theater? You're listening to another podcast on our podcast? Dude, we all love John Ballanty, and I'm sure people will find and subscribe to those wonderful podcast themselves. But for now, turn it off. We've got some things to talk about. Listen, John, I'm willing to forget you hunting me for sport the last few days if you'll forgive me for leaving you a pit and running off. I wasn't hunting you for sport. I was first. following you to make sure you didn't hurt yourself, which you did anyway.

I could have made the jump if you hadn't distracted me. Over the quarry? You don't get it. None of you did. There are things in these woods. Things a lot worse than whatever you think I'm capable of. I thought they were gone. But once we got here, I'd realize what happened.

John, what the hell are you talking about? I mean, this place. It's worse than you thought. This is where I first saw the Heretics Handbook. There's a quote, The wilderness holds secrets, ancient and divine. The truth of who we are can be discovered there. The key to what we can become can be found there.

Unlock that darkness within and join us. Tresaia Landerhall. The Heretic's Handbook. You want to hear the story, don't you? Most people do. I don't talk about this nightmare anymore. It took place more than a decade ago. It still haunts me.

I've tried to put it all behind. Barry it. But as passing years dull the sharp edge of what occurred and salacious headlines of the case garner less attention, I've given these events further reflection. In truth, it might be comforting to share my story again. Share it with someone who might actually believe it.

My late wife, Mia, introduced me to outdoor pursuits such as camping and nature hikes. Activities that were frankly out of my comfort zone, as you've already heard. She was a fiercely independent woman, young, alluring, adventurous. Me? I'm a beach resort kind of guy. more comfortable sliding my toes into the sand or hanging out poolside. We planned several days off, and Mia was keen to test out a location called Greybeard Trail. It was a rather ambitious hike that led us through scenic wooded valleys in the Black Hills Mountain Range.

I voiced some concern because we'd be out of reach a civilization for long periods, but he insisted it would be invigorating to disconnect from the toxicity of the outside world, for a time. Become one with nature, she always said. This particular trip would involve more than one of me as passions. The trail we'd embark upon was littered with geocash coordinates. So there'd be numerous stops along the way. Geocashing, for those unfamiliar with the practice,

is like a treasure hunt using modern tech. Someone deposits an item in a weather-tech container, post the coordinates on a website, and you use the portable GPS to locate and retrieve it. In turn, you'll leave something behind for the next geocasher to discover. Forget about hitting the jackpot with something a tremendous value. After all, no sane individual is likely to drop off the family jewels and post its location for all to see. Me, it took a day off just to make arrangements and have the SUV loaded and prepped to go. We left early for the park.

It was a three-hour drive which included incredible views at the Black Mountains. The further we proceeded through, the more apparent became that we were going to be pretty far out. Cell reception on my fancy new flip phone would be spotty. The weather forecast looked favorable, and didn't appear we'd have any trouble on that front. Mia, as always, was prepared and packed accordingly. Oh, we could duff it out in a tightly sealed tent if torrential rain. presented themselves. We'd huddled together during bad weather and, as you might imagine, being newlyweds, sometimes that had its own romantic appeal. Mia was by far the best thing that

ever happened to me. I'd met her at the gym and we connected immediately. A whirlwind courtship led to engagement and by this point we'd been married nearly two years. Still felt like we were newlyweds discovering fresh and interesting things about each other. The sole gray area was her past. Only on rare occasion did Mia talk about it, but I knew there was trauma there I associated with her parents. A lot of raw emotions. I didn't push it.

Just concentrated on spending time together and trying to make her happy. Once we reached the parking area, we grabbed our gear and sat out on the trail. Me had jotted down coordinates on a notepad so we could do the geocash thing. There wasn't long before we were discovering containers and leaving various tidbits behind along the edges of the trail. You never know what you might come across, which I suppose is the allure. Maybe a mile into our journey, the GPS coordinates for someone who went by the moniker, Sister underscore 23, led us further off the trail than normal. after nearly 15 minutes we reached the coordinates within a thin clearing.

This one seemed to be buried, which we found slightly odd. The soil lay relatively loose, so it wasn't difficult to uncover. Intrigued. Me theorized that it must have been something special if they take in such great pains to hide it well off the beaten path. Sister underscore 23 had stashed it crudely in a heavy-duty trash bag, sealed tightly to protect. from the elements and moisture. I brushed the dirt away and handed the package to Mia. She inspected it while I dropped a Shrek DVD in a Ziploc bag and deposited into a hole.

All the while, keeping a wary eye towards a thick underbrush. I was feeling uneasy this far off the trail, when I impatient to move again. As we headed back, Mia turned over the tantalizing new prize in her hands. It was flat, looked like God. a hardcover book maybe. I urge her to tear into the wrapping. What she found seemed underwhelming at first was a notebook, well-worn.

My first thought was some poor aspiring screenwriter buried their unsold masterpiece out here and probably hung himself from a nearby tree. But no, that was not the case. Not by a long shot. That would later be informed that what we'd stumbled upon was an infamous work known as the Heretics Handbook.

We leafed through a few pages, but it appeared to just be a bunch of occult nonsense. Nothing really coherent. Once we joined the main trail again, we decided to explore the notebook further when we had more time. Mia zipped it up in a backpack, and we forgot about it for the rest of the day.

Our other finds were uneventful. We soaked up the scenery after enjoying a leisurely lunch and continued along the trail, which snake drawn the base of the mountain range. We were in a particular hurry. The further we traveled, the more I began to sense we were under observation. Initially, I chalked it up to paranoia,

but ultimately, couldn't shake this odd primal sensation. It sounds cliche, I know. I mentioned it to Mia and she naturally laughed it off as she always did. After all, it wasn't the first time it felt distanced. way. The wood seemed to trigger this neurosis within me. There are so many places to conceal oneself in the forest to spy on a couple walking and open trail. Someone could be within a few feet of you,

hidden in dense vegetation, and you'd never know until they sliced your throat. I took a deep breath of mountain air and shrugged it off. His daylights oftened in the pink-purple display of evening and began to paint itself across the sky. We ran into another couple headed in the opposite direction. Tom and Brooke Gianetti. If you know anything about this case, you've probably heard their names. Nice, congenial folks, just a little older than us. We chatted for a short while and traded hiking tails,

but they seemed a little rushed. I felt that odd that they were so determined to be on their way with nightfall approaching. I mean, they'd have to be setting up camp soon and settling in for the night. Tom assured me that they were experienced that traversing the trail by moonlight and needed to get back. They'd spent more time here than planned and work obligations demanded they not extend their stay another day. His voice was shaky as he told me that, and I could see Brooke's eyes darting around. She kept clenching her hands together, unnerved and laughing uncomfortably at our attempt. of conversation.

Clearly, something out here had spooked her, and maybe she was just too embarrassed to talk about it. That was the only thing that made any sense. But as they were leaving, Brooke turned and said something that seemed rather cryptic at the time. First, she asked if we had a gun. We didn't. At times, I felt carrying a firearm on these trips when I had. be very well prudent measure, but we never done so. Neither me nor I owned a gun.

Then Brooks said these chilling words that I'll never forget. Words that made me fear for her sanity. But, hindsight and all, I should have regarded him as a dire warning. She said, nature has changed them. They are no longer here. human. Before I could ask her to clarify what she meant, Tom put his arm around Brooke and smiled at us apologetically as if trying to excuse the oddness of her statement. He bit us very well and guided her back

down the trail, disappearing over the ridge. Me and I exchanged a look, but put aside questions long enough to set up camp 100 yards up the trail. There was a nice clearing off to the side that had been previously used by their campers. The tent went up quickly and I built a small fire. The spot provided a stunning view of the valley with the mountain range in the distance, all bathed in an evening light of pastel beauty. This place seemed too idyllic to harbor any real threat. Soon enough, we were discussing the awkwardness of our encounter with the Giannettys over Kansas soup and crackers. What was Brooke talking about? More specifically who?

And why would she ask us if we had a gun? The imagination leaps to sinister, sinister. scenarios, but we eventually reasoned that maybe Miss Gianetti had over-medicated and freaked herself out, that they'd likely called off their hype because of it. If they were careful and somewhat familiar with the trail, a night hike shouldn't be too hard of a challenge. With any luck, they'd reach the entrance to the park before daylight. After dinner and me inspected various geocash finds, eventually cracking open that mysterious

notebook, thumbing through page. her lips curled into an amused grin and eventually I heard an incredulous giggle or two. What's so funny? I asked as I started to lay out my sleeping bag. This notebook, she replied, it's like a how-to book for a cult or something. Indeed, the pages were peppered with crude imagery. Drawings of worship rituals and naked orgies are on a bonfire, graphic depictions of mutilations and what appeared to be human sacrifice, even detailed instructions for nailing someone to a cross,

while unsettling. I didn't buy into its legitimacy at the time. I assume the notebook had been left by some imaginative teen as a practical joke. Obviously, Sister 23 had watched one too many horror flicks, and I quickly wrote it off as an elaborate hoax. Case closed. My eyes started to get heavy, and I dozed off a few times by the campfire. Eventually I crawled into the tent, dragging my sleeping bag behind me, dead tired from the hike.

Meanwhile, Mia continued to thumb through the notebook just outside. It wasn't long before the warm embrace of slumber had me in its grip. I didn't hear the screams at first. I'm not sure if it was hours after I turned in or only minutes, but We alerted me to the anguished whales waking me from his own sleep. They were coming from deep in the forest, maybe even the other side of the Black Hills. It was faint but alarming nonetheless. It seemed to be at least two voices, a male and a female.

I strained to hear their cries of mortal distress over the cacophony of crickets. We debated what we might do, or even could do. Cell service at this point was non-existent. Me and I both checked our phones, no bars. After 15 minutes, the distant cries withered in the darkness and soon faded to silence. It could become so eerily quiet there in that wilderness. Of course, Mia wanted to launch a rescue offer at which I had to dissuade her from. After all, we couldn't even pinpoint the location of the screams.

And what if it was just kids goofing off? There was no way to know. According to the map, there was a ranger station at some distance up the trail. If we got off to our usual early start, we might reach it by lunchtime the next day. We reasoned that it was our best course of action. In the back of my mind, I hoped there was no real emergency. But the raw desperation in those voices... I got to admit it shook me.

It was a while before I drank. drifted back to sleep. Neither of us would rest much that night. As daylight arrived, we slept a lot later than planned. It was well after nine o'clock before we set out again. Rumping sleep from our eyes, me and I began to question if what we'd heard the night before was even real. Breakfast consisted of fruit and granola bar as we continued up the trail.

Our senses a bit more sharp and alert. We decided not to treasure hunt that morning. didn't want to veer off the path too far. That seemed to be our unspoken plan. During that time, a gnawing question, kept eating away at me. I didn't mention it to Mia, but couldn't keep it from creeping into my own mind. What if the cries of distress we heard the night before were the Gianetti couple? What if they'd run into trouble?

Some kind of lawless element that lived out here. They'd been spooked by something, when we met him but seemed hesitant to reveal exactly what that something was. Nature has changed them. They're no longer human. Brooke Geniti's words still rattled around in my head. What the hell could she have been referring to? Who were they?

My mind raced with questions. Thinks to steady progress we reached the small ranger station by noon. It was abandoned. The front door padlocked. There was a sign that simply read, temporarily unattended. The place looked as if it had been vandalized. Odd symbols and text were spray painted on the outer walls and one window was broken. It obviously had not been inhabited for some time.

We found an emergency landline on the wall next to the doorway. Anxiously, Mia swung open the tiny compartment, but once again, we were met with disappointment. The receiver had been ripped away, exposed wires hanging out. Even if the phone had power, there was no way of using it. After a few choice words, we elected to break for lunch on the front stoop, shaded from direct sunlight. It seemed to me that might be time to consider cutting our trip short and turning back.

I broached the subject with Mia, fearful that she might be insistent on completing the full trail. But to my surprise, she agreed. We still hadn't reached the halfway point, and there was no guarantee that we'd find a manned park station further ahead. By this point, I think she was sufficiently freaked out too. I examined the station closely before we left just to make sure there was nothing we could use. The interior looked as if it had been thoroughly ransacked.

Mia was more concerned with the graffiti on the outside walls. The symbols appeared to be a form of inverted crucifix. This triggered something in Mia. All the blood seemed to drain from her face. I'd never seen her look so fragile and frightened. The significance of those symbols was lost on me until Mia flipped through several pages of the notebook and pointed out the same symbol. That inverted crucifference.

We started back in the direction we came from on Greybeard Trail. Our mind's buzzing, clouded with dark thoughts. I tried to crack a joke, making light of the situation, but my clumsy attempt fell flat. Strangely, we didn't talk much at all during the trek back. I suppose we were both afraid our voices might betray afraid nerves. Obviously, neither of us wanted to appear frightened, especially as well, if it just turned out to be a bunch of goth kids screwing around. There's a specific kind of urgency in Mia steps,

as if she perceived danger that hadn't been a parent before. She seemed flustered and led most of the way. Just before dusk, we made it back to our campsite from the previous night. But someone was already there, sitting next to a campfire. He seemed to be expecting us. waiting It's always hard to tell how old someone is who lives in the wild This guy could have been 40 or 80

Well, I'll never know His skin was weathered and overexposed to the sun He wore an old trucker's cap with long strands of dusty hair Poking from the back that looked like they've been bathed in mud His arms were covered with tattoos that didn't look to be professionally inked. They looked painful. Everything about this man looked painful.

Down to the creases in his face. Maybe the greatest shock of the encounter, though, was Mia seeming to recognize this enigma. Who I would come to later know, courtesy of court documents, as Josiah Landerhol, a man of some dark reputation, with several criminal.

warrants to his name. Me, his eyes flashed, glistening with fury and fire. Until that day, it was a look I had never seen from my wife. Instinctively, she scanned her surroundings for some sort of blunt weapon, just as I spoke with a gravely voice, hard as cracked blue granite, which showed no particular threat, but set off alarms in the back of my head. Despite his appearance, he presented a welcoming manner and asked us to join him by the campfire. We stood there, Stone-like, for the longest time, until Mia finally asked what he wanted.

Her voice shook with barely contained rage. The book. They Wanted Back, he replied. I suppose I was so stunned by all of this I couldn't utter a word. Any question that formed in my throat stayed there and dissolved. like a bitter pill. I was merely an observer in this tense standoff. I decided not to intervene in any direct way

unless the situation became physical or violent. Tresa began to talk about a lot of different things that were a mystery to me at the time. He spoke about the congregation and what he called the sisterhood. He spoke about how he committed most of the book to memory but the sisterhood had not. that they'd be unable to perform the various rituals required without it.

And it was best if these rituals were carried out properly, or there was no telling what kind of unholyness might result. Mia listened intently, her arms folded. She didn't take her eyes off him for a second, regarding Josiah like a coiled viper poised a strike. One of the new girls stole it, you know. buried it out here using some newfangled electronic gizmo Josiah explained

I reckon she hoped you'd find it or someone like you Mia someone that might rescue her it's not a lifestyle for everyone some don't take to it of course Ruth has dealt with her poor child I don't have your fucking book

Mia spat out bitterly, so you can all just go to hell. Josiah's eyes narrowed. He squirmed to bed at a spot by the fire, dancing flames, casting an eerie light. You really want me to go back with that answer? Silence was Mia's only reply. She maintained a rigid stance. After a long, agonizing moment, Josiah rose from the campfire and nodded. too sternly.

He shuffled off into the woods and quickly vanished into the gathering darkness. A million questions circled my head, but before I could speak, Mia waved me off. She began setting up the tent, and as I assisted, I begged her to talk to me. She told me that she would explain everything that she could, but at the moment, we needed to take care of important business. Mia said that we'd have to raise a tent and make it look like we were staying for the night. We're not staying, I asked. No, it's too dangerous, she whispered.

We lingered at the campsite for a little while, but once darkness fell completely, we gathered our things and left the tent standing on the fire still crackling. We slipped off back down the trail as our eyes gradually adjusted to the night. Mia studied the map carefully back to the campsite. She'd pinpointed a seldom used trail that forked off from the main one and led down into the valley running parallel with Cain River. If we followed the detour, it would cut the distance our trip back to the park entrance and half.

We'd return to the safety of civilization far sooner if this plan worked. The prospect of traversing this abandoned, overgrown trail in the dark, though, was daunting. Somehow, Mia found where it forked off into a drive. dry creek bat and we began to follow the path. The foliage got thicker and the trail more treacherous. Occasionally you could hear a creature stirring behind the trees next to us. My mind conjured images of bears or coyotes lying in weight, stalking us. At times I could hear what sounded almost like whispers.

Mia squeezed my hand. I wasn't sure if she was scared or just wanted to comfort me. I tried to put up a brave front, but I've never fell more out of my element than I was then in that wilderness. She held tightly and let me down the hill until we began to hear the trickling water of that narrow river which sneak through the valley. It was a welcome sound. It meant that the rest of the trip should be much less hazardous and unventful if we're lucky. The dense tree canopy began apart from our path and the crescent moon rose high. shadows cleared and I could finally see my surroundings for the first time.

I'm not sure I've ever felt a sensation of abject terror, more paralyzing than I did at that moment. As my eyes adjusted to what was around me, my hand was not Mia. It had not been Mia for some time. No, this woman was a withered old creature, a nightmarish vision. She looked frail, but her grip on me was firm, and my heels dug instinctively into the soil. Her body was naked and dirty in the silver light, and I could see a pale, thin smile on her lips. And in that split instant my vision perceived others in the distance waiting silently at the river's edge, waiting for me, filled with revulsion, I pulled back, wretching my hand from the strange woman

with such brutal force I nearly fell to the ground. A surge of adrenaline rushed through me and I ran reckless abandon. Of course, she was too old to run after me, but that idea didn't stop me from looking over my shoulder just to make certain. I ran screaming me his name over and over, pleading for her to respond. There was no answer. I shouted until my throat felt raw, only slowly. down when it became clear that the woman was no longer following,

wandering along that riverbank for nearly an hour. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave me out there to whatever fate awaited. What kind of a man would I be if I abandoned her? I came to a fallen oak, managed to break loose what felt like a sturdy limb. At least it was something to use as a weapon. It's about this time that I first saw the lights of the church.

still some distance off. I walked in that direction determined to find answers. My heart's still pounding. The church was old, but the forest hadn't claimed it yet. The paint had flaked away long ago, leaving dark wooden walls with vines clinging to him, rising to a rusty tin roof. A few torches lit up the front doors. I walked up the steps and entered with no small amount of dread.

The sanctuary was lit with candles but looked empty of any human souls. Furnishings were spares, bare minimum. Must the old smell hung in the air. I wondered if that could be the place of worship for the ones Josiah was referring to. The one seeking the notebook we'd recovered. Maybe the old woman and the others had adopted the abandoned church and converted it to some twisted purpose. I made my way past the pulpit to the back rooms. They were empty except for several backpacks with contents emptied onto the floor.

None of them belonged to Mia. I made sure of that. One of the backpacks, however, did look familiar. It was pink with a peace sign on the back. I was fairly certain that it had belonged to Brooke Gianetti. I stepped out of the back door of the church and a new old graveyard that was while I was, illuminated by a bonfire. On the other side of the bonfire, I could make out what I assumed were posts at first.

But as the flames of the fire danced even higher, I began to see that these posts were in actuality. Three wooden crosses about 15 feet in height, driven into the soil of the cemetery, inverted just like the symbols we'd encountered. My horror, there appeared to be figures hung on two of the crosses. motionless and silent. It was a grisly sight. My stomach churned. Every muscle tensed, prepared for whatever fight or flight scenario might present itself. I stepped in the direction of the crosses, dreading what I might find.

Moving past the gravestones when a man's voice broke to silence. I froze in my tracks. It was a familiar, gravelly voice. According to legend. St. Peter insisted on being crucified upside down. Josiah stated flatly. Felt he was unworthy to be executed in the same manner as his master. So they hung him on a cross as was their practice.

Toes pointed to the sky. Josiah stepped from the shadows and I clutch the limb firmly, ready to exercise all my frustration and anger with one swing. I was in no mood for a sermon. Where's Mia? I demanded. She's not here, was his only response. I glared at Josiah impatiently.

His expression was unreadable in the dark. Was he lying? Follow the river. You'll be safe. I'm sure Mia will be along. How do you know? I implored. He took a breath and cast a glance through the forest warily.

I got the sense that there was an inner clock ticking inside the man, counting down, that there was danger approaching, and that he'd pretty well timed out when that danger would become unavoidable. She's clever. Always was, just like her mother. Josiah said with a touch of sentiment, I'm sure she doesn't recall this place. Otherwise, she never would have brought you here,

never come back at all. But, I suppose, we're all drawn to what was once home, even if we don't consciously heed its call. His words hung in the night air. Their significance to Mia and her past mystify me even to this day. I knew I had asked one last question, even if it meant that I would be a moment too late in leaving, even if it meant I would be another victim.

nailed to an empty cross. I had to know. What is this place? Josiah cleared his throat, considering his next words. A haven. A place for those who wish to practice the old ways. Those ways that lay dormant within us until born and new in these hills.

With that Josiah turned from the flickering firelight and retreated into the trees. I felt that this was my mind. signal to move on too. The river awaited, and there was a lot of ground to cover. I'd have no more issues that night, and by dawn I reached the park entrance. Our SUV was still parked in its spot. No sign of Mia.

I opened the door and collapsed into the seat. Fatigue and exhaustion overtook me. I attempted a 911 call, but there was still no signal. That was my last memory. before I fell into a deep, dark well asleep. I woke with Mia hovering over me, her expression bright and radiant. I grabbed her so tightly,

tears forming in my eyes. Never have I felt such relief. The worry and stress of everything melted away in that cherished moment. As we set out on the road again, we anxiously traded stories and recovered. our experiences from the night before. Although I could feel my eyes getting heavy, I volunteered to take the wheel first,

I haven't gotten at least a few wings asleep. It'd still be ten miles before we'd be in range of a cell tower. Mea took the opportunity to relate how we become separated in the dark following the trail to the river. How a flood of memories was flowing back to her from things from her childhood, long forgotten. She apologized for involving me in this city, situation we become entangled in. Then she reached into the back seat, fishing something from her

pack. Mia grinned slyly and pulled out a notebook that had been so coveted by the murderous sisterhood. The authorities will need this. It outlines their practices, their rituals. Every fucked up thing they did, she proclaimed. As much as I hung on every word, so relieved to be reunited with this precious woman who was the love of my life. I kept catching myself nodding off. The mountain road stretched before us. Dangerous cany drop-offs to one side. I had to get us to a safe distance,

away from the thread that lay behind. I had to stay awake. You reached out to me and touched my hand, reassuringly, as if to say, it's all going to be okay. We're safe now. And I finally began to relax. and feel a measure of security and the warmth of her touch. I glanced over, expecting to see her beaming face once again.

The person in the seat next to me, though, was no longer me. It was once again a wretched old woman from the forest, smiling a toothy black grin. I slammed on the brakes and instinctively screamed. My memories faded to black after that. I'm told by doctors that I likely dozed off at the wheel when our vehicle hit the curb barrier and tumble down an embankment. There's no telling how many times we rolled. I'm actually grateful I have no recollection of the accident because Mia was thrown from the SUV and consequently died at the scene.

They say even if I had been conscious, there's nothing I could have done to save her. Her injuries were too severe. I was in a coma for weeks. When I finally awoke, there was little time to deal with my grief before questions began from the local authorities, as well as eventually, the FBI. All of them wanted to know my story, what we'd experienced out there.

In the intervening time, a search had been initiated for the missing Giannettys, and their bodies have been discovered behind the abandoned church. They had been one's nail. to the crosses. Crucified in the name of some bizarre ritual, according to the news reports. Victims of the sisterhood cult, as they were referred to in the media. An intense search was conducted for Josiah Landerhal in the sisterhood, but they were never found. And only scant evidence of their existence was ever uncovered.

Josiah had been under investigation for a while, decades, in fact. He was a preacher, a shady reputation, a dangerous charlatan had begun his ministry out in the wilderness a long time ago, isolated from civilization. He diluted his mostly female followers into believing he was a prophet of sorts, some kind of a Manson or David Koresh figure. Me, his mother, it turns out, was one of those followers. Josiah Landerthal had fathered many of the children in his perverted church, and it's quite likely Mia was a result of some twisted relationship. According to my own research, it seemed Mia's mother had run away from Landerhal and his

disciples. She escaped when Mia was only a child. Much of my wife's memories of that time in the wilderness were likely repressed. A past buried deeply and only resurfacing during our fateful hike. It was just a coincidence that we stumbled on that notebook, purposefully hidden by another unfortunate cult defector. From the wreckage of our vehicle, police had found it still intact. This personal Bible authored by Landerhal that the FBI nicknamed the Heretics Handbook.

It outlined a theology of fiendish design, a perversion of Christianity mixed with pagan philosophies. Different versions of this unpublished text had surfaced over the years, and Landerhall had inspired a number of cult movements, invariably hidden in the wilderness. There they could practice brutal and antiquated rituals far from their prying eyes of decent society. Investigators believe that this particular call had broken off

from Landerhall at some point and cast him out as their leader, that they had radicalized themselves in a way that even Landerhall had not anticipated with rituals of mutilation and murder. The members of this call now followed an older woman named Ruth. and it appeared that they were responsible for the horrific murders of the Giannettys. This Ruth had become perhaps even more dangerously deranged than Landerhall, lately, these many years later. I find myself digging through evidence trying to piece it all together,

plagued by questions. I'm told that even if I had the answers, it wouldn't give me what I wanted most. I wouldn't bring me it back But I keep digging Sometimes even in urban environments I feel eyes on me A lot like on the trail

It's not too often I find myself In the woods anymore Too many triggers Too many fears On occasion In the very light of day I may even catch a brief glimpse Of that pale old woman on a street corner

Or maybe at the edge of my own driveway Smiling waiting, and I know she's not really there. I know this. She's merely a product of imagination and PTSD. But those moments nonetheless and a literal chill down my spine. I'm reminded one final thing, Josiah said,

before slipping off into the mistrouted woods, leaving me with words that have haunted me ever since. He turned to me with hollow eyes and said, The book has taught them how to become like ghosts in this vast wilderness. Their footsteps are only whispers now. They will never be found. With that parting statement, Josiah disappeared into the forest, perhaps himself, never to be seen by human eyes again.

And these are the same woods where you found it? Yeah. Honestly, I thought it was over. I didn't think anyone would be at risk. But that first day we got here, I realized it wasn't over. This place, here, across the lake, all of it, this place is cursed.

You lost me about 30 days ago. What the hell's going on? Once we all got out here, I realized we couldn't go. At least not as a group. I figured one, maybe two of you at a time would be safe to get out of you. here without drawing attention from them. That's why I sent everyone the long way around.

I'm stupid enough to go that way on their own accord. Long way? There's a short way? The highway's like right over there. I'm amazing no one heard the car's honking. I thought those were geese. You are just precious. So are you telling me that I could have left here last week?

Why didn't you let me go then? Because I was in a hole. And by the time I found you, well, you'd found those toads. Speaking of which, since this is all coming to an end anyway, I should tell you, when I finally came down, I remember the time back in college when I went camping in Arizona. For her birthday, I took my girl, Katie, to Arizona so we could stay with some friends of hers and spend a few weeks partying and getting crazy and stuff before heading back to school for the year. We drove up in my dad's car.

It's a really old Ford make, and it's pretty beat up. The road there was bumpy and long. Our relationship seemed at its strongest on the road. We were really in love. That was the first time I realized that. I had never truly been in love before. We were about halfway there when we realized we were going to run out of gas long before the nearest petrol pump.

Katie's head was out of the window, with sunglasses on, in the blistering heat outside, nothing but the wild desert landscape to be seen in all directions. We became frantic. We hadn't seen another car on the road in almost an hour. What if we broke down here, in the middle of the desert, with no food or water, with no one out there to find us? I sped up slightly, driven by these fears. It was then that we came across a gas station, smack bang in the middle of nowhere in dry empty nowhere it was an old worn-down servo long yellow grass blew in the breeze beneath it outside were two rusted gas pumps at first we didn't know if it was occupied it seemed so lifeless but as we pulled up and saw the petrol stains in the dirt we were convinced otherwise katie started refilling the car and i went inside to pay and grabbed something to eat on the road When I first went to open the door, it jammed.

This perturbed me, so I looked up at the sign to check and was reassured that the store was open, according to the torn sign that hung in between the dull yellow curtains at the door window. I pushed harder and harder, and with effort, got into the shop. Inside it was totally abandoned and left to ruin. Complete aisles lay on the ground. The fridges were smashed and glass coated the floor. Despite the brightness outside, the interior of the gas station was dark and bitterly cold.

Then there came, from behind me, this quiet weeping like a child's. I felt my heart race. It was coming from the back room. I stepped over the smashed glass and twisted metal remnants on the floor, over where patches of grass had grown through. I ran my hand along the wall and felt the criss-cross of ivy beneath my fingers. It was overgrown. Then came the crying again.

And now I was facing the back room door. It was directly in front of me. I pushed the door open and it creaked with rust in its joints. Inside there lay several wooden steps into the basement. It was pitch black and the smell was horrific. The drip drop of water alerted me to the fact that basement was flooded. The water was up to my knees. Again, there came the crying and a small splash in the far corner of the basement.

Hello? Is anyone there? I started approaching the corner. The smell was horrible and cold water eventually got to me. The sobbing was getting louder. In the corner, I swore I saw something move amongst the same. the shadows. Hello, I called again. What's wrong?

I finally reached a corner. Still dark, I had to bend down to avoid the pipes, which leaked down my back and trickled down my spine. The figure in front of me was very small and black, hunched over, sobbing quietly, head in its hands. Why are you down here? I whispered. Then it stopped moving completely.

It was totally still. All noise seemed to cease, but for the quiet dripping of a broken pipe somewhere behind me. I outstretched my arm to touch its tiny shoulder, but it then began to slowly turn in my direction, to look me eye to eye. As its face swiveled around a look into mine,

I remember screaming and swinging my head up in recoil, cracking it on the pipes up above. The face was white as a sheet, pale like a hideous moving mask. The eyes and mouth were completely black holes, huge and widening even as I looked at them. They were so huge, they almost consumed its entire face. As I desperately tried to escape, it splashed toward me at rapid speed, uncurling its long. long, thin fingers. It was wailing now, staring into me with its huge black eyes, and as I scrambled up the stairs with great difficulty, I felt my legs began to give way beneath me. It sprinted out of the water and up the stairs towards me. I slammed the door, flipped the lock, and tore out of

the store into the old Ford. Katie began to laugh when she saw me, jeans wet, trembling with sweat, soaking my chest, and I grabbed her and screamed at her to drive. For about a half an hour, I could barely tell her what happened in the store. She listened and gave me a look of sheer horror. When I finally gave in and told her everything, she pulled the car to the side of the road and began to cry herself. I asked her what was wrong. She said, I saw something while you were gone.

When you were in the store, I was just putting the punch. I jumped back when I saw this little girl and a man, her father, I guess. The father stared at me with blank eyes and a hanging jaw, but the girl, oh God, the girl. She was staring straight at me, grinning with this huge smile that just stretched so far across her face. I couldn't see any hair on her, and her skin was so dark like a shadow. and her smile just shone through the window. I convinced myself it was a trick of the eye and looked away. When I looked back, they were gone.

Then a little while later, you came back out. It was dusk by now. We had nowhere to stay. We had not traveled nearly as much as we hoped to that day, and the nearest motel meant going back past the gas station. So we just drove. drove up from the roadside where we were, into the clearing a little way up, where people camped sometimes.

We'd obviously come the night after a big party. There was broken glass everywhere. When we arrived, however, it was empty. After a while I tried to reassure her that we were okay. I calmed her down, put my arms around her, and we started to kiss. I moved to get closer to her when she suddenly screamed like hell itself. It's her, it's her! she screeched, fumbling to start up the engine. I turned in time to witness a small black face, grinning literally ear to ear with only darkness inside.

It was crawling into the car through my open window, with its limbs splayed out like an insect. It had too many limbs, way too many long arms. the fingers feeling my face like antennae. We sped off back down onto the road. Back on the road, nothing seemed right. There were no stars. That was what I noticed first. I was too shaken to think much of it,

but there were no clouds that could be blotting them out. There was just the vast night sky, devoid of all light. Then, a few minutes after we've been driving forward, still sweating and breathing heavy. We passed the gas station. My heart skipped a beat. The gas station was at least a half an hour away in the opposite direction.

All the lights were on, and I saw the door sliding open. As we shot past it, Katie was in such hysterics. She found it hard to keep driving. We stopped the car in the middle of the desolate road. I decided we should switch seats so that I could drive. She shuffled across from her seat to mine, and I opened the door to get out. As soon as I was outside, the foul stench of the basement overwhelmed me. I gagged, then vomited down the side of the car.

It was then I noticed the runner. A pale white thing, sprinting toward us through the fog, its limbs practically a blur. I could make out no face. How long it had been following us? running after us in the night. I got into the driver's seat as quickly as possible. We drove off again, not talking. Katie whimpered, and I silently prayed.

Then we passed the gas station again. The door was open now. There were two figures standing at the door, waiting. As we forced ourselves on, we both became aware of a soft, barely audible, weeping in the back seats. Neither of us dared turn around. Ignore it!

I whispered. My trembling hands gripped to the steering wheel. Katie was curled in the fetal position, holding her head in her hands. The wailing increased, becoming extremely loud, ear-piercing, and horrific. Finally, I ordered myself to end it and looked behind me.

For a split second, I thought it was a girl, and a white dress, looking back up at me. But she was gone as soon as she had appeared. I checked the seats carefully. There was nothing. In my tiredness and fear,

I'd completely lost track of the road. I drove on, and all through the night, Katie whimpered. I touched her once, but she screamed. I never tried again after that. The noises from the back seat started up again. We passed the gas station twice. more. The people at the door were closer and clearer every time. The finest sliver of red light had begun to settle on the horizon. It was still dark as hell, but at least I was able to see

the road ahead of me now. Katie had been silent, face concealed under her hands for some time. I decided to check the time, so I turned on the radio. At first, there was only static. Instead of time or anything at all, the digital clock simply appeared black. I fiddled with the dial trying to change the station. In between the static, I found only one audible channel. It had a high-pitched buzz in the background. A man was muttering names and numbers under his breath. 29, Lucy, 30, Adam, 31, Katie. I switched back to static. I knew which name was next. When we got to Katie's friend's house, it was morning.

It was overcast, and everywhere had the smell of rain on it. Her friends weren't home. Katie's friends lived way out in the country, with no one else around in a mile. The grass was climbing the walls outside. How long have they been out? As soon as we were inside, Katie started whimpering again. I realized that while she had been silent, she was biting on her lip. Blood was trickling down her chin, and the skin around her mouth was torn and chewed through.

She grabbed the newspaper and some masking tape off the table and began blocking out the windows. After the night's events, I didn't know whether I would be insane to join her or stop her. I simply watched. She covered the windows, jammed the door, and turned the lights off. For some time, it could have been minutes or hours, and we sat silent in the dark. I offered to turn the television on. Katie said nothing, sitting blank and comatose. I turned the television on anyway.

A grainy, black and white image flickered to life before us. A white face with empty eyes and an impossibly huge smile flashed up. The smile growing wider and wider the longer we stared into it. There came the sound of weeping. From the television or in the house? I couldn't tell. We turned off the TV. It's been three whole days now.

I haven't seen Katie at all today. She spends her time in the closet, crying. I once tore open the door and screamed at her. She screamed back, her face contorting into something grotesque and inhuman. I slammed it in her face. The phone rings. often. A voice, my mother's, I believe, whispering under its breath. I can only catch snippets of what it says. You're always welcome to come back. Sometimes in the background I hear quiet chuckling. I hang up without

saying a thing, usually. The bathroom is shining white. I hear the shower running and we'll walk into it to find nothing, nothing at all. Then, when I'm in the bathroom, I'll hear the television flick back on. It always goes to the face. In the background, there are muttering voices now. I've called the police. Twice.

All I get is the whispering woman's voice. I called Katie's friends, too, just as fruitlessly. There are knocks at the door a lot now. Through the newspaper, on the other side of the window, I see their hands slam against the glass and slide down. They do this for hours on end sometimes. They press their eyes up to the glass through the holes in the newspaper. At night we hear screaming from the guest room. I boarded it up.

Sometimes I find tiny pieces of glass on the ground. A leak sprang up about a day ago in my room downstairs. Black spots of mold have appeared on the walls. There's a smell throughout the house, seeping in from my room. The odor of decay, I pray. I pray hopelessly, and I wish, I swear to God I wish, that I had never gotten out of that car. Sorry.

Yeah, so am I. You, um, you. think I can get a hug. And it's been a lot to deal with. Of course, man. And listen, I'm sorry that... Oh! Oh, and you son of a bitch, how many of these holes

did you dig? John, I'd love to stay here and discuss that. But it would appear that you failed to see all the hooded figures encircling in the camp. So I took the liberty of stealing your map. John, I like to say that this has been a pleasure, but... And I'm sure I speak for more than just myself.

You've been nightmare fuel for a long time. Good luck. Here they come. I wish I could say it was a surprise that I'd meet my end trapped in a hole surrounded by cultists, but it's literally the only thing my fortune cookies ever say. Hey, up there? Yeah, no, yeah, you, not you, no, you, yeah. One last request?

I don't want to see what you're about to do to me. So could you do me a solid and put out the key? campfire? There's a can of water over by that log. I appreciate it. Oh, and I'll see you all in more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepy pod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast have done so through creative common share-a-like licensing, or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.