Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work in Special Operations. I Found Something Strange in Ohio | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 24, 2023

Only in Ohio...   Story from Harbinger_51 Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Harbinger_51                         Original Post: I do a job for the government none of you know about. You should. : r/FreeToReadCreepypasta                                     Original YouTube link: I Work in Special Operations. I Found Something Strange in Ohio              For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  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!

It was a beautiful day in the fall, and though being in the middle of nowhere in Ohio isn't exactly my ideal setting for an assignment, could have been worse. Opening my windows, listening to music, and getting a good whiff of country air is a nice contrast to being cooped up in cities like I'm used to. The site of brown stalks of corn, populating the miles of field along the road, was welcome, was the cool and clean smell of the air. It's a good thing these jobs don't involve much interaction with people. Unfortunately, some level of interaction is inevitable. On my way to this one, I got a speeding ticket from a cop at some little local department. Though I was, in fact, speeding. I got the feeling

that he also didn't so much like seeing a fed in his neck of the woods. The local police aren't a fan of us. So I've come to learn. They tend to get suspicious of us, thinking we're up to some top secret mission behind their backs. I guess they would be right. I kept driving down the gravel road until the navigation let me know my destination was coming up on the right. Turning down the radio as I approached, I glanced toward the empty fields and the woods

that met them beyond. I then turned into the long dirt driveway, leading to our civilians, house, and garage. I rolled up and parked with my trunk facing the porch, stepping out. I got another whiff of the fresh country air, and I looked at the area of operations that lay before me. I was surprised at the amount of land and space that I had at my disposal. Space is good for these jobs. Additionally, I was informed that there weren't any neighbors close enough to worry about.

I couldn't have asked for a better setting. stretching and letting out a light sigh, I decided it was time to get to work. I pulled the key chain out of my pocket and unlocked the front door. It seemed like a nice enough place. It was certainly nothing worth complaining about, given the conditions of houses I've faced in my previous assignments. I went back outside to my massive government-issued vehicle and opened the trunk. I pulled the first couple of duffel bags worth of equipment out and brought them inside. The kitchen was as good a place as any to set up. After making five or six trips of dragging heavy bags and boxes of my junk into the house,

I went back outside to open the garage. Thank God we were able to catch this case early, and the civilians were able to make it out in time. It also meant I got rim in the garage to park this thing. All that remained in the truck was the large metallic box, but I wasn't going to need that until later. I shut the trunk and pulled my vehicle into the garage, closing it on my way out. I stepped back into the house where I changed from my suit to my gear. Wearing the suit all day annoys me, but I suppose the higher-ups want us to look like good, friendly feds to the public. The public has no idea

the kind of monsters we are. I unpacked box after box of equipment and weapons. I loaded up my Glock 17 with its extended 30-round magazine, just as I did with my rifle. I checked the laser sights on both. All good. Next was my favorite, the best scope you could ever ask for. It's sure nice to have a virtually infinite budget. Perks of working for the U.S. federal government, I suppose. The final firearm I brought was my personal 357 magnum revolver that I kept holstered on my chest.

I figure it's never a bad idea to have one more gun just in case. Maybe I should have brought more on this one. If things got too close, I always had my hunting knife. I sharpened it that morning before heading out. The next few hours consisted of me going out into the woods near the house in various places and setting up dozens of my little cameras equipped with motion sensors. They were there to give me an idea of the location of anything that got brave enough to get close to the fields that surrounded the house.

I'd be able to know about anything that was coming to me. I didn't take too much caution in setting things up. Things never get interesting. Until nightfall. I returned to the house, where I turned on my laptop, and assured that all cameras were connected and working. I could see every single one of them from there and would know if anything so much as moved. I then got situated on a chair by the kitchen table where I opened the window and set up my rifle to watch the fields with.

I suppose it would be worth mentioning why I'm out here, setting up my fancy equipment in the woods and loading up an arsenal of guns while I'm alone in a farmhouse that isn't mine. Let's back things up. March 1st, 2017, 333 a.m. Iowa. Dispatch gets a call from a local farmer. He claims to be looking at a figure standing still at the edge of a tree line on his property. The description given by the farmer was that of a man of average stature and build,

clothed in a loose black or gray shirt, and trousers, in a large brimmed hat, The farmer tells dispatch that he'd awoken abruptly roughly an hour earlier, unspecified as to why. He spotted the figure outside his kitchen window soon after. The figure had been standing near the edge of a row of trees. It was facing the house and hadn't moved a muscle since the farmer noticed him. The farmer quickly retrieved his rifle and walked out onto his lawn, proceeding to brandish his firearm and tell the trespasser that his property was his and to leave immediately.

The farmer, seeing that the man remained unthreatened by his warning and display of a firearm, retreated back into his home to retrieve his phone and call 911 as he continued to watch the figure from his porch. During this call, the farmer's voice was noticeably nervous and frightened. The desperate tone and quivering speech continued to worsen as he went on explaining the situation to dispatch. Dispatch instructed the farmer to remain where he stood and not to approach the trespasser. Dispatch reassured the farmer that the police were on their way. A few quiet and uneventful minutes passed. Then without warning, the farmer led out a horrified, scream through the phone. The call was disconnected seconds later. The police began their over

40-minute drive to the residence. Halfway to their arrival, multiple new calls were coming to dispatch from the farmer's neighbors. They reported seeing a large stack of smoke coming from the farmer's home, and the closest, reported seeing the house on fire. By the time police arrived, The house had burned to the ground. The fire department arrived shortly after, but oddly enough, the fire had completely subsided. What remained was the charred crumbs of what once was a house. The firefighters that arrived on sight were bewildered by how quickly the fire must have burned the house. There was no explanation they could fathom.

The police searched the nearby fields and woods for the fire. farmer and alleged trespasser, to no avail. However, their search was quickly called back upon the findings of the firefighters in the house. The man's charred bones were found beneath a rubble, but not as they should have been. It became clear after further investigation that the man's limbs were ripped from his body before it was incinerated at an impossible speed. Four bullet casings were found where the porch of the house used to be. The rifle was found just outside of the house, unscathed, despite its proximity to such a violent fire.

Forensics confirmed that the rifle had fired these casings, but the bullets themselves were never found. This was the first. But far from the last. 28th, 2017, 11.07 p.m., Montana. Dispatch gets a call from a ranger who spotted a woman in an old-fashioned black-and-white dress and wearing a linen cap. The rancher claimed the woman was standing amongst his cattle and not moving. The rancher expressed no panic or concern for his safety over the phone, but rather a concern for the woman in the field. The rancher also noted that

his cattle kept their distance around the woman. An ambulance arrived at 1129. Paramedics found no trace of the alleged woman. They walked to the entrance of the rancher's house and discovered his door to be unlocked and open. After calling for the rancher and getting no response, they stepped inside to be greeted by the corpse of the rancher, hanging from a noose in his stairwell. The man had no history of mental illness, and none of his relatives or acquaintances had any reason to believe he was suicidal. Additionally, an autopsy report concluded that both arms were broken in multiple places, as well as every finger, as if they'd been crumpled together by a great force.

He could not have tied the noose himself. November 29th, 2018, 206 a.m. Wisconsin. Dispatch gets a call from another farmer. He'd spotted a woman in an old black and white dress and linen cap. The woman had been standing in the long driveway from the road to his house, lit by the lamp that covered it. She stood motionless in the cold, windy and heavily snowing weather. The farmer and his wife were later found under a collapsed wall of their crumpled house, with stones placed on top.

They'd been placed in a seemingly orderly fashion until there was enough weight to crush their bones. This happens to be the first incident we have on record with photo evidence. A trail cam owned by the farmer and his wife, a few acres away from the house, caught a picture the night of the incident. It caught a picture of the woman exactly as the farmer had described black and white dress, white linen cap. It looked as though she'd stepped through time from hundreds of years before and was placed

like a mannequin in front of the camera. May 30th, 2019. Minnesota. September 3rd, 2019. Nebraska. January 4th, 2020. South Dakota. I could go on, but the point is that these incidents have been happening more and more frequently,

and they aren't stopping. We do know what they are, or at least what they're supposed to represent to us. Every single one of these people lived in North America during the witch trials. We don't believe they were the ones who were executed. We believe they were the ones who made the accusations, the ones who got their neighbors killed, the ones who carried out the executions, and now they're back to kill again. Luckily, my department picked up on these patterns early on and designated a team to deal with them. There are a few hundred of us.

I'm in the dark about what everyone does exactly. I haven't met many, but I do know that some find potential incidents. Some investigate. Some deal with the cover-up in handling the publicity. And then, of course, they're the ones you send in to eradicate the problem. That's where I come in. I'm here to hunt them down, to put them back in their graves so it would seem. Sometimes I get here before they've claimed victim, sometimes after.

But their reign of terror comes to an end with me. They've never gotten away from me, and I have never failed an assignment. I didn't plan on this night being any different. A beep sounded from my laptop screen as an outline from one of the cameras lit up, indicating that the motion sensor detected movement. It'd been quiet since I set it up there. There was not even the slightest sight of wildlife. No deer, no squirrels.

Nothing. I leaned forward and intently examined the camera that had been triggered. There was nothing to see. Another sensor triggered. Again, the camera showed nothing. My eyes darted from camera to camera looking for motion. Another camera triggered, though all that I caught sight of was a shaking tree branch. There was no wind today.

Another, and this time I saw it. A dog-looking figure darted across the camera in only a few frames, but I knew it was no dog. I turned my attention from the cameras to the field in front of me, where the movement had come from. I got behind my rifle and looked down the scope to the tree line in the distance. My heart began to pound in my chest. I could feel the adrenaline kicking in while I scanned the edge of the field for movement. All that greeted me was the orange glint of the setting sun on the tree line and the tiny shadows of the little stumps of corn stalks in the otherwise empty field.

It was silent, not even wind this evening, though I can't complain. It's better for shooting. For a few minutes, I continued to run my scope along the tree line, occasionally getting a peek with my own eyes. It was during one of these peaks when I noticed a color out of place, in between a couple of trees on the other side of the field, some sort of black and white speck that wasn't there a second before. I lowered my head down, back behind the scope, and centered it. As I studied the scope, a man-like figure standing at the edge of the field came into focus. It wore black, tattered rags of clothing that hung loosely on its rigid frame. It stood still, stiff as a board.

Its eyes were fixed on something ahead of it. It took me a moment to realize it was focused on me. It didn't move a muscle, not even blinking as it stared. I came to my senses and prepared to do my job. I flipped the safety off of my rifle and centered my crosshairs on its chest. I began to breathe deeply, my finger on the trigger, ready to pull, but I didn't take the shot. Not yet. I saw it start to move. Even with the distance between us, my scope made the picture of this figure clear as day. The movement came from only one part of its body.

Its mouth. First, its crusty lips detached from one another, and the mouth began to open. Steadily, it opened more and more. All the while, the rest of its body and head remained fixed. Its jaw sank to what should have been all the more it could, but it didn't stop. It fell further, dipping down below its chest, its skin like a shirt. stretched rubber band waiting to snap. Though it didn't.

It kept stretching. Still stiff as a board. The man-like thing remained, with its eyes locked on me, while its mouth sat open, impossibly wide. It stood still with its hanging jaw for a moment. A moment I shouldn't have given it. Now I knew I had my target. I began to apply.

pressure to the trigger before I was stopped, shaken by a force. A scream, like the choir of souls in despair, being dragged off to hell, with the power of a thousand horns sounding the start of a medieval battle rung through the fields. Its volume caused flocks of birds and the nearby trees to fly away in panic. Its base shuddered through my chest and left me to. too hypnotized to pull the trigger. I'll never get used to hearing one of them scream. Okay, okay, here we go, I muttered to myself. The only thought I could conjure from my brain at the moment. Closing its mouth, it leapt forward and reached for the ground in front of it with its hands

fixed like claws. As soon as they met the ground, the feet followed and planted themselves quickly so that it could boost itself forward once again. It had begun to charge at me. All the while, its face remained fixed on me, rotting teeth exposed and clenched in rage. The speed at which it rushed across the empty field would make a deer running for its life look lazy in comparison. But I was the prey here. Though my heart began to race, at the sight of this abomination barreling toward me, this anomaly of hatred and hunger bound to flesh, I remained calm. I began to steady my breathing, taking control of each breath in and out. Inhale, exhale. Squeeze. The crack of the shot rang out through the dimming sky in the field before me.

My response to its enraged scream. I remained fixed on the target, observing the spatter of blood as it shot from its back. It began to scream again, this time rapidly and desperate in tone. I quickly moved the bolt and chambered the next round, accompanied by the soft ring of the brass, bouncing off the floorboards under my chair. Although I managed to land a clean shot to the chest, it didn't do much. It kept running, keeping on at its same speed. Though now it changed its direction and was running adjacent to my position in the house.

It was trying to flank me. It wanted to find a way around my line of sight. I couldn't let it. Again, I took control of my breathing. Slowly. I drifted my run. rifle on the bipod until the creature came back into view. Its limbs pounded at the ground with speed and power as it propelled itself across the field. I'll never get used to seeing one run either.

Starting behind it, I continued to move the scope, just fast enough to begin gaining on him, just fast enough to let the crosshairs catch up. Inhale, exhale. The crosshairs. The cross S-hair slowly began to overtake it. Inhale, exhale, squeeze. I chambered the next round quickly. This shot brought him to the ground, but it didn't keep him there. After a short tumble, it rose and began to run again. This time, back towards the woods it came from.

Inhale, exhale, squeeze. The third shot grazed its back. Frustrated, I chambered another round and took aim. But it was far too late. Before I could even begin to line up my fourth shot, it'd taken one final leap from the field back into the tree line it came from. I let out a sigh and hung my head in disappointment. I knew what I had to do next, but I sure as hell didn't want to.

The last flickers of sunlight shone through the open window and lit my rifle as I reloaded the magazine. I sat and stared blankly at the screen in front of me, hoping a camera would pick up some sort of movement that could clue me into wherever it ran off to. Knowing my luck, I shouldn't have expected it to. After coming to terms with reality, I stood up and got my firearms ready. Next, I adjusted the night vision set to my head and headed for the door. As I stepped outside, I let out another sigh.

This one of stress, hunting these things at night on their own turf is never as fun, nor as easy as finishing them quickly from a distance. But what choice did I have? I just wanted to get this over with. I flipped down my goggles and switched them on. illuminating the dark field in green and white. I began my long walk across. It took me longer than expected.

The speed of that monstrosity caused me to underestimate the size of the field. Each step I took was slow and quiet. I didn't want the crunch of my feet meeting the dirt and remnants of corn stalks to disturb my hearing. If that thing made a noise, I needed to hear it. If only I could have quieted my breathing too. I wasn't even halfway to the tree line when I reached the first pool of blood, where I'd shot it for the second time, and it decided to retreat.

Bits of flesh were scattered about the ground, but I didn't care to stop and look. Instead, I focused on the blood I could see that led back into the woods. Now, any experienced hunter has had to track a deer or two, it can be very frustrating. The trail isn't always so clear, and you never know how far it's gotten. In any case, I knew this thing was still alive and it was angry. I continued my walk, splitting my attention between the blood trail on the ground and the tree line in front of me, scanning for movement and listening. If I was lucky enough, it would have gotten bold and tried to take me down in the field.

Unfortunately, I am not so lucky. Silently, I followed the trail until it met the woods. I stopped walking and calmed myself. I didn't want to go past those damn trees, but there was no avoiding it. I had a job to do. I extended the bipod of my gun and lowered it to the ground before race. raising the stock of my other rifle to my shoulder. I took a deep breath and resumed my walk, now even slower and more cautious.

At least now my heavy breathing would be drowned out by the sound of snapping twigs beneath my feet. Immediately upon entering the woods, I spotted the next sign of blood. It came from a tree branch, its leaves covered in a dripping crimson liquid. I walked up to observe, only to notice more blood on the branch above that one. And the next. I noticed the pattern and followed each branch up, one by one, with its leaves covered in blood. Suddenly, a mass moved on top of the tree next to the one I was looking up at.

I swung my rifle up, pointing above me at the top of the trees. The mass turned, and I saw two glowing eyes, like white lights in my night vision. It opened its mouth again to let out another deafening scream, but I raised my rifle and took aim. Its scream was cut short by a bang for my barrel, and the thud of the rounds meeting flesh. I was only able to squeeze half a dozen rounds off before it leapt away to the tops of the neighboring trees. I kept shooting as it jumped from one tree to another, though within seconds it was out of

my line of sight. I charged through the woods after it and watched it leap in possible distances, shaking trees so hard I thought they might snap. All the while, I kept trying and failing to line up a clean shot. The ones I did manage to squeeze off were either misses or ineffective. at the full-on sprint that I managed to sustain for a good few minutes. I was barely able to keep up. I almost abandoned the chase entirely before I saw an opportunity. There was a clearing ahead. A trail. The distance across was far too wide for it to jump. It took a sharp

right once it realized this and began jumping from tree to tree along the trail. I rushed into the opening before kneeling to line up a shot, I followed it with my sights, tracking the timing of each leap and letting it land and leap once more before it settled on a new tree. I shot off two more rounds as it braced to leap again. They were perfectly placed, and its body tumbled in the air and crashed violently to the ground. Having lined up my sight, I squeezed the trigger again to hear the absence of a gunshot replaced by the click of a firing pin in the empty chamber. I screamed curses at myself as I quickly exchanged magazines. By the time I looked up, the body was already gone.

I got to my feet and continued down the trail at a jog-like pace with my rifle at the ready. I was beginning to get frustrated more than anything. I've put dozens of these things in the ground before. I didn't understand why I was having such a hard time with this one. As I approached a curve in the trail, I slowed my pace and brought the stock of my rifle back to my shoulder. I approached the curve from the outside of the trail, trying to get a clear view of what was beyond when my head violently snapped to the left.

My vision went suddenly dark, and it took me a few moments to realize that I wasn't dead, Or was I unconscious. Something hit my night vision goggles and knocked him clear off my head, breaking the mount they sat on. My eyes were only beginning to adapt to the dark when another object came flying towards my head, narrowly missing as it whistled past my ear. It was a rock. About the size of a football.

I couldn't help but glance behind me in astonishment at the object that had nearly decapit I irritated me before turning my attention back to what threw it. Sure enough, there it was. Standing behind the trees at the corner of the path, I let my anger take control and I began to fire rapidly at its torso. My disregard for accuracy hardly mattered at this range. Regrettably, it meant I was now closer than I would have liked, and it began to charge. I landed shot after shot.

Blood spurred from its back and painted the tree branches and leaves that it passed as it barreled towards me. Again, my magazine went empty. Instead of bothering to reload a new one, I quickly drew my Glock and continued my rapid fire on the beast. It broke into a clearing and fell to all fours, before it leaped forward and ran as it had done in the field. It closed the distance between us in seconds. A hand clenched around my throat, and I was lifted off the ground like a feather. It kept running, past the edge of the clearing and carrying me into the woods. I continued to pepper it at point-blank range with my pistol.

Between shots, I could hear its hysterical laughter directed at my efforts. Its face smiled. with a look of sadistic insanity. I continued shooting until my magazine went dry and I was stuck with an empty gun. With nothing else I could do, I began to beat its face with the empty pistol. This seemed to piss it off. It violently threw me through the air. I felt my body snap dozens of branches before I met the ground and rolled uncontrollably.

recovering quickly, I grabbed the rifle still slung around me and replaced the empty magazine with a new one. It was mere feet away from me when I started to fire. I got a few shots off before it grabbed my arm. This time, though, I whipped the barrel of my rifle up, clubbing it hard across the face. It let out a short, irritated scream. I thrust my barrel at the top of its head, knocking it back as it emitted another angry grunt. It reached up with its left arm and tried to grab the barrel before half of its fingers were blown off by my next shot. It recoiled its arm in pain before swinging it back at me.

Upon contact, my rifle flew out of my hands, and the sling came undone from my body as it was thrown far into the woods behind me. I attempted to retreat before he grabbed me with his right hand and what remained of his left around my neck. Again, I was picked up and it carried me, this time only a short distance to a tree. My back cracked as I was slammed into the bark. It looked up at me and smiled again. We killed our sinners.

It began. We brought justice to our land. We brought justice for God. I ignored its foul speech, lifting an arm and hooking it across its face with a firm punch. It did nothing. You're all sinners. And you'll die for your sins as they did. Again, I struggled and pummeled its face with everything I could muster, but it's

still did nothing. Now go and burn in the lake of fire. It said, before laughing, with a dozen sadistic voices all coming from its mouth. It opened its mouth, and its jaw was once again stretched to what should have been an impossible level. It lowered me until I was level with it. It moved its open mouth toward my head, shaking. with rage. Its teeth now inches from my face. With my left arm, I drew my knife, slashing it across

its chest before plunging into its neck. I hooked a punch with my right arm that finally caused it to stumble. It wound up its own punch and let loose. I nearly escaped, ducking out of the way, before its fist met the tree and went right through, splitting it in half before the first the The wood tumbled to the ground. I took this opportunity to draw my 357. He recovered from its punch and faced me, pulling the knife from its neck and letting blood spurt and gush. It stared me down as it slowly approached.

Its head was shaking now. Harder than ever in anger, its mouth hung open to half its capacity, where it showed its rows of rotting human teeth. I raised my revolver and attempted to steady my sights, but I was too shaky. I quickly collected myself. Inhale. Exhale. The front sight became level with the rear.

Squeeze. The recoil caused the gun to rise enough for me to get a good look at the damage. I clipped its mouth in the corner of its jaw. It hung open, with one side detached completely. It wailed in pain as it gargled its blood and crumpled to the ground. I aimed again. Squeeze. With a second round, I detached its jaw completely.

Yeah, let's see you bite me now, I said. It dropped my knife and was now laying flat on its back, breathing heavily. I approached, cocking the revolver again as I did. It reached out with its mangled hand, but I kicked it away before placing my barrel to its skull. Squeeze and then silence. After dragging the body back to the field, I spent the next few hours retrieving my lost and damaged equipment, as well as tediously finding every one of my cameras.

I then retrieved my vehicle and drove it to the edge of the field. There was just one more thing to do. I opened my trunk and pulled out the metallic box. I don't understand why they make these things so heavy. I opened it and placed the corpse inside before securing the extremely heavy-duty lock. Next was the hole. It wasn't exactly easy digging after I'd been ruined. roughed up and tossed around by an undead religious maniac with superhuman strength, but at least

this was the last thing I had to do. I finished digging the hole, placed the metal casket inside, and covered it up. From there, I collected my equipment, packed it up, and took off. Supposedly, there's a cleanup crew that comes in after we're done with these missions and destroys any bizarre evidence. I suspect they take the body as well. Where do they take it? What do they do with it? I have no clue, but I've been strictly reminded to not ask questions on the matter, and to just stick to doing my job. Still, I always find myself wondering. What I have even more questions about is why these things exist in the first place. What the hell's going on? Why them? Why now? Has this been

going on for longer than I know? Am I being lied to? What happens next in the future if this keeps going on? It's only been getting worse. They've only been popping up more and more frequently. When does it end? Does it end? I have more questions than I do answers, but what I can tell you is that this problem isn't going away anytime soon. It's only going to get worse. There are only going to be more of them, not less. The death toll will only continue to rise.

People are going to find out sooner or later. Might as well be now. Maybe we will stop them. Maybe this will all come to an end one day, or maybe we are the ones who are all going to meet our end. Either way, I'll be there to see it.