Creepy - Creepaway Camp 2025: Day 6 - The Hatchet Man & Hollow Tree & Those That Squirm Beneath

Episode Date: April 21, 2025

The Hatchet Man***Written by: Some Unholy Obscenity and Narrated by: David AultHear more from David at: thenosleepodcast.com***Hollow Tree***Written by: R.D. Davidson and Narrated by: Cole Burkhardt***Those That Squirm Beneath***Written by: EM Otero***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.

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 our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Okay, I think we need an update on where things are at. And no one try to tell me I'm crazy thinking that we're out of food because I know better now. Well, according to my research...

Hold on. Do you want the truth or whatever fiction Owen's created? I think we both know the answer to that. Owen, please continue. As I was saying, we've seen a shocking increase in concern over goat attacks. That's enough of that. I don't think it's a good idea to fall into a habit of just letting people with a tenuous grasp on reality to be the ones providing information. Do you?

Of course not. What kind of a world would we be living in if we allowed people who weren't experts in their field to control the conversation and make decisions that could impact the entire society as we know it? That's not a world I want to be a part of, thank you. And if anyone decides to read too deeply into that comment, that's their bag. to deal with and not something to send me any emails about? Right. Well, despite our hopes that Owen's estimates were caused by the consumption of strange mushrooms, like a shocking number of other people at camp,

it would appear that he's correct and that we are out of food. Did someone say that they were out of food? Hi, David Alt from the No Sleep Podcast. Why did you say my name that way? John makes us. We have really strange contracts. I believe that. I really do. Anyway, I couldn't help but hear that you all needed some food, and I just so happened to have a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies that I thought...

What? No. What's John doing? I think he's trying to slow motion dive at the plate of cookies. Cookies. Why did you do that? No. Cookies.

from David Alt. Why? What's your issue with cookies? From David Alt. And that's between me and him. He knows. John, that was stupid. David didn't do anything to the cookies.

Actually, I did, but that's beside the point now. John knows. I guess I might as well just tell a story as per the invitation agreement. It's called the hatchet man. Seriously, what's up with the cookies? Oh, no. ever tell. Slender Man, gurgles and bugmen, the rake, etc. There are so many monsters in our stories that seem to defile

what it means to exist in our world. They transport themselves around at seemingly impossible speeds and wield the means to be unstoppable. The humans forced to face these forces of evil have little to no chance to do anything to contain their stampede. Alongside this, they all see. seem to take on the appearance of a mascot. Something I've noticed about entities like these is that they love to be recognized. They are so confident in their destruction that they seem to revel in the spotlight. Maybe some would disagree with me due to the low number of sightings, but I think these creatures all knew what they were doing.

My assumption is that they feed off the legend. Their existence depends on how much we talk about them. The same is true for the Hatchet Man. And after you hear this story, you need to immediately forget he exists. Do not think about the Hatchet Man. As far as I'm aware, the Hatchet Man's first appearance came in the late 90s. It isn't some long, talked about monster mentioned in the ruins of a now-dead village. You won't find sprawlings of it on walls deep in some forgotten cave.

As far as I'm aware, it just appeared. The name of it was dubbed the Hatchet Man due to the incident that took place in 1997. In 1997, I was a 19-year-old burnout. I saw school as a waste and wanted to focus on getting myself into a grunge band. I was a little late for its peak, but, you know, pipe dreams and all that. Fact is, I never even got it off the ground. I couldn't get people together who cared enough to keep the jams alive or weren't so strung out they couldn't breathe. Eventually, it landed me in a halfway house.

The family that ran it was incredibly kind. They were rarely there, but they'd opened it for people like me. People who had chased something and failed, extremely young mothers, recovering addicts, you name it. They wouldn't make us pay rent until we found work, and even covered babysitting services for the mothers. I have no idea what kind of money they had, but it was a lot. I never thought twice about it since they'd been so helpful to those of us who lived there. It was nearly a mansion. The house was huge and tucked away.

under the cover of forest. The road wasn't far, but you couldn't see the house from it. Despite its size, it was concealed exceptionally well. There were 12 of us living there. We were responsible for our own cooking and eventually groceries, but so many necessities were just given to us. It was a genuine miracle. We did what we could as a group to keep the house as nice as possible. Our main form of small talk was gratitude. I haven't experienced a group like that before or since. Poverty and pain is a tremendous bonding agent. There were some arguments that many people crammed into one place, no matter how big, will inevitably lead to unrest. A girl I'll call Joan had a six-month-old who would cry for hours on end.

Some of the recovering addicts would lose their shit over it. Yelling matches weren't uncommon, but nobody put hands on one another. Considering the turmoil in our personal lives, it never outweighed the appreciation we had for the home we lived in. Everyone was mature enough to settle all their issues amicably. You couldn't find more cordiality in a sitcom family. Things were good. It was probably about four months into my stay when he appeared. Nothing seemed off at first. For a good while the group hadn't had so much as a petty argument. Trust had grown so much that Joan had even allowed us to hold her now ten months old. He was a hefty boy for his age. I remember. I remember. I

remember laughing with Joan about his weight. Weird and shitty, but the kid didn't understand. He just laughed with us, happy to be a part of the group. I can't remember what day it was. I know it was in the evening when a knock came at my room door. I'd been writing in a notebook on my bed, confused due to the late hour. I was usually one of the last people awake and used those hours to conjure fictional nightmares with pen to dissuade the real ones. While confused, I wasn't ultimately perturbed. I got along fine with everyone, so I didn't give it a second thought when I opened the door. One of the recovering addicts will call him Tony was standing in my doorway with a concerned look on his face. He said hello, but got straight to the point. Tony told me that he and a few others had been

seeing someone they didn't recognise wandering through the house. He wanted to let me know so I could keep an eye out and that they already called the authorities to come and take a look. This was troubling considering how out of the way the home was. It was virtually inaccessible by foot unless you walked down the middle of the road and no one had seen or heard another car appear. I told him I'd keep my eye out and I went back to my writing but not before locking my door.

I slept through the police sweeping the area. In the morning it seemed people were feeling at ease so I assumed it had been a false alarm. I asked about what had exactly happened and I shuddered from what I was told. Apparently, Tony, Joan, and two other of my housemates had seen the glimpse of a man entering various rooms in the house. He was of average height and build,

but in all their accounts they recollected that he was carrying a hatchet. They all heard him under his breath, saying, Do you remember me? No one in particular. I was thoroughly freaked the fuck out. I'd been through a lot, and it took a lot to shake me. Four accounts of a man walking, through our home with a weapon was enough to do it.

Their calm was infectious, though. Despite the strangeness and terror of what a man like that could do, no reports of another person ever having been on the grounds was sufficient in bringing peace back into our minds. Realistically, it was likely another recovering roommate was wandering around in withdrawal and was too embarrassed to confess. That's what we told ourselves, at least. It was a flimsy theory soon to be shot down,

an unsuspecting buck. That night was a long one for me. I was the last to come home from work that day and was exhausted. I waved those heading off to bed while I made my way to do the same. Too tired to even shower I just collapsed when I got into my room. I fell asleep immediately. A sound roused me from my slumber. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. Again, it was my door. It wasn't like last night's knocking. It was light, a quiet wrapping from a shy hand. I looked at my clock and saw it was 3.13 a.m. Groggily, I stood up to see what the hell it was this time.

I mindlessly moved towards the door and reached for the doorknob. Before I felt the cold brass, I heard something else. Do you remember me? A quiet voice spoke from the other side of the door. Goose pimples spread across my entire. body. My hand hovered over the doorknob as the lizard part of my brain was flashing red like an alarm. Whatever was on the other side of that door was dangerous. The phrase stuck in my head is what my roommates had heard just the night before from the stranger. The police had said no one was here,

though. I didn't understand. All I knew was every warning sign evolution afforded me was screaming for me to stay the fuck away from that voice. My hand floating above the doorknob was shaking involuntarily. The wrapping returned, the same volume and the same pattern. I didn't move. I didn't speak. All I could do was sweat and tremble. He continued to knock for hours on end. I stood motionless for the whole extent of it. Every second my brain wanted me to scream that I knew him, that I knew who he was just so he would go away. I don't know what it was that helped me. that same section of my lizard brain, instinct, I'm not sure, but something countered that argument in my head. Something told me that would be the last thing I would ever say.

It didn't end until around 6 a.m. When the wrapping stopped, I was finally able to move. My body was stiff and stricken with pain from how unmoving I'd been for nearly three hours. All I could do was listen to the question and the sound of light knocks against my door. I had no idea what just happened to me. It felt like I'd been locked in my own body while my mind fought against the urge to blurt that I knew the man beyond the door. It was natural. I spent a few moments cracking my neck and my back like I was a human glowstick before I rushed out of my room to talk to those who were already awake. I relayed the incident to everyone I could.

No one could corroborate my story. Nobody had seen or heard anything the night before. Still, I called a house meeting to execute a warning regarding the strange happenings that had gone down the last two nights. It felt like something we should discuss as a unit. At around noon we sat down as a house and discussed. A good number of people told me it was sleep paralysis. Others just thought I'd had a nightmare. I'd never once experienced sleep paralysis before, and I'd tried to let them know that I was lucid.

I was surprised when Joan was one of those who had voiced the fact that she didn't believe me, considering she was among those who had seen the man beforehand. She was taking what the cops had told us to heart and really believed that we were all just imagining it. She even seemed to think that there might be some black mould somewhere in the house that was affecting us all. Her change in stance really confused me. I figured she would have been the most concerned

having an infant child. Tony believed me, but everyone else thought it to be a waste of time to be talking about this, even the other two roommates who had seen him previously. previously. The meeting ended unceremoniously and everyone went on with their day. I couldn't bring myself to calm down the entire day. No matter how hard I tried, the evening before just played over and over in my head and kept me from peace. It just didn't make any fucking sense. I thought I might have been going crazy if it weren't for Tony's belief in me. It was strange to have an ex-meth addict

as your only backer, but Tony was a good guy despite his follies. He was doing well. He was doing well, in recovery and I trusted him. He told me he didn't see or hear anything, but that he felt something was wrong in the house, that last night something had entered here that didn't belong. We agreed to keep our eyes up and our ears to the ground in case anything else weird happened. We would not have to wait long. Luckily, the discussion I brought up to everyone created more worry than disparity. Knowing each other's backgrounds made empathy pretty easy between us. I went to work tired out of my mind, and the day was otherwise normal, aside from my inability to think about anything other than my experience in the middle of the night. Coming home was honestly the hardest part of it all.

I was now afraid of my own bedroom. To have a place you call home become dreaded is a feeling I can't correctly put into words. The smiles on everyone's faces when I came home slighted that feeling. If everyone was in such high spirits, how could I not? be. That night the house cooked and hung out altogether. We didn't get to do that often while everyone was on their path upward. The intent was to eventually leave after all, so though we were all cordial, we never made much time for one another in the actual house. When we did, it was always a good time, and I think the whole group felt like we needed to bring some positive energy into the place

after the past couple of days. It was a fun time. It was especially nice to catch up and see where everyone was at in their journey. Some had made major strides while others were still finding theirs, but everyone was moving forward. I haven't had a night that positive, always traumatic since. At around 11, we all headed to our various rooms. Tony and I nodded at each other solemnly as a reminder to keep our senses up. We weren't sure what was going to happen, but he and I both knew it wasn't over yet. If all it took was being silent the entire time, then it was possible that no one would face any consequences. And maybe the worst of it was just being stuck in living rigormortis like I'd been.

After all, I didn't need to say or do anything to make the man with the hatchet go away from my room. Staying still had been enough. When this thought gripped me, I started to let a bit of my tension go. It should be easy. It should have been so fucking easy. I didn't sleep that night. I kept my promise of vigilance. I had no idea if Tony had done the same since I refused to open my door again, but I trusted him.

He would keep his word, I was sure of that. When 3am came round, I set my notebook I'd been writing in down and just listened. I couldn't have been positive anything was going to happen, but my gut told me it would. With the last two nights, there was no reason to believe otherwise. For a few minutes I sat there in silence. I could only hear my anxious feet rustling against my sheets. As soon as it turned 3.13, I heard it. That same patient, quiet knocking came to my neighbour's door.

My heart began to sprint. I shot out of bed and put my ear against my door so I could better comprehend what was going on. The knocking continued for a few minutes before I heard my neighbour's voice. He was another recovering addict, a man in his late 30s. He and Tony had bonded a lot over their seat. similar struggles. I heard a, hold on, come from the man as he just unlocked and opened the door.

My eyes widened. This was not something I'd anticipated happening. I hadn't even heard the man with the hatchet ask his ominous question. I listened as the door to the addict's room creaked open. The world felt still. Oh shit, I heard from his room. You're the hatchet man everyone's talking about. Not a thought or pause from my neighbour. He just blurted it. I was getting ready to help him, but the next sound told me I was too late. A slick, squishing sound came, followed by my neighbour's gargled screaming. I fell backwards.

More and more wet hacking came as my neighbour was chopped to pieces. He screamed until he couldn't. Blood pooled and started to seep underneath my doorway. I could still hear the hatchet man hacking away at his body. He hit his corpse over and over until he was striking only bone. Then as soon as he'd arrived, he left again. I was panicking. Not only was my neighbour just shredded, but it could have just as easily being me.

I had, by complete luck and fear, made it out alive. I needed to warn the others, but I had no idea how. Surely someone else had heard what had just went down. I was positive at least Tony had. I didn't have a phone in my room, so I couldn't call the owners or the police. That's when I heard the next knock come. It was from right above me, and I would have missed it if I wasn't listening so intently. The room above mine was Jones.

He'd come to me and just left, and now he was going to a second person's room. I had to hope that Joan wouldn't make the same mistake. But she did. I heard the door open not long after the knocking came. The next sound was her screaming, and then her child was screaming. The noises that came afterwards I have tried to forget. I still hear them on dark nights where my memory wanders. Systematically, the hatchet man knocked on all the members of the halfway house's doors.

Only Tony and I did not answer the door. When 6am came back, it took me forever to open the door. The only thing that maybe do so was the sound of the sound. of a voice. Oh dear fucking God, I heard Tony say in a shaky tone. He fell into a blubbering mess and I flew out of my room. The sight that was waiting for me was one only found in horror movies. The stairs, the walls, the floor, everything.

It was covered in blood and viscera. The vision of red and pink and the horrific stench hit me all at once and I vomited on my own shoes. Limbs and entrails dangled from the chandelier in the centre of the foyer. I saw my neighbour's legs at his doorframe. I didn't know where the rest of him was. A lung slopped from the upstairs railing and landed with a wet splat next to Tony. Through all of that gore and the complete nonsensical levels of destruction, the worst thing I saw was when we went upstairs.

It was so simple, and yet it told a story that broke me. I collapsed into a puddle of blood, and wept, a torn piece of fabric from the wansy of a ten-month-old. Tony and I didn't know what to tell the police as they found us on the steps of the house. They didn't think we did it for whatever reason. I'm sure the sight was enough to convince anyone that humans weren't capable of this. Tony and I didn't talk to each other after that. I still don't know what became of him.

Being around each other just reminded us of what had happened. Just like Slender Man, just like Gonderman, just like Gull. Burgles and Bugman, and just like the rake, this thing defied all reason and appeared just devastate. And just like them, it wants you to know who it is. Acknowledging it allows it to harm you. The spotlight gives it power. These creatures we talk about around campfires and beneath sheets with flashlights grow when we talk about them. I hadn't said a word until now, but people need to know what to do if you hear that knocking. If you hear that question asks. Don't answer

You don't know him Okay, so why didn't someone just drive into town to get more food You can't The Bayou won't let us leave Looks like John's gone past the point of no return Who had day six? Bingo! Damn it, I was so close Very amusing

But seriously, why can't we just drive to a hotel or something? I could go for some grilled oysters right about now anyway. I was talking with some of the other clans. I mean, podcasts, and no one has been able to get their cars to work. I told you. It's the bayou. Or the weather messing with the engines. There has to be a rational explanation for all of this.

We should have listened to the warnings. I should have listened. John, how could you have known something bad would happen out here? I mean, besides the fact that something bad always happens when we all get together. Is that right? Why do we all keep getting together? I knew better.

I've known better. Ever since? Never mind. I need to go clear my head. So? Anyone want to hear about the hollow tree? Hollow tree. I want to talk about that creepy hollow tree.

Everyone in town knew about the hollow tree in our local state park. Some of the earliest photos of the area showed the tree looming in the background, yet unblemished with the carvings of bored teenagers, the opening at its base like a hungry shadow. Before those photos existed, we also had stories handed down from God knows when. They differed in their details, but more or less aligned. on the basics. Some unseen presence will knock from inside the tree at random. If you knock back from inside the tree during a full moon, the tree will consume you. Of course, few urban legends could survive the digital era, with every human being walking around with video cameras in their pockets and far-reaching distribution via social media, mysteries.

can be tested, debunked, and forgotten. It seemed the hollow tree was no exception to this digital assault. Videos of skeptics knocking in reply to the unseen entity during a full moon found their way online. Nothing happened. Mystery solved. Except, there was always one open question. What exactly was that knocking sound? No one disputed that they could hear it. Some dismissed it as wind or the tree swaying and settling,

but the hollow tree never seemed to move. When the knots happened, you could feel the vibrations in the tree's surface. Something was happening. Mystery unsolved. My friends and I always found this loose and compelling, and as luck would have it, my best friend Neil heard a slight twist in the legend from his grandma. You didn't just need a full moon for the hollow tree to consume you. The moon had to be visible through the tree's opening at the top.

Anyone who knocks in the light of the moon while inside will become food for the tree. Neil's grandma had seen it happen. At least that's what she told him. Neil's face looked a little pale in my car's dome light as he clipped the helmet on. My hands shook a bit as I clicked on the GoPro attached above his forehead. It's not that we believed the legend per se. We just weren't sure it was completely made up either. The story had survived for so long among otherwise... credible people. How else would that have happened if it didn't have some element of truth? A low fog clunded the trail as we covered the short distance from the parking lot to the hollow tree.

Dull orange light reflected from the moon hovering just above the tree line. The hollow tree trail, despite being unmarked and unofficial, always seemed to be well kept. My heart beat faster as we advanced. I had never really seen Neil look nervous and his emotions were proving to be infectious. By the time Neil and I reached to the clearing with the hollow tree, our breathing had become labored. The tree looked different from how I remembered it,

almost as if its limbless body had twisted towards the path of the moon. Neil and I exchanged looks and the worry on his, face made my heart sink. Why are we even doing this? I thought. Just for a few lights online? A video everyone will forget in an hour or so? To this day, I regret not voicing my concerns. But who could blame us? We were a couple bored teenagers with every incentive to chase some fame and notoriety, however fleeting. Nothing could short-circuit wisdom and common sense, quite like social media. A cloud passed over the moon, only the red light on Neil's GoPro burned in the dark. Dead leaves crunched under his feet as he approached to the tree's entrance,

a low arch cut into the tree's side like a jagged doorframe. Neil paused and front of the void. He remained there until the moon was uncovered again. He looked back at me one last time, hit record on the Daupro, and stooped inside the tree. I filmed outside with my cell phone. In the tiny, glowing rectangle, all I could see were Neal's white shoes glowing orange. The occasional breeze would rattle leaves and branches on nearby trees, but otherwise, I filmed in silence. As he waited for the tree to knock, Neil shifted his weight from foot to foot.

I felt the urge to do the same. Come on, come on, I worried. This whole stunt couldn't be over soon enough. Finally, just as I decided to call out to Neil to forget the whole thing, a triplet of knocks echoed from the hollow tree, clear but tentative. The seconds flew by on my camera as Neil stood. After a few breaths, I heard his reply sound off lightly. We waited in silence. Suddenly, another set of knots clopped on

the tree. Five quick, almost desperate thumps. Neil waited a moment, but he knocked back quicker this time. I should see something shift in the frame of my cell phone. Through its mediated reality, I could see the shadow of the tree's body shift slightly, writhing in the dark, excited. I glanced at the tree itself above my phone, and it remained still. As quickly as it had started its movements, it stopped. more silence.

Neil and I both jumped when three heavy, angry bangs resonated from the hollow tree. I had never heard it knock that loudly before. A slight ringing hummed in my ears. Neil, I called out. Steam rose with each of my staggered breaths. Neil, you don't have to knock back. Just come out. In my camera frame, the tree seemed to almost pulse and vibrate.

Its bare, pale surface glistened in the moonlight. Again, I checked above the frame, and both the tree and Neal remain still. After another breath, I shuddered at Neal's response. Knock. Knock. Knock. A rush of air blasted from the tree's entrance. Loose leaves swirled in the torment and my hair fluttered in the chaos.

In a flash, Neil's feet disappeared from the image. Like a boa constrictor with extra large prey, I could see the tree's surface bulge as it pulled Neil upward, straining and cracking the wood-developed tiny splinters that traced his path. Over the rush of air, I could hear Neil, faintly, but I could hear him. I don't really want to talk about the sounds he was making. As suddenly as it had started, the rush of air stopped. A few loose leaves scattered in the renewed quiet.

Neil! I called out. No response. Suddenly, a loud crack resonated from the hollow. tree. I did hear faint whispers in the trees all around me. Spinning chaotically, I looked for whoever or whatever was making the sound. Seconds later, I felt the sting of raindrops. I looked up at the cloudless sky and saw its source. The top of the hollow tree spouted blood and viscera like a grim volcano. A red twister spouted and twirled in the night as my friend rained down on the forest and me. I screamed and fell backward. Instinctively, I pawed at my face to get the substance off and just smeared it over my eyes and mouth.

Spitting, I ran from the scene into the tree cover. I watched in horror as the fountain of my friend's remains, slowed to a trickle down the hollow tree's flank. The surrounding vegetation seemed to drink in the door, growing more verdant in the moonlight. Within a few minutes, the only sign Neil had ever existed was his GoPro helmet lodged in a nearby tree. Tears stunned my eyes and mingled with the blood painting my cheeks. I recovered the helmet and ran back to it.

the car. Behind the wheel, I finally lost control of myself. After what felt like hours of crying, I managed to drive back into town. Passing my house, I drove straight to the police station. My car idled in the parking lot for a few minutes while I gathered the courage to go in. It wasn't until I grabbed Neal's helmet that I realized it was still recording. Goodbye. I whispered into the lens and ended the recording. By the time I made it up the few stairs to the station entrance, I lost all my nerve. I dropped the helmet at the door and sped home. All night I lay in bed waiting for police to call or pound on the door, but no one came.

After my sleepless night, I waited in the living room and ignored my parents who, milled around, asked in dumb questions about my night. Finally, at about two in the afternoon, the police arrived. Two men in dark suits stood on our porch. I stepped outside after answering the door. Both men looked nauseous and jittery. They had been to Neal's house and broke the news to his parents. His funeral would be next week. Closed. casket. They had seen the footage, they said, and didn't have any questions for me. Just wanted me to know they had seen it, and that they would appreciate my discretion in telling everyone what happened in the woods that night. Neal had suffered a fatal fall in the woods.

Happens all the time. I agreed. And for ten years, I've made good. on that promise. But last night, I stepped outside for a cigarette and could see the fat, orange moon hovering like a disc over the trees. Not quite full, maybe tomorrow or the next day. I pictured some dim-witted teens, streaming to who knows what platform or audience, daring to test and prod the legends they grew up with.

to disregard every warning they'd heard leading up to that point. If you hear the hollow tree knocking, don't knock back. Should we go looking for John? I'm starting to think that maybe it's better if we all stick together. I'm sure he'll be fine. He's from Minnesota. There's plenty of woods up there. Yeah.

But what if he falls and gets hurt? That's likely. What if he eats something, he shouldn't? Oh, come on. Even John's not that stupid. Come along, children. Quickly, quickly. It's story time around the campfire. Oh, Mortimer, don't worry. We all get homesick. Tomorrow we'll write a nice letter to your parents. Suzanne, now I don't want to have to separate you and La Dasha. Just be patient. We'll roast s'mores after the story.

Did John eat something that's making him hallucinate That this is an actual summer camp filled with children I sure looks that way Okay children Our story tonight is called Those that squirm beneath Okay, kid, settle down I know, I know you're excited for s'mores

Let me just get this fire going a little hotter And we'll be roasting and toasting before you know it Okay, Billy, stop shoving Elizabeth. You will get a smore too. Everyone will. What I love about a campfire is that it's the best place to tell stories. You have a captive audience with an exquisite atmosphere with the fire, the dark, and the crackling of burning wood. Now, I know I'm not your usual camp counselor.

Miss Abbott had an accident. That's okay, though. I'm pretty cool. Isn't that right, Billy? Yeah, you thought I wasn't paying attention. You just sit there on that log and stop trying to throw worms at the fire. There's no need to be cruel to the humble worm. Oh, Sally, I know they seem yucky, but worms are a magnificent animal.

They come in all shapes and sizes. They live everywhere around the world. Yes, even in Antarctica, Timmy. How astute of you to ask. You're a smart little cookie. The worms of Antarctica are underwater worms. There's some of the most frightening things you will ever see. It's called the scale worm, and it has pinchers and golden spines and looks like something from another planet.

No, Billy, it's not an alien. It absolutely looks like one, though. Not only that, this strange little creature hunts. I rather like the idea of a carnivorous worm, something so unassuming about it. So when they kill, it's even more shocking. No, no, there are none here, Sally. There are other kinds of worms here. Many great ones, in fact.

They're the regular earthworms that actually are not native here. Can you believe that? There was a point hundreds of years ago. You could cut into this soil and there wasn't a single worm. I know. Who would have thought? They came on British ships, and have since re-shaped our soil and killed off God knows how many plants and other species. You thought worms were good for the soil, Timmy? Well, they certainly can be, but this entire continent evolved without worms, so nothing here was ready for their invasion. I know, I said invasion, but I promise they aren't.

Aliens. Even though that is a scary idea, worms that came here, living underground, hiding from the light, preying on humans in the dark. I mean, that is scary, but just silly. Now, on to another invasive worm. The broadhead worm is actually another hunting worm. These are also called hammerhead worms. Hmm?

Yes, hammerhead like the shark, Billy. Only these worms are toxic and can kill you if you eat them. Hey, I know it's yucky, but it can happen accidentally. You see, Billy, how you just touched your mouth with your grubby little fingers after throwing that worm in the fire? If that was a hammerhead worm, you'd already be poisoned. The toxin gets on your skin, and if you put it in your mouth, then that's it. it, all because you are an unclean, dirty little child. It's not a pleasant death either.

They have this toxin called tetotoxin. Yes, Timmy, that is the same stuff in pufferfish. You really are quite intelligent. Billy, you, on the other hand, after putting your soiled fingers in your mouth, would feel pins and needles in your lips and arms. You know that feeling when your hand falls asleep? Yeah, just like that, but all over. Then you would drool all over yourself and sweat like it's a hot day. If you're lucky, you'll convulse, vomit, turn blue, and die from breathing issues.

If you're not lucky, you'll become paralyzed for hours, leaving you completely helpless wherever you drop and then anything can happen. Anyone could sneak up on you and snatch you, or an animal could think you're just to think you're dead and eat you alive while you're awake to watch, unable to run and unable to scream. Or the worm will call its friends, and, like burrowing through the earth, they will dig into your skin and feast on your flesh. You know how hammerhead worms eat? No? Well, let me tell you. Their toxin, like I said, can paralyze. So when they get their prey, they can't move because they're trapped by the toxin. The worm will wrap itself around its prospective food, stick to it with its sticky slime, and then spit enzymes into it. Enzymes? Oh, sorry, I forgot

I'm talking to kids. Enzymes are basically like acid and break things down. In this case, the worm is turning the insides into liquid. After those enzymes turn its prey into a sack filled with delicious predigested jelly, it'll suck it up leaving a dry sack. You're all awfully quiet kids. Have nothing to add now, Billy? Hmm? Let's get those s'mores going.

Now, not too close unless you like a charred mess of a marshmallow. I personally don't like the taste of burnt sugar. I like mine, a nice golden brown. The way it's cooked the whole way through, allowing for the best texture once it's all melted. That's right, Timmy. It's a good thing that we don't need to barf enzymes to eat. That would really ruin a smore.

Okay, kids, now that we've had our smores in a nice warm fire to push away the creeping dark. How about a scary story? That's funny, Timmy, but I actually know a good scary story about worms. It actually happened right here in these very woods. Well, not right here. Five Stream State Park is pretty big after all. It's actually a very strange bit of land. No one knows how big it really is.

There have been many surveyors out here trying to map the land, but none of them can agree on it. Where one says there's a field, another will find forest. Where one says there's a pond, another will find a stream. Not only that, their GPS collector's batteries always do. and the data would be corrupted. That is, if they got any kind of signal at all, yes, Sally, they have tried using satellites,

but there's something about these woods that messes with pictures. I tell you what, every picture I've taken here is come on all strange and grainy. Now, this is a story about one of these surveyors. Let's call him David. Oh, yes, Elizabeth. This is a true story. I know David.

Personally. Now you see, kids, David was a fine young man. Fit and lean, could hike for miles. And when Chenango County hired him to survey five-stream state park, he had no problem with it. He gathered up maps from the county office building and from the town clerk's office and went to work. Now, I won't bore you with the needy-gritty details of his work. Just know David was thorough. The town wanted him specifically to find a location to build

and mark some of the old mine entrances that were never sealed properly. There had been some disappearances out here in these woods, mostly hunters, but every so often a hiker or even a bunch of campers would go missing. Yes, just like us, Sally. The town figured that these people either wandered into the mines and got lost, or they fell into a sinkhole. Billy, that's when there's a hole underground that collapses and someone or something falls down into it.

Oh, you knew that? I figured you wouldn't. David, the ever-intrepid worker, thought no problem at all and set off with his GPS gear and a big old roll of surveyor tape. You know, the bright, colorful bands of plastic you see on trees in the woods?

When he arrived, the first thing poor David found was that the border was wrong. Where his maps had shown farmland with a residence and a barn, they were only woods. The road still ran through it, mostly unbothered, but David was really put off by the fact that an entire parcel of land that was there when it was surveyed not ten years before was apparently gone. What he found next really freaked him out.

He got out of his car with GPS equipment, set it up, and walked. He realized quickly that the previous map wasn't quite wrong because the parcel was there. The markers, the old stone wall, all of those were present. And to his horror, so were the house and barn. They stood dilapidated and abandoned, as if the structure stood neglected for decades.

David was baffled how there were no trees there ten years before and suddenly there was a whole damn forest. I'm sure you kids see how strange this was. Yes, Billy, trees take a long time to grow. Yes, Sally, that was the next thing he checked. David looked at the maps he had scanned to make sure he had the right ears. What he noticed as he shifted through them was that every single map showed the forest growing. Of course, surveyors drafted the maps decades apart, and it was completely possible that the growth was natural.

But it still gave him the creeps. In his heart, he knew the trees and his forests were not natural. Either way, he had to do his job. Yes, Billy, I am going to get to the scary part. You see, there are other types of worms as well. Not just the ones that live in the earth, but others that live inside of other things. Parasites. You thought I was joking about worms eating you, huh, Billy?

I wasn't. They are very real. Do any of you have dogs or cats? That's them giving medication that gets rid of them. Now, these are simple worms that fed off the nutrients the dog or cat eats. But there's one that's far more devious. Yes, yes, I will get back to David, but this is important for context. Toxoplasmosis gondi

It's hard to say, I know But let me just call it toxo from now on So toxo Reproduces in a cat's gut And when the cat poops The parasite has eggs Okay, I know poop is a silly word But let's focus now

The parasite releases eggs in the poop And the poop infects things around it So a mouse eat something near this poop And it gets infected And this is where it gets interesting. The parasite removes fear of cats from the mouse. Then it'll make the mouse attracted to cats, so they seek them out to be eaten.

Then, that's right, the parasite ends up back in the cat. So this worm controlled this mouse with its mind control and led it to its death. When Toxo gets into humans, it makes him reckless, angry, and more likely to get into accidents. No, David isn't being controlled by a worm. And no, Sally, I don't have worms under my skin. That's just a fire doing weird things to the shadows and making my veins look like they move.

But let's get back to David. He started doing this thing in this forest measuring, checking for landmarks and all that when he finds a stream that shouldn't be there. He checks the maps. To his shock, all of them said the same thing. There shouldn't be a stream there. Of course, his job is to map the land, and David follows this stream. He figures that maybe one of the other streams got rerouted during a major rainstorm,

or even Deadfall rerouted the stream. It only took him a moment to notice something strange about this stream. It stank like death. And as you all know from playing in the stream earlier, they have a smell to them. This was far worse. And as he followed the stream, he noticed lots of dead things in it.

Birds, mice, and other small animals, far more than he'd ever seen before. At this point, he feared that there was some kind of chemical spill in the water causing all these things to die. Maybe even something from those old mines. So, David, being the environmentalist that he was, took a water sample in his empty glass water bottle.

He knew he couldn't see anything with a naked eye, but he still held it up to the light and admired the distorted woods through the refraction of the glass and water. As he stared, he noticed something peculiar. There were small squirming things, no thicker than a strand of hair. David knew about some parasites and worms

and figured it would be a good idea to make sure this sample got tested. He put it in his bag, but continue to do his job of mapping. Do you kids know what a horsehair worm is? No, Billy. It's named that because it looks like horsehair. This worm lays eggs in water, and when insects drink the water, they drink the eggs.

When they're inside the body of these bugs... Good question. That's usually grasshoppers, praying mantis, and stuff like that. Where was I? Oh, yeah. The worm hatches inside and feeds on the organs hemolymph of the insect until it grows large enough that it's ready to go back to the water. Remember the flesh-eating worms I mentioned, Billy? This is one of those.

So the worm will control the bug, bringing it to the water and making it drown itself and then bursting from its body into the water. I know. Very gross and terrifying. This was what occurred to David at first. but he remembered that horsehair worms only infect insects. Yet he still remembered some other type of parasite that infected people and brought them to water. One of these is the guinea worm, a similar life cycle, but it infects humans. The worm travels throughout the body and lays eggs in the legs and feet and tries to burrow out when they hatch. This creates a burning sensation where the person goes to water to wash them.

Yes to me, you're a real. right. The larva and worms burst and go into the water. You're getting the idea. Don't look so sick, Billy. The guinea worm is eradicated in the U.S. But David was concerned that this might be a population of the worm or something different. He was concerned about the water and the stuff inside enough that he kept gathering samples. Every single one he gathered, he saw the hair-thick worms swimming around. He ventured away from the stream and searched for other landmarks. Only every time he checked his GPS, it said he was in a completely different spot or didn't work at all. Not much later, the batteries died.

He got very lost. At sunset, he knew he was going to have to find a place to camp out for the night. Yes, Sally, just like we are now. But unlike us, he didn't have a fire or any camping gear. So David checked his maps, tried the GPS, and got a brief bit of life out of it enough to find if he was where he thought he might be should a DEC cabin be nearby. David knew it was a long shot, but he tried to move in the direction of this cabin, and sure enough, he saw the clearing and the structure beyond. It was almost like the forest wanted him to find it and led him there. As he got closer and the night grew darker, he saw something strange.

There were people standing around a massive fire throwing things into it. Yes, much larger than this one. And he got closer at first casually, because he didn't think he was in any danger. Only after getting closer, he saw they were burning belongings, like clothes, backpacks, boots, and other things. He gasped, and people turned, seeing him standing in the open. David was horrified by what he saw. Those people weren't right. They were thin, hunched, and their lower jaws had sunk in so much they were practically gone.

He went to run, but the strange, desiccated people ran and grabbed him with speed and strength far beyond what David had expected. They dragged him away from the fire, tearing his clothes off and tossing them into the fire. He pleaded with them. begged, made promises, and even cried. These men didn't care, and once he was naked, they dragged him towards the woods away from the DEC cabin. Of course, David was terrified, but as much as he fought, he couldn't get free.

Then he saw where they were bringing him. In a slight mound jutting from the hill was the opening, with old wooden frames keeping it from collapsing. David thought for sure they were going to toss him into the mine and seal him inside. Instead, two of the withered men laid him down on the ground, holding his limbs sprawled out, and a third man grabbed a strange stick that had a thick string like a biolins bow. I actually have a similar one right here. Yeah, it is weird.

Want me to show you how it works? It's called worm grunting. A funny name I know. So, you place this end into the ground and take this stick and rub it against each other and it makes that sound. It sounds like rain to them and they... See? There. And there? Yeah.

They're coming to the surface. Yeah, Billy, it is pretty cool. Now, the stick they had differed from this one. It was more like a violins bow. To fully appreciate this, you have to put your ears to the ground. "'Trust me, kiddos. I know your hands are sticky from the smores, but we have wipes to clean up after.' "'Yes, Sally, I know it seems yucky, but trust me. You will hear the very worms themselves.' "'Can you hear them?'

"'No? Not yet?' "'Okay. Let me keep playing this, and I'll finish David's story.' "'The Wither man played his grunter stick, and it echoed into the hole. At first, nothing happened. but soon David felt the soil writhing underneath him. Long black worms sprouted from the ground and he could feel them on his bare skin. David thought he saw movement in the mine and when he turned his head to get a better view,

a worm writhed its way into his ear. They sought David's heat. He shook violently, but the worm worked its way in deeper. The other worms were worried. writhing against his back in the back of his legs, feeling, searching. Some had small teeth and were biting into his flesh. Others were crawling up on him, searching for ways to enter. Some found certain orifices that caused him to scream harder,

and his breath attracted more to his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. The worms found their way in any way they could. David opened his eyes for a moment in the chaos because he heard a voice. It was deep, guttural, and didn't sound human. He turned towards the mind and saw a massive shape shrouded in darkness. Numerous eyes glinted in the moonlight, and its flesh writhed and undulated like a body composed of the very worms that were working their way inside of him.

David slammed his eyes shut when a worm, crawled under his eyelid. It was too late, and he felt it slither its entire body in. Now, the thing about these worms is that they, like the other worms I spoke of, are parasitic. How these ones are different, though, are that they're all connected, like a hive.

Yes, Timmy, like bees. That's a perfect comparison, because bees have drones and a queen. The work of the drones is to gather food and take care of the young. The worms have a prince and a god that requires its own drones. Needless to say, David was no longer an agent of his own will. He became a drone of the hive, a walking home, food source, and a vector. Unlike the other worms that completely enslaved the mind of their captor, forcing them to die,

David retained his memories. Only now they were in a different context. He looked at everything on how he could serve the hive. And when he asked the prince of worms, it gave him an answer. So David finished his survey, assisted by his new congregation, and returned to his life. The information he brought back with the survey was skewed. He didn't mark some locations and then picked some spots for the project the company hired for, all to benefit his new master. Can you hear that, kids? The sound of the worms?

They're coming. And if you listen closely, you can hear their prince. His whispers are everywhere if you know how to listen. You kids are lucky. You're going to bear witness an hypothesis of a kind so unique that only a certain few get chosen. And I chose you. Through you, the blind will see. The crawling and squirming will walk, and you will join the children of decay, an apostle of desolation,

the prince of worms. Don't fight it, Sally. Look at Billy. He is accepting his communion from the earth peacefully. I know it's scary, but even miracles can seem horrible to the unprepared. You will have a purpose and shall carry out desolations will. That's right, Timmy. I know it hurts at first, but soon everything will be okay.

They're there to help, like those that lie. beneath. The dark will be your light, and you will carry the worm with you wherever you go. You will never be alone and never be afraid. Because this God doesn't work in mysterious ways. He works through the worms. He works through you. Guys, is all this really necessary?

It's for safety. How is hog tying me to a tree keeping me safe? I wasn't talking about you. Come on, I'm fine. Seriously. How many children do you see right now? Children! Where? I hate kids! Don't you have kids? I told you all. I'm fine.

So you aren't currently under the impression that you're surrounded by things that aren't there? No, Nate, I'm not surrounded by things that aren't there. It's just you all, me, and the animals walking around on two. legs. Yeah. You're staying tied. Um, Nate. What? As much as I hate to agree with anything John ever does or says, we're currently surrounded by a lot of animals walking around on two legs. 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 creepy pod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so

through creative common share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.