Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2024: Day 1 - Leaf Dolls & In The Bayou

Episode Date: April 4, 2024

Leaf Dolls***Written by: No One of Consequence***Bonus Episode: "In The Bayou" Written by: Nihilist and Narrated by: Rissa Montanez***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/In_the_Bayou***This story is is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike License.***Support the show and get exclusive merch in April at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas 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. which listener discretion is advised. This is how it started. I just want to officially welcome everyone

to the first ever creepy production team meet up in New Orleans. No law. Okay, so I know this is in New Orleans and we're less than a block off Bourbon Street. But remember that the purpose of this is to talk about the state of the state of the show and what the future might hold for us. Sound good? Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, that's, you're not wrong. That's pretty accurate, yeah. Great. Now let's get started. And it quickly devolved into this. Who wants another absent? Yeah. God, I'm not drinking alone.

Which led to? Oh, God. Oh, why are the lights so bright? Why is everything my life? I'm never drinking again. Oh my God, John. I have sense to be drinking. Are you trying to hit every pothole you see?

It's a bus, Danielle. I had a ton of maneuverability here. Can you at least try and keep it on the pavement? Sorry, Nate, no can do. We left Babe Streets a while ago. Come on, guys, parties still go in. Why do you think I rented the party bus? Because you're evil.

Why won't you let us sleep? It's 2 p.m. I'm not the one who said that they wanted to stay up and tell, and I quote, the cops drag us out kicking and vomiting, which I did think was a weird thing for a cop to say, Jimmy. But I do appreciate your enthusiasm. I think Jimmy's dead.

What? He's alive. Don't worry, we're almost there. I know you're all going to love this. In fact, here we are. Come on, everyone out. Some fresh air is going to do y'all a world of good. Oh, my God.

Why did you let me drink so much? Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to welcome you all at the Creepaway Camp 2024. Awesome. Love the energy. Walk with me. Admittedly, it's going to take a little work, But I figure we can set up archery over there, crafts over there, swimming over there, not over there, never over there. And probably as big of a first aid tent as we can manage.

So? Why? Why what, Megan? Why do all this? There's nothing out here. Yeah, but there could be. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. When it comes down to it, I just don't know how long the podcast will be around.

As much as I'd love to make this show for another seven years or more, I have to think about the bigger picture, making something that'll outlast me. And that's to build a summer camp in the swamp? John, you aren't actually thinking about bringing kids out here. First of all, I don't care for that phrasing. Second, New Orleans was a swamp No one with any sanity Wanted anything to do with

Now? You can get pure grain alcohol at 3 a.m. And a hand grenade-shaped plastic glass. Right, Jimmy? Oh, God. I'm gonna be sick. That'd be fine. Probably.

Anyway, the next month's gonna be a lot of work. But we already started with a team building. Give this a month and no one's even gonna recognize the place. Did, um, did you all hear me? That we're gonna be out here for a month? Yeah. Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, I heard that. Anything to say? No. No. No. No, not really. So, you all are okay with another month away from your families and jobs? Honestly, we saw this one coming a ways out.

Maybe not the swamp part, but we mostly figured you'd try and kidnap us. Again. Team building. Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. It takes a lot more than that for me to fall asleep at night. Regardless, I gotta say I'm kinda taken aback by how eager y'all are to make this happen. Yeah, I really don't think eager is the right word. Maybe unsurprised?

Frustrated? Co-dependent? Stop that right now. I hate that game. It always makes me look worse than things really are. are. I'd argue it makes you look better. Look, I already got the mic strung up in the trees. I was thinking we could document all this. For the lawyers? Try again. Read your contracts. Funny you should say that. Speaking of contracts. What about them? Remember a few days ago?

At the state of the state? When I asked if I could get the contact info for the network lawyers? No. Oh, it must have been after. When we were at the Absent House? Sounds right. Anyway, I asked for some updates that you might not entirely remember signing off on. Check out page 42. What? It's the possession clause.

That's always been there. No, after the possession clause. In the event of John inevitably transporting one or more members of the production crew to a previously undisclosed area through means of coercion, trickery, negligence, buffoonery, incompetence, wow, this really just goes on and on, doesn't it? Said production crew acknowledges the entertainment value of such a scenario, but requires constant and immediate access to transportation so as to maintain a level of safety and comfort consistent with a mandatorily acceptable level of living?

I don't get it. You can't leave us out here without the bus. And we can take it whenever we want, with the under. understanding that we will always come back and fulfill our narration duties. Oh. Okay. That's fine. Y'all had me worry that you were going to bail on me.

I can't imagine getting stranded at another summer camp again. Not since. Oh, God, I think he's about to spiral. Should we leave? Yes, please. Yeah. Hey, where are you all going? We're not ditching you.

I didn't think you were. I do now. John, we're just going to go back into town to get some groceries and camping supplies. And maybe an IV bag for Jimmy. Oh. Okay. Good thinking. But you don't all need to leave, do you?

Oh, uh, no. I guess we all don't have to go. I guess we could just rock paper scissors for... Thanks, Rissa. We won't forget you! Son of a bitch. What's that? Nothing. I guess you were saying something about being stuck at camp before?

Yeah. Yeah. Sort of a normal camp from all appearances. hikes, sing-alongs, crafts. Crafts, especially. The Leaf Dolls. When I was growing up, my parents worked all the time and never wanted anything to do with me during the summer.

In order to get me out of their way so they could work without worrying, they shipped me off to summer camps and programs. Pretty much anything that would take me away for at least a few days. When I was in middle school, they sent me to this rather, unusual summer camp. It was called Krambeja, which I later learned was what they called the tree of life in Gaelic. It had all the typical things one would expect to find. There was a lake, lots of trees,

nature walks, and outdoor classes. What was abnormal was how long we were going to be there. The normal duration of summer camp was one or two weeks, but for this camp, it was three weeks. For a kid that young, it was a long time to stay away from home. Even for me, because I usually got to go home for at least a few days before the next thing my parents sent me off to. Back then, there was only one thing I actually enjoyed about camping. It was the ability to have a campfire. At first, this didn't make a lot of sense to me because it was the hottest time a year. Why in the world would anyone want to do something that would make it hot?

hotter. Okay, sometimes the night's got a little chilly, but not enough to need additional warmth. Eventually, I realized the campfire had very little to do with warmth. Like the big TV in the house, it was a centerpiece for the campsite. It's where people gathered around and put their focus. There might be conversation, singing, telling of stories, but all eyes were on the fire. It mesmerized us, drew our attention and captured us for long periods of time. The one who built and tended the fire was always someone to acknowledge. Sometimes others would help, but often came down to the person who built it. I felt like being the fire builder was too much responsibility for me.

So I settled for being a wood gatherer. Regardless, I always watched how the fires were built, and there are many ways. The two most common are the log cabin and the teepee. Our builder that year was a counselor named Megan. She was only a few years older than me and liked to use both methods at the same time. Starting with the tepee at Tinder and kindling, she'd used slightly thicker sticks to build a log cabin around it. Once that was done, she'd make another tepee of logs that towered over everything.

If done correctly, all Megan had to do was light one match, slide it into the intercourse, and inner teepee and in minutes the fire would blossom. With previous fire builders, I noticed that they always found one stick to use as a poking stick. Most of the time they'd use it all night. Then at the end, it would get tossed into the fire. At most they'd use it for a few days before finding one better suited to their needs. Megan had the same poking stick every time. She claimed that it came from a secret tree years ago. It was passed down to her from her mother. I should mention that Megan's family

not only ran the camp, but on the entire property. Over the first week, I heard many mentions of the sacred tree, but no one ever explained what or where it was. I did happen to notice a lot of teenage counselors had a strong family resemblance to Megan. Eventually I asked about that, and she admitted her entire extended family,

family lived and worked in the camp. That was quite a surprise to me. There were more than 30 camp employees, and those were just the ones I'd seen. Not only was I Megan's helper when it came time for the fire, but I was an enthusiastic student in her firebuilding class. Our relationship grew beyond counselor and camper, and we became friends. I opened up about my neglectful parents. She told me a little about her family.

Not only did they all live on the property, but they grew crops, tended livestock, and held religious services in the forest. None of the campers got to go see where that took place. It was in a forbidden part of the woods. I was the only one who knew what was in the forbidden area. And Megan swore me to secrecy. We just begun week two at this point.

And she was the only friend I'd made. So of course I kept her confidence. Her family was far from monotheistic, believing in a whole slew of gods. I didn't remember any of the names she told me, but when I was only 12, and my parents weren't religiously inclined. Not only did she live and work on the property, but she went to school here as well. Technically, it's homeschooling, but all the kids in the family attend classes together. Summer camp was the only time she got to interact. with anyone outside the family.

Understandably, she was shy around new people. But our love of fire brought us together. Sharing that camaraderie made us comfortable with each other. And that's why we opened up so easily. Since I was so young and naive, I didn't understand what any of the things she told me about her family really meant. Week 2 of camp meant we were starting a new series of classes. There was one project we still did every day.

It was a kind of activity that had multiple parts, but they were spread out throughout the day. After breakfast, we went to a particular stretch of forest where a specific plant grew wildly. The leaves were an inch wide, nearly two feet long, and an odd tan color, like dried corn husks. At the end was a sharp edge, and I swear at some point throughout the day, all the kids managed to cut themselves with it every time. We were to pick two of these leaves, neatly rolled them up, and keep them in our pants pockets all day. Between the summer heat and our physical activities, we'd sweat a lot and the leaves would absorb it. By the end of the day, the leaves would be a bright green instead of the dried-out tan color.

For the first week, I didn't mind doing this. But the first Monday of week two seemed brutal. I was exhausted and completely drained energy. I felt like I'd run through the woods all night instead of sleeping. like the dead. I also wasn't the only one who felt that way. But Megan seemed to be the exact opposite. She was bright and bubbly, bursting with a sunny demeanor and radiating happiness.

I think I hated her a little for that. But it was only because I felt like shit. Just the day before, she seemed like the one that was running low on energy. After the morning classes, we made our way to the dining hall. On the way there, we passed another series. of odd plants. The leaves on these plants were very stringy. We took two bindles of five strands and wrapped them around each wrist, wearing them like bracelets for the rest of the day. They were gray, but by the end of the day they'd absorb our sweat and our color would take

on the same hue as their skin tone. It was vitally important that we not lose any of our leaves. In order to get dinner, you had to turn in a token of sorts. They told us we were making effigies, but none of us knew what that word meant. All we cared about was making the dumb things so we could eat. We sat hunched over the dining hall tables and the counselors walked among the rows. They gave detailed instructions on what they wanted us to do. It was the same thing every single time, but they told us it was imperative that we followed their instructions precisely.

We unrolled the two leaves and full. folded them together in a way that made origami seem simple. Using the flesh-colored string leaves, we tied it together at crucial points in the folding. By the time we were done, assuming we followed the instructions correctly, what we were left with was a tiny leaf doll. The dolls were maybe two inches tall, rather thin, but sturdy enough to stand on their own. The flesh-colored strings covered enough that the bright green leaves were nearly drowned out. Aside from there not being any hair, I'd swear the effigy looked a lot like me.

Well, as much as a stick figure leaf doll can, if you were one of the unlucky ones that didn't put it all together right, the counselors would take you to the side while everyone else got their food. They would have you take the doll apart, careful not to rip or damage the leaves. With undivided attention, they would sit with a camper and watch them like a hawk until they got it right. It wasn't that they wanted to starve the camper for doing a poor job. They wanted everyone to succeed and made sure each person did. It was the most effective, no child left behind program anyone had ever witnessed. Being the fair-skinned kid I was,

I was getting close to burning by week two. Megan had given me an herbal cream to use, but after a solid week of using it, I broke out in a rather nasty rash. Apparently I was allergic to something in it. Because I didn't want to come off as ungrateful or risk losing my friend, I secretly started using real sunscreen again. The rash cleared up almost immediately. But Megan figured out rather quickly that I was using my processed, chemical-laced sunscreen.

The string leaves were too white to match my complexion. Once the others lined up to turn in their effigies, Megan helped me back and got her. mother's attention. I started crying when I explained about my allergic reaction and having to switch back to using sunscreen. It was embarrassing. I felt like I was letting my friend down. Megan looked worried, but her mother seemed to be more thoughtful. She told me not to be upset that everything was going to be fine and I'd done nothing wrong. She had a quiet word with Megan and then Megan went with me to the food line.

When I handed over my effigy to the woman at the counter, she stared at it. One look to Megan seemed to be enough for her, and she accepted the tiny leaf doll. I noticed she didn't put it on the tray with all the others, but on the counter next to it, and that's how it went from then on. Every time I turned in my effigy before dinner, it never made it into the tray with the others. 73 campers and my one was single out every time I didn't know what they did with them but whatever it was mine were no longer good enough

I began to wonder why I bothered making the stupid things anymore Megan told me it wasn't a bad thing and that I still needed to make them to keep it fair with the other campers that's when I asked what the effigies were for As strong as our friendship had become, this was the first time she didn't want to answer one of my questions. After the third time she avoided answering me, I gave up, and my lack of enthusiasm for making the effigies showed. When Day 15 came around, I woke feeling well refreshed in full energy. This was the opposite from how I felt last Monday.

But I seemed to be the only one. I'd slept like the dead again, but I wasn't trained like all the others. I remember how it felt the previous Monday, and all the other campers looked like that or worse. It was a very slow day. Most of the kids barely had the energy to stand in line at the dining hall for breakfast. They seemed to perk up a little after eating. The only ones on my level were the counselors.

None of the campers were paying much attention. attention, so I didn't waste time asking Megan about the opposing energy levels. All she'd say was that she always seemed to feel better after having religious services. After each meal, the campers seemed to regain more energy, but they weren't back to their normal selves until the next day. I started asking Megan more questions about her family and their religion. She'd answer some things, but was evasive about a lot. It was obvious she wanted to tell me, but something was holding her back.

I began to think our friendship wasn't as strong as I believed, so I started pulling away from her. Camp was coming to an end, and it wasn't like I was going to run into her outside that place. It used to be a sad thought, but at that point, it was a little comforting. Of course, that made me sad too. So camp was back to being a miserable thing to endure. I even stopped helping with campfires. The final day came, and I was as down in the dumps as I've been the first day. During the morning activity, I grabbed up two leaves as always and cut my finger on one of the blades.

Every day, for 21 days, I'd cut myself on these stupid leaves, only to have my effigy not be good enough for whatever the counselors wanted him for. I'd lost my friend. I was about to go back to parents that didn't want me around. I was I still going along with a stupid charade? I'd worked myself up into a frenzy and was about to lose my shit. Megan saw this, took my hand and led me away from the group. She'd seen how her dissolving friendship was affecting me over the last few days and was sorry

for being the cause of my despondent demeanor. Promising to make it up to me, she urged me to play along with final days that I've been doing for the last two weeks. Also, when it was time for dinner, she instructed me not to eat my pudding. Now this was madness. You don't expect a 12-year-old

not to eat their dessert without a damn good reason. Megan promised to show me what they did with the effigies. but if I wanted to know, then I couldn't eat the vanilla pudding. The cooks put something in it every Sunday to ensure campers slept through the religious service this Sunday night. I did as Megan instructed. But I couldn't not mess with the pudding.

The counselors were watching us too closely. So I mix some of the vanilla pudding in with my unfinished mashed potatoes and put my rumpled napkin on to the rest of the pudding. When I dumped my train of the trash can before turning the tray on, I made sure to scrape the rest of the pudding with a napkin. No one was the wiser, and I got away with it. At 11, Megan came into my tent and led me through the woods. She told me not to see a word or make a sound.

If the family found out I was watching the service, there'd be hell to pay. The way she said it made me think that it wasn't just a turn of phrase. Megan had found a hiding spot with a great vantage point for me. I climbed up the tree and nestled myself in the crook at the base of a large branch in the trunk. It was a perfect spot. I could see everything was still being completely hidden. It was like this spot was made especially for an outsider to observe. People started showing up almost right away, but no one spoke.

I guess the no speaking thing wasn't limited to me. I lost count at 35, and people were still showing up. They all wore typical summer attire, loose-fitting shirts and shorts. I noticed the majority of them were either under 18 or over 50. They were only a handful that fell between those ranges. They all seem to be couples with a pregnant woman. So many of the faces I saw were strikingly similar to each other, especially the people I didn't recognize from the camp.

Even the couples looked a lot like their partners, and I began to wonder if there was inbreeding, going on. They all gathered at the tree line of a circular clearing, maybe 15 feet across. There are three fires in the center, arranged as an equilateral triangle. The tip faced away from the largest tree I'd ever seen. I couldn't tell you what kind it was. This thing was massive in a way that my mind couldn't comprehend. This was the sacred tree I'd heard the staff mention. I could feel there was something very special about that tree. It towered over everything in sight, had vibrant colors, and looked more alive than the

people near it. I must have been looking at the sacred tree too long because when I looked back at the gathering people. Something had changed. They were all on the outside of the clearing, but seven figures in brown hooded cloaks were arranged inside the clearing in a large circle. Each had a rope in their hands, with goats at the other end. Everyone was standing still and the goats were the only thing moving.

Even the flames and the fires seemed to be subdued in their movements. I remember blinking, and I either took a really long time reopening my eyes, or I managed to completely miss something. Between each of the cloaked figures was a woman in a loose-fitting robe. They stood motionless, six of them equidistant from the... brown cloaks. The only space left bear was in front of the sacred tree. As I noticed this, a purple cloak came from around the mighty trunk, completing the circle.

Unlike the brown cloaks, I could see this person's face, and it was Megan's mother. She held a large, old, purple book in her hands. Opening it, she began to chant. As the first words left her mouth, the same thing. The six women shed their loose robes and danced naked in perfect synchronization. Their fit, tone bodies were covered in what I thought were tattoos, but turned out to be paint. As I watched these women dance, something occurred to me. None of the members of the family were overweight.

The older members had moved unencumbered by stiff joints, limbs, or any sort of disorder that tended to affect people that old. I heard not a cough, sneeze, or sniffle. Not just here, but back at camp too. None of the counselors or staff ever got sick or felt under the weather. No one complained of a headache, migraine, or even seasonal allergies. The dancing started slowing down, and I could feel an energy of been subtly building in the air.

The goats that have been shifting around and the ends of their ropes all stood perfectly still, not even their ears twitched Megan's mother who I started to think of as the high priestess finished her chant and everything was still when she first started her words were alien to me but she began speaking again I could suddenly understand her

it's not that she started speaking English I was still hearing those alien words but I now knew what they meant the naked women scattered at the edges of the circle and came back to the priestess with items in their hands three of them had a few bags two carried trays with various items on them and one held what looked like a life-sized version of the effigies we'd been making there was a large gash in the side showing that the doll was hollow it was also tan instead of green and the strings binding it together were grahamed Pray.

Priestess had something about the labors of 72 children for seven days, binding their essence to the effigies and creating a totem for the gods. I may have understood the individual words, but I had no idea what she was talking about. I watched as the women opened their bags and took out the tiny dolls the campers have been making. They chanted something too low for me to hear as they placed the effigies inside the large hollow Once they filled it, they took string from one of the trays and wrapped it around the torso, closing the gash.

The priestess took a few items off the second tray, splashing and rubbing things on the large effigy as the ladies attached it to a long pole. When they had it standing upright, all their chanting stopped, and I felt something. There was a snap of electricity in the air, and I suddenly felt energized. I could run for miles, climb to the top of the highest mountain, swim to the deepest depths of the ocean, and yet I couldn't move a muscle. I was frozen to the spot, unable to move, a prisoner in my own body. Hell, I couldn't even cry out and had nothing to do with my promise to Megan.

The effigy was no longer tan and gray. It was full of glowing color, just like the sacred. tree and was transformed into a totem. Two more totems were brought out on poles and glowing just as brightly. This is what they'd done with the little dolls, all soaked in the sweat and a hint of blood from the campers that made them. The campers unknowingly imparted their essence into the leaf dolls, binding them to it. They used that bond to siphon off their energy, channeling it into the totem and distributing some of it to the onlookers. That's why the campers were exhausted on Monday mornings.

These people were stealing their essence. No wonder why they never get sick or experience bad health. The naked women stuck the poles into each of the three fires. The totem stood tall above the flames, completely unharmed. I didn't know what to expect next, but I couldn't not watch. Not because I couldn't tear my eyes away, but because I was still paralyzed and couldn't close my eyes more than a quick blink. The women returned to their original spots in the circle and the priestess recited a different

passage from her dark purple tomb. This was about animal sacrifices, but there was a whole string of words I didn't understand. The brown cloaks pulled large hunting knives from their sleeves and I expected to see them kill the goats. They didn't, but what did happen was way more bizarre. If I hadn't been forced to watch it, I never would have believed it happened. The priestess spoke a single word, and the brown cloaks held the knives by the blade, presenting the handles to the goat's mouths.

Each took hold of the knives with their teeth, and with an ex-commanding word from the priestess, they walked into the center of the three fires. Once there, they formed a perfect circle with their heads close together. Another command and the goats moved in complete unison. They shifted their heads to the left, placing the edge of the blade against the throat next to them and jerked their heads in the opposite direction. As one, they dropped their blades and bleated in what I can only describe as joy,

the high priestess began a new chant, telling the others to close their eyes and bear witness to the next events only with their ears. There was to be only one that would see with their eyes. And the moment she said that, her eyes locked on mine, it became clear that Megan set me up because her mother said I would be the one to see.

The priestess closed her eyes and finished the chant. She began to pray for one of the deities to grace us with their presence, offering the totems filled with the essence of 72 innocence. The totems burst into flames as the goats finally dropped to the ground, your blood forming a pool in the center of the circle. I watched as something reached out of that pool of blood. Hands, followed by arms, Then a head and more.

What I can only describe is the embodiment of perfectly chiseled man-flesh came forth from that pool and graced its followers. Power ooze off him like radiation emanates from plutonium rods. He exchanged words with the priestess before turning his attention to me. Invisible hands lifted me from my spot and brought me into the clearing. The god and the priestess stood before the sacred tree. and I floated over to them. I was placed on my knees to look up into a face that had never been human.

It considered me lesser, something insignificant that would only be tolerated, never wanted. Sadly, I'd seen similar looks from my parents on a regular basis, and I allowed that thought to enter my mind. The God sensed this, and cocked his head to decide as if we're contemplating my recollection. I felt a wisp of his power flowing. out of the circle, and two of the naked women came forth with offerings. One held a small cloth bag, and the other held another empty totem. This one only the size of a rag doll. The god took hold of the totem as the other woman opened the bag. He reached inside and pulled out an effigy, this one without the flesh or green colors. They were my effigies, but there were only 14.

The first seven must have been in the first totem they made. Because I remember feeling very drained that Monday. The god placed all my effigies in the totem, slid a finger over the gash, somehow sealing it closed to the point that I couldn't tell there had ever been a slit. He brought the doll to his lips and kissed its forehead. I could feel something on my forehead as he did this. And I knew I was bound to the doll.

The witness will be ready in nine years' time. He reached out his hand with the doll and offered it to me. For the first time, it would seem like hours I could move. I reached a shaking hand out and took the offering, aware that sensation was returning to my body. Bring me my vessel and let the witness see what the future holds. Someone stepped out of the blind crowd, probably the only human there besides me that wasn't a blood relative. Their characteristics were too different from the others.

They walked with confidence of someone that could see even though those eyes were closed. There was a doll in those hands, just like the one I held. Approaching us, they stopped short, just out of arm's reach of the guy. Are you prepared to be my vessel to bring new blood to this family of followers and ensure the legacy? I half expected a verbal response, but all that happened was offering the doll to the god. He took the doll, kissed its forehead, and there was a blinding light.

At that point I had regained enough to move my legs and I ran like the hounds of hell were after me. No one followed, but I didn't say. slow down. I ran and ran for days. The energy I received from the creation of the totem fuel of my escape. It was near a week before I stopped, only then realizing I still clutched the doll in my hand. I never returned to my parents, but drifted from place to place. When I was old enough, I joined a volunteer group and ended up teaching underprivileged children in some African country. Three years I spent on the other side of the planet hiding from anyone that might have stood a chance of recognizing me. There have been news reports from when I first went missing,

and I'm honestly surprised my parents tried to find me. All that time allowed me to grow up and physically change enough that no one could possibly connect me with the missing child over eight years ago. Didn't stop me from being paranoid, and for good reason, for the damn doll. I always left it behind when I traveled to a new place, but this stupid thing kept appearing wherever I went. I couldn't get rid of it no matter what I tried. A few weeks ago I was getting supplies from the local market when a woman approached me. She was a spitting image of her mother, and Megan had grown to become a beautiful young woman. I knew I couldn't run forever.

I didn't come back to the States willingly. I kind of just woke up here. Every few days I wake up in a new place. And each time I'm closer to Crombeja, one of these days I'll wake up and just be there. The summer solstice isn't far away. There's a god that expects me to be in attendance. Running isn't an option. They sure have been gone a while.

Yep. They sure have. I'm sensing a little nervousness. No, you aren't. It's okay to be vulnerable, Rissa. I'm well aware of that. Thank you. I know the bayou can be a little scary, but honestly...

I've been to the bayou before, John. I used to live in New Orleans. You did? We've talked about this. When? After the state of the state, when we were... Yeah, I don't remember that. I didn't say when we talked about it.

If it was between the state of the state and going to the bus rental place, I don't remember. Remember it. Why'd you give up living in the bayou? If you want to understand why I left the place I was at, you're really just going to have to hear the entire story. You won't believe it, of course. But your skepticism means nothing. Because what I saw that night on the bayou

has been with me ever since. In my mind, in my thoughts, and sometimes even in my dreams. It exists as a disturbing memory that I cannot shake away. That will never go away just so long as I live. It'll be one of those things so terrifying that it'll still be just as keen in my mind on my deathbed as it was the day it occurred.

But whether or not you believe me, I'll tell it to you anyway. if not only to serve as a warning, a plea for caution, if you ever find yourself near the swamps late at night. At the time, I was working at a shitty little fast food place. The only thing worse than working at a shitty fast food place is working at a shitty fast food place on the night shift by yourself,

without a vehicle, especially when you just so happen to live in the heart of rural Louisiana. such was my case some years ago the night this event happened to me during this time I lived quite a few miles away from the restaurant I worked at and due to my lack of a vehicle or any access to public bus system I was dependent on others from my transportation to and from work

one night after a busy evening of serving customers I closed the store and locked up the restaurant when I phoned for my ride nobody answered. Now, I'm not here to throw a pity party, but I can't help but to express anger at the fact that the person who drove me to and from work was my roommate, who had a car, but no fucking job.

And I was basically the only person in our house who paid the rent at this time. And this loser had the carelessness to fall asleep, leaving me with no fucking option but to walk. Again, this was not the first time that this had happened. The first time, it took me an hour and a half to get home, walking briskly. And to those of you who have never been to the rural regions of Louisiana, you have no clue. Here we have what is called a bayou.

It's basically swamp. Thick, murky, moist, frog-laden, mosquito-swarming, gator-infested, crappy-smelling swamp. with thick tall grass, cat tails, cypress trees, and heaves of pondscum. And I just so happen to live on the bayou, all the way down a long dirt road with hardly any streetlights and thick swamp on both sides of the road. There are no side roads, and the houses down this street are separated sometimes by more than a quarter-month. mile. It's not merely spooky walking down this road at night. It's fucking terrifying. You hear sounds both real and imagined coming from the bayou. Chirping, croaking, howling, grunting animals,

the rustling of leaves and branches in the canopy of the cypress trees, and the splashing water from underneath them. That's the worst. You can hear the sound of something, lurking nearby, abruptly dunk under water. It can be a turtle, a snake, or an alligator. You never know. You just keep walking with your teeth and hands clenched tight, hoping that nothing crawls through the tall grass right next to you and onto the road. Or, even worse than the subtle dunking sounds, the sudden splashes that happen when you're walking and scare a toad or frog, and it jumps into the water. The sound makes you almost shit yourself as you begin a running spree that lasts about three seconds before you realize what it was. And then you're left with your

heart pounding so hard that the sound of your blood gushing in your temples scares you just as much. These are the types of things that happen when you're in the bayou. This is what I had to look forward to that night as my asshole roommate slept sprawled out on the sofa with the television set probably tuned into reruns of the Three Stooges and the Marx Brothers. And don't get the impression that I simply called once and gave up. You can trust that his cell had around seven or so missed calls, three very unfriendly voicemails, and several aggressive text messages. I could just imagine his phone

laying in another room of the house softly vibrating in my desperate attempts to reach him as he snored. But eventually, I gave up. And having just about no other friends to contact in the area as a recourse, I stopped by the nearby gas station, grabbed an energy drink,

and began walking my way back home. Now, you must understand, the first 30 or so minutes of my walk isn't that bad. I'm still in the most populated part of town. And there are streetlights, stores, houses, and cars passing by in large numbers. That's important. If there are a lot of cars going by, you feel safer than when there are very few cars going by. Because when there are only one or two cars that pass you every three minutes,

that means that there could be a psychopath in one of those cars, and they may have enough time to stop by and murder you without ever being caught. But if there are a lot of cars around, there may be psychopaths passing by. But they'll most likely not kill you because then there's too many people around to witness the crime. At least, that's my reasoning. I digress. No psychopaths pulled up next to me as I walked around this part of town. Next, there comes a time in my journey where I have to turn down several suburban neighborhoods

and walk some streets to get to where I'm going. And here's where things get a little less safe. And I have to be a little more cautious. There's less traffic down these roads. And you never know when some punk or gang may be hanging out in some empty lot or house. People who might mess with you or try to pick a fight or mug you or just take an empty bottle of liquor and bash your skull in, you know, as an initiation ritual or something. These are the thoughts that go through my head as I walk around this region, and they keep me on my toes, until I reach the point where houses become fewer and fewer. And the bayou begins.

This is where the dirt road leading to my home is. That's where I found myself this night. On foot. I looked down the narrow road. You can only see so far before it fades into misty darkness. I resented that I would have had to spend the next hour walking its distance until I reached home. But anger took hold of fear when I thought about how all of this could be spared, if not for the neglect and carelessness of my roommate.

When I got home, I was really going to have it in for him. I truly considered at that time the possibility of physically smacking him in the face. And with this thought in mind, I launched defiantly down the road. And the further I walked, the darker it became, until no light shined with the stars and a sliver of the moon above me. Very soon, the sound of any vehicle was completely non-existent. There was just me, the road and the bayou, and whatever creatures dwelt there.

I heard the crickets chirp, and the frogs croak and, and the occasional bird coup. To avoid fear, I focused on their chorus and let the sounds preoccupy my mind. I walked, watching my shoes press into the sandy dirt as I placed one foot in front of the other. I would count my steps until I reached 100, and then I'd begin again. I tried to lose myself in the repetition. My shoes became damper and damper, and I felt the soles of my feet become moist. I stopped counting to ponder whether I should smack my roommate with a wet sock,

but my thought was interrupted when I glanced up for just a moment. and saw that I was not alone on this road. A sharp panic seized my heart, and I became very nervous. A long distance up ahead of me, I could discern the soft silhouette of a figure. It was so far away that I couldn't tell whether it was moving ahead or in my direction. I froze, and I could feel the blood gushing in my temples.

What were the chances of there being some malicious punk wandering this street at night, looking to rob me or pick a fight? This was the reassuring thought I had as I tried to convince myself that I was safe. I tried to keep calm, to not let my nerves get the best of me. I mean, whoever this was, was probably just as frightened of the prospects of me as I was of them. If they had already detected me, that is. I didn't know what to do. Run? There was only two directions.

Continue walking? What were the risks? As I stood there, I saw that the figure was indeed moving in my direction. And its form was becoming more defined. And this was the time I began to notice how awkwardly it was moving. The figure didn't walk normal. It didn't bob up and down, like how a normal person looks as they walk? What was coming towards me? It would seem, for my perspective, moved in short,

quick, jerking movements. All I could see from what light was present was how twitchy its limbs projected from its torso, and how much closer it was getting, and how its head stuck out from a neck that was longer than any human neck should be. And how at this time, I could now faintly hear the noises that it seemed to make, the sound of suckling, and how it was moving quicker, and how its face lifted, and I could see its eyes glare like glowing yellow beads, and how these wide, beady eyes locked onto mine, staring at me, and how it stopped, and how we both were there, motionless, yards away, looking at each other. And I remember then, how it let out the most ungodly, inhuman screech that I have ever heard like a pig being gutted.

It squealed violently, and the sound resounded throughout the bayou. And the chirping and croaking of crickets and frogs all stopped. Everything stopped. And the rumbling and humming was all that could be heard afterwards. The rumbling and humming of a motor ahead, a vehicle speeding toward us, tires racing loudly. The thing in front of me hunched over and turned to see the headlights beaming our way. It hissed, getting down on all fours, only pausing for a moment to turn back towards me,

gawking at me with its wide eyes before crawling hastily into the swam. The vehicle that scared the thing away was my roommate's car. He never saw it, whatever it was. and I never wanted to see it again. I moved as soon as I could and haven't been there ever since. I mean, until now, until you brought me back here.

I'm gonna plead ignorance on that one. You don't get to plead ignorance for everything. You did the same thing when the dinner bill came last night, claiming you didn't know how restaurants worked. Yeah, I can't believe you all fell for that one. Wait! Where are you going? I'm going to go meet up with the others to, um, get supplies, I guess. Are you kidding me? We're in the middle of nowhere. You can't walk all the way back to the garden district?

I have a right share coming. I scheduled it as soon as the others ditched me. I mean, went to get supplies. It's waiting, just down the road. I think they can handle it on their own. Come on. I need someone to hold my feet while I I see how deep the well is. Don't you do anything normal? Not if I can avoid it. I'm sorry. I need to go get some woman things. If you think you're going to make me feel uncomfortable,

you're right. Safe travels. It's fine. It's fine. I can be alone in the bayou for an hour or so until everyone gets back. It'll be fine. For more information on this podcast,

including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons Sherrillite 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.