Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work As A Park Ranger. I Just Found A Strange Cemetery In The Woods | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 10, 2023

They weren't human...   Story from Matt Richardsen Make sure to check out more of their work at u/FirstBreath1 | FirstBreath1                              Original Post: Three Dead Wolves : r/nosleep                                    Original YouTube link: I Work As A Park Ranger. I Just Found A Strange Cemetery In The Woods           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  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 day, 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!

In my younger days, I was a park ranger, deployed in a remote stretch of woods. I worked perimeter patrols in wildlife management for nearly ten years. I loved my job. I loved being outside, alone a majority of the time, out in nature. The career path was ideal for an introverted guy like me. I quit because of something that happened to me out there, something I haven't felt comfortable enough to talk about for a long time. And the entire damn saga started with those dead wolves.

I can distinctly remember the day we found him. It was snowing. I was on my way to a checkpoint to make a repair. I stopped about two miles from the main base cabin when my walkie buzzed. Uh, Matt? Yeah? You might want to get back here. My partner for the day was a kid named Susan.

She was 20 years old at the time, in college, working weekends to help pay for the books. I like Sue. We formed sort of a sibling relationship in our short period working together. I definitely felt responsible for her. Call that what you will. On my way. The trip back to base took me past a steep hill and ravine. I turned my ankle and caught some thorns, so a 30-minute hike took 40. I hobbled up the main path and caught my partner a few feet from the doorway to our cabin. She was staring down into a ravine.

You are right? I asked. Hello? No, she whimpered. What? Look. I followed the direction of her outstretched arm. There they were. Three adult gray wolves lined up in a row, deader than the leaves.

Their eyes were open. Their mouths gaped. Their fur drifted in the wind, but they didn't move. Who put them there? Susan asked. Did you? No. Is it hunting season?

No, I snapped. And you can't hunt wolves here. We hopped down the ravine and examined the carcasses. Decomposition only partially obscured the bodies. They hadn't been dead long. I looked for bullet holes and found none. I felt for cuts and came up empty. Their eyes watched me the entire time.

The deep shades of orange and yellow and green looked so beautiful. Even in death, I keep feeling like one of them is going to jump on me and bite me." Susan squeaked. They just don't look dead. Look at those teeth. Where's the blood? I wondered out loud. There should be some in the snow.

Maybe they were poisoned. And, Susan replied, maybe, but we should still see something. I examined the mouse. They appeared malnourished. That would not be out of place in a modern world with shrinking habitats. I gestured for help and we rolled over each of the bodies. I dug deeper and performed a thorough check. Not a single wound.

Nothing. Susan stared back at me. I hated this part, being. the senior, the old head, the one who makes decisions. I didn't know what the hell to do with them. I knew we had clear evidence of illegal poaching. The wolves didn't line themselves up, but the poachers didn't take anything. They didn't shoot anything. They just left them here. I also knew we had about an hour until the next wave of snow hit the area. Maybe they knew that, too. All right, let's get the tarp.

Susan grabbed a large black piece of canvas. We covered the animals and buried the ends in the ground to shield them from the wind. By the time we finished, the sprinkles overhead turned into an onslaught and my feet had begun to freeze. All right, all right, let's get inside. We hustled for the cabin. Rain, snow or shine, somebody had to be up on that mountain. But we had a game plan for storms like these.

We suspended patrols. Sue downloaded a bunch of her face. favorite shows. I dug into my reading list. The night could actually be quite cozy if all went right. Of course, that night. Nothing went right. We locked up around daybreak. The storm escalated from there onwards. I stepped outside every now and again to track the snowfall. We tallied three feet by midnight. I turned the pages on my favorite novel. Sue snored, and I drifted to sleep for an hour. Maybe my We woke up to a vicious pounding on the door.

3 a.m. I got to my feet. Sue stirred. I checked my alerts, but nobody called us. The pounding erupted once more before it quickly receded. Footsteps retreated down the steps. We waited. Should we answer?

Sue asked. I guess. Maybe they need help. It seems like a weird way to a way to a little. like a weird way to ask. I opened the door. I didn't see it at first. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Snow caked up in the distance, trees cracked and swayed. I smelled something burning. And then Sue screamed. In seconds, my entire world flipped upside down. Flames danced from the bathroom. Smoke billowed out from the roof. The entire cabin was on the room.

on fire. We darted out of the house and dove forward just as a massive wooden crossbeam collapsed behind our heads. We reached a safe distance and collapsed on the path. He did this. Susan spat. That asshole. Who? I replied. The guy who killed the wolves. How do you know? She pointed. An empty gas canister sat an inch from the burning remains of our porch. Now what? We watched the cabin burn down in silence.

I pulled out my walkie, thank God I still had it, and radioed for help. Dispatch said it would be hours to get through the storm. We expected as much. But we didn't have any weapons. We didn't have any shelter. We were sitting ducks for whatever this psychopath planned next. the fire felt safe enough to examine. I got up, and I found a post-it note tacked to a tree. This is what it said.

Three white wolves, dead in the snow. Three white wolves, all in a row. Catch them, catch him, and don't let him go. Three witchy women, dead in the snow. Three witchy women, all in a row. Catch him, catch him. And don't let him go. In some parts of the woods, the difference between life and death is often just four well-built

walls. That's it. A front door and a lock is all that separates you from pale death and a puckered butt. There's a lot of ways that can happen. Most people blame animals. But the cold is a more likely murderer. When you can feel the freeze on the other side of your skin. When you can't cough it out of your lungs, you'll know that's about halfway there.

That's when you remember the importance of those four walls. That's when you enthusiastically cuss the asshole out who burn them down. We didn't have food that morning. We didn't have fresh water within a mile. We didn't even have a reliable weapon outside of a pistol whose handle burned. turned a hole into the snow burrows. Susan spent the better part of the morning fishing it out. I kept trying the radio. Hello, this is the ranger from the burned down cabin calling again. Can anybody get the

hell down here? The first two or three conversations were hopeful. Dispatch claimed the storm should blow over by evening. We just needed to hunker down for a few more hours. Then they called back and said a chopper was damaged. And that they wanted us to wait. wait a day. After that, the radio died. We tried salvaging some gear from the fire. Sue found a jacket and some other clothing that managed to dodge the flames. I found a tin water bottle and a rusted bowie knife. Everything else was torched or smoldering. I couldn't believe the awful luck. We need to get away from high ground. She chirped. We're sitting ducks out here. I thought about that for a long

while before answering. I didn't love the idea of leaving the campsite. Without the radio, we had no way to contact the rescue crews, who expected us to be in that spot. But the point about cover did have some merit. The park service cut and maintained a 30 feet diameter around the cabin. That meant no trees, brush, or foliage of any kind. Anybody could be looking at us from virtually any direction. I could feel unseen. eyes from every angle. All right, I conceded. Let's go, not far.

We took the path down a familiar ravine, which led to a nearby hot spring. The snow, which had mercifully relented in the hours of the fire, returned in full force to peck at us along the way. We stopped every quarter mile to adjust clothing and cover body parts from the wind. Our feet sunk deeper and deeper into the fresh covering. Soon enough, the walk turned into a shuffle. I can't do this. Sue moaned after the third or four stop.

I don't want to die out here. I think the only thing that kept me going was the hope of that hot spring. I didn't have much faith in the rescue team. I didn't have much faith in myself. I guess I just figured if this guy is going to kill me, maybe you'll at least I'm a little allow me one last moment of warmth? We're almost there, I said. We tried to pick up the pace, and Susan fell down a hill.

I rushed to help and face-planted myself. It would have been funny at a ski slope, maybe with an added Benny Hill soundtrack to boot. But that afternoon, the fall took everything we had left. Twigs and branches smacked my face on the way down. Sticker bushes pricked and ripped away at my already tat. battered pants. I rolled end over end for what felt like in eternity. The tumble stopped abruptly at a tree stump, which cracked a rib in the process. I sat up and looked around. The spring sat an inch from my crooked nose. I entered the water face first. The warmth

of its scent a rush of blood that arced painfully and then pleasantly down my spine. I dove in deeper and let the water reach into my mouth, into my cold lungs, driving out the freeze that nestled into every inch of my insides. I surfaced and choked out Aaroni as sensation coursed through my arms and my legs and my toes in my fingers. All of it felt so good. I felt more alive than ever before. I looked around again.

Susan was gone. I splashed through the spring frantically. I dove to the bottom and felt along the rocks. Moments later, I saw her motionless body lying on the shore. I rushed over and carried her into the spring. She didn't respond at first. At first, she didn't even breathe. She just seemed so cold, like all the warmth in the world couldn't bring life back home. But then she coughed. Her chest rattled. She opened her eyes, pale blue ones that radiated in the reflection of the sun on the water. She smiled at me. And then she screamed.

It took me a minute to inject the fresh shock. I turned around and saw it. Two big bodies floated in the spring, about three feet away. A gentle breeze pushed them our way. Susan hopped out of my arms and pulled the gun out of an unknown pocket. She shot one of them. Fat and tissue erupted into the air, I fumbled around from my knife. What the hell are you doing?

I snapped. He'll hear you. She fired again. He knows, she retorted. Don't you get it? He knows. He knew we would come to the spring after the cabin burned down. He knew we'd get in the water.

He put those bodies in there on purpose to mess with us. Two witchy women, don't you see it? He's playing a game. He's playing with us before he kills us, like animals. Three witchy women. I corrected. Huh? Three witchy women.

The letter said three. You said two. Okay, so who are they? She replied. Who are these two? We examined the bodies as best we could. The stink was overwhelming. Bloat, said in.

I recognized outfits common for girls my age. An obnoxious tattoo with a heart on one arm gave a birth year. 1993. We saw a lot of thrill seekers who liked to camp out out. on the higher points of the mountain, but those folks were usually more prepared-looking than these two. We can't stay in the water forever, Susan insisted after a point. How far is that reserve cabin? We kept a secondary cabin in the area for emergencies such as this one.

It wasn't anything special outside the aforementioned four walls, but it was our best shot at finding some shelter. Too far, I responded. I don't think we'll make it by nightfall." We have to try," Susan replied. I thought about it again before answering. It was true that we couldn't stay in the water. For the same reason we couldn't stay by the cabin.

It was known to the killer. We needed somewhere random. We needed somewhere secure. We needed a good hiding place, but none of that existed at the time, so we decided to keep moving. We took the path that led to reserve cabin A. The snow cracked and crunched and melted under our freshly heated boots. We made progress during the first leg of the journey. We stopped when a mother Grizzly and her two cubs happened across the path.

I kept still and prayed that my partner remembered to do the same. The bears approached and got to about ten feet apart. The mother sniffed the air. The cubs rolled around gleefully. I envied them. We kept our heads down. The family eventually moved on, and so did we. We picked up the pace and made it about halfway through the journey by nightfall.

Susan wanted to keep going. I wanted to scale a tree. We argued about that for a little bit. I couldn't understand why she'd want to travel in the dark. You're completely blind out there, I insisted. Animals, killers, not to mention the cold. You're just as vulnerable to that as me, she snapped, especially sitting still. The trees give us some cover, I replied.

The sun fell sometime during that discussion. A pack of wolves started howling nearby. Susan took that opportunity to hop up the tree. What if he has a chainsaw? She asked while we got settled. He'd knock us right over. Who carries around a chainsaw in the woods? I laughed.

It's kind of inefficient. You know who? I guess. What do you think he wants? You know, maybe he's protecting the woods. From what? I asked. I don't know.

From us? She muttered. You know, people. People are awful. Look at all the shit we've seen them do here. Fires, pollution, gender reveal parties. I thought about it. Doesn't seem like the right way to go about it, I said.

He started a fire himself to get rid of us. And the women, who knows what they did. He killed them, she replied. We don't know that. Maybe they were already dead. We sat in silence for a bit. You know, we're probably going to die out here, she said. I nodded.

Yeah, probably. She sniffed. But, you know, there's worse places to die than in the woods. With you. That caught me off guard. Thanks, I replied. Don't mention it. I'm almost twice.

your age, you know. Please stop. Happy to. I replied. We fell asleep like that, laughing dumbly, arguing over our survival chances against a killer whilst 20 feet in the air hiding from one. I woke up a little while after, and she was snoring on my shoulder. I woke up again, and she was gone.

It was daylight. I climbed down the rings of a little bit. tree and re-entered the forest. The prior night's snow had turned into melt, which made many streams at every hill and slight incline along the way. The rushing water obscured most sound. I listened closely and heard footsteps. Somebody was running. I shouted into the morning stillness and let the birds scatter. Then I started to run too. I didn't know where to go. I didn't even think about it. Then I found a hill.

I ran to the top and looked out into the woods about fifty feet below. I saw a flash of red. The jacket from the fire, Susan's jacket. She stopped. She turned a corner abruptly and fell down into the snow. She made a horrible sound as she tried to get up. She screamed and cried and begged. I wanted to help.

I wanted to save her more than anything in the world. But then I saw him. He slipped out from the tree line as easily as the tide. He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He had a horned mask over his head and a machete in his left hand. Susan shouted. Right until the moment he took that knife and stuck it in her head.

stayed pinned there like an axe in wood. Then he looked at me. I waited in dumbfound shock as the man dragged Susan's dead body up the base of a hill. He left it there. He stared for a second. Then he raised one hand. Two. Two from the creek.

Plus one. Susan. That makes three. Then he pointed at me. I ran. It's one thing to be alone in the woods with a plan. It's another to be lost. A lot of soon-to-be dead people don't get the difference between the two. Either that, or they just realize it too late. The tallest mountains and the deepest caves are full of assholes who thought they could do something when they couldn't. I've seen the aftermath myself. Bodies frozen in position. Naked from the waist down, eyes still open and staring off into the distance, like they'd just seen a friend from work. I didn't want to be one of them. Just another pair of bright pants for the hikers

to spot. And so I couldn't save the girl. I could barely save myself. I ran from a killer, as fast as the snow banks allowed. I didn't stop until I reached the burned-down remains of the Ranger cabin. A familiar log by the aforementioned ravine with three dead wolves felt like home. I collapsed into the bark like a lazy boy as a thin trail of smoke receded into the early morning sky. It was raining. The lonely patter mixed in with the cracks and groaned. of the forest. I tried to forget, if only for a second. But that didn't work. I kept picturing Sue's face when she saw the animals. The conversation ran over and over again in my head. There was something that went unsaid. I just couldn't place it. Part of me wanted to quit

just then. A larger part was angry. I got up and sifted through the cooled remains of the cabin fire. I found a charred stick, used to turn on an inexplicably high light switch on the wall, and attached it to my knife like a bayonet. I swung into the air to test my weapon on a would-be attacker. The apparatus collapsed. Great. The sun slowly but surely rose in the distance. I guess the time to be a little before six, maybe later. I figured I had a couple hours before the first rescue crews arrived from the valley. Someone should have seen the smoke by now. It wouldn't be long. I still refused to be a sitting duck, primed for murder, so I headed down to the tree line in search of better weapons. Melted snow clung like butter. It took a while to maneuver. I found a larger branch

and set about hollowing a hole for the knife. I wrapped the blade tight with strands of bark and roots. I swung it three times. This time it held. I moved on in search of a better tree to scale. My reasoning for climbing was not just that I was good at it. I was great. But the high positioning and downward slope of the path made it possible to seem much further ahead than on the ground.

After a good hour of searching, I found my target. Another massive oak with low-hanging branches leveled all the way to the top. I hopped one at a time and made it around three-quarters of the way up. I could see the hot spring. I could see my own path of footprints. But that was about it. A strange but familiar sound echoed in the distance. The minutes turned into hours.

I waited. My plan was pretty simple. If the masked man went this way, I would ambush him. If the good guys arrived, I couldn't miss him. Time dragged. Every passing glow of sunlight looked like a plane. Every rustle of leaves brought up the stick blade. I waited, and waited some more. Then it happened. Three hours after my initial descent, something large moved through the woods, big enough to be a person. I crouched behind some leaf covering. I kept still. Footsteps approached 20 yards away.

way. Somebody was whistling. I didn't recognize the song at first. The high notes were wistful, and the low notes foreboding, almost like it might sound better on a flute. I sat there on the branch, like a dumbass, desperately trying to place the tune. Took me twenty years to realize it was Dixie. I moved to adjust my footing. Something broke. I hit the branch below and snapped it upward. I tried to steady myself and flipped. The stick blade lacerated my leg and caused blood to spill so fast that some of it fell into my mouth on the way down. I must have mashed ten more branches before the last one left me to the ground. The next few moments were kind of blurry. I remember feeling for the blood. I remember trying

to walk. I couldn't. I crawled. off into some shrubbery and looked for something to stop the bleeding. I didn't find it. Then the lights went out. More whistling. The sound of metal connecting with dirt is very distinct up close, but from miles away it could be anything. At that moment, I recognized it immediately.

Okay. He's digging my grave. Time to pray. Pray. Please. I mumbled. You wake? He answered.

I couldn't see the owner of the voice in front of me. I blinked a dozen times. I felt around blindly and my fingers brushed a piece of cloth and knot. He took the time to give me a tourniquet. I opened my eyes again and looked dead into an elaborate horn mask. What the hell? I fought with all my might. I got up and darted backwards, slamming into a tree and loosening the tourniquet in the process.

No, no, no. What? What do you want with me? I screamed. You want to kill me? I'm not the bad guy. I stared at him. I know I look like the bad guy. He chuckled. and remove the mask.

This is just for prediction. I'm Zach. I save your life, my friend. I nodded slowly. He looked normal enough. Long black hair. Clean shaven. I couldn't quite place the accent,

but my ear for that sort of thing is terrible. Look around you. I brushed the silt off. my eyes and sat back down. Zach knelt beside me and readjusted the dressing. Blood oozed out spectacularly, so it helped to take my mind off the wound. Look at all the graves, he mumbled. Look at the ratin. I examined them one by one. Most were single names. Otis, John, Dipper. There must have been the thousands of headstones in that one little alcove jutted purposefully above the snow.

Some dated back to the early 1800s. Okay, I muttered. Dead people, so? Zach shook his head. No people. I leaned down and brushed some snow to get a better look. There were drawings underneath. Jack, the mountain-lestone.

The Mountain Lion? I moved on to another. Marcelo the wolf. Zach grunted. I got a little baby squirrel over there. I was dumbfounded. Why? Zach smiled.

She really liked these animals. It didn't make any sense to me. How long has this been here? How did we miss it? Zach grunted. We way outside patrols now, he offered. I stared at him. Who are you?

He looked back at me for a little while. Something about his clean-kept features appeared trustworthy. He sighed, Your friend is a witch. I laughed. Zach didn't. I'm a lot. longer, we're taking down this here section of wood.

He gestured behind us. And I see them, these three girls dancing in the woods with the wolves. Damn wolves are fine one moment, calm, the diciles alike. They're very strange to see a big beast cozy and up to a woman like that. then they all fall dead. One, two, three, just like that. First, the wolves, then the girls, like, like dominoes. I saw it happen, my friend. So somebody shot him? No, no, no, no, you see the bodies. No bullets. I try to show you the wolves. I couldn't carry the two girls close enough.

That was you? Yes. And the fire? I try to warn you, he exclaimed. I knock. Some warning, I seetved. We could have died. Zach grabbed my arm and squeezed.

Listen to me. That, that girl, that girl. that girl with you. She's the only one to get up when they fall. The rest of them stayed dead. But that girl get up and walk down to your cabin like it's a Monday. He looks scared. She a witch.

Through and the true, my best guess she sacrificed them. The wolves and the other girls. She sacrificed them for the woods to keep me out. I laughed again. Susan? He nodded. If you called her, Dad, he mumbled. I want to know why.

So when I come down here and see the graves, she remembers them. All of them. Every little animal. Every bunny she find, how do you think she feels about me? About the people who take the trees and the homes of bunnies. He whimpered a bit. I struggled to believe a word of it. We stood awkwardly for a moment.

Zach disappeared into the brush. He returned a couple moments later. With a motionless corpse of my co-worker, I cut off the head of the I vomited. Oh, I'm sorry, but I have experience on this. Local experience. You gotta trust me. This a very bad girl.

A very, very bad girl. Zach pushed back Sue's hair. I could see her picture in an old book. A very old, 100-year-old book. book. But she young like this, he continued. How she stay young like this? The noises of the woods appeared to grow louder.

I stared blankly into Susan's lifelessly pretty eyes. I thought about our conversation only a couple days prior. He knows. Okay. I still didn't believe this story. Not a word of it, as you probably don't. I knew we were destroying evidence. I knew this guy could be a de bad guy, and all of his plans could just be a ruse to let

my guard down before the rescue crews arrived. But I thought I'd play the little game. I thought I'd bury poor Sue's head, they could always retrieve it later, and use the newfound trust to mount my revenge. That was my plan, just as you might expect. Right until the moment she blinked. That's right. The head blinked.

I thought it was a trick until Zach saw it too. He screamed. He grabbed the mask, sorry, no good explanation for that yet, and set it on his face before he took off into the woods. His eyes strained and looked around after him. Then they found me. Her lips smiled. Fresh blood dropped down from the gash in her forehead.

She licked it. I watched in horror as the head dribbled along the ground, as if moving unimaginary legs towards the torso in the grass five feet away. I didn't wait for it to reattach. I ran too. Again. Because that's what a real person does when faced with the inexplicable. Fight or fight might favor the bold when Granny is confronted by a mugger, but the instinct

definitely does not cater to bouncing heads and human sacrifices. I ran until my legs couldn't carry me anymore. I ran through snow and sitting water. I ran up ravines and downhills and kept going after my legs screamed from the pressure. I ran into the God-Blessed ambulance waiting at the charred remains of my cabin. I babbled this exact story to every medic and doctor and police officer who asked it of me. How do you think it went? The doctors gave me a bloated IV and a battery of little white pills.

The police hooked me up with an arson. charge. I bounced from hospitals to psych wards to county jail. I lost touch with my limited family. My work friends excommunicated me. When I got out, I got a place by the beach, away from the woods. I took up fishing. There's probably one detail you're wondering about, if you're still with me, and it's the same one that's extended my stay in Valley General. Where are they? I used to ask anyone who would listen. What the hell happened to Susan?

What happened to Zach? What happened to the women? I couldn't understand why they weren't looking. Regardless of how they felt about my mental state, there were still missing people out of them, four of them in total. Their loved ones should be concerned. They should be blaming somebody, probably me for their deaths, but nobody cared.

One night, a detective visited me in jail. He didn't have any reason to lie, I guess. The case was over. The state won. He told me that his office didn't have any records for a girl named Susan at the Parks Department. There also weren't any local logging companies with current bids. But they did have one, 20 years back, where a guy went missing on the job. The detective

told me about it. Yeah, it's a foreign guy. Strange accent. They didn't have good paperwork on him. Went out into the woods one day and never came back. I talked to the manager. The guy's still alive. And they say his name was Zach. He hesitated. I'm not saying I believe this shit. but I've lived in White Valley long enough to know about the witch. If you really say you saw her, really saw her. Well, I'll tell the judge to go easy. He said. And he did.