Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2025: Day 2 - What Really Happened to My Dad & Dire Forest & Deer Season

Episode Date: April 7, 2025

What Really Happened to My Dad***Written by: No One of Consequence and Narrated by: Danielle Hewitt***Dire Forest***Narrated by: Nichole Goodnight***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Dire_ForestStory is available under CC-BY-SA***Deer Season***Written by: Shawn Yates***Support the show 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. Hey Owen. Have you seen, John?

Last I saw him, he was in the bus, crafting spears. Spears? John? What's you doing, buddy? Sit this pacum parablellum. What's that? Sipfispecum parablellum. It's Latin for, if you want peace, prepare for war. Did you steal that from the Punisher movie?

What? No. It's weird how much he quotes that movie. Yeah, I don't really remember it having any quotable lines. Though it was really sweet when he told me that without me, they'd just be diamonds. I wasn't wearing diamonds at the time, but I appreciate the effort. I think this is the most anyone has talked about the Punisher movie in the last decade. Personally, I prefer John Bernthal. Then let's stop talking about it, okay?

How are your wounds doing? Seeping nicely, thank you. That can't be good. I'm fine. This doesn't even crack my top five burn wounds. John, I think we need to get you to a hospital. Are you kidding me? And leave my camp to that group of...

Group of... Podcasters? He knows that we're all podcasters, right? Hey, it's one thing to know people through social... media or whatever content they make. It's something completely different when they trespass on something I worked so hard on. I said hard on. They aren't trespassing. They were invited. What? Bullshit. It's true. Shelby Novak from Scare You to Sleep showed us. Shelby's here? You literally walked up to her when we first got here. I don't recall that. Where is she? She ate some mushrooms she found in the

woods and disappeared searching for Fayfolk a few days ago with the It's All in the Cards podcast crew. Every once in a while, we hear cackling from the woods, so she's fine. Or maybe she's dead? I'm not sure. What? She can't be dead? I'm only insured if you all die.

This is a fucking disaster. Are you kidding me? How can you say that when you? you see how much happiness this place is bringing people. Because it's mine. I made it. By myself. When you all were in Nolav in the time of your life,

I was your making this place doing things, unspeakable things. Things that will haunt my waking mind for the rest of my life. Yeah, but we had to see your naked butt the other day, so let's call it even. Not by a long shot. Hey, he's not that crazy look in his eyes. They look like his normal eyes to me.

Exactly. Can someone at least please tell me that people are at least narrating stories? Yeah, that's the easy part. All we need to do is light a campfire and they sort of just appear. Who's up for the next story? I've got one. But you'll have to leave the bus. And the Spears.

Depends. What's the story about? It's about what really happened to my dad. Don't worry about the size of the fire. I've got it under control. I'm well-experienced with all kinds of outdoor activities like this. I've been camping more times than I can count. Not so much because I like it, but because I do it.

Doesn't make any sense, does it? Well, let me give you some perspective. You know how some people blame their parents, for everything that's wrong in their life, no matter how big or small the problem is, I've been known to do it myself from time to time. And before you judge me, or hell, even agree with me, allow me to explain. You might as well get comfortable, because this ain't a quick story. As you can see, I've got a trio of wild game roasting over the fire.

Help yourself to some rabbit if you'd like. It's quite delicious. The recipe for my herbal rub is very unique, and I guarantee you won't find it anywhere else. The trick is to rub it in as soon as you strip the fur off. My dad was the strongest guy I knew, and I don't just mean physically either, though he was that too.

The guy would go out to a relative's place in the country and chop wood with a freaking axe for crying out loud. Not a chainsaw or any sort of power saw, but an honest-to-god act. Some of the wood was for the relative out there, but a lot of it came home to save on the heating bill. He could carry $300 worth of groceries by himself in one trip, as long as it fits in those plastic bags they've used for for as long as I can remember, and not need any help.

Dad's strength extended to his character, and by that I mean integrity and honor. You'd have a hard time finding a more honest person than my dad, but that would turn out to be his downfall, I think. He used to work for a major car company in their factory that happened to produce their most popular vehicle. By accident, he found a major fault within the brake system. But when he brought it up to his superiors, they buried the report. It was closing in on the holiday season

and everyone was worried about the bonuses they were supposed to receive, not the quality of work. working for a company that, on the surface, boasted about its quality and reliability, Dad felt like it was his obligation to make someone higher up than him, take his report seriously. He went over his supervisor to the department head, and eventually to the head of quality control. Each and every one of them took his report and said the same thing. We'll look into it and get to the bottom of this. Of course,

No one did anything. Dad started digging around after hours and discovered that the company had recently switched suppliers for a lot of different parts. And the faulty brake issue was only one of the results. The company was producing so many of that model because it was one of the most popular in America. And they were having trouble keeping up with the demand. In his snooping, he came across test results that said one in every 50 cars would experience break failure within six months. The recall numbers were so astronomical that it would hit the company so hard

no one would receive a bonus. There would be massive layoffs and probably hundreds of lawsuits. Those corporate fat cats swept it all under the rug and were working to correct the issue going forward. There was little to no plan for retroactively fixing what had already been done. The assholes were putting a lot of hope on the blame being put on operator error

and probably had the means to make it look that way. It wouldn't be the first time they greased palms to get their way. Well, if you hadn't guessed it, Dad wouldn't stand for that kind of bullshit. He made copies of the reports, invoices, memos, and every piece of evidence he could get his hands on. This went damn near to the top of the company, and a lot of innocent people were at risk

if this didn't come out sooner than later. I'm sure if you look back far enough, you can find the scandal. It was a very public affair and made national headlines. Dad's identity was kept quiet for a long time. And to be honest, I don't know if it ever came out. Not that it really mattered. His bosses and everyone he talked to suspected he was the leak.

But there wasn't anything they could do. Well, except fire him with all the other employees who received pink slips instead of their yearly bonuses. I was a latchkey kid since my mom worked, but... We weren't all right after Dad lost his job. Mom worked at the same stupid factory and got laid off, too. It could be chalked up to her being married to him, or she could have been one of the ones caught up in the massive layoffs that occurred due to the scandal. I know what Mom claims, but she might not be right.

After all, she never took his last name. As far as I know, they never declared their marriage to the company either. I remember trying to sleep at night around that time, and it was hard. Mom screamed and yelled at Dad all the time, blaming him for sticking his nose in business that he shouldn't have. Never mind, it was his job and was the right thing to do. My mom didn't care about the people that might have been affected by the shady practices. That got Dad pretty mad, and it was only made worse when neither of them could find a new, decent job.

No one wanted to hire someone who got fired from, that factory thanks to the scandal. Fruit from the poison tree or something like that. Mom's constant screaming at dad never let up, and dad refused to apologize for doing the right thing. He claimed he'd do it again no matter the consequences, even knowing the outcome. In his mind, doing the right thing wasn't an option. It was how you were supposed to live your life. That was the last straw in my mom's mind. And before I knew what was happening, their marriage was over. I was too young to know much about the divorce. Only that my dad was moving out, and I'd only see him every other weekend. Mind you, I was only seven at the time. The only job dad could get was at a crappy gas station

at the edge of town. The only reason I ever found that out was because mom would drop me off and pick me up from there on his weekends. Since he didn't have much in the way of money, When I was with him, we'd go camping. He'd teach me about surviving in the elements, learning how to build fires, fish, hunt, and forage for food. I drank it all in, learning everything I could because he was still my hero. That's what dads are supposed to be. When Mom dropped me off right after school on Fridays,

dad would take me to the campsite. The tent and gear were already set up and he'd catch some shut-eye before we did anything. Everything we did together was in the late hours of the day, all the way into early morning. It wouldn't be for several months before I realized why. The job at the gas station was truly horrible, because Dad could only get the night shift and was accustomed to working those odd hours. We slept during the day on my visits and were active at night, which screwed up my sleep schedule for Mondays.

As a kid, I was more resilient and could adjust quickly. Not like I can today. Doesn't it just suck that things get harder the older you get? When I was ten, I finally asked him about the divorce. In feeling I was old enough, he told me everything. Finding the fatal break fault, snooping for evidence of the cover-up, going to the media, and why my mom was so mad about it. He told me, even knowing how it ruined our family,

he'd do it again, because it was the right thing to do. something he had always tried to instill in me. Exposing the company instituted a massive recall that probably saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives. It pained him to know Mom dismissed that so easily, but doing the right thing isn't always the easiest thing. I think lesser men would have broken. But not my dad.

We went camping to the same spot every weekend I was with him, and looking back on it like I have over the years. I think he was actually living in that stretch of woods. I never saw an apartment or other place he might have lived. The tent was always in the same place and there was plenty of firewood stacked nearby. We ate meals cooked over the campfire and always hauled our trash to the nearest dumpster every Sunday on our way back to the gas station. During the summer and fall, camping was great fun.

But when winter came, things got harder. It was cold during the day. But at night was absolutely freezing. We'd huddled around the fire, building it bigger than normal, and stay there until I couldn't keep my eyes open. I'd crawl into my sleeping bag and curl up at the bottom, nearly shivering myself to sleep. This is when I started to dislike my weekends with Dad.

I won't go so far as to say I hated them, but they weren't the good fun they'd been before. I remember waking up one freezing night, startled awake by a loud noise from deep in the woods. The sudden volume of it had me shooting up in my sleeping bag, but I hadn't actually heard what the noise was. Dad wasn't in his sleeping bag next to me, and I could see the firelight through the thin wall.

Poking my head out, I saw Dad standing between the tent and the fire, his axe in one hand and a large knife in the other. I asked what the noise was, and my voice startled him. to the point where he twirled around, his weapon slightly raised. It took him maybe half a second to realize I was awake, and slowly turned back to the darkness.

He told me it was nothing for me to concern myself with and to go back to sleep. It was clear that he was alarmed and searching for some kind of danger. So, going back to sleep wasn't an option. I knew Dad could handle anything that came at him, but it didn't get rid of my fear. Not when I was fully awake, and heard the noise again. It was a kind of shriek,

some monstrous noise that echoed through the trees and made the hairs in the back of my neck stand up. I crawled back into the tent and hit at the bottom of my sleeping bag, shivering not from the cold, but from fear. Yes, Dad was outside with his axe, a tool I'd seen him take down mighty trees with. But if there was a monster in those woods,

could Dad really handle it? I'd like to say I thought he could, and that's why I finally went back to sleep. But the truth is, I passed out from exhaustion. Crippling fear takes a lot out of you, and your body pretty much shuts down after a while. After the same thing happened the following weekend with Dad, I really started dreading my time with him. In the light of day, stacking wood as he chopped it up, I started asking questions about the shrieks. At first he tried to convince me those incidents were only bad dreams I'd had from him telling me scary stories around the fire. But I wasn't convinced.

The stories he'd told me weren't nearly that scary. More like Disney movie scary. When winter finally started to ebb and the nights weren't so cold, the shrieks not only got worse, but they sounded closer in the night. Again, I asked Dad about them. and I knew that last time was different when he gave a heavy sigh. He was finally going to tell me. I remember we'd built the fire exceptionally large.

Then we had one of the worst of the winter nights on that evening. Kind of like this one is now. But it hadn't occurred to me to ask why. The heat and light of the fire just made me feel safe when the sun went down. The weekend before the first time I heard the shriek, Dad had been hunting in the woods. He was on the prowl for rabbit or anything small that didn't require a license to hunt. He'd already gotten himself a rabbit and rubbed the herbs into it as it dangled from his belt.

With his compound bow, he stalked the woods. And just when the light was getting too dim to see by, he found what he thought was an even larger rabbit than the one he already had. It took one arrow to take the creature down. And when he went to claim his kill, he found it wasn't a rabbit at all. The exact details of what he described are lost to me over the years. But I vividly remember the image it painted in my mind. It's something I've discussed with my therapist, numerous times.

It was about the size of a Jack Russell Terrier, with dark fur that went light onto its chest and belly. The ears were sharp and pointy at the tops, similar to a huskies, but with absolutely no hair on the inside. Stranger still, there were two sets of ears, and they pointed in opposite directions on top the head. There didn't appear to be a nose that he could see, but there was definitely a mouth, just not like anything he'd seen before.

Instead of opening horizontally, like most creatures known to man, this thing's mouth opened vertically, as if to bisect the face. I find it odd that he neglected to mention anything about the teeth. but I know he didn't. As for the eyes, it had three strategically placed around its head to give it a complete 360-degree field of vision. There was no neck to speak of, which made sense with the eyes. With no need to turn one's head, a neck isn't all that important. The rest of the body was rather mundane until he touched it.

Every inch of the body was solid, like the creature was not. nothing but hard muscle in brute strength. With back legs like a rabbit, and front claws similar to a tiger, this thing could run down any living thing, indigenous to the forest, and kill it. At first I didn't understand what it had to do with the shrieking. Dad had already killed it, so it couldn't have been the source of the horrendous sound that made me not want to be there with him. Then it dawned on me.

There had to be others of its strange species. But it was worse than that. that. As with all mammals, in order to exist in the world, there need to be parents. The thing shrieking in the night was either the creature's mother or father, and it was pissed. Dad hadn't taken his kill back to the camp in order to eat it. There was no telling if it was even edible, so he left it where it lay. Every night since, the shrieks have been heard all throughout the woods as the creature continued to search for whatever killed its offspring. There was something I wasn't understanding about the situation. If he knew that it was looking for him, and that the shrieks

were getting closer, why not move the camp? Why stay in the same spot every weekend instead of relocating to someplace where it couldn't find him? Dad was about to explain, but as the words began forming in his mind, that mind-shattering shriek sounded through the woods. Unlike any time I'd heard it before. This sounded so close that if it were daylight, I should have been able to see what was making it. The sound was so horrendously loud that I had to put my hands over my ears to keep my eardrums from rupturing. Dad didn't seem nearly as physically phased by it. Either that or my childish fear made everything worse. There's a reason that childhood trauma can last the rest of your life. Getting to his feet, dad grabbed up his compound bow and readied himself for a fight.

I expected him to tell me to get in the tent, but he didn't. It's not like being in the tent would have prevent the creature from coming at me, but I hadn't realized that back then. I was still at the age where I thought the monster under the bed couldn't get me as long as I was under the protective barrier. That was the bed sheets. Why any of us thought those would keep us safe is beyond me. The large fire cast light toward the trees around the camp, but did little else to illuminate anything further.

Dad scanned the woods in the direction of the shriek. I was too busy huddled next to the blaze to see anything. My arms wrapped around my knees, bringing them as close to my chest as I could manage while shivering in fright. I distinctly remember begging Mom not to make me go with him that weekend. But she wouldn't listen. Something about his legal right and some other bullshit. Her words, not mine.

I'd have given anything to be anywhere else than that campsite. I still feel a pang of guilt. remembering that I only wished for myself to be elsewhere. Not both of us. At the time, I blamed Dad for all this, finally starting to take Mom's side in the mess that our lives had become. Every time I'm around a campfire, I contemplate why Dad stuck to the same campsite,

and the only thing I can come up with is some kind of sick, twisted sense of honor. He'd killed the creature's child, and possibly felt that he owed it the chance at some kind of revenge. Why he continued to put my life in danger is still baffling me. But he did. I highly doubt he wanted the creature to have the chance to make him feel the same experience he forced on it. Honestly, if he did, I'm better off not knowing.

When the shriek finally died away, I reluctantly uncovered my ears to the sound of leaves rustling. At first I thought it might be the wind, but then distinct tree branches started to start. shaking instead of all of them. For a brief moment, I began to think there were monkeys up there, because it was the only animal that I knew of that moved through trees like that. I couldn't really see any of the movement

until it came within the firelight. And when I did, my breath caught in my throat. The thing moved too fast for me to really see it. And the only thing I really gleaned from it was that it had fur. As it darted to the side, Dad cursed as he reached.

for another arrow. I hadn't realized he'd shot one at it already, and within seconds he had another one ready. Frantically scanning the surroundings, I wanted to start crying, to beg him to get us out of there. But I was too scared. Besides, like with the monster under my bed, I knew that making noise was only going to draw its attention to me. Dad shot two more arrows without hitting the thing in the trees. The speed of this thing was faster than anything real. It was almost comparable to the characters in that anime I used to watch with the orange balls and the stars in them. Hearing something behind me, I turned to look, but all I saw were shadows. That's when Dad started screaming, and I turned again. There was something large on his back. A monster like he'd described to me earlier, but much,

much bigger. Not as large as Dad, but bigger than me. It was latched onto his back, front and back claws digging into his skin so deep that he bled from every point. Those wails of agony soon turned to a whispering gurgle. And he turned in my direction. Those vertical jaws clamped onto the back of his head and neck, probably puncturing the jugular. Blood began seeping out of his mouth as he looked at me and mouthed a single word to me before falling onto his knees. Run, he'd said. with his dying breath.

But I was frozen. It was like slow motion. His gaze locked on me, reflecting the firelight as he slowly slumped to the side. His eyes never closed. But they were soon covered in blood, as the things still on him began to chew with a sickening crunch. Something erupted inside me,

rushing past the fear and reaching my feet. I didn't run away from the gruesome sight, but toward it. I went to the fire and picked up the metal poker dead had always used to move the burning logs around. The end had been sitting in the fire the whole time, and it glowed red at the end. With a lion cubs roar, I charged the creature and dug the hot end of the poker into it, not really aiming, but just trying to get it at all. A hot poker doesn't slide into a living thing. easily. In fact, I later found out a hot blade will actually have a harder time cutting into

something meaty, because the skin and meat will burn to the metal. If that doesn't make sense to you, think about this. Have you ever had to scrape burnt food off the bottom of a pan? It's a pain in the ass, and the same thing happens with a burning hot blade. Honestly, the only reason I was able to get the entire glowing end into the creature was because I'd been running at it. and the end went into the least dense part of its body. I caught that sucker right in the belly. It kicked me off easily, and I went flying right over the fire. For one brief moment, I was in an inferno of incredible heat,

and my left leg even caught part of the burning logs. A couple of the freshest logs tumbled out, and so did a thick stick that was only half on fire. As I got up to my feet, the creature got on its hind legs and began to charge. I grabbed up that half-burning stick and swung it like a bat. The end burst into pieces, sending burning ambers all over the place as it took the hit in the face. More than anything, I think that the fire in its face is what I actually scared it off. Laying there on the ground, the stick's still in my hands.

The creature gave me one final look before turning and running into the darkness. It looked at me with one of those intense eyes showing the most hate-filled expression I have ever seen. The right half of its face was a smoldering mess of burnt hair and blistering flesh. I tried to wake my dad up, but I was old enough to understand that he hadn't fallen asleep or passed out. The wounds on his head and neck were too severe and he was gone. I didn't know how to drive, but I'd been there enough times to know my way back, so I started walking. I didn't bother with a flashlight, and the only thing I took with me was a jacket. it. The air wasn't very cold that night, but I was chilled down to the bone.

Eventually, I made it to the gas station dad worked at, and the attendant called 911 at the sight of a blood-covered nine-year-old. I didn't end up asking for my mom, but the police ended up contacting her for me. Trying to describe the animal attack was met with strange looks, and those adult thing the authorities do when they don't believe a child's story. Finding the body didn't change their minds much, and they chalked it up to some kind of animal attack, which is true. To be honest, I have no idea what they blamed it on, only that it wasn't the monster I saw. There's no police code for a monster attack. Having integrity and honest character is good and all. Even sticking to it when everyone else is against you is commendable. But in the

end, it doesn't matter. It hadn't saved my dad. In fact, it could be argued that it's what ended up killing him. I spent a lot of years in trauma counseling and therapy. Not once did my story change. I described the creature to everyone the same way as I've done with you, but no one believed me. They all said it was a child's imagination, taking a seemingly ordinary animal

and turning it into something monstrous because it killed my dad. The therapy never really helped as I got angrier and older. I started acting out a lot. Things with Mom only got worse, and I think I was the angriest with her over the world in general. Since Dad was gone, she was supposed to be the one person I could count on. But any time I tried to talk to her about what happened, she stopped me cold. She never wanted to hear mention of Dad again, or the supposed monster that killed him. That pissed me off to no end, and I didn't keep my mouth shut about it.

The screaming matches I overheard, before the device. divorce? Wasn't nearly as bad as the exchanges we shared beyond that point. As soon as I turned 18, I left home and never looked back. A couple of years later, mom ended up marrying some rich douchebag, just like she always wanted. I didn't find this out through relatives, but due to a private detective who tracked me down. Apparently, Mom had confided in her new husband that we were estranged, and he wanted to reunite us because his mom regretted what happened between her and her only child. I was working in the oil fields and didn't have a permanent residence.

The husband was kind of a rich prick who thought he could throw money at every problem. And he tried that tactic with me. It didn't go well for him. And let's just say, I successfully burned that bridge to the damn ground. I think there might even be a restraining order against me. It seems that no matter where I am in life, what part of the country I call home for while. I return to the woods almost every spring. There have been times when I couldn't make it, like when my kids were born, or that time I couldn't get off work because of some colossal emergency.

In my earlier years before marriage and children, I discovered the creature is nomadic, moving from region to region. The only consistency is that it sticks to the woods. Reports of it are extremely scarce, usually chalked up to nightmares caused by campfire stories with pairs or groups claiming to have seen something. As far as I know, no one's been killed by it since Dad. Year after year, I go bow hunting and get myself small game to call a meal. But only once have I seen something as unusual as a thing that killed my dad. I'd managed to get myself a trio of rabbits in a single hunt when I came across something a bit larger, just when the light was almost too dim.

I figured it would make some good eating for others with me and took it down with one arrow. Care to venture a guess at what it was? What? No, not a hog. It was another of the creature's offspring. I kind of thought that would have been obvious. I'd already rubbed the herbs into the rabbits on my belt and made sure to leave sprinkles of it near the kill.

I even made a deliberate trail back to the camp. I always figured my failures were due to being solo, which is why I agreed to come out here. How's the rabbit, by the way? Oh. Do you hear that? In the woods? I think Mama or Papa just found their dead little critter. It won't be long before one of them finds their way to camp.

My only hope is that it has a badly scarred face and a good memory. I'd hate to finally get my revenge only for the monster to not remember me. I wouldn't try to run if I was you. Most predators pick off the ones that break from the herd. And though I'm good with my bow, I can't kill it if I'm not with you. I suggest you find something to use as a weapon in case I don't take it down with the first arrow. Wait, do you hear that?

It sounds like there's multiple branches rustling at the same. time. Could there be more than one? This should be interesting. Feeling better, John? A little. Good enough to put down the spear, you said you would leave in the bus? There's no evidence of my agreeing to that. Plus, we aren't any closer to figuring out who's responsible for all this.

Oh, man, is that the theme this year? Us trying to figure out a mystery? If so, I call Fred. How are you, Fred? You're Scooby at best. Even better! Soinks! Working here is so weird. I don't have any licenses for that IP, so stop it.

But I do have my suspicions. I know we've all had connections in one way or another to the other podcasts milling around here. Plotting. Planning. No one is plotting any... But there's another connection. A recent connection. Someone who started working with us regularly recently,

who has really strong ties to another show. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Nicole Goodnight. Joey Lawrence. Wait, what? The guy from Blossom? Whoa. John, get out of the 90s.

He's been in dozens of other things. Or did you happen to forget his third place finish and Dancing with the Stars season three? Crap. I always forget about season three. No, you aren't derailing me with Dancing with the Stars again. This is important. We need to find out what Nicole Goodnight knows about all this.

Not much. Oh, where'd you come from? Are you sure you aren't legally blind? She's been sitting here the whole time. I have, and it was kind of weird watching you all assume that I had something to do with everyone being out here, right in front of me, nonetheless. Sorry, not sorry. So, you're saying you didn't set all this up?

Wish I could help. But if you didn't plan this, I don't know who'd, did. Then how did you know about all this? David emailed me a couple weeks ago to ask what your policy was on nudity. And you didn't think to pass that information along to me? I will if there's a next time for that particular message. There will be. There always is. Wait, does that mean you have a story to tell? Of course. It's called Dyer Forest. Of all the terrible places to be lost and alone, this was surely the worst. Of course, I had heard the tales, that all who had entered had never returned, as well as its infamous reputation

as the place where all evil was said to originate. Despite this, I simply had to enter, although I am slowly forgetting why. It must be the influence of this infernal place. Nevertheless, I will surely know what I have come for when my eyes glance upon it. Presently, I continue to look upon my nebulous and twisting path. The blackened and seemingly lifeless trees seem to lean ever inward, plunging the already unnerving place into Eldridge's shadow. I eventually come upon a small, gray stream. However, I know not to drink the water in this foul place, nor to eat of any of the fruits, no matter what beguiling aroma they give off. To do so is essentially a death sentence, as a demonic virus will turn anyone full-hearty enough to taste the resources of the forest into one of the living dead. The process is

both excruciatingly painful and incurable. The only way to purge the disease being the complete and entire emulation of the host, or purification through silver weaponry, both methods proving fatal, of course. Nonetheless, I continue to forge ahead, the almost inaudible crunching of dead leaves underfoot my only companion in the accursed place. A bit further on I see another temptation set up by this place to trick anyone brave enough to make it this far. A small, glowing, yellow, gaseous ball of light floats just off my path to beckon me off the path, and to my certain demise. I had heard of these temptors, little demons called Willow the Whips, that attempted to lure travelers off the beaten path into a bottomless fog,

or an escapable quicksand. Regardless, I need to ignore these terrible creatures, thus their powers of allure overwhelm me, and eventually they give up on me. I walk for a good distance without incident, and stop in a large clearing. Just when I was beginning to believe that the forest had no more tricks up its sleeve, I see something that stops me dead in my tracks. assembled a little less than 100 meters away are approximately 10 undead abominations. Some of them were in a greater state of decay than others,

these being the ones with little more gleaming bone remaining, the skins and muscle having atrophied long ago. Others had more flesh and sinew intact, although all of them can be deadly to the unprepared traveler. I realized then that I'm going to have to fight to survive, so I draw my two pure-shot short blades out of their sheaths. The fell creatures take notice immediately. and begin hissing malevolently.

They can sense the cleansing power of silver, and know it can put an end to them. They too drew weapons, but theirs are blades soaked in blood of the slaughter of many. They also bear demonic powers, as evidenced by the pulsing, dark red aura surrounding their rusted blades. I knew not from whence they obtained these weapons, only that they were supremely evil relics of a bygone era and war. As I would expect from a mindless adversary, they all began lumbering in my direction. Without hesitation, I plunge my right blade into the upper torso of the first undead, this one having more skin than most. The result is immediate.

The creature begins screaming an ever-increasing pitch, shockwaves rolling through its disgusting body, until not but black ashes are left. Despite my small triumph, the other creatures remain unfazed and continue to attack relentlessly. I continue to fight in a flurry of limbs and blades until only two remain, the duo looking decidedly skeleton-like. The pair lunge upon me at once,

and I skewer the head of the first, and cleave the second and two. I do not escape unscathed, however, as I receive a large laceration on my left forearm. Even worse, the wound burns far worse than it should. And I know I absolutely have to find what I came here for, quickly, lest I perish here, or join the legions of the undead.

Luckily, the dire forest seems to have exhausted its resources against me, and I finally reached the place where the object I am after is enshrined. Lost memories pour into my mind as I glance upon it, and I remembered everything that I had forgotten since entering this accursed place. I had come here to protect one of the last vestiges of human civilization left in this broken and scarred world. Ever since the undead appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the world slid steadily on a path to destruction, with the undead greatly outnumbering the human population at present.

I was chosen as the last hope to defend the city known as Excelsior, even a few other bastions of human population existed elsewhere. These were a little more than ruins, and ours was always considered the strongest and best fortified. Even if they are in great need of help now, thus with newfound conviction in mind, I looked upon the object I had come so far for, a seemingly innocent, small, metallic bell.

Of course I knew its true nature. as a powerful force that could condemn or save a world, depending on the wielder. The bell was also known as the bringer of judgment, as it could meet out justice according to its wielder's desire. I wanted to ponder this longer, but the searing wound was turning a ghastly green color, and I knew that I needed to grab the bell quickly, for it had the potential to heal most, if not all wounds. As I carefully stretched out my hand to retrieve the judgment bell,

I felt an evil presence directly behind me. I immediately jumped to the right and not a moment too soon as a shaft of lightning struck the ground where I was a second ago, leaving not but scorched earth. I quickly turned around to face my attacker and was met with a sight so horrifying that no amount of words could begin to capture the true terror I saw before me. The being in front of me appeared in the guise of a man in a long, black-hooded robe. He held a sharp blood-stained scythe in his right hand, or rather the bones that had once been his stand, as they had not the slightest bit of skin, muscle, or tissue on them. The being had his left

hand held out in front of him, and it was cracking with a nexus of multicolored energy that could come from nowhere else but the nether world. The being then removed his hood, and I saw that his face was nothing more than a grin, complete with a malevolent grin, and dual yellow flames where his eyes ought to have been. I recognized this being for what he really was immediately. Back when the world had more hope, he used to be the leader of a deranged cult known as the necromancers. The necromancers would perform satanic rituals and numerous sacrifices in order to bring an end to the world quickly, as their leader thought it was beyond saving. However, all of the members of his cult were hunted down and exterminated.

While he was banished from civilization and took refuge in the dire forest, it had been said that he made packs with numerous malicious entities and otherworldly spirits in order to gain great and terrible powers, so that he might end the world himself. Now a radically altered version of that man stood before me. All things from his previous life discarded and forgotten, including whatever name or title he may have possessed. He was known simply as Litch to the few who knew of him, and only then in hushed whispers and never alone.

Lich stood in place and began to speak, every word accompanied with the grinding of his bones. So you're all that stands in my way from bringing an end to this wretched world. How pitiful. This forest is a child's playground compared to what I am capable of doing, shouted the Litch. No matter, you are nothing but a mere insect to me, unworthy of trying to save that which is beyond aid. Continued Litch. I know of the silver blades you carry, and they are beyond useless when facing an adversary of my caliber, exclaimed Litch.

I knew I had little time before he would attack. However, I had heard tales that is seeming and vulnerability was not complete. According to legend, Litch could be killed if the object that held his soul was rent asunder by a weapon with the power to purify, and thus kill the undead. I subtly glanced at the judgment bell. I make the startling realization that that is the object that holds Lich's soul. Yet, if I destroy it, the world will be doomed to oblivion. I have no time to ponder this, however, as Lich suddenly bellows at me, saying, Your time is at an end. Now, you shall know death, sweeten, brace. He then charges at me and his scythe makes a whooshing sound at the place where I had

stood a moment earlier. I continue blocking and parrying his attacks as I slowly make my way to the pedestal where the judgment bell is. However, just as I'm about to reach it, my left arm goes numb due to the progressing infection and drops the silver blade, seeing his chance Litch laughs maniacally and conjures up a twisting black flame in his left hand. Piercing screams emanating from the Inferno? With all the strength I could muster, I bring the remaining silver blade down upon the judgment bell. The effect is immediate. Litch starts catarwalling, inhumanely, and drops his scythe and his black flame is extinguished. His screams continue to intensify his blood I didn't know he possessed started to pour out of every orifice in his body. An interdimensional rift begins to form under

him as a giant, pitch-black six-fingered hand reached through it, and grabbed Lich. The hand squeezed Lich and broke most of his bones, all the while Lich was still screaming and bleeding profusely. From where I was standing, I could see magma, fire, and distorted human bodies through the portal, as well as small brimstone and feel the intense heat. It was obvious where Lich was going. The enormous sable hand and Lich went into the rift, and the hole in space-time closed. Yet all was not well.

The infection was quickly spreading throughout my body, and my vision was very big. vision was already beginning to blur, and only the judgment bell, which was likely destroyed, could save me, and the world. If the bell rang, all would be well. If it remained silent, then all would soon perish. With the last of my energy, I gingerly picked up the bell with my right hand and shook it back and forth. Yet, my world was eclipsed in the purest white. Before, the bell's notes could have reached my ear. If the world was saved, I had died a martyr. If the world would die than my sacrifice was worthless. I no longer belonged

in the living world. And no matter the outcome, I had passed on. The fate of the world for others to know. So what's up next, John? More plotting? Maybe covering yourself in mud so we can't

track your heat signature or something else from an action movie you believe to be a documentary. Well, that was the plan, Rissa. But I've got to admit, I've lost a lot of momentum. Start it up here. That's tough to maintain. Glad to see you finally come to your senses.

How do I tell Rissa the truth? How do I let her in on my plans without scaring her off? I need her on my side if I'm going to make it through all... You know you're speaking right now instead of thinking. Right? God damn it. What's it going to take for you to forget everything I just said? Believe it or not, I've gotten really good at immediately forgetting the things you tell me.

How about you just tell us another story? Deal. How about... Tear season. Growing up in the hills of Kentucky, hunting was just a part of life. I didn't live in some forgotten corner of Appalachia by any means. But the forested hills around the nearby state park are just far enough out in the country that you can wander into the trees and steep valleys and forget that an international airport is less than 10 miles away.

Even in such a relatively tamed place, the anticipation one feels in late autumn, when the mornings just begin to arrive with it dusting of frost, for the arrival of deer season, and it's palpable. It was on one such perfectly crisp morning that I set off into the woods an hour before sunrise to stake out my spot, and maybe catch a quick nap before shooting light. Aside from waking up a rafter of turkeys and making a ton of noise, is, it was a pleasant enough walk. I found a nice old oak tree to set up under.

It overlooked a bend in a creek that showed plenty of signs of activity over the past few weeks of scouting. As far as I was concerned, it was almost a guarantee something would come my way. Normally, this is the point where I'd wax poetic about the magic of being in the woods during deer season. After that hunt, though, I'm not sure I'll be going back out. To get to the point, I had, in fact, picked a fantastic spot. I roused from my little eye rest just in time for what I like to call the magic hour, when the light's still low and blue and the forest is just starting to wake. It's my favorite part of the morning.

Around 7.30, the biggest buck I've ever had a shot at, came walking up to the creek, nose to the ground. I watched him approach the creek. totally oblivious to my presence. Slowly I readied my rifle, praying that I wouldn't spook him in the process. Despite the shaking that comes with buck fever, I managed to put the crosshairs right behind his shoulder.

All I needed were a few deep breaths to steady my nerves. I exhaled and saw my breath change directions in the breeze. The buck stopped and raised his head, nose to the sky. His white tail lifted. signaling caution. He'd caught my scent. I pulled the trigger before he had a chance to bolt. It was a good shot.

He only ran about 10 yards or so before going down. I don't normally get excited by much, but at that moment I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. After waiting a few minutes to make sure he wasn't going to get up, made my way over to where he fell. Approaching the animal cautiously, I poked it a couple of times at the barrel of my rifle. satisfied that it was in fact dead i loved myself a short celebratory shout i leave my rifle against the nearby

tree and grabbed an antler to turn the head so i could get a better look at him he was an absolutely beautiful dear a writhing bulge on the side of the buck's neck quickly got my attention i've been hunting since i was a kid and i've spent a fair amount of time in the woods after a while you see some occasional strange This, however, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. The deer's skin stretched and contracted. Gradually, something began to pulse almost like an intense muscle spasm. An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach and I unsheathed my field knife. I wrestled with the idea of cutting into the thing.

It's not unheard of for animals to have tumors, but I'd never heard of. of a tumor that moved. And if it turned out to be something else, I really didn't want to risk in it all over me. The decision was made for me a moment later when something dark and pointed burst through the skin. It stretched and craned around before shrinking to almost nothing. Forcefully it thrust its way out and flailed about again. I took a step back, but never took my eyes off the scene unfolding in front of me,

watching with equal amounts of fascination and disgust. With each quivering thrust, it briefly changed color from brown to tan. I watched as the thing grew larger and larger. Pillet finally worked itself all the way free. I nearly gagged. It hit the ground with an audible plop, plump and hairless, writhing and contracting, the thing broke twigs and rustled leaves. Its colors cycled through various shades of brown to almost white.

I couldn't see any obvious head or legs. In some ways, it reminded me of a maggot. A megat the size of my fist. I didn't need to see more. I've seen an alien. I wasn't about to risk whatever was going to happen next. Before I could do anything else, I stomped on it, sending a spray of guts and nicker flying. I let out a deep breath, satisfied that I'd saved humanity.

My relief was short-lived. Glancing back at the deer, I noticed at least three more pulsating bulges spread out over its body. These ones didn't even get the chance to hit the ground. I thrust my knife deep into each one and twist it until they stopped moving. By that point, I'd add enough. Going against every ethical hunting practice I tried to live by, grab my rifle, and left the deer without even dressing it. I tried to justify it by telling myself that the meat was probably ruined anyway.

Besides, I needed to tell someone, anyone, about what I just encountered. I made it to the edge of the woods before I happened to run into a game warden. Normally, this would make for a bad day, digging on my license, answering a battery of questions, and hoping they were in a good mood. That day, though, I couldn't have asked for more. He was just standing at the trailhead, no coat, no orange, staring off into the distance. I couldn't believe my luck. The second I saw him, words poured out of my mouth.

He looked at me with the most serene look on his face and listened to everything I had to say without even so much as a question. In hindsight, I should have known there was something off about the guy. but in the moment I was just thankful I'd found someone official to talk to. I told him everything and offered to take him back to where I'd left the deer. He didn't say a word the whole walk.

By the time we reached the carcass, another two of the things that bore their way out of the animal. He walked over to him, calm as can be, and just picked him up with his bare hands. They stopped squirming as soon as he touched them, their colors continue to change. I don't see anything strange here.

Just a dead deer. It would be a terrible waste to just leave it like this. He said his voice trance-like. He stared at me. For the first time I noticed how wide and reflective his eyes were. It almost looked like he was wearing sunglasses, but there were no frames. Slowly I reached from my field knife, but I didn't remove. move it from its sheath. The handle felt reassuring in my hand. Then what do you call that in your

hands? I asked. Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about. There's nothing in my hands. He smiled and took a step toward me with his arms outstretched. I scrambled to get away from him, drawing my knife as I did. Okay, okay, you're right. I must have been seeing things. I said, taking a defensive stance and pointing the blade at him. He didn't react, but I'm fairly certain he wasn't the least bit threatened by me. The warden nodded his head and smiled, carefully tucked the two mega-things into the crook of his arm and shielded them with his other hand, almost like you would do with a baby. The sight made me want to vomit, glad we understand each other.

Well, pleasure talking to you. He said With Addie, sauntered off Further into the woods I shouted for him to stop But he didn't even look back, let alone slow down I shifted my rifle on my shoulder Briefly I considered firing a shot to get his attention

No sooner did the thought cross my mind though Then the warden raised his hand and snapped his fingers My rifle fell to the ground in pieces I'm not in the best shape, but I ran like hell all the way back to my truck. I haven't spoken a word about it until now for fear of being given a padded room to stay in. But with deer season right around the corner, I can't stay quiet. Got too many friends thinking about going out this year and they need to be warned. Consequences be damned.

I don't know what the hell of those things were or what the warden was. I do know that something's in those woods and you can forget about me going back out there. In fact, I thought I'll be going anywhere. Looking out the window just now, I see the game warden, standing just across the street, and he doesn't look happy. 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 story's author.