Creepy - Out in the 55

Episode Date: March 23, 2020

Uncle Henry has stories...***Written by T.W. Grim and narrated by Joe Stofko***For a free 30-day trial go to shudder.com and use code creepy***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. As always, this podcast has made possible thanks to our patrons. Right now, I am awestruck by how many people have not only continued to support us who've just started their donations. Times are unsure, and that goes for the production team here at Creepy Too. So thank you all so much. And please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Megan, Tyler Eden, Zachary Sosa, the Darylick Phoenix, Ireland.

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I've seen on social media that people are looking for even more podcast options. So now is as good at time as any to check out the new podcast, 13. From the minds that brought you Olive Hill, 13 is a series of feature-length slow burn atmospheric spooky stories. New stories release on the 13th of each month.

That's 13. T-H-I-R-T-E-E-N. You can listen to a and wherever you listen to podcasts. And finally, for those of you who have been otherwise preoccupied, and I can't imagine why that would be. This last week we announced that creepy will be posting additional episodes throughout the week to help people focus on something else during these strange times.

This week we'll post additional episodes on Tuesday and Thursday, but we're working on even more than that to help listeners however we can. These episodes will be pared down quite a bit, focusing on the narrations themselves with little to no sound effects and minimal music. I really hope you like them. Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world.

Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. In the 55, written by T.W. Grimm and narrated by Joe Stofco. As a transplanted souther,

I know what it's like to roast in the summertime heat. But even up here in the northeast, you'll get some days or the humidity's downright ignorant. That's how my uncle Henry phrases it, turning the word into a dirty expletive sweet jesus he'll say it's downright ignorant out there come july in august uncle henry's farm is my sanctuary from the urban madness a hot asphalt and shimmering glass his property is in the oasis where the sun sets early behind the tree-tops and the weather-vane on the peak of the barren roof is almost always fluttering in a north-western breeze the farmhouse is mostly shielded from the midday sun by his ancient oak tree A quartet of towering sentinels that rise up to brush against the sky. Henry's farm is a good place.

And old Uncle Henry's a good fella. Henry has led something of an interesting life, to put it mildly. And he has a lot of very unusual tales to tell. Sometimes are whimsical in nature. Sometimes they're thought-provoking and sobering. But every now and then, he'll tell me a story that's pure and natural. mere fuel. I'd like to think that the latter variety is either wildly embellished or outright fabrication.

But honestly, I have my doubts. As my uncle is fond of saying when I become skeptical in the face of some bizarre turn in our conversation. Ah, hell. It's a big weird old world out there, kiddo. We really don't know jack's shit about it. Uncle Henry's been rambling around the house by himself since my aunt passed last year. He's always glad for some company.

He'll toss a couple six-packs in his old cooler and will retreat to the comfort of wooded swing chairs at face the valley. Chairs that Henry had built with his own hands the same year Elvis was famously censored on the Ed Sullivan show. Before long, we'll end up falling to our long-running conversation about all the world and everything in it. Just shooting the breeze and wax and philosophical as we piss away devastating the hot Sunday afternoon. Last Sunday, as usual, our discussion veered into the fortian realms of the very strange. This time with claim that Henry had once seen a UFO floating above his very own field in June in 195. I came out of the house after lunch, and there it was, hovering down in the valley beside the irrigation pond, It was floating three feet off the ground, so perfectly goddamn stilled it could have been hanging from a string.

It looked like a giant ball bearing, no seams or rivets. A perfect globe made some kind of highly polished metal. It shone so bright in the sunlight I could hardly look at it. Didn't make any sound at all, this thing, this craft. And yes, I do believe it was a piloted craft, you understand. It was a spaceship, no doubt about it. Anyhow, I stood there with my jaw on the ground and stared at this craft for a minute, maybe two, and then it shot up straight into the air. Poof!

It was gone in a single second, just incredibly fast. I'll tell you right now that no one on this earth, living or dead, no one could ever have constructed such a marvelous machine. It was from another world. Why didn't you take a picture of this thing, Henry? I demand it. You didn't think to run for your camera? I mean, come on, man. Henry flapped a dismissive hand and scowled.

I couldn't have moved a muscle if my life depended on it. Sometimes people freeze up like a rabbit when they're scared. It happens to the best of us. I asked. Why were you scared? And Henry thought about it carefully for a while before answering. Taking time to mull it over while he tore the plastic off. fresh pack of smokes.

It has. It wasn't right. There was no way in hell that thing should have been able to fly, let alone hover around in mid-air. How can a round lump of metal zoom around like that? It defied the laws of physics and the laws of every other goddamn thing. That craft really was alien in every sense of the word. It scared me.

Henry looked thoughtful. He went quiet for a while and I watched him from the corner of the corner of the world. my eye. I had a feeling that Henry is about to push me down the proverbial rabbit hole once again. I thought, well, this should be interesting. And I patiently waved from the start. It's a big, weird old world out there. Henry mused. He lit a cigarette with his tarnished old zip and hacked into his fist. He weased. Not so long ago, this land was still uncultivated and wild. Most of the farms on this road didn't even exist until the late 40s. For thousands of years, this whole area was nothing but woods and gullies. The people who lived in those forests

believed in the elemental forces of light and dark. They believed in magic. He blew out a swirling cloud, a blue tinted smoke, a luxurious exhalation that ended in a coughing fit. When he was done, Henry said, This happened a few years after the UFO incident. It would have been some time in the early 60s after I got let go by the electric company and moved on back to the farm. The whole thing started with me waking up early one morning and saying to myself, fuck it, I'm going rabbit hunting. And the scrubbed land in the back of the farm was always teeming with the little buggers. You could hunker down just about anywhere and bag one in no time.

His lip twitched in a brief smile. There one second, gone the next. Rabbits too, kiddo. I used to love it. Your grandma made a great rabbit stew. I haven't had it in many years. I can't bring myself to shoot a living creature anymore. I don't know why. Maybe it's "'because my own time is coming.' "'I grimaced at this and said, "'No, don't say that. "'You got a lot of good years left.' "'Well, I don't know about that.

"'Anyhow, I went out to the back of the property "'and hid behind a clump of sumac with my twenty-two. "'The sun was just barely peeking over the treetops, "'and the way the light hit the morning mist "'made it feel like I was in a dream.' "'Henry looked me in the eyes and said, "'I'll tell you something, kid, So, under the right circumstances, when the light meets darkness, there's magic in the air.

Sometimes it's a good sort of magic. Sometimes it's bad. But either way, there's no denying it's real. If you don't believe that, go on out to the fields tonight around 8 o'clock, and maybe you'll see for yourself. You stand there real quiet and just watch. Maybe you'll see it happen. And then you'll know that I'm right. So I'm sitting there.

The light pushes back the dark, waiting and watching for a nice-sized rabbit, and I'll be damned if someone doesn't come crawling out of the gully. He was leaning on a stick to keep himself from falling over into the dirt. I sat perfectly still and watched this dirty, bedragged-looking apparition come hobbling up into the daylight. There was a real bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The only thought in my head was that he was tainted. His stick broke in two when he fell at the edge of the field.

The sound of his body hitting the dirt snapped me out of my trance. I come running over and I saw it was a native fella, an older guy with gray hair. His denim overalls were soaked through with blood. Uncle Henry reached into the old cooler that sat on the ground between us and fished out of fresh beer. He cracked it open slowly, taking a pause to gather his thoughts. I put my rifle down and rolled him over. The left side of his face was hanging in shreds. I could see his teeth through a hole in his cheek.

He was tore up like he got mauled by a jungle cat. I says to him, Holy Jesus, what done this to you? But he was too far gone to speak. There was nothing I could do but lay him down in the dirt and let him die. Then restop to light another smoke. He was seized by another fit of coffin. One drape closer to the grave.

He squinted at me through the haze and gasped. When I thought he was gone, I tried to close his eyelids. I'd heard somewhere you're supposed to do that when someone dies, but they wouldn't stay closed. They kept sliding open again. I reached for fresh beer in my own. I had a feeling I was going to need it. I've definitely never heard this one before.

That's crazy. What happened to him? Hush. Henry snapped. I'm getting there. I made a zipper motion across my lips in motion for him to carry on. Henry speared me with a sour glance and continued. I titled it back to the house and told your grandparents.

Ma forced me to sit down and drink a mug of tea with some rum in there, you know, to calm my nerves. Your granddad? Oh, not your real one, mind you, but you already know that. Anyways, he jumped in the truck to go see for himself. And when he come back, he was white as a ghost. He told me to call the cops. Henry fished another smoke out of his rumpled pack, taking his time with the procedure. He was steering off into the distance, gazing into the fate of past with the failing eyes of a man in the twilight hour of his own existence.

It pains me to think about it, but it's true. Henry probably isn't long for this world. And I'll miss him when he's gone. He had to be from the 55. That's what we called the local native reserve. The 55 wasn't much more than a handful of dilapidated shack standing in a clearing in the bush. You could get there on a dirt road that led off a county road 55. I'd never been there myself, but I knew from Fred Walsh that a fellow could drop in most days and buy a

a jug of corn liquor if he was so inclined. It wasn't wise to go after dark, though. Not if you didn't want to come back with your ass kicked up between your shoulder blades. They didn't much care for company after business hours. So when the cops finally showed up, they went out to the field and gawked at the body like it was a display in a carnival sideshow. One of them yelled,

God damn, old chief got licking up and tried to wrestle a bear. And the other one laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes. They didn't have no respect at all. Didn't take any pictures, didn't comb the area for evidence, none of that. They just rolled up the body in a tarp and heaved it into the trunk of their squad car. Geez, I could hardly believe it. We both sat quietly for a while drinking our beers and looking down at the meadow in the valley. We're an ugly people, living in a beautiful world.

Henry sighed. Us versus them, that's how we think. It's always been us versus them, and that's the way it always will be. Anyway, just as we're finishing lunch, a homicide detective named Callahan come rolling up the driveway in an unmarked Plymouth Fury. He was the most serious-looking man I ever met, face like a rock. He interviewed me and your grandpa at the kitchen table. He asked a lot of questions, but the one that really stuck with me

was if we'd ever seen any unusual tracks out in the fields. your grandpa says what do you mean exactly and detective callahan just kind of shrugged it off and let me wonderin why a homicide detective would be investigating an animal attack now before he left he advised us to start locking our doors at night i asked if we were in danger and he said ma'am we are always in danger start locking your doors Henry smiled little and nodded to himself. He pitched a cigarette butt into the grass and crushed beneath his old-witted old work boot. Willie Van Klein come by later that afternoon. He was the Dutchman that owned the apple orchard down the road. Of course, the apple trees were gone long before you were even born.

The entire orchard withered up and died back in the early 70s, just shriveled up and died. and there wasn't anything Willie could do about it. He committed suicide that winter, cut his own throat with a straight razor. Now that's a story right there. See, before the Van Clines bought that land, they belonged to some kind of Anabaptist sect, a cult. Apparently, these folks were straight out of the...

Henry, stay on track. Willie came by later on and... Uh, right. Henry grunted. Old Willie said, his whole house woke up just before midnight to his dogs losing their minds out in the kennel, howling and carrying on like Satan himself was standing in the barnyard. He jumped out of bed to see what was happening and wham!

Some slammed against his back door hard enough to crack it right down the middle. Well, he'd come running downstairs in his nightshirt and yelled, get away from my house or I'll shoot. But whatever was outside screamed like a banshee and kept pounding away at the door. Well, he said to her with this, and he blasted a hole in his own door with his shotgun. The thing outside had let out a yell like nothing he'd ever heard before and took off of the woods. He said it was moving too fast to get a good look at it through the window. But he saw it was big and running on all floors.

It had a set of big twisting antlers on either side of its head, just like a mature buck. But dear, aren't generally known to come knocking on your door, and I didn't know of any animals that can take both barrels of a shotgun, not even bleed. Wasn't a single drop of blood on his porch. It ran off without a scratch. Henry smirked crookedly at his beer can and shook his head. Now, everyone knew that Willie Van Klein wasn't a fan of law enforcement or rules in general. He would have made a damn fine Viking warrior, that man. No, Willie didn't call the cops. He took matters into his own hands.

He put his hound on the scent and followed the critters trail into the woods. He said that it headed straight for the 55. A motion for him to stop and said, Okay, so after it tried to kick in his door, it headed for the reserve and attack the guy you found the next morning. Right? We'll be back after this message from our sponsors. This is Agent Smallbird with the FBI.

Are you okay? What's this not? You've been held captive for the last week. Are you okay? Um, yeah, all good. How are you doing? Are... Didn't you hear the gunshots?

Is that what those were? Yeah, I just shot the man who was going to remove your skin to make a suit. Seriously? But he was so concerned about my skin care regimen. You gotta feel my arms. Never had such kissably soft skin. I think you're in shock. Hold on, let me Google symptoms of shock.

Wait, do you have your phone? Uh, yeah. Did you call the police? Nah. I was going after I finished binging the Deadlands, which is streaming now on Shudder. You're watching a movie? Oh, of course not.

It's a TV show. New episodes drop every Thursday. You gotta check it out. It's all about this slain Maori warrior who sent back to the world of the living to redeem his sins. It's pretty sick. You've been trapped in a whale

and all you've been doing is watching TV shows? I mean, yeah. It's pretty much. watch what I'd be doing anyway. And you can stream the unexpected on all your favorite devices, including iPhone, iPad, Apple TV, Xbox One, Amazon Fire TV, Google, Chromecast, Roco, and of course, Android devices.

And you can get it for just $5.99 a month or $56.99 a year. Think of them as a Netflix of horror. Plus, plus, they just added John Carpenter's in the mouth of madness. Yay me! You're crazy. No, I'd be crazy not to stream shut up. And you can too, Agent Baby Bird, was it?

Small Bird. It's hyphenated. Yeah, okay. Anyway, you can try it for free for 30 days. Just go to Shutter.com and use promo code creepy. That's S-H-U-D-D-E-R and promo code creepy. Get started streaming the best horror, thriller, and supernatural content. Shedder's expertly curated collection includes titles

like the acclaimed tigers are not afraid, one cut of the dead, revenge, and the acclaimed creep show TV series produced by Greg Nicotero. Okay, well, do you want me to drop a rope or something? Sure. There's one with a bucket at the end of it

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creepy. That's S-H-U-D-E-R and promo code creepy. And now, back to our show. You said that it headed straight for the 55. I motioned for him to stop and said, okay, so after it tried to kick in his door, it had for the reserve and attack the guy you found the next morning, right? I'm understanding this correctly? Hainter shrugged and said, and maybe it was heading back to the reserve where it came from. We had absolutely no proof of that, but the more we talked about it, the more it seemed likely.

You see how fast it happens? Us versus them? When it's us versus them, you don't have to question what you're doing, you just do it. That line of thinking will be our downfall. Anyway, who should come rattling up the road in his old Buick as we were standing in the driveway, but Fred Walsh, Now, it just so happened that Fred was one of their best customers out there in the 55. Freddy was a good fellow, but he was a drunk. He lived off a disability check from his time in Korea,

lost three fingers, and gained a permanent limp during the Battle of the Fuzan perimeter. Freddy said that he drank to deal with the phantom pain in his missing fingers, and the corn-licker was all he could afford on a fixed income. I always thought he would have been a drunk either way, but hell, it didn't really matter. He was a good drunk, always cracking wise and smiling away, not a mean bone in his body, that man. Fred didn't sound like he was three sheets to the wind just yet, but he was definitely on his way. I explained the situation, and he said, well, shit, that's a hell of a thing, ain't it? But I'll tell you right now, you guys should probably stay away from there.

they're not going to be feeling very hospitable right now if you know what i mean willie told him and there's no harm in trying and the growl in his voice said we were going whether fred walsh liked it or not so we piled into the car and fred takes us out to the fifty-five like i said earlier it wasn't much to look at just a little collection of pissed poor shanties leaning around a big community fire pit now when we pulled up we saw a few of the men sitting around the smoky fire fire in the pit. They didn't look very impressed at having visitors. Fred shakes his head at us and says, oh boy, here we go. I told you so, didn't I? Just let me do the talking. These boys aren't in the mood to make new friends. Fred Walsh walked up to the fire with his hat and his hand, and he says, I'm real sorry to be coming out here like this, but we have a mutual problem on our hands. Whatever it is that attacked the old fellow, the same critter paid a visit to my friend here. He tried to break his door down, and it damn near got inside.

He says his dog got on the scent and followed it here. Now, I'm not presuming anything you understand, but we were hoping that you might be able to tell us what's going on. Well, they all sat there and ignored us for a while, staring into their fire and sipping their whiskey. Finally, a big old boy with a scar on his cheek, and braided hair looks up, and he says, You're interrupting awake.

You need to get back in your car, and fuck off right now. Well, I saw we were out number three to one, and I thought, yep, it's time to go. But Big Willie, it wasn't going anywhere just yet. And he walked up close to the fire, and he says, you people know what he's talking about? I can see it in your faces.

I don't want any trouble from you, but I won't leave here until you tell us what you know about this thing. Well, the big old boy with the scar gave Willie a grin like a knife, and he says, You people? What do you mean by that? Fred jumps up and he goes, Now, now, Elwood. Willie didn't mean nothing by it,

but it was already out there. Someone else sitting by the fire stands up and says, He means Indians, Redskins, Wahoos, isn't that right? Henry paused to fish himself another beer from slushy ass in the cooler. He grimaced as the coal carbonation hit his parched throat. Well, I could see Willie was getting mad. He crossed those tree trunk arms and he said, You're putting words in my mouth.

I didn't mean that. Look, I'm sorry we're disturbing you. I am, but I'm not going to leave until you tell me what I want to know. Something tried to kick in my door last night. It was big and it had antlers, but it wasn't a buck. It ran like a jungle cat. This thing walked right past my chickens and went for my house instead. I shot the son of a bitch and it didn't give a damn.

What the hell is it? Well, the natives looked around at each other, and one by one they started to laugh. It was a nervous laughter. They were scared. But Willie didn't see that, of course. He just saw people laughing at him, and he wasn't about to... Eh, well, shit. Henry's beer slipped out his hand and hit the grass in an eruption of foam.

He cursed under his breath and waved off my attempt to retrieve it. He grumbled. and to pour the rest out with a thunderous frown. I've been dropping things lately. Hardly got any feeling in my hands anymore. Give me another one, would you? I reluctantly passed him another beer. I could see that Henry's already getting drunk,

and I wondered about the condition of his liver. He had a hard time popping it open, and I had to a strain urge to pluck the can out of his hands and do it for him, which would have undoubtedly pissed him off to no end. I was swamped by another curling wave of that melancholic heartache. It will be hard to watch Henry go. He's one of the good ones. So, well, he looked like he had just about enough.

And that Elwood character was more than ready to square up. Someone was about to get hurt. Fred Walsh waved his arms like a referee, and he hollered, calm down. Come on now, this ain't going to settle nothing. Everybody relax. Elwood stared him down until Freddy looked away. He said,

Did you ever tell your buddies the truth about those fingers of yours, Freddy? Fred did a double take and got this look for a second. I don't know, he just looked different, like a different kind of person entirely. It was there and gone in the flash, but I caught it. And then it was just Freddy again, all red in the face and grasping for a comeback. He mumbled something like, oh, I don't know what you're talking. about and he looked down at his feet. Edward grinned, that furious grin at him, and he said,

Sure, you don't, Freddy, sure. He turned to the rest of us and he said, Let me tell you people something. Winter lives in our hearts. Your boogeyman is closer than you think. And then he walks up right close to Freddy, still smiling away, and he says, When you come from me, I'll be waiting.

for you, Wittico. We all stopped dead at that. Henry snorted. Well, we didn't know what the hell he was getting at. But something about the way he said it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Freddy got all flustered, and he said, What the hell is that supposed to mean? But Elwood was already walking away.

He went into his shack, and he slammed the door behind him. The rest of them got up from the fire and went into their own houses. and before you know it, we were standing there all by ourselves. It was time to go. Freddy threw his hands up and said, See, I told you so, didn't I? Come on. We all jumped in the car and by Jesus,

was I ever glad to be leaving. I had that real bad feeling in the fit of my stomach again. It was already starting to get gloomy in the woods. I didn't want to be out there after dark. Henry looked at me with his lips pressed into a tight little lion. His eyes were blank and shrouded by the past. He was living the memory. And I was right there with him.

We got maybe halfway back to the main road when your grandpa pipes up and says, What did he mean, Freddy? That thing he said about your fingers? Freddy glared at him in the rearview mirror and stopped the car. His face was redder than a cherry tomato. He didn't say nothing for a moment. Just sat there looking straight ahead. And then he goes, hold on, fellas, I got to take a piss.

I says, Jesus, Freddy, can't it wait for a few minutes? But Freddy goes, hell no, I'm about to burst. Give me a minute. Well, we waited, and we waited. But he never came back. We went out looking for him, but Freddie Walsh was nowhere to be seen. He walked into the woods and vanished. And he took the goddamn keys with him.

Henry fumbled another cigarette out of his pack. He stared at it and said, "'These things will be the death of me, I suppose. I watch them murder your grandpa, your uncle Ernest, your Aunt Gertie. God knows who else, but I still couldn't give them up. Some folks die old age, others die from circumstances they can't control. The rest of us, and we all end up killing ourselves one way or another. Why is that?'

I pressed my lips together an unhappy little line and stretched my hands. hand out for another smoke. I attended all three of those funerals, but there I was, still lighting up the coffin nails at least once an hour like clockwork. The truth is that no one actually believes in their own demise. Not really. You could stand in line and watch a thousand people die at the hangman's news before you. But when your turn comes, you'd still somehow be surprised when the rough circle of rope drops

over your own head. That's just how we are. We're so completely egosentric. We simply can't imagine the world plugging along without us. I settled with a yawn and a dismissive shrug. Sometimes it's better to respond to an uncomfortable quest with no answer at all, if you understand what I mean. I said,

I don't know why, Henry. Who knows what makes people tick? We do what we do and we don't question why. Once with all this existential morality stuff anyway, you got lots of good years left. There's no need to be talking like that. It's because there is winter in our hearts. It's true. Most of the time, people choose to do the right thing,

but some of us would rather howl along with those icy winds. Those people are damned. Henry paused to pick a flick to back off his lip. He studied the lid end. of a cigarette and morbid fascination. The sun was already gone behind the tree line. He murmured. And light was fading to darkness.

I could feel that bad magic gathering in the shadows. The hairs were standing up on my arms. I said to hell with it, he ain't coming back. Let's hoof it out of here. I found a flashlight in Freddy's trunk. It was a good thing, too, because it was so dark I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I almost shit myself every time I heard something scuffling around there in the woods.

I was convinced that it was following us, just creeping along and watching from behind the trees. I didn't know what it was, but I was positive it was there. I knew that it wanted to eat us alive. Henry scrapped the back of his hand across his mouth and nodded to himself. I was scared. But even worse, I felt helpless. Somehow that's even worse than being shit-ass. terrified, much worse. I knew there wouldn't be a goddamn thing I could do when it came for us.

I think fear and helplessness was just as nourishing to this thing as living flesh and blood. It was prolonging the hunt to drink it all in, every little drop. I heard a branch break close to the tree line. Shone the flashlight into the woods, and just for a split second, I saw something peeking out from behind the trees. A set of burning eyes glaring at us, eight or nine feet off the ground. I saw what looked like a sloping, misshaping head and an enormous pair of antlers. It was just for a moment, a heartbeat or two, and then a set of headlights popped up in the distance. We ran toward the light in a blind panic.

It was your grandma in the farm truck. She came looking for us. God bless her. I've never been so relieved in all my life. I asked them, did you see something out there? But no one would admit to it. We dropped Willie off and burned straight on home to call the police. I told him Freddy disappeared into the woods and left his car behind. They said they'd send someone out to look for him,

and that's the last I heard of it till the next morning. I guess all that fear and adrenaline done me right in, because I was out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. I woke up dear grandma, hammering on my door like a goddamn cannon. She yelled, get up, that policeman's here again. He wants to talk to you. Henry took a deep swallow from his beer and made a sour face. He poured out the rest and tossed the empty into the cooler.

Warm as piss. He grumbled. Well, I don't know. I guess I was just about comatose that night because it was almost 10 o'clock and your grandpa was already out in the fields. I came downstairs and found Callahan sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. He smiled at my mom. and asked if he could speak to me alone for a while.

Well, she went outside to pick some peas for supper. As soon as she stepped out the door, Callahan stopped smiling. He said, Get yourself some coffee, have a seat. I need to talk to you. I asked him if it was about Freddy, and Callahan just gives me a strange look and says, Go on, have a seat.

He looked exhausted, like he'd been up all night. I watched him pull something from his pocket and set it down on the kitchen table. It was a silver letter opener. Callahan taps it with his finger, and he says, We pulled this out of a dead man's hand last night. The fellow named Elwood Allen. You know him?

I nodded and said, I don't know him exactly, but I met him. Callahan looked like he was satisfied with that. He said, someone killed him last night, kicked in his door and butchered him. Mr. Allen stabbed his attacker with this letter opener during the struggle. We found them both laying on the floor, of a shanty. Elwood and his murderer. Your missing pal, Frederick Walsh. Henry lit another cigarette and

coughed out a lung full of smoke. I just about fell out of my chair. I says to the cop, Holy hell, what happened? Callahan shook his head. It looked like he was struggling to find the right word. And finally, he says, how well did you know Freddy Walsh? I told him I've known Freddie for seven years, pretty well, I guess. Callahan leaned in closer and asked, do you know why he left the service? I said, well, he left

because he got hurt in the war. Callahan looked at me in the eye and he said, yeah, he lost those fingers in Korea, but it didn't happen the way you think it did. See, Freddie had himself a dishonorable discharge. He was caught doing something awful to a young girl,

caught red-handed by her father. The villagers were going to put his head on a chopping block right then and there, but another enlisted man heard the commotion and tried to make a deal with them. Take just a finger and spare Freddy's life. They dickered about it for a while, and they ended up settling on three fingers and a good hard kick to the kneecap. I winced and absently rubbed my own kneecap. There's no good spot to suffer a nasty fracture, but the Patela is a particularly bad one. He was lucky to get out of there alive, though, wasn't he? What a fucking scumbag.

What happened to him after that? Freddy was court-martialed. He did two years in Portsmouth. Callahan said it should have been 20 as far as he was concerned, but somehow Freddy got lucky once again. Bad people often have the best luck. He was even awarded a disability check when he got released, so he ended up moving here and made some new friends,

and during that time he moved on from hurting people to committing murder. Callahan said Freddy had a chest in his bedroom full of pictures, locks of hair, all kinds of mementos. But that wasn't enough for Freddy. He had to take it one step further. He started eating them. I grunted and disgust. Jesus Christ! And you had no idea? None at all. Henry said quietly. He had bags of human flesh in his icebox, but that still wasn't enough.

He became the monster that lurked on the inside. He lost himself to the winter in his heart, mind, body, and soul. His voice dropped even lower and had to listen carefully to catch his quavering words. Callahan told me that Elwood was still alive when they arrived at the scene. He said one word. With Dico. Then he slipped away. Now, the Cree sometimes called it by that name, but others know it as the Wendigo.

It's the monster that lives inside us, the frozen wind that howls in your soul. You can believe whatever you want, but the detective told me, and he was dead goddamn serious, believe me. He told me that Freddy died before he could finish changing back into a man. Callahan said, Freddy's corpse was a half-man, half-monster hybrid from the depths of hell. One leg like a goat, one antler protruding from his skull, his face elongated into a her her, snout. He told me it was like looking at a childhood nightmare. He said, It was eating him alive while he stabbed it with this letter opener. I can't even imagine the horror that man experienced before he died. I chewed that over for a minute before I told

him that Elwood was expecting him to come back. He even said so before we left. He mentioned something about Freddy's fingers, too. It was like he knew what Freddy had become. Well, Callahan said I wouldn't be surprised. Elwood was the enlisted man that saved Freddy's hide in Korea. They were lifelong friends, those two. He knew Freddy better than anyone, I'd guess. Well... Henry exclaimed.

My jaw dropped onto the table when I heard that, and I says, well, holy shit. And Callahan had to laugh in spite of himself. He looked like he needed a stiff drink and a full 12 hours of sleep. He said, yep, they were thick of thieves. You have to wonder if Elwood wasn't somehow involved in the murders. It's hard to imagine that any decent man would stand behind such a degenerate son of a bitch. I guess we'll never know because Elwood's neighbors torched his house when we left.

Douse the place in gasoline, set it on fire. They said fire would purify the ground and that's fine by me. It was an accidental fire. Two people dead and no surviving family on either side? It's a lot easier than the truth. O'Callaghan stood up to leave, and he said, You better count your blessings that you're still alive. Freddy took you out there so he could get rid of anyone

who might be close to discovering his secret. You didn't stand a chance, because you didn't have the one thing that could stop him. He held up the letter opener, and he said, Silver. I dropped in at the library in town before I came here, and from what I could gather, some of the legends say, you can kill them with Silver. Elwood knew that.

But you folks would have been shit out of it. a luck. Callahan started to leave, but he turned around at the door. He gave me a real somber look and says, those two patrolmen who came out here yesterday have been fired. There's a new world on the horizon, a better world, and there'll be no room for people like that. You have yourself a good day, Henry. This conversation never happened. Henry's words faded into silence. I realized that his tale had come to an end. We sat quietly for a while and stared down into the valley below us.

The very same valley where Henry had once seen a UFO back in June of 195. The world of ours is full of mystery, a place of wonders. And when the light meets the dark, there is magic in the air. That's too goddamn hot. Fuck it. Let's go inside and cool off. Next time you come out remind me to tell you about what happened to Willie Van Klein in his orchard. Oh, now that's a story.

Henry snapped and shattered the somber atmosphere with a tremendous cracker of a fart. After a late supper, I took Henry's advice and wandered back into the fields. I stood very still and watched as the sun sink below the horizon. And when the daylight faded to darkness, I swore that I could feel something in the air. A faint buzz of static electricity against my skin. A sense of being subtly stretched between the state of consciousness we perceive as reality and something else. Something both surreal and darkly divine. For a fleeting moment in time, I could actually feel the magic.

It was both terrifying and exhilarating. And then the twilight faded to Fuldar, and I hastened back to the safety of the farmhouse. It was almost time to go back to the city, a hectic place, a constant hurry and controlled chaos. I felt a tinge of sadness as the farmer seated in the rearview mirror, as I always do. But I'll be back soon enough. Henry would be waiting with his cooler and his stories, and he'll weave a dark spell that will transport me to another place and another time. Henry's stories create the very own kind of magic. a good kind that takes you away from yourself for a while.

It's the best kind of magic, really. Henry's farm is a good place, and Henry is a good fella. I'll be back soon enough. Rest a shirt. But for now, the story has come to an end. And it's time to bid you all a good night. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us.

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