Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I live in a Small Town. Something is WRONG with my neighbors | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 9, 2024

NEVER visit this town after dark... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Annie R. Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts              Original YouTube link: I live in a Small Town. Something is WRONG with my neighbors.     Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Do you believe in good and evil? People keep asking me about my scars. I'm covered head to tone them. I like to joke that I got them from saving orphans from burning buildings, or I went paragliding through a fire tornado. But that's because I don't want to remember what really happened. I don't want to believe what I saw that night all those years ago. I'm Father Lawrence Martin,

and I used to be the parish priest at blue. Blue Rock, Ohio. It was a small town, but it had a big heart. People there were close, and life was simple. It was like a fairy tale. I inherited the parish from my uncle. He was a man of the cloth, too. I grew up with him, and he was the one who taught me that being a priest was about being a pillar for others to lean on. Blue Rock was a farming community. The fields went on for miles, full of crops that swayed in the wind. The townspeople were hardworking, religious, but most of all kind. They were people who wouldn't hesitate to lend a helping hand or share their last loaf of bread.

And in this community, fights were rare. But when they happened, people came to me. to settle things. I remember us all banding together after a very bad storm. I was out there, sleeves rolled up. I was helping clear debris from the streets, fix roofs, and whatever else was needed. I wasn't just their priest. I was part of their lives.

I'd like to think I was their friend. Sometimes, I even subbed at the school when Miss Eleanor got sick. She was our local teacher. I wasn't much of an academic, but I managed to keep those kids entertained until she recovered. We covered everything from basic math to why the sky was blue. It wasn't in the curriculum, but it made the kids curious and eager to learn. But there's one memory I'll never forget.

It's the fire that destroyed half the town. That shouldn't have been possible. The fire started at a farmhouse outside of town. It shouldn't have gotten as far as it did, but I had no doubts. It was because of that farmhouse. This is the story of that fire. It was a Sunday afternoon when I found out about our new neighbors. Seeing new people was always a surprise.

In Blue Rock, I pretty much knew everyone who attended Mass, so strangers were easy to spot. But this couple was different compared to others I'd met before. The woman had long brown hair that reached her waist. Looked like she came from a rich family. But the man she was with looked skinny and fragile. You could tell he wasn't used to the quiet of the countryside, because he looked jittery, always looking over his shoulder as if he was waiting for something to happen.

And he was sickly, too. Throughout the service, he'd occasionally pull out a handkerchief and cough into it, trying not to make noise. But you could hear it anyway. Despite all this, they were incredibly nice to everyone. They were trying to fit in, I suppose. They listened carefully to every word I said during the service. They didn't take communion, though.

After the Mass, they stayed back to chat with the locals, just smiling, and shaking hands. I made my way over to the new couple after service, eager to welcome them to the community. It crossed my mind that their choice of heavy, dark clothing wasn't suited for our weather at all. They definitely stood out as city folk, not just in how they dressed, but how they carried themselves too. The man said they'd been traveling for a long time, looking for the right church. He said something about Blue Rock feeling different, like it was the place they'd been searching for.

It should have been a compliment, but the way he said it, it made me feel uneasy. I tried to brush off the feeling. They were new people. Of course they were going to be different at first. What interested me the most about them was they claimed to have been religious for years. It's not every day you meet people so dumb. dedicated to their faith, that they'd travel to find the right church. They talked about the strong possibility of bringing the rest of their family here too.

That struck me as a big step, deciding to settle down based on finding the right church. But then, faith moves in mysterious ways, and who was I to question how it guided them to our small town. Despite my initial unease, I couldn't help but appreciate their enthusiasm. It's rare to see newcomers so eager to become part of the community, especially through the church. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. I hope that their presence would bring something good to Blue Rock. After all, little change isn't always a bad thing, and maybe just may. Maybe. They really could find what they'd been looking for here. In the weeks that followed, it was hard not to notice the couple. Being the priest here means people would chat me up about how

their day was going. So it's not hard to get an idea of what's been going on around town. Without even trying, I was beginning to piece together more information about our newcomers. I learned a lot about the couple from the clerk at the mayor's office. She mentioned they'd bought a small farmhouse on the edge of town. She said that the odd part was that they paid for it all in cash right there on the spot. They also asked her where they could buy cows. And not just one or two cows, but a whole herd. It sounded more than their plot of land could handle.

We figured it was just city people getting caught up in the fantasy of farm life. Their eagerness was charming. even if it was a little misguided. Then they started taking pictures all around town, all the way from the church to the cemetery, to the locals. This seemed like another quark of city people, treating our daily sites as attractions.

It's been ages since anyone decided to make Blue Rock their home. So it made us feel a little proud, you know. We were charmed by the couple's interest, and we took it as a sign. that our town could grow, that we could welcome new people, and maybe welcome new ideas, too. But even with all this happening,

I couldn't shake this feeling I had. Wasn't like they did anything wrong or alarming, but they just seemed off. Still, in a town as welcoming as Blue Rock, we wanted to give everyone the chance to fit in. For the next couple weeks, things in Blue Rock carried on just as they always had, peaceful and predictable. I often find myself thinking about how simple life was back then, before everything changed. Every week, I'd see the new couple at Mass, despite my efforts to get to know them, the only things I really learned about them were their names, and that they liked church.

Rose and Jacob, they sang louder than anyone I'd ever heard in my life. Yet despite their enthusiasm, they still never took communion, and they always seemed guarded whenever I was around. It felt as if they were always holding back. As I did with everyone, I wanted to get to know them. I visited them, hoping to welcome them properly and maybe understand them a bit better. They were always polite and friendly enough, sharing smiles and a bit of small talk. But that's all they bothered with me. I try not to take it personally, you know. After all, everybody else seemed to really like them. As time went by, their presence in town became more noticeable. They seemed genuinely interested in everything to do

with Blue Rock and its history. Especially the church, they'd ask us all sorts of questions about the town's past. Meanwhile, they also started buying up lots of wood and building supplies. But oddly enough, they turned down everyone who offered to help.

Rose and Jacob eventually shared with me that they were writers, which explained their eagerness, to learn about the town's town lore and local history. When I asked about the building supplies, they said they were just getting things ready for their friends and family to join them in Blue Rock soon.

And then the couple began to share their written stories. Most adults didn't pay much attention, but the children loved them. The kids were fascinated by every story, especially the scarier ones. I'd hear about them when the kids started acting, them out in their games. Finney Morton told me the story of a tall, skinny man in a suit who took children away at night.

The Carter Twins told me the one about a TV show with a puppet called Mr. Smiley when I found them making paper dolls. Little Sammy told me about a huge creature with sirens on its head when he started going around town with an air horn. And when I found a group of children on their way to the woods armed with sticks, Billy West told me that they were hunting for the rake, whoever that was. I had no idea what any of that meant. But one thing all these stories had in common was that they all came from Rose.

It unsettled me, sure. But the kids were having so much fun. I don't know. I didn't want to stop them. I was glad they were telling stories and enjoying themselves. But I wish that the stories weren't so dark. And then I started seeing strange symbols around town, small ones drawn on walls and fences and marker.

Nobody seemed to know what they meant. I even tried asking the children if this was a part of their new game. they were playing. All they did was shake their heads and laugh. Then one day, I found one of the symbols carved under the giant tree behind my church. Finding this really bothered me. But that was nothing compared to what came next. The following morning, I found a dead cow in the street. Its sides were brutally ripped open. Its guts. spilling out onto the street. It was already covered with insects.

Maggots squirmed in its eyes. Flies covered its body like a thick blanket. But what disturbed me the most was seeing the children playing near the dead cow. They were making these loud, buzzing noises. And they'd flap their arms like the flies as they laughed. they seemed so completely unaffected by the gore. Even little Becky Smith, who refused to eat hot dogs when she found out what they were made of. Now, I was not the type of man who lost control easily.

But in that moment, I felt an anger so strong it shocked the children and myself. I knew that they were just playing a game. But the image of them laughing while blowed. blood pooled on the road, it disturbed me. I yelled at them to get the hell out of here, to go home to their parents, that they shouldn't treat a creature of God this way. As the kids ran off, I heard them saying something, Father Flies is coming. I took a closer look at the cow, and I found the same weird symbol carved into its hide. I took a deep breath. The weird games was one thing, but this crossed the line.

Rose and Jacob, they were doing something to those kids. I needed to confront them directly. They needed to stop telling those twisted little stories of theirs. I went straight to their farmhouse, knocked on their door, and when they opened it, they simply said that stories were good for a child's imagination. They insisted they weren't forcing anyone to listen, and the games were made up by the children themselves. As I talked to them, I couldn't help but notice a change in the couple.

They seemed so friendly before, but now they were just cold. They smiled at me, but it didn't reach their eyes. I knew I wouldn't get anywhere with them. So I began talking to the parents in town. I asked them to keep their kids away from Rose, but to my shock, the parents didn't even care. Some even seemed angry when I told them. It felt like the town was slowly turning against me, the butcher who I'd known for years, he bluntly told me to mind my own business.

Mrs. Winslow turned on her heel when I asked about her children's behavior. and Becky Smith's mother, who I thought was my friend, cussed me out when I explained how her daughter behaved that morning. I felt completely alone, and all the while, that dead cow just sat in the street. People just walked by it, pretended like it wasn't even there. It continued to rot in the sun, attracting dogs. and flies. I felt like I was losing my grip on a community I once knew inside and out. The next morning, I discovered the church had been broken into.

The doors were blown wide open, barely hanging on. Inside, the altar was a complete mess. Broken candles were scattered everywhere. And all over the walls was that strange symbol, scribbled and marker. As I sifted through the wreckage of my church, I found that the chalice we used for communion was gone. I immediately went to Sheriff Burke for help.

Burke's a big friendly guy with a red face and beard, famous in our town for being Santa Claus every Christmas. He's always been good to me, and a huge supporter of the church. But when I told them about the break-in, and the stolen chalice. He didn't seem to care at all. He waved me away,

saying he had bigger things to worry about than a missing cup. Hearing this from Burke, of all people, it really bothered me. It wasn't like him to ignore something so important to the church. I walked out of the sheriff's office feeling lightheaded. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with our town. with people I'd known for so long.

I thought I'd try to bring the people together to clean up the church. But the reaction I got, it wasn't what I hoped for. First, I went to Mr. Simmons, the town carpenter. I remember he was always eager to do some repairs on the church here and there. But he hardly glanced at me as I told him what happened. Instead, he shewed me out of his shop as soon as he. I walked in. Mrs. Green from the flower shop also refused to help.

She'd given so many flowers to the church over the years for services and events. I didn't need flowers this time. I was just asking for her help. But she just shook her head, saying the church was the least of her worries. And then there were the Johnsons, a family that's been with the church for generations. I thought they, of all people, would understand. But they slammed the door in my face. As I walked back through town, the kids followed me,

all of them chanting that same thing over and over again. Father Flies will get you, priest. Father Flies is coming. Throughout the day, I saw that the anger and blue rock wasn't just erected at me. It was like the whole town was tense, ready to explode. I watched two men, friends for years, almost get into a fistfight. People had to step in and pull them off each other. I could hear loud arguments breaking out over the smallest things,

things like who gets the last box of detergent or how big a tip should be. This wasn't like our town at all. And it wasn't just the adults either. The kids changed too. Their games turned meaner. I watched as one game ended with a young boy being pushed from one child to another. When he began to cry, his mother. snapped at him to shut up.

And through all this, the dead cow was still in the street. I couldn't get anyone to clean it up. Its body was bloated and stinking. You could barely tell it used to be a cow. But people simply walked around it,

still pretending it wasn't there. Before those newcomers came, we'd been a nice town. It was quiet, it was friendly. But now everyone was on edge. There was an anger

just below the surface. And I knew I needed to do something. I needed to know what was happening. To know more about Rose and Jacob. So that night, I snuck into their property. I figured it would be smarter to go through the woods behind their house. As I reached their farm,

something strange caught my eye. In the middle of their field stood a tall post with a pair of sirens on top. It stood there all alone. A couple times the sirens burst into static. The sound would cut through the quiet, and it hurt my ears. I couldn't figure out why they would need something like that in their field. And I couldn't shake off this feeling, like something. was watching me.

But I kept going. I kept moving until I saw a figure by the tree ahead. I stopped, hoping they hadn't seen me. I waited a few seconds before realizing that the figure hadn't moved at all. Was it a scarecrow? Wasn't like any scarecrow I had seen before. It was unusually tall and it had no face. It wore a fancy suit.

Not at all what you'd expect on a scarecrow. I felt uneasy. Something about its clean suit and empty face. It made it look completely out of place. And as I got closer and closer, I half expected it to move. I got by it, and finally I reached a house. I crouched by one of the windows, looking inside,

And what I saw still haunts me to this day. I saw Rose at the front of the room. She was leading some sort of ceremony. In her hands was the church's chalice, now full of dirt. In front of her is a crowd of people that I'd never seen in town before. Were these the friends and family she talked about?

All around them were those symbols. symbols, scribbled all over the walls and ceiling in circular repeating patterns. Right at Rose's feet was Jacob. He's lying on the ground, buried under a pile of newspaper clippings and handwritten papers. The crowd hummed and sang together, in a language I didn't know. But the music they made echoed around the room in low rumbling tones. And for a moment, it almost sounded like flies. In each corner of the room stood a life-sized wooden cross. The whole scene was horrifying.

And the low, buzzing chant of the crowd, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I was stuck in place trying to understand what was happening. And as I kept watching, flies began to fill the house. I couldn't tell how or where they were coming from. It's like they appeared out of thin air. They crawled over the walls, following the lines of symbols.

I saw Jacob move under the papers. I saw that he was bound and gagged. And then Rose started walking around Jacob, sprinkling dirt from the child. to form a circle around him. The chanting from the people grew louder. Once the circle was finished, Rose lifted up the chalice and addressed the room. To believe in stories is to breathe life into them.

Faith, especially from the devout, serves as a mighty vessel for such power. Power, she said, and then she turned and looked at me. She smiled at me. Father Marin, she called out. It's your belief, your solid faith, that we want more than anything. I felt hands grabbed me then, and before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged into the house. Inside, it was like walking through a cloud of flies. They buzzed around everything, covering every surface.

The crowds chanting grew louder as I was pulled in. The flies didn't seem to bother them at all. The insects covered them in a thick blanket. None of them stopped chanting, not even when flies went in their mouths. I tried to fight back, but the men holding me were too many. Meanwhile, flies were all over me. It was a feeling I'll never shake off, the sensation of all those tiny feet crawling on me,

getting in my hair and my eyes. Father flies, father flies. The crowd chanted. Their voices merging together. I was forced to kneel in front of Jacob. Even under those papers, I could see his eyes. They were filled with such terror. And then a man held up a lighter.

The buzzing was non-stop now. The men who dragged me inside tightened their grip on me. And I didn't have much time. In a final burst of desperation, I pushed myself off the ground, and I lunged at the man with a lighter. I hit him dead on, and I managed to knock him to the ground. But as we fell, he lost his grip, and I watched as it landed on the papers igniting them. The whole thing caught fire immediately.

I crawled away from the flames, but the flies, they caught fire too. The air was so thick with them. It was like I was surrounded by curtains of fire. No one was singing anymore. There were just screams. In all the chaos I heard Rose shouting, she was yelling for them to find me, that the ritual needed me for it to succeed.

But there was too much smoke. This was my chance. I stayed low to the ground, and I headed for the door. All around me, people were screaming and collapsing. The heat felt like it was pulling the air from me, and I could feel my skin start to burn. Until finally, I made it out.

I looked around for anyone else, but it was just me. Even the scarecrow and the siren post was gone. But I didn't really have time to think about that. Because in the distance, I saw more fires burning downtown. I thought back to all those symbols carved, and I can't explain it. But I just knew that they were the cause of the fire. My work there wasn't done. So I picked myself up, and I made my way back to Blue Rock.

They needed my help that night. A few weeks later, I looked back at what happened to our first. town. The county sent over extra fire trucks, but by the time it was over, half the town had been destroyed. But by some miracle, nobody in town died. As the blaze spread, people came together in a way they hadn't since Rose and Jacob showed up. Everywhere I looked that night, I saw people helping each other, getting families out of burning homes, carrying buckets of water, washing the ash from their children's faces. Neighbors worked side by side, trying to save each other's homes. People who had lost everything were given food in a place to stay. A few of the older kids

even set up a daycare. It was a reminder of the community we used to be. It was the blue rock that I have always known and loved. And as the fires were put out, the real work began. It was hard. A lot of people had to rebuild from scratch. But no one was alone. Looking back at it, I realize now that the fire was what brought the town back to its senses. In my darkest moments, I wonder if the fire.

was necessary. Maybe it was a sort of cleansing, something that needed to happen, to erase whatever influence Rose had. I did go back to the farmhouse after the fire, and all I found were ashes and a few pieces of burnt wood. The house was completely destroyed. There was no trace left of Rose or her cult. Gradually, life in blue rock. started to feel like it used to. People became warm and friendly again. But I didn't come out of it unscathed. I was left with severe burns. The county doc said it was a miracle I was alive. They covered me in bandages and told me I had to stay in the hospital while the skin grafts healed. But it wasn't all bad.

A lot of folks from Blue Rock came by to visit me. Their kindness during those visits helped me, made the pain a little more bearable. But I do wonder about those visits sometimes. You see, sometimes I'd see a figure, a man standing just behind the friends I knew. He'd only be there for a second before disappearing. When I asked my visitors about him, they had no eye. idea who I was talking about. Even after all these years, I still remember what he looked like, though. He was tall, pale, dressed like a priest, and around his face was a cloud of flies.