Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I regret ever working in the SOUTH POLE | Scary Stories

Episode Date: October 12, 2024

Don't ever work in the South Pole... Scary Story by Sam Marduk Check out more of the author's work here u/SamMarduk  Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts       ��  Original YouTube link: I regret ever working in the SOUTH POLE      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!

I work in the South Pole. I'm aware that sounds exciting, and it is, but it's a difficult job with taxing hours. We were sent to the middle of Antarctica with a thousand miles of snow and ice on all sides. We worked a solid seven to five, and with a lack of recreation, we typically do 18-hour days. However, we do have slow satellite Wi-Fi, which is what keeps me sane during the long days. Regardless, all this wasn't the problem. The problem was the sheer atmosphere of oppression. The whole place didn't feel right. Most of the facility is subterranean, with covered heaters atop the roof and an entrance into a cement stairwell.

The bunker is what you'd expect. Gray concrete square, with men's and women's bunking areas and a few couples rooms. A large bathroom facility with shower and toilet stalls, plus three labs in a fully stocked cafeteria, all with no windows. There was also a medical bay and two rooms with couches for therapy. After the double-section entrance was the wreck room. It had a pool table and a bar. The wall was knotty pinewood paneling like from the 1970s. The rooms were all attached by a long-demean.

G. hallway, including two offices and desks and chairs. I spent most of my time there. Atop the station was an observation deck, reachable with a ladder, with windows where we could see and hear the outdoors, but we usually only went up to smoke since it was nearly as cold as the outside. The whole place was poorly lit, fluorescent lights and a few lamps and corners, but overall, it looked like a dingy green underground cement hell. Outside is exactly what you would expect from Antarctica, snow for hundreds of miles in all directions. If you have a fear of open water,

feels like that, except you have to walk in it. I was slightly surprised that they invited so many on this particular expedition. There were 12 of us in total, and usually, six would suffice. All professionals in our fields. However, the range of work each of us did was surprising. Typically, it would be a singular field of study to accomplish a common goal, but there were several different professions on this expedition. The first was an older Finnish gentleman, a medical doctor,

who was skilled in healing injuries in frozen climates. The next was a physicist who really was as surprised as us to be in the South Pole, for their work is often theoretical, and when in practice, requires a team in and of itself. The next two were a British husband and wife team, both geologists. There were three men in their 30s for maintenance and driving, specializing in sub-zero conditions and masters in any repair field. Also, there was a biologist, a young woman who wore her hair in a bun and kept her lab coat on at all times inside. She was all work and no fun. Then, there were even two therapists. Yeah, therapist. The first is what you'd expect.

A middle-aged lady with blonde bangs and a clipboard, always wearing a warm smile. The other, well, he was a tall, lanky fellow. He was gaunt, and his hair was jet black. Honestly, I had no idea why he would be a therapist. I myself didn't even want to say hi to him. I never saw anyone join him in therapy unless he specifically asked them. I usually tried to avoid the guy. There was another man who I assumed was a cook, until I saw we had to make our own meals.

He was an odd, mousy, looking. fellow. Didn't speak to anyone. And when I tried, he would simply ignore me. I decided that he would be my favorite person on this expedition, because he kept 100% to himself. Me. Well, I was the chaplain. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. There are half a dozen professionals here, and why is there a chaplain? Well, I didn't think it made sense either. But when I was contacted by the organization funding the trip, I didn't argue. They were offering a lot of money, and in my line of work, that is a rarity. The expedition was to be six months, and we were to each conduct specific experiments. I don't know what the others were assigned, but I was to journal on the religious implications of the expedition,

and provide any counsel for all the other participants on the trip of any sect or faith. The council assignment I didn't have a problem with, but the journaling, that's the kind of thing college freshman journal on in Theology 101. Either way, I was getting paid. So I sucked it up and spent the rest of my free time downloading movies and games to pass the long hours in between counseling. Surprisingly, a lot of people came to me for religious discussion. I won over the maintenance guy's approval when I cracked open a beer with them and talked Catholicism on the old red recrum couch. I'm a Protestant minister, actually, so they were a little standoffish at first. But we became fast friends, and even though I couldn't bless them or give confession, I think it helped ease stress to feel like they could disclose matters of faith as well as just have a good conversation. Either way, I got along well with everyone after enough time.

The physicist was a staunch atheist, so we played pranks on each other frequently. I would hide his laptop out of easy reach, blaring, Jesus takes the wheel, and he would wake me up half the days with no church in the wild. I considered him my second best friend in the compound, even though that song did give me chills, when I thought about just how far away we were from civilization. My best friend was the odd man. He was always around the rec room when I was, and he never spoke. He wore an orange hoodie and jeans indoors, and he always seemed like he was drinking alone at the dimly lit makeshift bar. I thought nothing of it, since our schedules were all different, and I could absolutely condone drinking yourself senseless in a place like this. It was lonely most days. We did our own thing at our own stations, often eating lunch there,

frozen meals or MREs usually. I did spend quite some time talking with a doctor. He was a Buddhist, so we spent many mornings meditating in his medical station under the buzzing fluorescent lights. He said that the place gave him an odd feeling. It was hard to be centered here. It was hard to be centered here, and the cement brick buried in the snow. It did yet to me after a while. When I was alone and the lights were quiet, I swear I could hear whispering. After one particular incident,

where I swore I heard clear words. I started wearing headphones. They helped quite a bit with filling my ears with noise and blocking out the outside world. Once a week, supplies were dropped in from the coastal base hundreds of miles away. We restock the cigarettes, whiskey, and other non-essentials like food and water. I say that to point out, whoever was paying for this was dropping serious money. I never met the main client.

Rather, I was contacted through their representatives. Apparently, the man funding it was very wealthy, very driven. and very religious, and he was highly invested in this expedition. He wanted a success, but no one knew his goal with this ordeal he was funding. Also, once a week we would go out in a snow rover, a giant SUV that could ride over the snow and ice. We would take samples of the ice and examine a previous dig site from the last crew. I could not imagine the crew that had come all the way out here to build the facility, but I bet they got paid crazy money.

Some days, we would all go just to get out and see the sun. We couldn't leave during a blizzard. But most days, only the necessary crew for the excavation would go. Whenever we went, we had to wear a harness attached by rope to the SUV to avoid slipping. down the ice and being injured. We can only go once a week due to the outside conditions and distance to the dig site. I mentioned both of these to say that we were alone out here, and if a plane came Monday, then we had seven days until it returned. Then was the first big shift. It was exactly two months in the base. The team who left that day were the geologist, the biologist,

with one maintenance man to drive and man the harnesses. They left in good spirits, and they remained at the site for hours. However, they returned shaken. They burst in the door while I was in the rec room with a therapist, and we immediately noticed the fear in their eyes. The lady geologist ran to the couple's room without saying anything. Her husband chased after her, calling her name. We asked what happened, and we noticed the biologist was crying.

The other therapist entered the room like a ghost, and without a word, he ushered her into his office and closed the door. The doctor burst in and boomed. What on earth is going on? I don't know, said the first therapist. She was anxious as I was. Where's Jack? I began. Wait, where's the car? Jack was the maintenance worker who drove the SUV.

I opened the door to the outside, and I saw nothing but our flag, a long set of footprints, and miles of ice gleaming in the sunlight. We sat for what felt like hours in the wreck room, all of us who didn't go on the field expedition, that is. The others were in the tall therapist office. Panicked voice. could be heard behind the door. Finally, they all came out. The geologist went to their room without saying a word.

The biologist sat in one of the empty folding chairs. The therapist stood behind her, hands on the back of her seat. She'd clearly been crying since she came back. We got there ahead of schedule. She started, gathering her composure. The dig site. We are. arrived at 0700 instead of eight, so we all got to work early. At first, everything was fine.

Jack was in the SUV minding the harnesses. I was chiseling away at a small patch of ice when I heard the others call from below. We looked at her, hanging on her every shaking word. She continued, I slid down to the base of the hole, about 30 meters down, I think. They'd struck a hard surface. We all dug together and pulled out a massive lockbox. Immediately, we assumed it was left from the last dig, but the design was old. It looked like something from World War II. It was heavy and sealed shut.

We tugged the rope to signal Jack, but there was no response. We started calling out for him, but he never called back. We couldn't see him from our vantage point. After a solid ten minutes of screaming, we made our way up the hill using our tools. We used an extra length of cord to pull the box up. It took all three of us, but we got it up. When we reached the top, Jack was nowhere. We searched the perimeter for well over an hour.

We checked for holes in the ice and signs of footprints. But his earlier tracks never left the side of the SUV. We loaded the box in the back, and we kept looking. We noticed something then, something we absolutely already should have seen. When we climbed atop the vehicle for a better vantage point, we saw a massive single message in the snow. Run. We looked at her in disbelieve, the mutual feeling of sympathy,

and that I could have searched better people tend to have. She started tearing up again. We... We panicked. We drove away. But none of us. us can operate a vehicle designed for snow and ice. We crashed into a massive pothole about a mile south of here. We left the car and walked back. The find is still there, and Jack is somewhere

out there. After this, she broke down in sobs and left to the dorm. Jack hadn't answered a single radio call, or even made an attempt at reaching us. The dig site was an hour's drive from our base, and we were thousands of miles from any other researchers. We were essentially powerless to do anything. All right, first things first, said one of the other repairmen. We need to get our ride back. He suited up. Then he and the other maintenance workers left on a snowmobile, designed for short distance. Now, I don't know how they did it, but they managed to bring the SUV back safely

in less than an hour. By now it was getting dark, and the search for Jack would be too dangerous to continue tonight. We didn't sleep that night. The odd man didn't even come to bed. He just wandered the halls drinking. I lay there,

listening to music, to drown out the sounds of crying from down the hallway, this concrete slab, this tomb in the middle of a frozen dead zone. We were completely and utterly alone. The doctor said before bed, if Jack is still alive, he may be better off out there. The next morning we set out, all of us, except the two therapists and the odd man, who I assumed was sleeping off a hangover. We dragged the locked box out of the vehicle and laid it in the rec room. We loaded up, and decided to deal with opening it later. We searched the dig site and surrounding area until evening, and turned up nothing.

The message in the snow wasn't there anymore, and there had been no snowfall that night. We found no tracks, no signs, no body, no anything. We returned depressed and feeling responsible for our missing companion. When we returned, however, we were greeted by an odd sight. On the snow was a ski-fitted jet, and not like the crappy junk plane that dropped us off. This was an expensive private jet. We entered the facility to the sounds of loud, booming laughter. A short bald man with a white goatee sat in the rec room with the shrinks.

He was smoking a cigar and wore a very nice suit. Two very large men in sunglasses stood on either side of the door. We were slightly stunned. Well, the man said in a hard southern drawl, turning to us. If it ain't the rest of the body. Allow me to introduce myself. He stood, extending his ringed hand. My name is Earl.

Pleased to meet you all finally. We took turns awkwardly introducing ourselves, realizing this must be the guy in charge. He invited us into the cafeteria to have an official meeting. This was the second week. shift in the trip. He offered condolences in regards to Jack and expressed that it was no one's fault he went missing. As for that message in the snow, he said, lowering his voice, I would say this whole place tells you to run at some point. Don't let it get to you.

He finally revealed his focus of the expedition, that we were to discover any of the signs of past visits man had ventured. He also expressed that he wanted to colonize the South Pole, but needed to know the psychological effects of people living here. That's why he sent two mental health associates and a minister. He pointed at me saying this, making me feel exposed and kind of awkward. He again thanked us and sent us to bed after the best steak dinner I have ever had. This guy was serious. He flew in his personal chef to thank us for our work. The next morning, after a bacon and eggs breakfast, he took us into the tall therapist office, one at a time to shoot the shit, as he put it. When it was my turn, he was very respectful. A gesture I appreciate,

when no one knows I'm a minister, but it feels forced at times when there is pretense. "'How are you, Reverend?' he asked softly. "'Well,' I replied, "'not sure how to answer that question "'in light of the past few days.' "'Glad to hear it,' he smiled at the ground. "'Now, son, I'm going to level with you. "'You are the most important person here.'

"'How's that?' I asked, "'wondering if he was just trying to flatter me.' Well, he started looking for the right words. This trip, it's more psychological research than anything. We wanted a religious figure, and at least two therapists, to log the mental strain on living out here. We want to build a new civilization, but we've been testing different groups in small segments of time. But why me? I asked.

Well, he said smiling. I'm a Methodist boy myself, but I picked you because of an article you wrote a while back. You said in the final line that you have the same philosophy as me. What's that? I asked. I'd written a few articles in my time, and I didn't know which one he meant. You said that to truly understand God, we must also understand his counterpart. I immediately knew the article to which he referred. It was something I wrote after seminary on demonology in modern society.

I shuddered, as this was an unpleasant field of research. Either way, the man had to be. had done his work on me. But I still wasn't sure what a short article on demons qualified me for a mission in the Antarctic. I left the room with Earl, and we proceeded to rejoin the others. We listened to him rant on, rather than talk amongst ourselves. We just didn't feel right. We were here in the warmth with this man bellowing on, while our friend was still out. there. I overheard many times the biologist and geologist asking to leave. At first, their request were simply brushed off, but by the last ones, he sternly reminded them

that they were under contract. They went to their rooms after that. Earl left that night, with the instruction to report our findings, if there were any. He then boarded his plane with his bodyguards and left promptly. Before bed, I swear I heard whispering from the observation deck, but when I went to sea, there was nothing. The next day, a massive blizzard rolled in. We resolved that Jack had died in the snow outside. No person could survive a sub-zero blizzard after three days.

And this is officially where things went bad. We decided to open the lockbox. It was sealed by metal welding all the way around. It took a little while, but the other two maintenance men used blow torches. And the chest finally came free. They strained to pull the lid off its container. We gathered around close. I found myself the closest to the box.

They flipped the heavy lid over. We saw black soot come loose. We coughed and looked down. There was nothing, or at least nothing important. We found a piece of string, a thimble, and salt. We sat there rubbing our heads and looking at each other. We discussed why this should be out there in the ice, so many layers deep. We talked a little while, until I noticed the physicist leaving.

He was pale as a ghost, so I chased him to ask what was wrong. Hey, you good? I asked. He stood there shaking his head. After a long pause, he said, no. What is it? I asked. I was curious as to why he was acting so strange out of nowhere. Meanwhile, I saw the other participants walk down the hall to the cafeteria. Only I noticed that the man in the orange hoodie was nowhere. My thoughts were shaken when the physicist spoke up. Did you see the word on the lid? He asked quietly. No, I replied. I was confused. You can't read Hebrew, can you?

He asked. No, no, I studied Greek. You can? I asked. Yeah, yeah, I'm Jewish, or was. I can read well enough Hebrew, at least. His voice shook. I, I wish I couldn't, though.

What did it say? I asked. It said Dybik. He said, and he began to cry. I'd never seen him like this, and it made me a little scared. Hey, you can't buy into that. I began. No, he said, cutting me off. You know as well as I do that this place is wrong.

It does things to you. The first week, I chased footsteps around the shower every morning, only to realize I was alone every single time, he said. Hey, hey, listen, I began. I placed my hand on his shoulder. We're going to be okay. I wish I could say I was telling him the truth. But that box, it did have this weird feeling around it.

That night around 2 a.m., I awoke to the sound of footsteps. They were so loud, I heard them over my headphones. I went to check around, and no one was awake besides me. I heard soft sobbing from the couple's room, but I knew better than to disturb them. They had it pretty rough right now. As I returned to my bunk, I walked by the cafeteria, and I caught something awful.

I turned to see the most horrifying sight I ever have. All the chairs and tables were scattered and flipped. Food was smeared all along the walls and ceilings, and utensils and appliances were everywhere. In the center of the floor was a massive rusted steel cross, and Jack was nailed to it. He was soaked from head to toe and blood, and his eyes looked as if every vein had just burst.

Barbed wire covered his arms and legs, and nails were driven through his wrist and ankles. He was bald and thin, and when we made eye contact, he shook violently. and then he yelled through spattering blood. Belfagore! Now was my turn to lose it. I fell backward and slid on the tile.

I must have been screaming, because everyone poured into the hallway asking what had happened. I pointed to the cafeteria, and the inside was totally normal. Nothing was out of place. No cross, no jack, no destruction. It was only three hours later, I awoke in the wreck room covered by a blanket. Jane, the therapist, was asleep on the opposite couch.

She was sweet through all this, and I'm sure she was disappointed in my lack of professionalism. I'd been drinking, and I was still drunk when I stood up. Everyone was still asleep, and I could hear the blizzard. I wandered the hall, and I heard the sobbing from the couple's room again. I realized in my stupor that they might need help. I knocked softly on the door, but the crying continued. Before I could knock again, I ran and vomited into the toilet, now feeling slightly more alert.

As I stood wiping my mouth, I caught the brief glimpse of a figure leaving the bathroom. It was dark and tall, but I couldn't catch any more details. I finally had enough and returned to my bunk. I fell into a restless sleep that night, but I did sleep. I awoke the next day to someone shaking my arm. Hey, wake up, the voice said. It was one of the maintenance men. Powers out and People are missing. I stood grogly. He turned to the hallway, where I could hear voices in the cafeteria. I saw the only other person in the room was the physicist. He was facing away towards the wall. He didn't move. He just laid there. I only left because I saw him breathing. I walked into the

cafeteria. It was lit by emergency candles on the tables. where I saw the biologist, Jane, the doctor, and the two maintenance men. Counting me, this was less than half our original group. They turned, and the other maintenance man said, Well, look who it is. You're going to scare the hell out of all of us again? I didn't smile or disagree. I just sat beside the doctor and asked where the geologist were. They won't answer their phones.

They won't answer their door, Jane said. Her age beginning to show in her tired eyes. The other therapist as well is missing. We're leaving, said the biologist. As soon as this blizzard dies down. Screw their contracts. How? I began.

We're a thousand miles from the nearest base. Well, said the man who woke me. We have a massive sled. We'll load with every tank of gas, then we just have to get within 50 miles to the nearest base to be within radio contact. We have GPS, we'll drive in shifts, and we'll take our time, and we'll avoid any pitfalls. Does everyone agree? Everyone nodded in agreement. All right, in that case, I suggest we spend... the next few days together, hoping the missing members return, and if not, then we will beg

their forgiveness. I spent the day sitting in a day's. We all layered up in the dark and hunkered down. We made small talk in an attempt to fill the void. The dancing candlelight played tricks on our eyes, and the dark was oppressive. The six of us sat there, just sitting and waiting. Finally around 1800, Jane suggested we check on the geologist. We stayed close down the hallway and heard the sobbing. It was softer, but still there.

Jane knocked, waited, knocked again. Then she shouted she was coming in, but the door was locked. The maintenance man began pounding his fist and threatened to break in. He pulled out a key. It fit the door, and he slowly opened it to the bedroom. Inside was a nightmare. The first thing I saw was the blood. It was everywhere.

The walls, the bed, the ceiling, the floors. It covered the lamp and bathed the room in a deep red. On the bed was the male geologist. His mouth and eyes were wide open. His throat was torn out, and his leg was chewed to the bone. His wife sat beside him. She turned to look at us, covered in blood herself. She was crying and chewing. She sputtered the bloody meat while sobbing. Her expression turned from sorrow to one of rage. She contorted her mouth to scream, but only a gargle came out.

The maintenance workers shut the door. We pushed tables in front of it. We piled enough furniture in front of that door to board her in her cage. We returned to the rec room. Everyone was crying, and Jane was in the fetal position. Okay, we leave tomorrow, the doctor said. The blizzard still raged outside. It felt like the wind was mocking us.

I don't know how, but I must have fallen asleep at some point, because a massive blast woke me. I looked up to see the others jumped in. their feet. We got ourselves to the ladder and climbed to the observation deck. Outside, we saw blackness expanding, all except for a large patch of light a few meters away. Through the whiteout conditions, we could see fire. The SUV was in flames, gas tanks stacked around it. And atop the flames was a person. As I looked closer, I could see they were dancing. Oh, my God, the biologist said. Jane? As I looked closer, I saw it was Jane. She was naked and being

burned alive by the flames. Her howls echoed through. the dark storm. We watched as the fire consumed her. She shrieked and screamed, and then she finally fell silent. We walked downstairs feeling hopeless. We sat in the dark of the recrum, and no one spoke until morning. The physicist was still in bed. He was trying to ignore everything, but at this point I knew he was too far gone. The footsteps were loud in the empty rooms, and at this point I thought I would die here. We huddled in blankets and coats against the wall. Candles were the only light. I closed my eyes, so I couldn't see the dark shadow pacing the room in front of us. The next morning the power returned. The lights were flickering, and we stood slowly in the dim glow. I heard music playing

in the showers. We all walked together and looked inside. Within, was the song Jesus take the wheel being played on loop from an MP3 player? We walked into the dull gray room, and we saw the physicist, sitting on the floor in front of the iPod. Blood was running into the drain beneath him. He slowly turned his head to me. He held up his left hand to his lips and hissed a long... He lifted a bloodied hand, closed his eyes, and smiled a large, toothy smile. He whispered behind close.

those teeth. I like this song. My God, said the doctor. He slowly approached the bloodied man, attempting to keep him calm. It's okay, boy, I'm here to help, he said. The physicist snickered again. Eyes still closed and smiling. As the doctor got close, the man yelled with an inhuman volume,

and sprang forward. He tackled the doctor to the ground, and he sunk his teeth into his neck. He turned to us. The doctor sputtered blood and choked for air. As the man crouched to leap towards us, a bang filled our ears. I looked, and I saw the physicist was now laying dead

in a pool of his own blood. In his head was a small. was a circular wound. And I realized one of the maintenance workers had shot him. We were now four, me, the biologist, and the two maintenance workers. Everyone else was now missing or dead. Although the power was on, the satellite was down,

thus ruining our chances for radio and Wi-Fi. We paced for hours, and then one of the maintenance men spoke up. Our only chance at survival is to fix that dish, he said. We looked at him and agreed. The outside was still completely whited out from the amount of snow and wind. All right, I'll go, said the other man. No, we'll go together, said the first.

The biologist and I didn't argue. We watched them in their coat. leave into the unforgiving blizzard. We waited for what seemed like hours, searching for radio signals and Wi-Fi. Finally, it came back. We smiled for the first time in a long while and prepared for the men's return.

We sat and waited, and waited, and waited. We didn't say anything, but we knew. We knew we were the last. She fell asleep in my lap, before I closed my eyes, and I swear I heard the giggles of a child. At some point I fell asleep. I awoke and I was alone.

I yelled for the biologist. I searched every room until I found the last thing I wanted to find. She was in the observance. She wrote a lovely note about wanting to see the outside world before she died. In her arm was an empty syringe. Her eyes were just blank, staring into oblivion. I left her alone there. Now the reason I write this in my probable last moments of clarity,

the reason we were brought to this frozen hell only, to die. The reason I'm sending out this story before I put a flare gun down my mouth. I returned to the office I'd been using. I was hysterical. I saw my reflection in the display mirror, and I noticed that my eyes were completely black. I smashed the mirror. I sliced my knuckles, which rocked me back to reality. And in my second of clarity, I noticed, the slip of paper that fell from the shattered pieces. It was a note with a picture attached. The note read, If you're reading this, then I hope it isn't too late. This place is not what you think.

The man in charge is not a religious cuck. He is much more dangerous. By now you may have found that undiscovered lockbox. In it, you found some trinkets to spook you. There's probably a minister with you to comment on the materials as evil. This is their set and setting. That black soot that came out, it wasn't dust and it wasn't evil. These people don't want to colonize. You ever wonder why you're so far away from the other bases?

This is a weapon. testing facility. You have unknowingly been testing compounds for a private company. This particular compound is an untraceable psychosis-inducing strain of pathogen that is meant for world leaders. The concept is to have the enemy kill itself. If you've breathed the black dust, then it's too late. all you can do is attempt to get this message out.

Do not trust the maintenance men, and do not trust the tall therapist. They're working for Earl. They will disappear without a trace shortly after his visit. They've logged your behaviors, so even if the blizzard, which is what I assume you're already in, subsides, you'll be found and killed if you escape. I'm so sorry. I lost my entire team. I wish you never would have come.

The note was signed, Dave. The picture attached was what I assume was the previous team. In red ink, a man was circled and labeled me. In the picture was a mousy man in an orange hoodie.