Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2023 - Day 3: Red Rock Cave & Dead Woods

Episode Date: April 10, 2023

Red Rock Cave***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Heather Thomas***Dead Woods***Link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Dead_Woods***Written by: unknown***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey Heather. What are you up to? Huh? What? I asked what you're up to. You've been buried in that stuff all day. You didn't even join us on the nature hike. I'm surprised you didn't hear me screaming when I fell into that bear pit. Twice.

Oh, I'm just... Just working on something. I hope it's fun games for the campers. I got a list of all these new names you just got at it. Let's see. we've got Stacy Hall, Momo Marcy, Robert Wildauer,

Elizabeth Estella Berkholder, don't ask my name. It's going to make things difficult. Tommy B., Amber McVeigh, Elizabeth Rosen, and T.J. Hodder. No, nothing to do with that. What was that? No one of consequence.

You were saying what all this has to do with. Red Rock Cave. Sitting around a campfire like this, I can't help but think about all the years I spent as a park ranger. When I started, I was fresh out of college with an environmental science degree and got hired at my favorite national park. When I was growing up, my parents would take me and my brother camping out there at least once a month. One of my duties was to inspect all the campsites in the park. That may not sound like much, especially when we had

vehicles to drive around in, but there were easily 50 campsites that could only be accessed by hiking trails. The trails weren't big enough to get one of our small ATVs through, so inspections had to be done on foot. Since I was the youngest ranger at the time, and everyone knew I loved to hike, I was the one that inspected the isolated sites. The other rangers made it sound like the worst job there was, but I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do. The regular campsites that were along the park roads were inspected before and after every time someone was scheduled to stay in them. The isolated sites weren't used nearly as much, and even though people still needed to register to stay in them, things happened on the trail, and they didn't always make it to their

destination. Sometimes they'd set up camp at a completely different site, or if it got dark a lot sooner than they expected. They'd even put up their tent just off the trail. Hell, it usually took me three days to reach all the campsites, but I only had to inspect them every. every two weeks. The only efficient way to inspect them all was to load my backpack with my overnight gear and go on a three-day hike. I do have to admit there was a lot more paperwork involved than I thought there would be. Every time I inspected a campsite, I had to pull out a checklist and cover all the bases.

The regular campsites sometimes had a covered pavilion with a picnic table, a fire pit, and for the nicer sites, water, and electrical hookups for trailers. The isolated sites were little more than cleared out spaces big enough for a few tents, had a campsite identification sign, and a fire pit. In a nutshell, my job was to pick up anything left behind, fix or replace anything broken or missing, and make sure someone wasn't secretly living out there. Half the time I came back from my inspection trips with a trash bag full of crap, campers left behind. Usually it was water bottles, beer cans, food wrappers, or broken things like flashlights, utensils, and cheap dishes.

Sometimes I'd come across things that were accidentally forgotten about or lost. A map, keys, some kids' MP3 player, a portable speaker, even an emergency kit one time. The general protocol for finding lost items was to reach out to the last person that registered for the site and see if the item belonged to them. This is a lot easier to do with the regular sites, but half the time I find stuff in the isolated sites, no one was registered for the site in weeks. People came out to hike our trails, and only a tenth of them knew how to properly read a trail map.

Most of the time, these people would walk as far as they could and would find the closest site when they got tired. We knew this was how it went, and normally it wasn't a problem. On those odd occasions, when a group came to their proper campsite and found someone else there, they'd either share the site or move on to the next one. That didn't happen in the regular sites, but people are a lot more accommodating in the forest. I've seen people get to the point of wanting to throw hands in the regular sites when they have

disagreements, especially when a ranger wasn't near to resolve whatever the issue was. There was one thing that perplexed me about a certain kind of camper, something I never even considered to be an option. Maybe it was because of my upbringing and being taught not to waste what little resources were available to me. It could have even been due to my training as a ranger, but I couldn't wrap my head around it. Every once in a great while, someone would abandon their campsite. I don't mean they'd pack up in the middle of the night and just leave. I mean, they'd leave all their shit behind and get the hell out of Dodge. Sure, there were times that I'd come to a full campsite and no one was around. On those occasions, I'd wait around for a while, even call out to

see if someone was near. Mostly, there'd be someone nearby, or the occupants would return in an hour or two, but I could generally tell when a place was abandoned. It'd be obvious that the gear's been sitting around for days, usually with tent flaps open and food containers left to rot. I once came across a tent off the side of a trail and found a deer was inside it, nose buried in a cup of noodles. I hated finding abandoned campsites that far out. It meant I had to tear it all down, tie it into a bundle, and hike it back out to the ranger station. It also quadrupled my paperwork. considering that my job required me to live in a tent for several days a month. I bought some high-end gear, and that means expensive.

When people abandon their campsites, what they leave behind is often cheap crap they picked up at Walmart. A three-person tent that only costs 50 bucks isn't worth a dam, and will only keep water out if you cover the whole stupid thing with a ridiculous amount of water repellent spray. Oh, and if there's any strong winds, you're pretty much scum. Hell, my one-person tent cost over 300 bucks, but I could live out of it for months in some of the worst weather conditions, short of a tornado or hurricane. Over the years, I've come to understand the reasons people have abandoned their campsites, but it still boggles my mind. What seems like a plausible reason to someone else sounds like dumb shit to me, but each to their own. Most of the

reasons I've heard come from campers that were staying in the regular sites, not the isolated ones. Someone got sick, a bad storm rolled in, campers got in a fight amongst themselves and left in a huff, and for those that were new to camping, found sleeping on the ground to be too uncomfortable. I've even been told that the reason a couple left their stuff behind was because they got too scared and stayed the night in a hotel. Again, for the regular campsites, I can understand. all these reasons, well, except for the couple that got scared. That seemed a little too odd to me. I'm really not sure what scared them that badly, but then again, I'm a lot more used to the woods

at night than most people. For first-timers, I guess the ordinary noises of the woods at night can sound awfully similar to the quiet moments in horror movies, right before the big bad monster strikes. For the isolated sights, abandoning camp only seemed plausible during the day, and even then, it still doesn't make sense to me. Any bad weather would be better dealt with by hunkering down in your shelter, not hiking back to where you parked your car. The closest isolated campsite to the parking area is at least five miles.

Granted only one out of ten abandoned campsites were in the isolated sites, but that's still more than I could understand. I've spent more nights in the woods alone than I have in bed with another person, There were times when conditions got so bad that I considered going back to the ranger station, but I never did it. Even a professional outdoorsman would have trouble following the trails at night. Sting putt was always the safer and better option. There was one time I nearly gave in to the temptation to abandon all my gear and take my chances in the woods.

It was a dark and rather cold night. The clouds were so thick overhead that there was absolutely no way. light from the moon. I had gathered a decent amount of wood and had a fire going so I could cook my dinner, but honestly, something about the darkness had me uneasy. When it was still light out, I could have sworn I felt eyes on me while I put up my tent. But every time I looked around, I couldn't see anything amongst the trees. I kept hearing noises, the wind rustling the leaves, a twig snapping under the weight of a foot, something brushing against low-hanging branches.

There are a number of predators that called those woods home, but none that would dare get close to a fire. Even now, I hate to admit I was scared, but the front part of my brain knew there was nothing out there. Now, I know different. The strangest incident I ever experienced as a ranger occurred a handful of years ago. I was on one of my bi-weekly inspections of the isolated campsites,

and for the most part, things had been run-of-the-mill. I found an occupied site that wasn't supposed to be occupied, and found that the couple there had gotten turned around. They sure did. Their original campsite was about six miles north of where they ended up. I made sure to point them to the correct trail they'd need to follow the next day, and gave them instructions on where to go. hunting for lost hikers was a giant headache

and happened at least once a month, twice during the cold months. In the last 20 years, there's only been one reported death in the park, and it was before my time. In the farthest reaches of the park's property is a cluster of three campsites, all with an eyesight of each other.

There's a cave not too far away that people love to explore. We highly advise patrons not to end. enter. There are several do not enter signs and streams of caution tape, but people do as they please. There's even a sign that alerts explorers of the danger involved with spulunking, and that upon entering Red Rock Cave, they are automatically relieving the park of any liability for their safety. I'll admit that it didn't stop me from exploring Red Rock, more than a few times. According to my chart, two of the campsites in the cluster were scheduled to be occupied the

prior week, but should have been emptied when I arrived. Not only were they not empty, but all three sites had two or three tents apiece. There were anywhere from eight to 16 people using these campsites when there should have been none. Looking over my chart again, there were eight groups totaling 23 people scheduled to be in the isolated sites that prior week, but most of them were supposed to be spread out by about 10 miles. What was even stranger? None of those campers were marked as checked out. One or two groups not checking out wasn't uncommon.

But eight? That just didn't happen. Before approaching the cluster, I tried calling to the station about it, but that deep in the woods was beyond my radio's reach. Stealing myself for a possible confrontation, I walked over to the tents. Despite the summer's heat, a cold chill slithered up my spine as I got closer.

I didn't hear the typical sounds of people. All I could hear was the wind rustling in the trees, my slow footsteps in the fallen leaves, and my own breathing. Approaching slowly I could see obvious signs that these tents had been there for days and were unoccupied during that time. Dead leaves and pine needles were bunched up at the base of the tents, pushed there by some of the strong winds we'd been having that time of the year. At least three tents had their front flaps open

and revealed rumpled sleeping bags and discarded items. Camping chairs lay on their sides or were flipped upside down. All three fire pits were cold and dry, indicating there had been no recent fires. Even during the summer months, it got a bit chilly at night. I couldn't take more than three steps without touching a torn open. food container. Animals had been in here and ransacked the place for anything edible. Funny enough, I came across a package of tofu that was completely untouched.

As a trained park ranger, my first thought should have been something like, oh no, they must have gone exploring the cave and got trapped inside. What I really thought was, Oh shit, this is some night of the comet level bullshit. I was young and liked old school horror movies, so that's where my mind went. I was getting that eerie feeling of someone watching me again. But there were no obvious signs of a struggle. No splashes of blood, dismembered body parts, or torn clothing strewn about.

My training had me wanting to call out to see if anyone was with an earshot, but all my instincts kept me from doing it. One campsite abandoned is anomalous, but understandable. Eight is downright unheard of, especially since I recognized the company logos on each tent. Everything looks seasoned and well-maintained, so it obviously didn't belong to a rich amateur. No experienced hiker was going to go 30 miles out just to abandon camp. Even I could barely make it back to the station from those campsites before dark, but I would have had to start right at sunrise.

In my whole career, I only managed to do it twice. The entrance to Red Rock Cave was only a quarter mile away to the east, so I went there thinking it was a logical place to search. It wouldn't have been the first time someone got lost in the labyrinth of tunnels in there. If I hadn't used a spool of string to mark my trail every time I went in, I would have gotten lost in there myself. Had I realized this many people failed to check out, I'd have gone through the parking lots

to see if their vehicles were still around. There were spaces spread out all over the park and aside from the regular sites, there was no assigned parking. Some spots were at the fishing dock, around the half-dozen bathrooms, and even some randomly spaced along the tree line. It's rather easy to miss cars

that have been parked for long periods if you don't look carefully. Unfortunately, at least half the rangers we had at the time were lazy, and useless. Red Rock Cave isn't called that because the walls are composed of red stone. If you manage to navigate the tunnels correctly, you can find a chamber in the center of the maze. And this chamber is a giant rock with a large flat surface that can be easily used as a table. On the inside, the stone is the standard gray of the walls, but the exterior is stained red. It's believed that the chamber was used for animal or human sacrifices,

and the red color is dried blood from a thousand sacrifices. At the time, I couldn't have said if it was true or not. No one had performed an expedition to investigate as far as I knew. However, I did have a theory. There were dozens of stories about the cave, and so few people ever found the sacrificial chamber. As far as I knew, I was the only person who managed to find it. Directly above the stained stone is a three-foot wide hole that goes straight up.

At the top is a hole that comes out toward the top of a mountain, and probably one of the most beautiful views inside the park. Sadly, there isn't a trail leading to that spot, so I'm fairly sure I'm the only person alive that's seen it. Now, as for my theory, I believe the flat stone is stained red because animals, and maybe even a few people over the centuries, have fallen into that hole. The drop is easily more than a hundred feet, and if the impact didn't kill you right away, you'd have more than a few broken bones. How did I come to this conclusion? I nearly fell into the damn hole the first time I discovered the view.

Finding the red rock actually came after I found the hole. Knowing the cave was at the base of the mountain, I cracked a glowstick and dropped it down the hole. Once I got back down the mountain, I went spulunking to see where that drop ended. It took the better part of eight hours and a few miles of string, but I found my glow stick. It wasn't the only thing I found. There were animal bones strewn about the place, but no complete skeletons. A deer antler, wild boar tusk, a goat hoof, and what I suspected to be a very old femur bone. I only studied human anatomy briefly in biology, so I wasn't really sure on that last one.

It took me no time at all to make it to the cave entrance, but it looked completely undisturbed. Typically, when people ignore the warnings and go exploring, they take down the streamers of caution tape. I always have to pop inside. call out to see if anyone is in there, possibly lost, and then replace the tape. This time, all six lines of tape were exactly as I'd left them last time. There's no way the inhabitants of the abandoned campsites all came through here and managed not to disturb anything. I once again found myself not wanting to call out to see if anyone was there.

There were at least 20 people missing, and the cave entrance looked to be rather foreboding. and ominous. The creep factor was getting higher and higher. It was so bad that I could have sworn that the cave was breathing. Call me chicken shit if you will, but I left the cave entrance without getting remotely close. My instincts were screaming at me that something was very wrong out there. For the first time, the forest did not seem like a happy, welcoming place anymore. My safe haven was becoming a danger, and I suddenly.

wanted to be around other people. That never happens to me. Quickly, I made my way back to the abandoned campsite. I rummaged through the tents and belongings, searching for anything that would identify the missing people. There were three wallets, two sets of car keys, one of those metal RFID blocking card holders, and what appeared to be a research journal.

I couldn't pack up and carry out all that gear. There was just too much of it. The plan was to get the hell out of there and back to radio range. I'd call into the station, report the incident, and have them make calls to the campers who failed to check out. With any luck, they'd all be back home and hopefully provide some insight

as to why they left their shit in my park. I doubted it, but one could only hope. The alternatives were too bizarre to consider. There was no way I was going to make it back to the station. that day. It was only hours before dark when I left the abandoned campsites, and I needed to make camp soon. I sure as hell didn't want to stay in that ghost town, so I practically ran to get back into radio range. Even though it was so hot, chills kept running up my spine, because I couldn't shake the feeling that something was stalking me. I looked over my shoulder so often that I

actually slammed my head into a low-hanging branch. The impact left me dazed, and I started taking it slower. I was letting my imagination get the better of me, and I knew better than that. By the time I could get a response from the ranger station, it was only half an hour until sundown. I got my tent up as quickly as I could,

which meant skipping the part where I put the rain cover over the top and staked it into the ground. I wanted a nice big fire that night, and I still needed to gather firewood. My luck was finally changing because I found a tree that had fallen over near the campsite some time ago. That meant plenty of dead, brittle wood close by. With some pocket lint and a handful of dried pine needles, I got a fire going in record time. Shit, I even broke out my camping saw to cut some of the thicker branches I couldn't break off to make my fire bigger. If I couldn't have the comfort of other people around me, a nice big fire would have to do.

After giving my supervisor the details of what I found, he asked me to catalog the items at the site before heading back. I politely declined, claiming I was low on supplies and needed to come back immediately. To be honest, I kind of wanted to take my chances walking the trails in the dark, but having the fire was calming my nerves. enough so that I decided to take a look at that research journal. With the fire crackling and popping, I occasionally shifted the wood around with a poking stick

as I thumbed through the pages. Abraham Harker was a medical professor at a local university, but fancied himself a cryptozoologist. According to what I read, he was on the trail of something he referred to as the cryptid. Given the context of the journal and my limited knowledge of cryptozoology, I figured cryptid was a general term like animal or alien. Judging by the dates before each entry, Harker had been after this particular cryptid for over 10 years.

There were several mentions of a small rose gold pendant. I found it odd that he didn't note any significance to it other than the creature wore it like a collar. He had documented migration patterns, eyewitness statements, and photogenic evidence of what he believed were crypted kills. The photos showed several different species ranging from livestock to house pets and wild animals. I was surprised to see a mountain lion and grizzly bear among them. After the pictures, I started finding newspaper clippings. Articles about missing campers, hikers and Spelunkers found dead. Each recorded death was discovered in or around large caves,

but that seemed to be the only commonality. Methods of death widely varied, but Harker concluded it was because none of the bodies were fresh and had been corrupted by the elements and carry-on feeders. I jumped at the sound of a loud pop. It was so loud and unexpected that I picked up my firestick and pointed it at the darkness behind me. I'd left one end in the fire, so the tip held its own flame.

I could see faint shapes moving amongst the trees, hiding in the absolute darkness of the forest. They were getting closer, and I had nowhere to run. Another pop caused me to spin around, and I pointed my stick at the source. It was the damn fire. There had been a surprising amount of sap in the dead tree, and that's what caused the pops.

I looked back to the darkness with my flashlight, but those dark shapes I saw were nothing more than branches with lots of leaves moving with the wind. The journal was making me extremely jumpy, but my curiosity kept me from putting it down. The last entry was dated a week ago, and the handwriting was sloppy, not like someone else wrote it, but it was as if Harker was overly excited. It's taken me more than ten years, but I finally found the cryptid that killed my Melissa. Its migration patterns led me to believe it would visit the Red Rock Cave again this month, and I was right. I've dreaded coming back here after all this time, but I'd do anything to get my revenge.

Harker recaps the event that led to his obsession. He went backpacking with his wife about 15 years ago, in this very park. Melissa wanted to explore the Red Rock Cave for their fifth anniversary with the hopes of finding the sacrificial chamber. She had been an anthropology professor and wanted to substantiate her suspicions about the cave. While they explored the labyrinth,

Harker got separated from her. After a few hours of wandering around, he found his way back to the entrance. Melissa showed up shortly after, elated because not only the same, did she find the sacrificial chamber, but a rose-gold pendant on a matching chain. While climbing out of the cave, Harker tweaked his back and ended up taking a pain pill before going to sleep. He slept through his wife being dragged out of their tent and being

murdered by the cryptid. Harker's theory was that the creature went after Melissa because she stole its pendant. He believed the thing was bound to it in some way, and had to come after it if it was ever taken. When Harker found it in the cave, the cryptid was sleeping. For a long time now, Harker theorized that the creature was nocturnal and had a strong aversion to light. He placed a tracker on its body so he could always know where it was, secured a shackled to one of its legs, and chained it to the red rock. Once secured, he carefully took the pendant from around its neck. His plan had been to get back to his car before nightfall and get out of the park so the cryptid wouldn't find him. Unfortunately, it took him too long to find the creature, and he tweaked

his back climbing out of the cave again. By the time he made it back to camp, there were several more tents set up near his, and a large group of people showed up, claiming they'd gotten turned around and lost. Now his only hope was to stay with the large group and hope the cryptid wouldn't risk coming after him with so many around. Judging by what I found, Harker had been wrong. My best guess was that he only came out here to put the tracker on the cryptid, and later, when he was well armed, he'd go in for the kill. After all, what kind of revenge story doesn't have the main character trying to kill the thing that murdered his wife? As I reached for another love, to toss onto the fire.

I closed the book, but felt something odd with the back cover. This was one of those moleskin journals, so I knew there was a pocket inside the back cover just big enough for index cards. I had a bad feeling I'd find something more substantial than a card in it. Sure enough, there was a circular pendant that made me think of a Celtic knot hidden inside.

It was made of gold with a red tint into it and a chain to match. I heard another loud pop and grabbed my firestick to poke the fire. Something leapt out over the fire and tackled me. It was big, hairy, and smelled like rotting meat. Damn, that thing was strong. We grappled on the ground trying to get the upper hand over each other. It dug its claws into my stomach,

and I managed to poke it in the eye with the hot end of my firestick. That level of pain will make anything reconsider its life choices, and it scurried off me. I stared that crypted in its remaining eye and suddenly knew what pure hatred looked like. The image of that dark shape crouched in the shadows doesn't give me a lot of physical characteristics to describe. But I'll never forget it. I could tell it was bracing itself for another attack, so I did the only thing I could think of. I threw the pendant into the darkness. Thankfully, the cryptid went after it and left me the hell alone.

It must not have been hungry because it never came back. I kept that fire big and patched myself up with my trusty first aid kit. When I managed to get back to the ranger station, they were kind enough to call an ambulance for me. My story was that I had come face to face with a, hungry bobcat. Search and rescue went all over the park looking for the missing hikers. They found a handful of them scattered among the wilderness, claiming they were running from something that attacked their camp. Aside from that, no one was ever found. They even searched

the Red Rock Cave. All they found was the flat stone, wet with animal blood, and a dead deer that had fallen down the hole. It got stuck on the way down. Its blood showered onto the stone below. Harker indicated that the cryptid didn't leave very much behind when it fed, so I doubt anything will turn up of the missing hikers. I did manage to recover the tracker's information from Harker's journal. I've been monitoring the cryptid's migrations and take a wild guess where it is right now. First axe murderers. Now this. Nice going, John. Ah! Daniel! Jesus! Where'd you come from?

I've been sitting here for that entire story. We all have. Jesus! I think I drink too much bug juice. We don't have any bug juice. Then what's that red stuff in the jug? Uh-oh. Um... How much did you drink? Why?

Do you have a story to tell? Also, why? Well, you might want to go ahead and start to tell your story before it kicks in. You and me are going to have words after I tell you all about dead woods. We kept on and finally found the opening. Reluctantly, we went into the woods, huddled together so we could keep a close eye on each other and stay close to the flashlights. We'd seen markings on the trees and will look to be red paint. while most of us knew that some of the trees were marked for cross-country practice.

These markings shared no resemblance to the ones along the path. The wording was improper, usually legible. Some were even drawings of what looked to be people. We didn't question it for too long. It was obvious the only thing on everyone's mind was if whatever they heard before would eventually find them and what it would be. We saw lights in the distance from the school, decided to turn away from him, lost in thought and discussion.

Our fear had lightened, and we were having fun now just talking and joking. Fortunately, that liveliness died pretty quick when we heard something run alongside us through the trees. We were all in a dead silence, looking around, listening for the sounds again, but heard nothing. We joked some more to lighten the mood and eventually came back around at the school. We'd made it through the woods. Well, almost. Two of our friends told us to wait back while they went ahead, no doubt to try and scare us. We didn't listen and left the woods shortly after they left.

Didn't see them in the large field. We all knew they were trying to scare us. But just for shits and giggles, I decided to go back to where we left the woods and saw someone moving behind a hill. I just saw their head. When I tried to get closer, they ran back into the woods. woods. Finally, my phone vibrated and I saw that one of them was calling me, so I answered and in a panic, my friend told me to go into the woods again, then hung up. I went back to the school to tell everyone else what was going on and they followed me back and we went in. I called for him but got no response.

I tripped over something and felt kind of hard. Looking back at what I tripped on, I saw the body of my friend. His face shaved nearly off. His hair completely gone. Blood pooled from his head along with multiple wounds scattering his body. I backed away and yelled but didn't get up. I was scared and wasn't thinking straight. Tyler came over and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the body. He came around to get me up and took me away. We heard another yell, a blood, a blood, curdling one, like someone was in pain. We ran towards the sound to find the two others who'd entered the woods with us. One was dead, the other alive.

A man gutting him. Another, a woman wearing a long tattered dress soaked with blood, taking out his eyes. His screams were too much. I didn't try to help. I didn't even grab Tyler. I just ran, fast, back towards a school. I was the other who gone ahead of us. A rope was tied around his neck.

His legs were missing, and where his eyes should have been were bundles of leaves. I had to keep going. I had to run. So I did. I ran towards the school, hoping I wouldn't be chased. But all I heard were voices all around me, voices yelling, voices laughing, so I'm just talking. I tried to ignore them, but only because I recognize them. They were the voices of my friends.

I ran by the school and noticed a light coming through one of the windows, a blue light from the smart board. I stopped and looked in a room and saw a man sitting at one of the desks, rocking back and forth, fiddling with something in his hands, something I couldn't see. I kept running until I was out of energy, which wasn't too much of. further. I didn't hear anything behind me. I stopped hearing voices. I sat down and closed my eyes, trying to think about what just happened. It was a dream. I'd just wake up and be in my house, but when I opened my eyes, what I saw wasn't my ceiling. I saw a person looming over me,

his face nearly gone. The same way my friend's face. was, but it wasn't him. He had shackles around his wrists and ankles, short chains connected to him. He had something with him, a stick or pipe, something blunt. He whispered, I hate having to do this, but she loves it. I must do it for her. She loves it. She loves me when I kill.

She promised that if I loved others for her, she'd love me in return. I tried to crawl back, but before I could, he bashed my leg with an object he had and broke my leg. I tried not to yell, but when he broke the other one, I couldn't help. He wrapped his hands around my wrists and dragged me back into the woods, back into the horror. John, are you okay? Oh, hey, Megan. are you doing in my living room? Owen? What's in that stuff he drank? What are you a cop? You know, you have to tell me if you are. Yeah, I am. Wait, you are? Yeah, about two years now.

I plead the fifth. Jimmy, why are you letting this happen? Well, technically, he hasn't done anything illegal. We all signed contract A. Contract A? There was more than one version of that contract? Well, what did the other ones say? There was a lot of profanity. Most of it was just ranting about stuff and 80s stand-up comedian complains about. Airlines, the way white people drive, that sort of thing. Contract A was a lot more palatable.

Who brought the penguins? Yeah, someone should help him get back to his cabin. I'd recommend some sort of restraint so he doesn't wander away. That shouldn't be a problem. Have you seen inside his cabin? It's mostly just leather straps and handcuffs anyway. And that one bare red light bulb. Look, the garden gnomes had their babies. Get back here, you little rascals.

I'll go get him. I want to finish up some of my research anyway. Don't wander off and get killed by an axe murderer. No, seriously. Nate, I've spent more time in the woods than any of us. I'll be chess.