Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2025: Day 4 - There's Something About the Beach at Night & I'll Never Go Camping Again & The Guest

Episode Date: April 14, 2025

There's Something About the Beach at Night***Written by: Ian Epperson and Narrated by: Ian Epperson and Brooke Jennett***Check out the Thirteen Podcast at: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/thirteen/id1501929208***I'll Never Go Camping Again***Written by: Kristina Orlea***The Guest***Written by: Nicki Brumback and Narrated by: Nate DuFort***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.

Hey, everyone, me again. I really don't have any idea when this message you'll get through or at what point you're hearing this, but I have a couple of favors to ask. The first is, if someone could please tell my wife to stop changing your social media account status to single, I'd really appreciate it. And second, if you all could please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Tramika N. Montgomery. Riven Wat DeFalc OCD? The Thing That Watches the Thing That Watches the Thing That Watches You Sleep?

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These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Hold on one second. Hey, Cole. Come here. Have you met Ian and Brooke from The 13 Podcast? I have now. Nice to meet you.

So, how did you find yourselves trapped out here? Trapped? I'm sorry. I don't think I know what you mean. You know, trapped. Trapped out here. Trapped out here in the middle of nowhere with John. Trapped.

Um, okay. Well, I'm not sure about all that, but I got an invitation. Can I see that? Yeah, that's the exact. same one as the one Shelby got. Who do you think is sending them? Wait, you mean you guys didn't send these out? Nope.

What does John have to say about any of this? No clue. Haven't asked him. Why? You're new here, so you'll learn real quick that John is completely unreliable in every way that a human being can be. And Camp tends to bring out the extra weird in him.

Okay, I'm a little lost. And getting concerned, does that mean we aren't supposed to have a story ready? Oh, no, that's a constant around here. Let's go over to the campfire. It looks like there's a crowd over there. What's your story about? There's something about the beach at night. There's something about the beach at night. I've always been captivated by the idea of it. It's not an obsession or anything like that. But ever since, I was old enough to watch rom-coms where the characters go for a night stroll by the water, or movies and TV shows where kids have parties on the beach at night. I've always wished that I could be there.

But I'm from landlocked Middle America, and I've never been to the ocean. The closest thing I've seen is the Great Lakes. And even though it's a body of water big enough that you can't see the other side, I could tell that it just wasn't the same. So, when I was fresh out of college, my friends and I decided to put our money together and take a trip to the coast. I couldn't wait to go.

And the whole time leading up to it, I imagined the beach at night. When we got there, we unloaded our things into the beach house we'd rented for the week. There were six of us, and there were three. three bedrooms. Amber and Jake were a couple, so they shared a room. Me and Alice shared a room,

and Matt and Kyle shared a room. I'd had a little crush on Matt, and I kind of hoped that maybe something would happen on this trip, that I'd walk out onto the beach at night, and that he'd follow me and tell me about his feelings. I knew it wasn't likely to happen. We'd been friends for a long time. And I was scared that if I did it and I was wrong, it would mess up the whole friend group. But, in the back of my mind, I hoped that this change in scenery, this trip, would shake something loose. Maybe one of us would finally open up. After we settled in, the drinks came out. I'd had a couple before I decided to step out onto the back deck that overlooked the sand,

and the water. I'd been right. The Great Lakes didn't compare to this. The waves, the smell of saltwater. It's an incredible thing to see the ocean for the first time. And the sun was setting. Soon, it would be dark. When nightfall finally came, we were all getting pretty tipsy. Jake was teasing Amber about something. Alice and Kyle were laughing about something, and Matt was looking for something in the refrigerator. The night was just getting started. I made eye contact with Matt, and he gave me a little smile. God, I loved that smile. Before things got too crazy, I excused myself, and I wandered out onto the sand.

Jake spotted me, sneaking out the back door. Hey, where do you think you're going? I waved him off, but snuck one more look at Matt. He gave another little smile as I stepped out the door and away from his line of sight. What kind of smile was that? Was it just a goofy, tipsy kind of thing? Or did he know what I wanted? Would he take the hint and follow me?

There was a set of wooden steps that led from the back deck to the beach. When I got to the bottom, I took off my shoes and let my feet sink into the sand. It was cooler than it had been earlier that day when the sun was beating down. It felt nice. I could hear the roar of the waves, and I could just make out the white caps as they broke against the shoreline. It was darker than I had expected, and I had to let my eyes adjust. Once they did, I went further. I got right up to the edge of the water. The remnants of powerful waves had diminished to tiny ripples here.

A force that had traveled thousands of miles to this point. But then, no further. Finding their end at the tips of my toes. The thought of that, the dark swirling depths. It took me by surprise. I thought that I would feel something beautiful out here. But instead, as I looked out at the never-ending night, it felt like I was standing on the edge of the world.

It was a menacing feeling. I felt exposed and vulnerable. I took a step back before the remnants of the next wave could roll over my feet. Behind me, the lights from our beach house and all the other beach houses like it. Stretched down to the horizon. We all blacked out that night at the beach house. I can't remember anything after looking up and down the sand. Just little snippets of memory that I was able to hang on to.

Tiny flashes of lightning in the distance. I think Matt did follow me out onto the beach. I remember talking to him, but I don't think there were any big professions of love. After that overwhelming feeling of dread, I probably wasn't feeling very romantic. Over the next few years, people came and went from our circle of friends. But a core group of us stayed together, and every couple of years we did another big trip like that, where we pooled all our money and did something that none of us individually would, have been able to afford. As time passed, things started to change. Amber and Jake got married and

moved away. Everyone started getting promotions and got into serious relationships. But I kind of languished. Maybe I was trying too hard to hold on to my youth. Maybe I was afraid of the unknown, or afraid that I would fail if I tried to go for something that felt out of my reach. And there were other people in my life that were in the same position I was in. And it doesn't feel like you're missing something when you're surrounded by other people doing the same thing. I stayed on in an entry-level job because I felt like I was good at it. You can get comfortable going through the motions. And that's what I did. When it would come time to reconnect with my college, friends when the group chat would light up with another round of planning for one of these trips

where we'd pool together our money. They were growing more lavish, along with the lifestyles of my friends, and they were starting to become out of reach for me. What should have occurred to me over the last few years came crashing down all at once. I was almost 30, and I was still living like I was fresh out of college. It was embarrassing. I'd let myself just float through my 20s, and now they were almost over. One night, I was on the phone with Amber, who lived across the country now, but still flew out to reconnect for these getaways. I heard Jake tell her to tell me hi in the background, but he had no idea that I was falling apart while I talked to his wife. I broke down, and I let it all pour out, I'd wasted so much time.

And now I couldn't afford to pitch in for our next getaway. A trip to a huge cabin on the lake three hours away, with spa days and kayak tours and all kinds of things out of my reach. Amber listened while I talked about how stuck I felt, and she did something that I didn't ask her to do and didn't expect. She agreed to pay my way to the day. this year's getaway. I refused at first, but she assured me that it was worth it to have me there. So I accepted. And when I hung up the phone, I was also resolved to never have to be in this position

again. I rode with Alice to pick up Amber and Jake from the airport, and we drove the three hours to the cabin. I'm so pumped. Oh my God, it's going to be great to see everyone again. I worried things would feel weird after our call, but they didn't. Amber kept my secret and didn't tell the others that she'd paid for me, and she didn't let on about my breakdown either. I started to let my guard down, and we settled back into our old rapport. She was a good friend. Matt arrived first with his fiancé.

I'd long since lost interest in him romantically, but I still loved him as a friend. The two of them were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, waiting for us to arrive to be let in. We started to unpack, and over the next few hours, everyone else arrived. And just like that, the group was back together. The lake was beautiful. There was a break in the trees, and we had a perfect view. We could barely make out the cabins and structures on the other side. They were packed in closer.

over there. Our side of the lake was more secluded. That night we all caught up. We ate, we drank, we danced, and I was able to imagine us all like we'd been on that first trip to the beach. All those years ago. At some point, I stepped out onto the porch to get some air. It had been a long drive and I was tired. I wasn't able to party quite like I had a few years before. Maybe I would sneak off and go to bed early. I could see the lights on the other side of the lake. They were far away, but they were there, and they reflected off of the dark water. The sky was full of hazy stars. A mist was starting to come together in little pockets on the water. It was beautiful.

The next morning, I woke up before the others. Just as I'd thought, I did end up sneaking off and going to bed early. The first thing I noticed was the light. There was a heavy fog outside. The main room was still a mess from the night before. Judging by how much alcohol we'd started with and how much was left, It might be a while before anyone else got up. I dug through the snacks for something to eat,

and I walked out onto the porch. I could see the cars through the fog and the edge of the trees just on the other side of the drive, but that was it. I walked down the front steps and then followed the gravel path to the edge of the water. It was so calm and quiet, little ripples coming to rest on rocks.

I felt like I was being drawn to it. A thought occurred to me, and I went back upstairs to get my swimsuit. I stepped in and the water was cool, but I didn't mind. After a few more feet, the water was to my knees, and there was a drop off. I let myself drop straight in.

The shock of the cold made my mind go blank. and before I knew it, I was floating on my back in perfect peace and solitude. The fog muffled the sounds of the forest. I could feel my body gently spin in the water as I used my arms and legs to keep myself afloat. This is exactly what I needed. The only thing I could hear were the little ripples of water against. my skin. I closed my eyes and took in the morning air. I found myself thinking back to that night on the beach when I'd walked down to the edge of the ocean, thinking it would feel magical and romantic.

But instead, I felt so much existential dread that I thought I might have a panic attack. I'd felt like I could fall off the edge of the world. I don't know if it was a memory or something that I just imagined, but I was about to turn back when I heard the shuffling of sand behind me. Matt had watched me leave. He gave me a little look. I saw it. I remember relishing that moment before turning around.

He'd come out to fall. find me. Maybe this was the moment I'd been waiting for. I opened my eyes. I was still on my back, floating in the lake. I could see the blue sky above me, but when I looked in every direction around me, it was gray. How long had I let myself drift into memory? How far had I been floating from the edge of the water. And which direction was land? I started to panic. What do I do?

I started to feel heavier. I kicked a little harder to keep myself afloat. What if I became exhausted before I found my way back? What if I... No. I couldn't let the panic take hold. I tried to get my breathing under control. I just needed to think.

Just then, I heard something, something like an animal scurrying through the brush. I burst into motion. Water splashed all around as I swam for my life toward the sound. It only took a few seconds before I could see something through the fog. Trees. Rocks. I could see land.

I scrambled onto the dry ground, out of breath more from the panic than the exertion, and I took in my surroundings. And just on the edge of the fog, I could see the lakehouse, our lakehouse. I had never been more than 30 feet from the edge of the water. Relief washed over me, and I started to make my way back toward the house. I would wait to swim again until the others were awake and the fog had lifted. I stepped back into the lakehouse

and it was all wrong. It was cleaned up. The mess from the night before was gone and it didn't sound like anyone else was awake. There was no movement at all. The kind of silence that paralyzes you How long had I been out there? You can convince yourself that things are fine, even when you should know better.

I went upstairs and took a shower to get the feel of the lake water off of me. When I got out, I listened for footsteps, for voices, movement. But the only sound was the drip from the showerhead. I was starting to get a bad feeling. Back in the main room, I looked around again. It wasn't just cleaned up. It was empty. I opened the cabinets and drawers where we'd put our food for the week.

Nothing. Outside, the fog was starting to clear. And that's when it really sank in. The cars were gone. The panic came on fast. I went upstairs and knocked on Amber and Jake's door, Matt's door, Alice's, Kiles. When I opened them, one after the other, there was no one inside. Their things were gone.

Beds made up neatly, just the way they had been when we arrived yesterday. It was like they'd never even been here. I started screaming for them to come out, to stop, hiding from me. I was in full meltdown. At some point, I ran outside. I just couldn't be in there any longer. I called their phones, all of them, and I got the same thing every time. This number is not in service. If you feel you've reached this recording and error, please hang up and try again. How was that possible? I waited. outside for a long time, expecting them to come back, for this all to be some kind of misunderstanding.

By the time the fog had completely burned off, and the sun was getting hot overhead, and my adrenaline had run its course. I went back inside. You might be tempted to think that something bad had happened, that my friends had fallen victim to something. But there was no sign of like that. There was no sign of anything at all. It had been a while since I tried calling their phones. Maybe there was an issue with the signal way out here, and that's why it wasn't going through. I tried again, but it was the same thing. This number is not in service. I waited longer, until mid-afternoon. I walked around the outside of the house. I looked up at the windows, expecting to see someone looking down at me.

But there wasn't. There was no food in the house, and I was getting hungry. By the time the sun was starting to fall below the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake, I went upstairs and packed my things. I called an Uber, and I got a ride to the nearest town. I stayed at a hotel that night, and I called. called my dad and asked him to come get me in the morning. There are some things you might assume someone would do

when all of their best friends disappear. You might call the police. But what would you tell them? You could try to reach out to the Airbnb host that rents out the lake house, but they said there wasn't a booking for the night we were there. You could try to keep calling them, but the numbers were still out of service.

You could reach out to them on social media, but you can't find their profiles anymore. It's like they never existed. Except that's not exactly true. You have photos in your phone from college. You can find articles with their names and photos from their hometowns. It's not that they never existed.

It's that they don't exist anymore. But how does that happen? And why am I still here? Before the trip, when I'd poured my soul out to Amber, I'd made that promise to myself that I was done languishing, that I was going to push my life forward and make some changes. That never happened. How do you move on from something like this?

Months went by, and I felt like I was just floating through my days. I would try to call or text one of them from time to time. But like all the other times before, there was nothing. But then, about six months after leaving the lakehouse, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of my phone buzzing. I was groggy, and when I finally rolled over, it had gone to voicemail. I picked up my phone to see who it was. The name on the screen sent a shock through my system.

It was Amber. Before I could react, the phone buzzed in my hand. Amber's name on the screen. She was calling again. I answered. Amber? There was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.

I was stunned. What was happening? My blood went cold. She kept going, hung up the phone. My hands were shaking, and my heart was racing. The phone rang again, but I backed away and I didn't answer. It rang through two more times. And finally, it went silent.

It was a month before I got another call, this one from Kyle. It was the same as Amber's call, asking why I left. A few days later, Amber called again. I cried as I hung up the phone. I missed them too. But this wasn't normal.

And that wasn't Amber. Whatever it was, it was cruel and sick, and I had no idea what to do or how to make it stop. But I didn't have to do anything. After that last call, they stopped. More months went by, and I just kept floating. I dreamed about the ocean at night.

Little pinpricks of lightning somewhere past the horizon, a twinkling in the distance, a mumbling of thunder mixed in with the waves. And I'd wake up to the sensation of falling. It was spring, and the days were getting longer. I'd settled into my new existence, my new world. And that's the entire problem. I've settled.

I don't know what happened to my friends. I'll probably never know. But it had been almost a year since I'd made the promise to myself that I was going to do things differently. from now on. And after so much delay, I was finally going to make good on it. But there was something I knew

I needed to do before I could move on. The calls I'd gotten. Amber and Kyle asking why I'd left, I had to go see for myself. I knew that they hadn't been out there all year. I knew that I wasn't going to find them. but maybe being there again would trigger some kind of memory, give me some kind of new insight,

something I wasn't able to process or see in the moment. Or, more likely, it would show me that it really was out of my control and there was nothing to do but move forward with my life. I checked Airbnb and found the lakehouse. I checked for availability. I wasn't going to book the place, but I also didn't want to run into anyone who might be renting it. And as luck would have it, it was open for the next few days.

The next morning, I woke up before dawn, and I drove the three hours to the lakehouse. I thought that I might be nervous as I pulled into the long drive that snakes through the trees and toward the edge of the lakehouse. the water. But I wasn't. There was a mist burning off in the early morning sun. God, it felt perfect. I pulled to the end of the drive. No other cars. The place was empty. I got out and looked around. There were rays of light caught up in the mist. The water was perfectly stu. The house itself was bathed in that early morning twilight.

It was pristine, picturesque. I had no intention of going inside the lakehouse, but I did go up to the windows and peek in. It looked just like it had when I'd left here last year. It was cleaned up, put together, and ready for the next guest. I took a few steps back, and I looked up at the windows on the second floor. Just like last year, I had a feeling that I was going to see them, looking down at me from the glass. But they weren't there. I played it all back as best I could remember. When we showed up, Kyle and his fiancé were already here.

They were waiting on the porch. Amber put in the door code, and we all were. all went in together. It took a couple more hours for everyone else to arrive. Then the drinking and the music began. At some point, I stepped out to look at the water. It was night, the waves rolling against the sand. No. I could hear my friends behind me, inside the lakehouse. And then I had this feeling like I could fall off the... edge of the world. No, there was mist on the lake, and then there was the sound of footsteps shuffling in the sand. Was it Matt coming up behind me? I opened my eyes, and I wasn't looking out

at the sun rising over the lake. I was back on the beach. That night, all those years ago, And I could hear them clearly. Those footsteps in the sand. They were coming up behind me. I turn around, expecting to see Matt, anticipation welling up inside me. But instead, it was Jake. Hey.

Oh, hey. What's up? Hey, so... God. I don't know how to do this. He looked anxious. He looked over his shoulder toward the beach house. And I felt my stomach drop.

This couldn't be happening. I can't stop thinking about you. I've wanted you ever since we met and I know that it's complicated. I was afraid you'd say no and I wanted to be sure first. And Amber was obviously into me. I kind of settled for what was safe, but I swear to God, it's been the biggest regret of my life. And I think about it every time we're together. And then I saw you coming down here and I thought maybe it's a sign.

I can't keep it bottled up anymore. I want us to be together. I'll leave her tonight. We can go away. We can find a place of our own. We can start over. What do you think? I was horrified.

What was he even saying? Did he really think I would do something like that to Amber? Jake, I don't know what to say. Just say yes. No. Amber is my best friend. You're supposed to be in love with her. I saw his eyes drop.

And I saw the humiliation, heartache and regret. All at once. I thought. You thought wrong. Oh, my God. A different kind of look came over his face. Fear. I can't believe this.

Look, look, I'm drunk. I got mixed up. I didn't, I didn't mean any of that, okay? I watched him backtrack all of it. Just, look, just don't tell Amber, okay? This was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. There was something else in his expression now.

Desperation. Determination. I suddenly felt very exposed. Yeah. I won't tell. I wouldn't do that. It would ruin the whole trip. What does that mean?

Does that mean you're going to tell her after the trip? No, no. I'm not going to tell her. I promise. He looked around. The ocean was dark. The beach was dark. No one could see us.

Now you're going to tell her. Women tell each other everything. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I'm not going to tell her. I promise. Within seconds, he'd knocked me down and he was on top of me. I tried to scream, but the air wouldn't come out. I tried to gasp for breath.

And then I was standing again. I was above it all, looking down as Jake had my body pinned, his hands around my neck. It took a long time, and I watched it all. When he stood up, he didn't see me. He was standing right next to me, but he couldn't see me. There was panic. and yet another new kind of fear on his face.

I heard something off in the distance, a familiar voice screaming, shuffling sand and footsteps running toward us. I heard Jake's voice, a kind of desperation that I've never heard before, trying to explain away what they could all see with their own eyes. All of this faded into a swirl around me. And all of a sudden, it made sense why I'd languished for so long, why I couldn't move on.

Any time I tried, my consciousness wouldn't let me. I ended up right back here. I couldn't take my eyes off the body lying in the sand, my body, before I could really process what I was seeing. I felt the sensation of falling. Hey, John, I don't want to alarm you or anything, but you wouldn't happen to have packed a lot of food you didn't tell us about. Did you? In an effort to save time, Jimmy, I'm just going to jump straight to panic and assume that we're either really close to running out of food or we've already run out of food and things are about to start getting as bad as I fear they would. Actually, no, I just... Did you?

Did you just play the sound effect of a sword being unsheathed on your phone? Yeah. I forgot my real sword at home. You need somebody to talk to, buddy? I talk to myself all the time. Yeah, we are all very aware of that. It gets weird when you do voices. You aren't good at them.

We don't have time for this. We need to prepare. Prepare for what? I just told you that... Don, it's your turn to tell a story. Be right there! We can talk about... about this later. And in advance, I want to thank you for your confidence and loyalty.

Of course, John. You know that of... And sacrifice. You won't be forgotten. I'll see if someone can write a song about you. Or at least carve a limerick into a tree. Coming! Okay, everyone. Get ready for... I'll never go camping again. Solo camping trips have always been my end of the month's cure for the day-to-day grind of my life-draining IT job. The number of people in the office that can't seem to figure out email attachments, PDF conversions, and my personal favorite, slow internet, are absolutely mind-boggling.

No, Michelle, I can't make the internet go faster just so you can download cat videos while working on sales reports. And if one more person brings me their personal cell phone because they forgot their password, I'm going to scream. But that all goes away when I leave the office and head out into the great outdoors. I'm a firm believer that there isn't an amount to stress that my sleeping bag tent and tech-free weekend can't alleviate. For this weekend, I picked a nice rural location and camp turtle shell, a semi-popular campground east of town. Having been to the grounds a few times, I knew just a perfect area that wouldn't have too many other campers. A fantastic little grotto roughly 40 minutes off the set of main trails. It was a perfect location for tent camping.

The walk down was easy. The path was visible, but since not too many people have stepped through here, you had to pay attention or run the risk of a sprained ankle. The path merged with the opening of my weekend haven. A breathtaking sight for sure. The maple and oak trees with their height and large leaf size created a perfect canopy. that led in just the right amount of sunlight. Fallen pine needles, dry leaves, and moss covered the forest floor near the tree bases,

which looked ideal for my tent. After setting up to sight, I cooked dinner, then settled in for the night. The next morning was glorious. I was awoken to the melodious notes of sparrows, robins, and blackbirds, as they rallied the forest creatures for the day ahead. After getting dressed, I emerged from the tent and was greeted by warm beams of sunlight that caressed my face. It was quite a refreshing feeling. That is, until a rancid smell raced up my nostrils.

A quick scan of the tree line resulted in the discovery of the source, a rabbit. Or what's left of a rabbit after a predator has its way with it. Now wanting the smell to completely ruin my spot, I grabbed my spade and walked over to clean it up. It was a mangled mess. I'm hoping it was a fox, because anything bigger and I'd been concerned, I'd enjoyed shredding, poor little thumper. Using the spade, I picked up the remains, tossed them as far as I could into the woods, and then covered the remaining bits with some loose dirt. Now back to the warm, skin-cressing sunshine, and most importantly, breakfast. After a quick meal of beef jerking trail mix, breakfast of hikers everywhere.

I grabbed my water bottle, more trail mix, and camera for a leisurely walk around the area. There was a little creek to the east of camp that I wanted to investigate. I was a hot, sweaty mess when I made it back to camp and was ready for food. After I quit duck wash in the tent, I gathered some firewood and started preparing my meal of Camp Fire Mac and Cheese. I've perfected the recipe, so I can prepare most of it at home, leaving just a cooking part for the fire. It's really a handy meal to cook over an open fire. You just need an aluminum pie tin, water, and cheese packet. Bing bang, boom.

Comfort food in the wild. Evening reading in the woods can be such a therapeutic event, especially after gorging on a tin of tasty, cheesy carbs. When the fire starts to die out, that's the cue that it's time to wrap things up because reading in the dark, even under a full moon, is bad for your eyes. Or so I've been told. Yawning with the energy of someone that just ran a marathon, I snuggled down into my mummy bag,

a gifted myself last Christmas, and turned off the lantern. Before I could shut my eyes for what I hoped to be a great night's rest, I noticed a round hole, just about head height in the back tent wall. After an internal debate of whether I wanted to move, I finally got up, grabbed a roll a duct tape, and covered the gap. Satisfied that the bug entrance was now sealed, I climbed back into my sleeping bag and knotted off. I woke to the sound as something rubbing against the tent. Going over to get a better look, I saw the piece of tape had been moved, and in its place

was an eyeball staring at me. Rightly freaked out, I flipped down the lantern and could see the outline of what I thought was a person standing next to the tent. A face was pressed up against a fabric along them to gaze in through the hole. As if on cue, the figure started to feverishly lick the tent wall. Ew! The fuck, dude! The hell are you doing!

The figure stopped licking and started walking towards the front of the tent. Once the figure stopped, it turned towards the front tent flap and slowly pressed its body against it. It felt like an eternity. They stretched out their arms and dragged their fingers on the canvas while whistling pop goes the weasel. Hot tears streamed down my face as I knew that I could no longer remain calm. Panic rose as I searched around me for anything that could be used as a weapon. Get the hell away from me, you creep! At this outburst, the figure dropped its arms to its side, slowly tilted its head back

and forth as if it were a pendulum and increased the speed of the children's tune. As terror crawled up my throat, the vibration in my sleeping bag brought me a feeling of hope. My cell phone. I swiped the screen and clicked the Airhorn app on the home screen. I had to cover my ears as the phone belted out the loudest noise I could make. The app repeated several times before it was silent. After a long moment of silence, the figure turned and, slowly walked away, still whistling.

After taking several deep breaths to stop my body from convulsing, I quickly dialed the Ranger Station. Thankfully, one of the Rangers was currently making rounds near my location and the dispatcher would send them my way. Terrified that the person was still nearby, I stayed in the tent until the Park Ranger arrived. I took my statement, wrote a report for the local authorities, and took photos of the area.

As I gathered my things, the ranger walked around the tent to take perimeter photos. After a brief moment, he informed me that the tent was evidence and that I'd have to leave it there. Figuring that he meant it held DNA from when the creep was licking it, I walked around to speak to the ranger. He tried to stop me, but I'd already noticed the markings on the tent. My knees gave way, and I tumbled to the ground. crudely written in what I could only hope was mud was a message you look so delicious when you sleep

that was the last time I went camping Okay, if I could get everyone's attention Jimmy has informed me that we are out of food What? No, I didn't It was bound to happen sooner or later with this many podcasters in one place I think we need to go off and do some planning to prepare for the coming weeks as things start to get weird.

Yep, yep. You guys go on. I'll catch up. Hey, Danielle, hold on. What? Are you at all worried about living in this scenario for the next month? It was bad enough when we just had to worry about John, but now there's like a dozen other podcasters from at least a half dozen podcasts,

all milling around doing things. Do you really think it's going to be? going to be any worse than what John can do to us. At least this way, there will be witnesses at the civil trial. It is a little frustrating how easily he gets those cases dismissed. I'm not even sure what we're supposed to be doing right now. John didn't exactly share much before he blew up. Hey, I'm just going to work off the basis that we're supposed to narrate a story or two,

then do our best to survive. Though, with all these people around, doesn't really feel as concerning, does it? No, now that you mention it. Plus, if John isn't around, do we even really need to narrate? You'll know. How would he know? How does he ever know anything that happens? I assume he has the trees wire with microphones, so...

I personally think it would be a great idea to narrate a story right now. Smooth. What's the story about? The guest. Do you believe in ghosts? I didn't. Not for most of my life anyway. Or, well, I didn't think I believed in ghosts. Not until my family moved into the cabin. Then I found that, when confronted with an issue that otherwise defies reasoning,

it's easier to fall back on paranormal explanations. The house was beautiful. It wasn't anything glamorous, but it was much better than where we had been living. Mostly because it was all our own. Both my wife and I grew up living in rental properties in small apartments. Our childhoods were filled with bland white walls that couldn't be decorated, so the place would be ready for the next faceless tenant. We met in college and moved into a tiny apartment together.

We planned to save for a tiny starter home after we were married, but then our first daughter was born. It seemed that life just kept in the same. getting in the way. Our second daughter came as a surprise. Sophia's company relocated. It seemed like every time we were ahead, something else would happen. That's just the way life goes. It took a long time, but that made it all the sweeter when we finally felt that we'd saved enough to make it work. We wanted somewhere that was out of the city. Sophia and I are both outdoorsy people. We got engage on a camping trip at one of our favorite

spots. We hope to instill in our girls the same love of nature that we both had. My wife dreamed of starting a garden with them. We wanted to surround them with life rather than concrete. We'd be able to paint their bedroom walls, an idea

that felt like real freedom. We even entertained the idea of getting a pet for the girls. Charlotte would love to get a dog, but Eva was obsessed with cats. Hell, Maybe we could get one of each. The possibilities seemed endless as we were moving into our new home.

This was a new chapter for our family. It did take us a bit to find the perfect home for us, but when we found it, well, it was well worth the wait. It had the space that we dreamed of. Surrounded by tall trees, the house itself was just big enough for each of the girls to have their own bedrooms for the first time, but the lot was big with plenty of room to roam.

A stream ran through the back of the property. Sophia and I weren't sold right away, but we set up a second visit. When we decided to take the girls out to see what they thought, we watched them begin to explore with wide eyes. They were drawn to that stream, and we caved to their requests, letting them slip off their shoes to step into the cold water. As they turned over rocks to look for salamanders and insects, I looked at my wife and knew that,

this was the place for us. Everything was great for a while. Charlotte and Ava loved their new home, and my wife and I felt like our dreams were becoming reality. Quickly, though, things took a turn for the strange. We went to Sophia's parents for the weekend, and when we returned, it seemed like the kids had changed their minds about the house.

Eva no longer wanted to sleep in her bedroom. She claimed she heard strange noises. coming from her closet. Instead, she tried to split her time between our room and Charlott's. This was never an issue we had to deal with before. We debated whether we should encourage her to confront her fear or simply ride out this strange new phase. Sophia suggested that it would be best if we just let her have her way.

Sure, it was inconvenient, but she suggested that what Ava needed was to feel supported, so we let Ava sleep between us or in bed with Charlotte if she didn't mind. Only rather than get better, the anxiety seemed to spread. Charlotte became convinced that she could hear walking at night. One night she stumbled into our bedroom, rubbing her tired eyes and insisting that someone had opened her bedroom and peeked in. To be honest, I was growing increasingly frustrated.

Whatever this phase was, I wanted it over. Like I said, I never believed in ghosts, and I wasn't sure how to handle my children's fear that they were living in a haunted house. I wasn't sure where it came from. Maybe something that they picked up at school. Screen time in our home was strictly limited, and even when they did have access to it, we monitored what they were getting into. Our kids were 10 and 6 at the time. We certainly weren't going to allow them to have unrestricted access to the Internet.

still, Sophia and I listened to them with patience. We reassured them that ghosts weren't real and they weren't in any danger. Sophia and I were united in that. At least at first, my wife began noticing strange things herself. To me, they were all coincidence, but they were driving her crazy. She'd set something down and find that had been moved or claimed that it had disappeared entirely. She'd go down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water and find the television on or the refrigerator open. At first, Sophia agreed with me that maybe one of the girls was getting out of bed and messing around.

We had plenty of conversations with them about the rules and coming to get us if they needed something. Charlotte and Ava both denied that it was them, and for me, that was to be expected, but Sophia said something was telling her that they were telling the truth. The girls both began sleeping with us more often, and admittedly it was more difficult to explain away the strange happenings at night when I knew for a fact neither had gotten up. Then came the strange smell. It started in Ava's room and then slowly spread to Charlottes. It wasn't overpowering, but once we noticed it, we couldn't stop noticing it. Sophia and the girls were on edge, and I thought, thought perhaps something had crawled under the house and died. We lived out in the country. That

kind of thing happened. I heard a guy to bring in a scope to check things out. He didn't find anything. Then I became concerned that it was something between the walls, maybe a rodent or something. There would have been other signs of mice or rats across, droppings or something, right? Just to be safe, I laid traps, but in the following days, nothing turned up. The smell lingered. It became more apparent that Sophia was beginning to have regrets about buying the house. She took the girls to her parents' house more frequently. She never broached the subject of moving, though.

I think that she saw it in my face that I couldn't let go. I wasn't going to truly believe it until I saw something with my own two eyes. I was holding on stubbornly. I have lots of regrets, but looking back now, one that really stands out is my refusal to see that giving up this cabin would not be the end of our dreams. Sophia and I dreamed of giving the girls a safe home, a beautiful home out in the country. It didn't have to be that cabin. We could sell and start over somewhere new. I don't know why I felt like conceding would break my family.

I don't know. Maybe some psychologist would say it's about masculinity and fear of losing control. Probably. I mean, that sounds about right. Is it the role the father, after all, to give his family a stable and safe home? Another regret? Even when I finally did see things the way my wife and children saw them, I still could not give in. I was home alone. Sophia and her parents were taking the children to the lake for a week.

I couldn't get away from work, but I was due to join them on the weekend. I had a long day and decided to enjoy the evening outside in the garden. I sat myself up in a lawn chair by our fire pit. We'd put it not far from the stream at the rear of the property. Everything was peaceful and as the sunset sky was gradually overtaken by dusk, I pondered how my family could grow to be so resentful of this beautiful place. I examined the cabin from my seat, taking in the postcard-ready appearance. That's what I noticed something in the window.

It seemed at first to be nothing more than a door. dark smudge. I went completely still, my body feeling cold and heavy suddenly. Gradually, the shape seemed to take form into the silhouette of a person. But just as my eyes reckoned with what they were seeing, the shape disappeared. I scrambled out of my chair and took off for the house. I burst through the door and went up the stairs into Ava's room. There was no one there. I moved through the house, room by room. But there was no one to be seen. Part of me wanted to call the police in case whoever I had seen was still there.

But I stopped myself. They would just do the same thing that I had done, go through the house and tell me that there was nothing there. It had been a trick of the light, I decided, a strange shadow that passed over the house as the sun was setting. I told myself I was being ridiculous. Every night I called Sophia for a chat and to say good night to the girls. I wondered if I should mention what I'd seen to my wife. I didn't. It felt wrong.

Sophia and I never kept real secrets from each other, but certainly a small omission would be better than making her anxious over what was likely nothing. Sophia told me everything I was missing at the lake. Ava and Charlotte had got into a food fight with their grandfather. Charlotte had performed her first real dive off the end of the dock. Ava managed to cheat at every single board game they played and still lost each one. I couldn't wait to be with them again. The next day and most of the day after passed in a bit of a blur.

I spent boring days at work and came home to an empty house. I watched too much television, shutting it off only when the game shows transitioned into the nightly news. I made it a habit to avoid the depressing national news. I took that as my cue to turn in. I called Sophia, had a short conversation, and said good night to the girls and went to bed. I've never been a light sleeper. That's why I'm not sure what it was that woke me up that night.

Creek of the floorboards, a whisper that I mistook as part of my dream. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that when I open, Open my eyes. There was a person standing at the end of my bed. I couldn't make out any features. The window behind them led in enough moonlight to leave them backlit. The figure, whoever they were, had broad shoulders and I could make out that they must have had long, wispy hair. I kicked out at them scrambling up the bed with my heart and my throat. The blankets tangled

around my legs and I cursed. The figure didn't move. Didn't reach out to grab me and what, drag me off to the pits of hell? This had to be some kind of a nightmare. I launched myself to the right, falling from the bed and hitting the ground hard. I had just enough time to brace myself for the fall. The impact sent waves of pain up my wrist. Not a dream then. I broke free from the hold of the blankets and went to the closet

where Sophia and I kept a small handgun in a shoebox. I bought the thing in my younger days with ideas of protecting my shitty apartment from a break-in. I had been meaning to get rid of it ever since, but I was immensely grateful for its presence suddenly. Everything felt like it was moving so impossibly slowly. The box was stored on a shelf above the clothing, and I reached for it. My fingers fumbled to get the gun out and grabbed the handle, just as the rest of the box fell. It wasn't loaded, but the intruder wouldn't know that. At least, I certainly hope that they wouldn't.

I hope the mere presence of a weapon would send the message that I was willing to protect myself. As I raised the gun, though, I found that I was alone in the room. This time, the police were called. Within 20 agonizing minutes, two tired-looking police officers arrived at the door. They listened patiently to the story. Not a hint of judgment showed on their faces, but I couldn't help but be embarrassed as they strolled through my house. With every part of the house search, they reassured me there was no one. The person in the window the other day was probably a shadow, the figure in the night,

nothing more than a dream. Not to worry, they said. They always get these sorts of calls out of the middle and nowhere. Out here, the emptiness can grow teeth when you're alone. I profusely apologize as I showed them out. The shame felt like a rot in me. For all the officers talk about how common these types of calls are, I could not help but think that they'd get in the car and laugh at them.

at me, a grown man afraid of his own shadow. But that presence had been real. I was certain of it, and I needed to call Sophia and tell her what I'd seen, that I believed her. She picked up the phone right away. Sophia always kept her phone volume turned up at night. She had a persistent fear that there'd be some emergency in the middle of the night that a family member or friend wouldn't be able to reach her.

Back when we were younger in the early years of our relationship, it could be frustrating. Sometimes friends would call at two or three in the morning looking for a ride home from the bar. It was endearing, too, to know how much she cared about everyone around her. Sophia had a way about her. She made people feel safe. Before she could get anything beyond a tired, hello, I was apologizing. Everything that had happened that night came spilling out. When I was done, there was quiet on the line, and the silence stretched on long enough that I wondered if we'd been disconnected, that I hear the rustle of sheets as Sophia presumably sat up.

She sighed and asked what we were going to do about it. I knew what she wanted me to say. I knew what I should say. We'd put our haunted house on the market and find somewhere else, somewhere our children wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night with a monster looming in the corner. Instead, I made the argument that we should stay and fight. There are people out there who know about this kind of thing, yeah? Ghosts in the afterlight and all that shit. I never thought I'd be taking seriously.

I don't know. Maybe if Sophia had pushed, I would have given in. She didn't. Instead, she told me that if that's what I wanted to do, she would support me, but she wouldn't be bringing Ava and Charlotte into the cabin until she was sure that it was safe. And so, in my stubbornness, I allowed my family to be divided. In the weeks that followed, Sophia moved the girls into her parents' house.

I stayed with them on the weekends, and during the week, I went down a rabbit hole and research into exorcism and psychics. I reached out to people, most of whom didn't respond. One man who did respond to my inquiry was named Richard Grimmie, He claimed to be a medium who dealt primarily with haunted objects, but he said he occasionally made exceptions. For a fee, he'd drive out to the cabin and investigate. Only after he'd experienced the energy in the house for himself, could he give me a plan to deal with it. Then he offered me something he called a telereating, at a base cost of $15 for half an hour with an additional fee for every 10 minutes after that.

So I'm sure you can guess how reliable I found his information. Still, I was desperate and beggars can't be choosers now, can they? Mr. Green walked through my home, taking in every inch of it much as the police had. The difference was that occasionally Richard would stop and place his hand to his head dramatically. He communicated with spirits through a being he called his guide, someone named Michael. We headed upstairs, and as soon as we hit the landing, the psychic gasped like he'd been physically assaulted and slumped against a wall. He told me the house was packed with angry spirits. They were being led, he claimed, by the first homeowner, a woman who had died in either 1903 or 1904.

What I did not say was that the house was built in 1992. No one, as far as I knew, had ever died in the cabin. Richard suggested that for an additional cost you could clear out the malevolent presence for me. The rest should scatter after she departed. I told him that I'd think about it as I ushered him out. That's typically how any further visits went. I reached out to supposed ghost hunters that usually turned out to be giggling 20-somethings, priests and mediums. For a long time, I was willing to try anything.

Through it all, the strangeness continued. Things disappeared or moved. Electronics would turn on in the middle of the night. Strange noises moved through the house. I was getting no closer to answers. Some of the people seemed more trustworthy than others, and I tried their solutions. I had the home cleansed and stocked my house with what amounted to an arsenal of salt, sage, and incense. Whatever. Ridiculous, really. It was my parents that snapped me out of it. They came down to visit the family. They stayed with me in the cabin,

but much of their time was spent with the girls. My father sat me down and suggested selling, for the sake of my family, but for myself as well. Whether something was in the house or not, this obsession with it wasn't healthy. I hadn't thought of it like that before, an obsession, but addressing the presence in the home had taken over my life. It took away from the time I could have been spending with my wife and

daughters. I lost sleep over it. I was pouring money into solutions that were far from guaranteed. If this house wasn't an obsession, what was it? I took my wife to dinner. We had a frank discussion about what we wanted for our future, and I agreed to let go of the cabin. The relief on her face made the guilt even more powerful. I hadn't known how deeply it was weighing on her. I promised that I would take care of the packing myself so that she wouldn't have to go back in. If I knew then what I know now,

I would have left everything behind. I started with the girls' rooms. I boxed up Charlotte's clothing, so it was ready for the new apartment we'd rent until the sale went through. I moved on to Ava's room, flinching as I opened the door and was hit with a wave of the stench that had been part of the house for weeks. It was so at odds with the delicate pink and white colors, the floral bedspread and gauzy curtains. I went through her dresser and packed things away, throwing in a few of her

favorite stuffed animals. I turned to the closet. The door was hanging open, and I thought of Ava, as small as she is, laying in her bed frightened of the monster she feared was. lurking there. I thought of my own fear, waking up to the shadow standing over me. It was only then that I remembered the door. There was a small wooden door in Ava's closet that led to a small crawl space. We noticed it when we moved in, but thought nothing of it. This was where the terrible smell must have come from. Perhaps there was a hole somewhere that led an animal into the space and it died. The prospect of having to be a little. Having at least one question answered was tantalizing.

I pushed my daughter's dresses and t-shirts aside, and for a moment, just stared at the door. I believe the door was supposed to be white once upon a time, but the paint had chipped and faded. We didn't bother to address it when we were redecorating the rest of the room. We saw no point in doing so, and there were so many other projects to take care of. I pulled the collar of my shirt up around my mouth and nose and opened the door. The crawl space was dark and smelled foul. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and opened the flashlight. The floor was covered in food wrappers and old clothes.

There were water bottles, some empty, and others were filled with a liquid that I don't even want to speculate on. Throw blankets that had gone missing were piled in a corner. There was a bucket in another corner that I assumed was the source of the smell. The past few months enriveled in front of me. My original instincts had been right. There were no ghosts, but someone was living in my house. The question was, where were they now? I needed to get out.

I made a beeline for the door and started to dial 911. As soon as I crossed the threshold for Ava's bedroom, a force slammed into me like a ton of bricks. It drove me back into the wall hard enough to dent it. The air was knocked out of my lungs and I barely had time. to think before the intruder pulled back his fist and slugged me. For a moment, I felt my nose break and my eyes watered with the sudden pain of it. Even though I still couldn't see, I knew I had to act fast before he could hit me again, so got my leg under me enough to propel myself up. I got my

arms around the intruder in a bear hug and he fell back. But rather than falling further back into the hall, his back at the banister, and he fell to the right, sending us both, tumbling down the stairs. We were both dazed when we reached the bottom, but I was able to move first. I didn't check to see if he was conscious or not. I didn't look at him at all. I just locked in on the door. Every step was painful, but adrenaline drove me forward. Then the intruder's hand wrapped around my ankle. I was yanked down. The intruder made a move to get on top of me, and I got my first proper look at him. He was tall with broad shoulders, but he was thinner than I envisioned him when he stood over me that night. He had long, rust-colored hair that bore streaks of age and

a thick beard. I couldn't have pinned an age on him, not that it mattered in that moment. I tried to remember every self-defense move I've ever seen in a movie, squirming hard to get him off. I punched him, but he shook it off and wrapped his hands around my throat. I couldn't die like that. I couldn't. My family needed me. I needed them. I wanted to see them again.

I braced my hands on either side of his face and dug my thumbs hard into his eyes. I gagged as they sank in further than I imagined possible. He screamed in pain and rage, but I was able to slip away from him. I didn't want to risk going for the door again. There was no guarantee I'd be able to make it to make it. car. I needed a way to stop him, to incapacitate him so he couldn't come after me. Right next to the door, we had a little stand. There was a bowl on it where we kept the keys, a stack of the kids' library books overdue, no doubt, and an art piece. I didn't understand it.

It was some sort of cube made with metal wire and cement. Sophia picked it up at a festival. All I knew that it was heavy with sharp angles. I grabbed it. I didn't stop to think. The intruder was still on his knees in front of me, hands pressed to his eyes. I swung the sculpture at the side of his head. It wasn't enough to send him to the ground. He reached out at me with both hands, although he didn't rise from his knees. I was reminded of the way my children reached for me when they wanted carried. I swung again, underhanded, and caught the intruder under the jaw. That knocked him down. But then, I just couldn't stop. I kept swinging, hitting him again, and it was a little bit of a little. And again until my arm ached and I was out of breath and there was nothing left of his face but a thick pulp.

Finally, when all the fight left my body, I sat down. I told myself it was just to catch my breath, but then I couldn't seem to make myself move. I'm not sure how long I sat there. I'd entered some other universe or maybe some pocket dimension where I could see out. But I did not truly exist, and time did not pass the same. The officers who had searched my house before were among those that showed up to investigate. The intruder's name was Conrad. He'd escaped from prison two states over and had eluded the police for months.

There'd been no indication that he had reached this region. The FBI had been looking for him in his hometown, believing that old friends were hiding him. They're unsure how he got all the way out to the middle of nowhere. There's no explanation on how he got into our house. I wish I had all the answers. The bigger part of me wishes that I could forget. Sophia and I have had dozens of offers from people wanting to buy our story. They're filled with promises when it comes to book rights and movies.

Like vultures, they circle above us. I have no desire to get richer famous from this. Neither is my wife. We just wanted a home, a normal life for our children. I've tried to think of a satisfying place to leave this, and maybe that's part of why we don't want to sell this story. It doesn't end. We are still living it.

The cabin's up for sale, but we've turned down every offer presented to us. I just can't stand the idea of a new owner inviting over their friends to smugly tell them about how the last guy who lived there killed a man who'd been hiding in his walls. So, we're trapped in this limbo of paying for a house we don't live in. Sophia, the girls, and I are back to apartment living. I can't help but think. That's what I prefer. Sure, apartments are noisy, but at least if you scream, there's someone around to hear.

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