Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I'm A Deputy Sheriff. If You See Lights In OHIO, RUN! | Scary Stories

Episode Date: January 17, 2024

You won't come back alive.         Story from RandomAppalachian468  Make sure to check out more of their work at u/RandomAppalachian468     Original Post: Beware the Lights that Walk : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I'm A Deputy Sheriff. If You See Lights In OHIO, RUN!           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 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!

The fact that I'm posting this should be an indication of just how bad the situation is. My name is Sean Hammond. I'm a sheriff's deputy for Barron County, a small rural county in southern Ohio. It always amazes me how many people don't seem to know where that is. And even more curious, how few maps out there actually show it. I never could really figure out why our little section of the Appalachian foothills has gone unnoticed for so long. It's almost as if the rest of the world has forgotten about it, and for its own part. Barron County seems to neither notice nor care. Ever since the coal company stopped most of its

mining operations in the mid-80s, Barron County hasn't had a lot going for it, other than being a great place to go camping. Still, there are people here, and when you get enough people in an area, that generally equals jobs, which means money, which means crime committed by those who don't want to get a real job against those that do. That vicious cycle is what fuels my job. Even though I dread the calls as much as the next cop on the beat, usually it's either a domestic dispute or a drug overdose, since Barron County seems magnetic to drug dealers, and it can get exhausting at times. You get callous to the demanding, uncooperative families, the repeat offenders who show no shame, and the tight-lipped women with bruises on their faces that couldn't have come from a tumble

down the stairs. After a while, you get to where you think you've seen it all. That's where I was in my career, until a few weeks ago. I sat in my car along a lonely stretch of Route 142, a two-lane asphalt road that stretches the length of the county and connects the town of Collingswood in the center to the slightly bigger city of Black Oak in the north. My buddy and de facto partner, James Walker, slouched in his patrol car parked beside me, facing the opposite direction so we could talk to each other from our rolled down driver's windows while we took our lunch break. So, um, which one? James said, chewing on a seat. Chewing on a sandwich, the usual tuna fish and rye combo that he always brought without fail.

I grinned and poked in my Tupperware bowl full of barbecued beef. Andrea. For sure. James grunted in friendly mirth. You're in redads, man. She's nice, I replied. I defended my choice of which pretty courthouse clerk I'd rather date, with my plastic fork poised in the air like a point. her to seem intellectual.

Every time I go in there, you know, she has this big smile on her face, and she doesn't act like she's too busy to talk to me. Yeah, yeah, and she's smoking hot, right? James teased, his dark eyebrow raised. Right. I laughed along with him. Though under my uniform, my heart skipped a beat at the flash memory of Andrea's pretty face, framed in crimson locks.

Man, she was pretty, and every time I went into the courthouse for an errand, I almost couldn't bring myself to talk to her, as shy as a little kid on a playground. That didn't stop me from volunteering to be the guy who brought our records into the courthouse every Monday, however. And sometimes when I was alone on patrol, I practiced what I figured I'd say to her if I ever got the nerve to ask Andrea out. You like barbecue? You know, I know this great place in Collins would.

No, that's not it. Hey, Andrea, how do you feel about Ferris wheels, huh? I'm going to be working the guard shift at the county fair, and I thought, Nah, that's no good either. James shifted in his driver's seat and wiped his fingers on a napkin. Well, I'm still going to go with Tracy. She's got spice to her, and man, can she fill out a skirt? rolling my eyes at my friend's fascination with a blonde from the second floor,

who wore everything as tight as she could get it, and winked at every guy who noticed. I took a sip from my Coke. You know, she's probably slept with like half the... Base to Unit 14. I jumped, and my radio crackled the life with the sound of our dispatcher's voice. James Grin faded, and all the thoughts of pretty women left.

my mind. The smell of my barbecued lunch now turned my stomach, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Here we go. With clammy fingers, I reach for my shoulder, Mike, to click the black talking button down. Base, this is Unit 14. Send your traffic. A few moments passed, and I prayed that it was something minor. A raccoon in the school trash cans, a branch down across the nursing home driveway, or old Miss Phillips calling to complain about the neighbor's dog barking too loud for the eighth time this week. Unit 14, respond to a distress call from a campsite at 1849 Bethesda Ridge Road. Reports of possible child abduction. At least one civilian is missing. A night ranger from new wilderness is already on site. Link up with him and proceed with caution. Unit 4.7.

15 copies all. Moving to respond. I replied. Pushing the lid back onto my half-finished lunch, I tossed the container into my passenger seat and put my car into drive. Hey, base, this is Unit 13. James clicked his mic and threw me a nod from his car. I'm nearby. Moving in as a backup. Now, copy? I frowned, shook my head. The blood cold in my veins. You don't have to do this. But my partner just let slide, a small, knowing, half-smile, and nodded back. Yes, I do. Unit 13, this is base.

Solid copy on all. Showing you in Unit 14 dispatched at 2348. Flicking my lights on, I threw James one last look, and together we swung our patrol cars around to pull under the long, dark road. My guts twisted, the shadowy landscape flying by, and I cursed under my breath. Despite the drug problems and domestic abuse issues, Barron County was quiet, rustic, and even nice in some places. Most of the normal people were salt of the earth types, and even though I wasn't a church-going man, I could appreciate the idea of a guy in the sky helping keep people from getting too rambunctious. People down here didn't riot when we arrested some dopehead for beating his wife, and the kids all smiled and waved when we drove by in town.

We got treated like human beings for the most part, and rarely did we have to respond to anything, other than an overdose or a husband-wife-screaming match that woke up half the neighborhood. But new wilderness was different. Round stones ground under the tires of my squad car, and I swerved around, con. countless potholes, the blood pumping in my veins. Barron County's government had rolled out a modest but rather successful road repair program a few years back, and yet none of the crews ever seemed to make it down to the claustrophobic dirt roads surrounding the New Wilderness Wildlife Reserve. With 12,000 acres of mixed woods and grassland, partially fenced in to house endangered species, it bordered a colossal 70,000 acres of forested recreational ground, still owned by the coal industry,

making it the most rural and picturesque place in all of Barron County. Still, the park seemed to garner very little sympathy or attention from local authorities, almost as if they hoped it would slide off the map, which I found odd, since new wilderness brought in a fair amount of business from big city tourists. Unfortunately, the only memory I had of the place was of long hours tramping through wet, creaking trees with a canine unit from our neighboring county. Focus, I thought. I shut my eyes just for a moment, trying to force the memories out of my head. Still, I could see her.

The girl they brought in all those months ago, covered in cuts and bruises, wearing some of the else's clothes. Her sky blue eyes wild as a cornered animal. I hadn't been ready for that night. None of us had. It's not going to be like last time, I told myself. Drifting into one of the many campsites that dotted the vast expanse of recreational land, I spotted a big red pickup truck parked next to an expensive-looking white camper trailer. A black SUV squatted about 20 feet away, and I recognized the insignia of the new wilderness night rangers immediately. After everything from last October, how could I not?

He didn't do it. I swear it was the road. It was the road. You have to believe me. The voice echoed in my mind. The girl sobs, still as clear as the night her father had brought her into the station. soaking wet, with black, smeary handprints all over her clothes. Stop, I muttered to myself, desperate to forget.

It's over. It's not the same thing. Instead, I waited until James pulled up next to me and clicked my shoulder, Mike. Base, this is unit 14. I'm on site with 13, but the place looks deserted. I repeat, I don't see anyone on sight. making my first approach, how copy. In the bright aura of my squad's car lights, I searched for a sign of movement, for someone

hiding behind the camper, or perhaps looking through the closed blinds, but saw nothing. A small nagging suspicion flared to life in the back of my mind, the ice under my skin telling me that something about this situation was very, very wrong. 14, this is base. Solid copy on your first approach. We've got units 12 and 11 on standby if you need more backup. Keep us posted, base out. I swallowed the dry, sour-tasting lump in my throat, and I pushed my car door open. A musky aroma of wet, rotted leaves curled up from the damp ground on the thickening clouds of cotton-white mist that hung between the murky tree tops. This is a been a warmer march than usual, at least in the beginning, and the roiling clouds overhead threatened

rain with a new temperature front. Mud squished under my shoes, deafening against the tomb-like silence of the nearby forest, as if every stick and stone held its breath in anticipation. Beyond the treetops, three white lights blinked sporadically in the distance, likely some kind of cell phone towers or radio antennas, though it was hard to tell from the ground. James appeared at my side in a flash, and we moved almost in sync, flashlights in hand, free arm rigid at our sides, ready to snatch for our tasers, batons, or God forbid, our service weapons, if necessary. With all the strange things I'd heard about this place, I wasn't sure if I wouldn't skip right to the Glock if things went as bad as my child.

Wild imagination suggested they might. Thought the Ranger was supposed to meet us here. James muttered, his hand on his gun, eyes scanning the crowded trees beyond the tiny campsite. I cleared my throat to keep my voice from squeaking like a mouse. He was, I said. Let's check the vehicles, then clear the camper. If they're not here, we'll call it in and we'll wait for more backup. Moving closely as a team, James and I made our way to the red pickup truck and black SUV.

Both were empty, and we couldn't find any signs of foul play. It was as if the campers, along with a new wilderness ranger, had just up and vanished. At the foot of the metal steps that led up into the camper, I paused, and I drew my pistol. It weighed cold and heavy in my palm, a deadly reminder of how fast. my job could get ugly if I wasn't very careful. Behind me came the soft click of James doing the same, and his hand gripped my shoulder in a silent signal that he was ready to follow me in. I wrapped my pale knuckles against the cool fiberglass door of the camper, short and fast. Hello, Sheriff's Office. We got a call about a disturbance. Long, ten seconds ticked by,

marked only by drumbeats of the pulse in my ear. Nothing. Again, I banged on the door, louder this time, in case somehow the occupants were asleep or hard of hearing. Sheriff's office, open up. Is anyone there? Silence. Nothing but the strange, high-pitched creaking of trees in the distance,

swaying with the wind. I hate this part, I thought. Gripping the door handle, I pushed the button on the small light mounted under the frame of my Glock and shoved. The door swung inward about five inches. A strong, coppery stench hit my nostrils, and from underneath the open door came a small trickle of cherry red fluid. I recognized it right away, and it made the already unpleasant situation that much worse.

was either hurt or dead, which meant this had just gone from a lost child to an investigation that could go on for weeks on end. If it was anything like the last one, it might not even be solved or recorded. My stomach gurgled in revulsion, but I rammed the door with my shoulder, and at last it gave way. Mary Mother of God. inside the inky cramped interior of the camper, the walls, ceiling, windows, and floor were covered and spattered chunks of torn viscera, thick scarlet smeared all over everything.

It looked as if someone had been thrown into a jumbo-sized blender and then spewed out with a leaf blower, bits and pieces of unknown anatomy clotting under my shoe to mix with the sticky Ohio clay from outside. The rank metallic stink of blood hung thick of the air, and I tasted the beginnings of vomit in my throat. But the worst part about it all was the silence. Nothing moved. Not a sound could be heard, as if the place were a kind of holy shrine to some macabre deity, and to speak was a grave sin. James gagged and leaned against the doorframe. Dear God, what could have done this? A bear? I don't think so, I replied. I had to shut my eyes and breathe through my mouth to avoid hurling my barbecued beef all over the crime scene. This. No bear could do this.

Coughing and spitting, James steeled himself and pointed his pistol toward the dim interior. Let's clear this. Let's get the hell out of here. I can't keep breathing this crap, he said. We patted slowly through the hellish darkness. Our guns raised and every, every, Every hair on my body stood on end. Fear overwhelmed my disgust, though just barely, and as I moved through a small alcove into the narrow living kitchen area, my guts twisted into a hard knot. You see in this? I asked.

I choked down a foul gulp of air and shone my light at the left side wall. In the living area, a couch-lined one wall, across from a sun. small compact range and mini-fridge with some wooden cabinets over them. A big shattered window sat behind the couch to look out into the dark forest beyond and let in what little moonlight filtered through the gloomy, overcast sky. Glass covered the floor, but from what I could tell, it appeared that most of the shards had flown outward, as though someone had leapt head first through it. More blood cake the couch, with bits of glass glued to the floor in sharp crimson lumps.

But it was the opposite wall, covered in smooth faux linoleum that caught my attention. Handprints Dozens upon dozens of handprints, some big and burly, other small and slender, dotted the wall like some freaky prehistoric, cave. Rivulets of red still trickled down from the prince, as if whoever had made them had just gone, scuttling off into the night right before we pulled in. But they weren't the desperate claw marks of someone being attacked or dragged. These were purposeful, almost childlike in their placement. And from the various sizes,

I realized that it had to have been more than one person. In the middle of all the prince, as if framed by them in sacred reverence, were four words, Look for the lights. James, I met his wide-eyed stare, the pistol trembling in my hand. Call for backup. Call the sheriff. Get everyone out. here now. He bobbed his head and reached for his shoulder-mounted radio mic. Base, this is Unit 13, requesting immediate backup.

Static graded in the little plastic speaker. Base, this is Unit 13. Do you copy? My heart pounded, as I realized that I couldn't hear him over my radio, that I didn't hear his radio crackle or click. I tried mine, click the talking button over and over, even turning the dials to try and reset it. Nothing. It's dead, I breathe.

Too scared to feel sick about all the gore I stood in, and my brain raced with terrified confusion. How? James said, pounding his fist against the radio on his belt in desperate frustration. I charged it. It was on full power. We're not out of range. We can't be. Glancing down at the lifeless radio in my pale hand, I shook my head to clear the guilty memories away.

We have to go. Get back to the cars, get on the horn, and call somebody. This is bad, man. Real bad. James moved for the door, and I followed so close behind that I almost bumped into him when he lurched to a stop. What the? He backed up against one gore-encrusted wall in shock. I turned my head to follow his gaze out a small window to our left.

Unlike the big living area window, this one was intact. And through its hazy glass, I could just discern a white ball of light bobbing in between the trees. It looked just like the cell phone antenna lights I'd seen dotting the horizon. But this one moved up and down, swaying side to side through the trees, reminding me of the reflections of cow eyes when a flashlight is shown on them in the dark. The orb didn't move like a shooting star, and I knew that it was far too low to be an airplane. No, something about the erratic, almost hypnotic jerks seemed organic, like some gargantuan firefly. that had at last ripped free of its prehistoric cocoon. In the distance, a faint screeching sound followed closely by a dull thudding,

echoed in a mechanical chorus. I took a step closer to the window, drawn in with moth-like wonder, to the glow. Are those footsteps, I thought? Without warning, a greasy chunk of viscera slid under my, shoe, and I tripped. The flashlight flew from my hands and rocketed into the floor with a deafening clack that sent chills down my spine. A clamor like a strange electro-synth foghorn tore through the air, and the camper was bathed in a blinding cascade of white light. Somewhere outside the camper, trees snapped, underbrush crashed, and the screeched thumping noises

grew rapidly closer. Dull tremors went through the ground, up my legs and into my chest, growing more intense by the second as whatever was outside drew nearer. No longer fascinated, I whimpered and crouched behind the window, too afraid to look out into the source of the beam.

A small part of my brain told me that the thing outside was hunting us, like a wolf with cornered rabbits, and we'd walked right into its layer. Whatever it was, it had to know where we were. And this broken horror scape of a camper was no defense. We had only one choice to run out and make for our patrol cars, or stay, and end up smeared all over the walls. As if reading my mind, James darted to the steps of the trailer,

And together we hurtled into the night. Guns raised. Trees crunched, branches snapped, and the mucky ground shook beneath my feet. Round beams of light probed the ground around me, like searchlights trying to find an escaped convict. Cold mud spattered up the back of my uniform trousers, and my lungs burned with a damp night air. Behind me, the camper let out a defeated squeal. and collapsed under the weight of something massive, its fiberglass exterior, shattering with ease. The red pickup truck groaned with a shriek of rending metal, and its panic alarm blared to life,

only to be silenced moments later by another vicious thud. It was right behind us, so close I could almost see it in the corner of my eyes. A sharp, jerky shadow that crawled out of the dark like an angular nightmare. Base, come in, we need. James' desperate plea cut out, and I turned to see him snag his shoe on a rock, and down he went. Panicked, I threw myself back toward him, but a wall of light hit me full in the face from directly overhead. Uninstinct.

I looked up. Blinding white light poured into my eyes, and a harsh, high-pitched static filled my ears. My leg slammed to a stop. Every muscle in my body frozen, as if paralyzed by some unseen hand. I couldn't think. Couldn't move, and my breath barely trickled in and out of my chest. Deep inside my skull, I watched helplessly as my memories were pried open. Like someone crulled in through my ears and started to rummage through the folds of my brain.

I saw the Auburn-haired girl who'd been found just outside New Wilderness last October, almost 12 miles from her abandoned car, dressed in someone else's clothes, and raving about a monster killing her friend. I noted the look of annoyance on the sheriff's face when she refused to admit that the guy she'd been with had accosted her. Instead, claiming it had been some dark, mysterious road that had led her astray. I cringed at the detectives berating her, trying to accuse her, before dismissing her the more she insisted on her bizarre tale. Lastly, I watched the girl turn to catch my eye as she was escorted out of the station for the last time, and caught her desperate,

silent plea for someone to believe her. I hadn't. No one had. Yet when the detectives threw the case out, when the files went missing and the sheriff threatened to fire anyone who talked to the media about it, I knew it had been wrong. The girl didn't deserve to be treated that way. With each question I asked, the more hostile the department had become, and I became convinced that she'd been on to something, something that the sheriff knew about, and the detectives were afraid of, something hiding in the forest of the new wilderness wildlife reserve. Now you see, a voice said. My head pivoted, almost as if someone turned it for me, and I blinked at four people who

approached me out of the light. A man, woman, and young boy, all with outdoor clothes that a family of campers might wear, smiled alongside an older man in his mid-forties, dressed in a black polo shirt of the New Wilderness Night Rangers. They all seemed so happy, so carefree, and beamed at me with contagious joy. The light is perfection. The ranger, whose name tag red Daniel, made a bright wide grin. Safety. The woman sighed. Her face glowing in the curtains of white light.

Peace. The man next to her echoed, his arms around the woman and little boy. Extending his tiny hand out to me, the boy who looked no or. older than eight, giggled and beckoned me closer. Come on. Come play with us. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, I thought. The light was nice, warm and soft.

I started to forget about the mysterious girl, the sheriff, and my job. What was my job? I couldn't remember. Something with cars. cars and lights. A big brick building. A red-haired woman who smiled at me every time I went in. Coffee?

But nothing like this. No, no. This was beautiful. Safe? Perfect. Unable to resist. I let the gun slide from my grip. All five fingers out.

outstretched to take the boy's hand. A gunshot split the air, the light flickering between brilliant white and abysmal block. The four people in front of me screamed, their faces contorted into hateful glares of rage, eyes dark as night, and rivulets of ebony sludge spilled down their chins. Pain flared through my head, and I stumbled backward, clapping both hands, hands to my eyes. A horrible aching sensation, like I'd been staring at the sun seared my vision and throbbed in my temples. Hands groped at my arms, clothes and face, trying to pull me back toward them, but someone else jerked me backward by the pull strap on my ballistic vest, dragging me out of the light. Shots fired! Shots fired! A voice screamed over. A voice screamed over

a radio, and my heels dug backwards into thick, gooey mud. Through half-blind, bleary eyes, I watched the world around me jolt by. My limbs went numb, and I had to focus hard just to suck a breath in and out. My brain ached. Orbs of light bobbed in the trees all around us, more smashing through the forest, like a swarm of bright white circles coming in to feed. They seem to be swaying like the gate of someone walking down a sidewalk, but with less fluidity, in more strained, jerky motions.

Shaking hands leaned me back against the mud-spattered fender of a patrol car, and I blink to clear my vision. And then I saw it. The thing stood as tall as the nearby pines, with eight thin appendages arched in jagged angles like spider legs. In the glow of the patrol car headlights, I stared in shock at cold rolled steel, not flesh, with snaking veins of braided steel cables that wound their way up the insectoid legs.

These connected to a twisted cluster of fused eye beams that all. almost resembled a nightmarish spinal cord. At the end of this jumbled mass, ringed in six fist-sized light bulbs, a white-painted circular signal dish shook back and forth violently, with a single cone-shaped siren protruding beneath. Underneath the dish hung low swaying cables covered in sticky coats of gore that writhed independently each other, with four bloody figures hanging broken and torn amongst them. The lights flickered and sputtered from where James' bullet had smashed one of the powerful bulbs, dripping sparks like blood, and it seemed the creature was stunned by the damage it

had sustained. A tower. It's a freaking radio tower. With a roar, the patrol calls. fire fired to life, and James shoved me into the back seat, my arms and legs tingling with rubbery numbness. My head rested against the window, and I watched with a mobile fascination as the entire tree line lit up with more rings of light. Close to six of those things crouched just beyond the reach of our headlights. Beneath the first industrial monstrosity, the limp human

figures open their eyes to wave at me. Pupils shining, moonlight, white in the darkness. Their skin was torn. Intestines all ripped out. Their torso's ragged husks barely supported by a mess of fractured bones. Yet they didn't seem to be in any pain. And they made no attempt to free themselves. They just swung there by their own bent necks and waved. They waved and smiled. The car lunged away from the scene and back out onto Bethesda Ridge Road. Just before the campsite passed out of view, the strange iron spider arched its signal-dish head back, and let out a piercing roar that crackled through the air like the tone of an overloaded synthesizer.

Static hissed through my ears. Hateful voices screamed in my head, and I slid down the backseat of a car into blackness. I woke up in the hospital of Black Oak, covered in soft white sheets, and diagnosed with a severe concussion, How something so simple could explain any of what I'd seen, no one cared to elaborate. But I didn't argue. Thankful to be alive, and with a handmade get-well card from Andrea waiting on my nightstand. I didn't want to think about the thing in the woods. I just ate some jello, read Andrea's card fifteen times, and got in some nice, medicated,

dreamless sleep. By the time James stopped by several hours later, he told me the entire department had turned out to search the campsite high and low, but found nothing. No destroyed camper. No smashed red pickup truck. Not even the black SUV from New Wilderness. My patrol car was found parked in an empty turnoff, just across the road from the New Wilderness, Wildlife Reserve, with my Glock lying on the grass not 50 yards away.

It was as if I dream the whole thing, with my only assurance that it had been real, being my wild-eyed partner sitting in his narrow chair beside my hospital bed. After the hospital released me, I went straight to the station with James to report to the sheriff. Having searched the campsite with the rest of the officers, he didn't believe our story. But when the head of the new wilderness security reported one of his rangers missing, along with a vehicle, James and I seemed vindicated at last. That only made things worse. We were both ordered to sign non-disclosure agreements, on pain of being fired and prosecuted should we refuse. Anyone who talked about the event outside the department was immediately suspended

without pay, which ended up being several people. Both our body cameras and dash cams were confiscated, and neither James nor I ever saw the footage. Everyone who wasn't on the force accepted the sheriff's official narrative that I'd been hit by a stray bolt of lightning, which had given me a concussion. And just like that, we were silenced. Just like the Auburn-haired girl. Despite my own predicament, I couldn't sleep very well after that. I kept seeing the girl's tear-streaked face in my dreams.

Her eyes locked on mine as she was walked out of the station on the last day of her case. Unable to deal with it any longer. I took to the internet to search for any evidence as to what happened to her. Apparently, the Auburn-haired girl quit her job at the New Wilderness Night Rangers a few weeks ago. ago, but as to when and where she went afterward, no one can tell me. It took hours of searching, but I finally found a series of three entries on this site, talking about a place called Tarpin Road. The first time I read it, I came close to breaking down in tears, and shame racked me

from head to toe, along with fear. She was right. The Auburn-haired girl was telling the truth all along, which meant that what I saw was real, real and still out there. I don't know if she succeeded in stopping the creature she encountered, but whatever happened, it seems that now the floodgates have been opened. We get calls out to the new wilderness area almost every other night, most of them from the night rangers. begging for armed backup. Strange events now occur both on and off the park in good weather and bad, as if these things no longer have anything holding them back. Two of our officers have been severely

wounded in mysterious attacks, and the sheriff refuses to let us alert the state or federal government about them. James is thinking about quitting, and I'm admittedly on the fence about it. This is spiraling out of control, and yet, I don't even know what on earth we're dealing with. I don't think anyone does. If you're reading this, and you live anywhere near Black Oak or Collingswood, pack your bags and run, I don't care how long or how far, just get as far from here as possible. For anyone else who lives outside Barron County, or even outside Ohio, all I can say is keep your ear to the ground and listen for strange reports on the smaller

regional news about incidents related to park rangers and police officers in the woods. Most likely anything will be taken down, discredited, or censored to keep the public from panicking, as I suspect the sheriff is trying to do. But if you're quick enough, save or print out the page before it gets removed, and you might just see the truth? The truth that keeps me up at night. The truth that everyone here is too scared to voice out loud. There's something out there. In the forest around the new wilderness wildland. reserve. And whatever it is, it's spreading.