Tales From The Gas Station | Creep Cast
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Welcome back to Creepcast! Today we're talking about something that's been highly, highly requested. Tails!

From the gas station. I am so excited. Do you know anything about Tales from the Gas Station, Hunter? Familiar at all? I have no idea, actually. I've seen tons and tons and tons and tons and tons of people talking about this. I do know, the only thing I think I know is people say that it has some humor to it. Yes, so, okay. I think I've listened, because when I looked it up, I had, it was in my watch history from like four years ago. So I'd start listening to it, and if I remember right, it's like

over the top initially, but it's like self-aware of it. So it like has fun with it. I remember just thinking it was like a fun story because it looks like it was released on October 30th of 2018. So do you think that it's like, it's by aware, do you mean it's using like the normal, uh,

Kind of bad tropes of creepypastas to its comedic advantage. It probably does that too, but what I remember specifically is it does a lot all at once, and it's like the narrator is self-aware that it's a lot all at once. If I remember correctly, you'll see what I'm talking about when we, like, pretty quickly near the beginning, but it's kind of like a...

A fun... I'm trying to think. Almost like a Twilight Zone thing, almost. Like, yeah, here's this gas station. A bunch of really weird supernatural stuff happens, and then it gets into it from there. Is it all one cohesive thing, or is it like a... Is it a...

uh, anthology kind of thing, just cause tales from the gas station makes you think there should be multiple. Originally, I think it was just this one part, but then it got really popular. Uh, and now there are like three books, two or three books, uh, that's compilations of tales from the gas station. There is its own like wiki for the characters, uh,

There is, it has its own subreddit, Tales from the Gas Station. Like it's become this whole extended universe. Whenever I searched it on YouTube, one of the first results was Tales from the Gas Station Timeline Explained. Okay, so it has some extensive history and lore is what you're saying. Yeah, there's a lot of lore around it. But what we're reading today was the inception of it, I believe, the jumping off point. Right.

We're on creepypasta.com right now, and we're reading part one, I believe, through part eight is what I believe I'm seeing here. It's a healthy chunk. I mean, it's a healthy amount of stuff. I'm pretty sure this was like one through eight was all posted at the same time, I think. I could be wrong about that, but I think this was all like the first set off, and then the community just grew from that.

Okay. Well, I mean, I'm tantalized. I will say my nipples are puckered. I'm ready. I'm ready as well. And the author of this is Jack Townsend. So credit where it's due. At least that's his name listed. That might be a pseudonym or the name of the character in the story. But everywhere I've looked online says Jack Townsend author. Also, is this an r slash no sleep?

or is this something completely different? I honestly have no idea. I know there's a blog for it now that everything's hosted on like a tales from the gas station blog. Um, but I don't know where it first went up, but if I had to guess, it's probably no sleep. Cause that's like our, that is our, uh, honey hole for sure. Where does appear to be that way? Yeah, no, I, it is cool though. I do see here that there's a, the, the latest book tales from the gas station volume one, uh,

we will be leaving a link to that in the description. So if you're interested in this at all, be sure to pick up the physical copies. I think it helps out the authors a lot. And also, too, it's just cool. You know, click books. They're fun. Yeah, I love the number of people that came up to me at shows and gave me copies of Pen Pal to sign and stuff like that. It meant a lot. Speaking of people bringing up stuff at the shows, I have something for you, Hunter.

So we have this picture here. Someone made it to me. I don't even want to show you. I can't even see. I don't even know what it is. I don't even want to explain it to you until you see it, but I will. It is a picture of me in front of the Jurassic Park logo, but the Jurassic Park logo says Windenbloom. And then there's a picture of Ben Drowned that says, My sweet boy, Ben Drowned Goldbloom. And there is a note attached on the back. Okay.

Dear Mr. Gold goon and others associated with the sacred cast of creeps. Most importantly, Caitlin and Hunter, we would like to formally underlined beg you on behalf of ourselves, our friends, and at least part of the fan base to release all of the cut Jeff Goldblum impression footage. No, no, no, no, no, no. And informally, please. It's genuinely so funny and it's a problem.

You've told our parents about it. Oh, sorry. We've told our parents about it. And we are all caps grown ass women. We have $5 to our names respectively, but you can have every cent straight up. Our Venmo's are, and then they list their Venmo's request it from us. Thank you for your time and consideration. We love and appreciate all your work.

So, okay. Well, I think that they're cowards. I think that they, I think that they're, they're snakes and tall grass and I don't trust them. So no, absolutely not. I just want you to know what the people have to say. All right. Okay. Well, the, you and Caitlin, the psychopaths, the psychopaths that approach you, I won't be, I don't, I don't negotiate with terrorists is all I have to say. And you know, there's a lot of tales from the gas station to be read. And there's Jeff Goldblum is a thing.

Wendy Goldblum is a thing of the past. And I think it needs to remain that way. When I was at the live show in Dallas in front of 700 people, Brandon Herrera came and asked me to do the Jeff Goldblum impression. So I did on stage. Do you know what that was like? You know, I'm going to guess...

There were screams of terror. Screams of joy. Women were ripping their clothes off. Men were praying to me, actually. That's how good it was. It's like Elvis Presley. Yeah. You're better. Only better. Okay. You're just jealous. All right. Well, you know, hopefully we'll see if that translates over to our shows, dude, because I have a feeling that people are going to get a lot of booze. You want a lot of booze? Oh, my God. Oh.

Without further ado, let's hop into part one of Tales from the Gas Station written by Jack Townsend. Part one, Wendy, take it away. Oh, we forgot the thing. Thank you for the likes and everything on audio platforms. Keep it up. Thank you for the support on the show. It means the world. Let's get into it. See, I remember this stuff 100%. Listen on Spotify. Apple podcast. Thank you.

There better be a strobing effect. And if there's any epileptic people listening to this podcast, I want them dead far away. If you have, if you have epilepsy, I want you dead right now. Next merch drop. That's what it's going to be. It's a t-shirt that when it moves, it's true. Yeah, exactly. As an led is like this old blood blow battery pack in the back of the car. Our next merch strap is, is it's a flashlight that says creep cast. And it's only setting is like whatever the perfect tune is to cause seizures. Yeah.

There you go. It's just, I think that's good. That's good. Quality merchandise is what I would say. I'd buy it, you know, cause some car wrecks, just stand on the side of I-75 and pointed a tractor trailers to go by. I think it's a great idea. You had arrested, get arrested immediately. Yeah.

When I get arrested, I'm just like, it's a merchandise. Oh my God. I'd say to lock him up, throw away the goddamn key is what I would say. I can't wait for you to be forced to spend a week around me.

I'll be, you will never see me. I'll be in the shadows until I miraculously appear on stage. I'm going to, wherever you're staying, I'm going to stay somewhere else. And then docs where you're at and just see what happens. It'll be like a horrible thing to do. I think it'd be funny. I think it'd be a good time at my live show. Someone walked up and handed me a box and said, don't worry. It's not a bomb.

very loud i don't like that yeah that's going to happen to you i guarantee it no the meet and greet thing that's just you that's i'm not a part of it yep sure sure thinking yep i'll be there yeah hey you can request refunds uh but just from hunter's portion of whatever his cut is uh because i'll be there okay just kidding no refunds idiot hey everyone we're going to take a quick break from the show to talk about today's sponsor the truth is everyone needs help with their money i know i do

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But for now, you can just get started for free. Check it out and see if Rocket Money is right for you. Again, that's rocketmoney.com slash creepcast to get in on this fantastic offer today. Thank you so much to Rocket Money for sponsoring the show. And we are now on to a word from Hunter. Part one. At the edge of our town, there's a shitty gas station that's open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If you were to go inside, you'd see row after row of off-brand chips, cookies, potted meats, and ramen.

Expiration dates suspiciously missing from canned goods like they were filed off years ago. It's a misguided attempt to control inventory turnover. A faded wet floor sign from way back covering a crack in the foundation by the cooler the descents turned into a pothole. The pothole, a collection point for sticky spill-off, has become a miniature tar pit collecting countless insect corpses and the occasional small rodent. Nobody ever complains about the aesthetic.

By some providence bordering on supernatural, the health inspector was repeatedly signed off on the business, always kindly ignoring both the faint smell of some kind of mysterious chemical cocktail that is the defining characteristic of the establishment and the family of mutated raccoons that live in the crawlspace behind the grease trap. We think they're mutated anyway. At the very least, they must be inbred to the point of mental retardation.

The alpha, a muscular three foot tall son of a bitch named Rocco has been spotted multiple times chewing on people's tires. It has been run over at least twice, but keeps coming back. I don't trust raccoons. I've never been a big raccoon guy. I don't even think they're cute. You know what I mean? You like rec? Do you think raccoons are a cute looking animal?

Okay, whoever has the list going, I'm going to start a list in this room of the stuff that is normal that people like. Add raccoons to it. It is not normal for people to like raccoons, dude. People associate rabies with raccoons. Hunter, stop. Okay. I...

Raccoons are my favorite animal in the world. I love them to death. Raccoons are your favorite animal in the world? Growing up in East Tennessee, they would come up on the porch at night and put their little hands out. They'd want marshmallows and stuff. They're just sweet little...

Oh, that's why your hands are swollen all the time. Shut up. We've gotten 16 raccoon bites and you have perpetual rabies in your hands. They would, they would get into the trash. I always said I was going to get rabies, but I didn't care. They would get there. There we go with the accent changing now I'm Creole or something, whatever that is. No, that's Alabama. Yeah.

Okay, look, the raccoons are like these little sweet creatures. They're like little cats. They're kind of fat. And then like other than getting in your trash every now and then, they'll just hang out near the house. They're cute. They carry their babies around. They're adorable. Everyone likes raccoons. The only time they bite people's fingers is when like people mess with their babies or something like that. Like they're perfectly peaceful. I love them. They're cool. I love raccoons. Someone at one of the live shows, which is as you described them, terrorists,

They have a pet raccoon and they wrote me a letter and then had their raccoon do a little paw print on the bottom of it. It was so cute. I would have crumbled up and I would have thrown it in their face and said, get that shit away from me. I bet you would. You know what? Why don't whoever shows up at the live show? Why do you want to talk to that guy? You don't meet and greets just for me. It'll be a better show. Just wait.

I do not blame you. The meet and greet is completely on your shoulders. Okay. If someone in the comments of this one leaves like the list of stuff Hunter doesn't like, I will, I promise I will write it down somewhere here and we will keep a live tally of things that he is like bad about short list. Sure.

Short list. Yeah. A couple of things. Yeah. Rational man. Talking to people in public, like speaking to someone at a gas station. That was one. Rational. Cuddling. That was one. Pet names. Rational. Just anything that involves care or love. You're just, you're just against. Okay. All right. Yeah. He quit. He quit because he knows I'm right. Anyway, back to the gas station.

That lingering smell, a sweet combination of honeysuckle, ammonia, vomit, and who knows what else, has never been positively identified. But the prevalent theory is that it's coming from the cracks in the foundation, wafting up from underground. It's strongest right after a rain, and pungent to the point of tear-inducing if you get too close to the storm drains, where even Rocco and his clan refuse to tread. If you were to go inside, you might also see the bathroom cowboy. He exists as a sort of urban legend.

Even though he's never been officially confirmed to exist, we have several security camera recordings of a man fitting his description, entering the building, heading into the bathroom, and leaving. What makes him legendary are the things people claim to see him doing in the bathroom. Stories run the gamut from pretty weird to impossibly bizarre. Like the guy last week who went to pee but changed his mind when he saw a man dressed as a cowboy handing out balloon animals. The fuck? The fuck?

I also would refuse to piss. I'd be like, I'll just piss outside by my car. It's like, I'm good, thanks. Yeah. Or the next day when another customer stepped into the bathroom to see a man wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, boxers, and boots with spurs sitting at an old-fashioned stone sharpening wheel, literally grinding an axe. When he walked in, the bathroom cowboy stopped what he was doing, looked up with a smile and a tip of a hat and said...

Come on, man. Come on with it. By the time he could find an employee to follow him back to the bathroom, the cowboy had vanished. Bench grinder and all. The cowboy that may or may not haunt the gas station bathroom appears to follow a code of rules. He only appears when you're alone. He never hurts anyone. And he's always polite. The prevailing opinion about him is that, honestly, he doesn't seem that bad. Especially when comparing him to some of the other things going on in that place. So wait, they're saying that it is confirmed that...

cowboy ghost, polite cowboy ghost. And that's just, people are okay with that. They have footage at the gas station of someone walking into the bathroom and walking out. But people say when they go to the bathroom after he's in there, he'll always be in some bizarre state, like either like grinding an ax or handing out balloon animals. Uh, but he's always polite. So because he's not malicious, the employees at the gas station just kind of coexist with it. Sure. Okay. Yeah.

So far, how do you feel so far about the whole there's a gas station that supernatural things happen at? It's okay. I think it's really early to see if I'm hooked in big time yet. Okay. I like it conceptually. I like the idea because there's been a bunch of like, especially on road trips, like stopping at a gas station middle of nowhere at 2 a.m. where it's kind of like very uncanny when you're in there and everything. I think that's a cool setting for something like this. The way he described the...

The sewage basically smelling like vomit. The amount of times I've been in like the middle of nowhere gas station, it smells exactly like that. It's so true. Yeah. So true. I don't know why, but it just vomit. The smell of just wet vomit. Brutal. If you go inside, you might instantly get a toothache. It's a strangely common phenomenon that nobody really understands. It should go away on its own after a couple hours.

If you do go inside, you will almost definitely see me. I'm sitting behind the counter because I'm the only full-time employee and I'm almost always here. You may catch me reading a book because for some reason the internet doesn't work way out here and cell phone service is dicey on good days and non-existent almost. If you need to make a call, you can leave and go up the hill a ways, preferably back towards town because the other way will take you into the woods and you don't even want me to go into all the reasons that's not a good idea.

Or you can pay me 25 cents a minute and use the store's landline. That arrangement was cooked up by the owners and I have to actually enforce it because they do check the phone records. Sorry. While you're here, don't be offended if I don't strike up a conversation because if I'm being completely honest, I don't always know for sure if everyone that comes through these doors is real or not. And if I had to acknowledge everyone in that place that could be an actual person, I would lose my mind. And we don't need any more of that going on around here.

I guess that the point I'm trying to make is this: weird things happened to me working at the shitty gas station at the edge of town. I wish I could easily decide what was the weirdest thing to ever happen to me, but I can't. There were so many. I've seen a total of four coffins inside the store on three different occasions.

I've met at least a dozen people wandering back into town from the woods claiming they had escaped aliens or government conspirators or the like, and that they had no money but needed to make a call, and could I please just let them use our phone before they find them again. But rules are rules, and I'm not going to lose my job just because you didn't escape captivity with a little pocket change. Then there was Farmer Brown. Yeah, that's his real name. Who got mad at us and complained about the bulk feed we'd been ordering him.

He insisted something was wrong with the product because all of his animals suddenly had human faces. We settled with him by charging a significant discount on his next couple purchases. He stopped coming in one day and they found what was left of his body inside a bedroom at this farmhouse that had been locked from the inside. As far as I know, they still haven't figured out what happened. Anyway, I guess I could tell you a story or two, but first I need to get ready for work. And that's the end of part one.

Feels like a setup to like a show. Yeah, that's what I meant when I said it's like a Twilight Zone thing. Sure. Like you have your core thing and then it's like, here's a tale of this, a tale of this. Yeah. It's like an anthology setup, basically. That's a fun setup, though. I like the idea. I'm curious to see some of the...

people that come through the doors of this mysterious gas station. Yeah, it's like a vignette story, right? It's not so much about like one character or anything. It's like, here's a setting. Here's a setting, like, you know, sprinkled around. It does read like a little bit like an anthology, a little bit different times or different little short stories, maybe. What's it? He said the farmer stops coming. His what was left of his body was in a bedroom.

And he locked it from the insides. Lord knows what happened to that guy. Yeah. Who knows? Good God. So something not great. Yeah. I like that. I like that because it's like, it is like, it is a creepy horror idea of like what was left of his body was in a bedroom locked from the inside, but it's also delivered comedically, you know?

Like, like it's kind of goofy, but it's trying to be so it doesn't come off as cringe, right? No, it's all very intentional. Yeah. I like it. So anyway, we are now on to part two. Part two. At the edge of our town, there's a shitty gas station that's open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and sometimes longer. If you were to go inside, you'd probably see the tired cashier sitting behind the front desk doing his best to mind his own business. He's real. You may also see someone else. You may also see something else.

If you're curious about the reality of anyone or anything else, including yourself, inside the small ammonia-scented, flickering, fluorescent collection of off-brand junk food, dirt, four walls, and a roof, I recommend that you follow the cashier's lead to mind your own business. I've been working at the gas station almost nonstop since I graduated high school. At this point, I doubt I could quit if I wanted to, but enough about me. Let's get back to the interesting thing, the gas station.

I spent a decent amount of time yesterday at the start of my shift trying to decide which story would be worthy of being my first to document to the world. Anytime I tell someone outside of the gas station anything about what happened therein, I know what to expect. People don't believe it, or people don't want to believe it. Imagine the difficulty I had trying to call the sheriff's station to explain that half of a pig broke into the store and is currently running amok, breaking things and screaming with the voice of an old woman. "You said a pig?" "Yes, I meant half of a pig!"

Yes, a pig. The front half. No, this isn't a joke. I'm at the gas station. What do you mean which gas station? The shitty one at the edge of town. Where is that? You must be new. Can I please talk to someone else? The front half. Yeah, the front half. Like, duh. Yeah, the cop being like, well, which half of the pig? Oh, the front half. We'll need to do something about that, man. It's a bad calf. It'll tire out.

It'll tire out soon enough. She finally put me through to Tom. Tom's the sheriff's deputy that drew the short straw all those years ago and had to come out to the gas station for the first time back before his hair was all white. He's been in enough times now that all I have to say when he picks up the line is, It's half a pig. It won't stop screaming and I can't catch it. And then he grunts, mutters something about that being, and then drops out to help me catch it.

Tom is a good guy. Just like a guy who doesn't give a fuck anymore. Half pig. Got it. With the voice of a woman. Okay. A woman, huh? Big half pig. All right. Asked around, but nobody knew where the pig had come from. I asked around, but nobody knew where the pig had come from. This was back when farmer Brown was still alive and he came down to take a look and provide his expert opinion.

According to Farmer, the pig had somehow been chopped down the middle, but miraculously none of the important organs were hit. Nothing supernatural about it, just really unusual. It's stated the local elementary school is a kind of mascot for the summer before a scientist and his team from somewhere up north offered the school $1,000 to let them take it.

For science, I suppose. That's such a funny idea that a school, like an elementary school... I kind of wish the... I wish the school kept the half pig. That's kind of sick. Well, $1,000, they can't pass that up, right? Yeah, I can't pass up $1,000. We got to give it to the children. It's also funny to imagine like a super secret corporation being like, I'll give you $1,000 US dollars. I will give you $1,000 United States dollars for this.

Hell yes, Mr. Scientist, man. Anyway, I don't mean to ramble, but my point is that it's hard to believe some of these stories if you haven't been inside the gas station at least once. And maybe you have. We're the only gas station for miles. We're close enough to some big crossroads. If you've ever been out driving in an unfamiliar part of the country and found yourself lost, it's not impossible that you could have found yourself at my doors. Maybe looking to top off your gas. Maybe to ask for directions.

If you have a strange memory of a weird place that somehow doesn't seem to fit with the rest of your memories, there's a chance we've actually met. Oh, I like that sentence. If you have a memory of a place that doesn't fit, then there's a chance we've met. That's cool.

Now that makes it the whole, makes the whole setting seem very dreamlike. Yeah. Yeah. It, it almost implies that like, Oh yeah, that weird space between here and there, you can't put your finger on. That's where I live. Did I stop? I can't remember. I feel like I stopped for gas, but I can't remember. Yeah. Kind of like a foggy memory. There's been a couple of times I've been like that where I've been like driving late at night and then, uh,

I'm like, did I fill up? And then I look at the gas tank. I'm like, oh yeah, you know, you had to do something, but it was, it's more like, I couldn't tell you where I stopped. You know what I mean? Yeah. Oh yeah. I stopped outside of here, but I couldn't tell you what the place was. I don't know what it was. I can't remember anyone I saw inside. Like, yeah, yeah. This, uh, that's what I mean by, I like this as a setting for this kind of story, like an in-betweeners almost.

now back to last night i was sitting behind the counter with a pen and book of receipt paper trying to remember the strangest thing that has happened to me that still falls within the realm of believability i've had plenty of things happen that were strange but so unbelievable i won't even waste anyone's time ever telling them i call those the try and forget stories when diego interrupted my concentration diego is one of the part-timers at the gas station we have a long list of part-time employees

The owners like to hire transients, drifters, hitchhikers, passerbys, and runaways looking for work for a few days. I try not to get to know the part-timers. They come and go after a few days, sometimes a few weeks, rarely long enough to form any kind of meaningful relationship. But then there's Diego. Diego has been working here for almost a year now. He started as part of the prison work relief program, unloading trucks twice a week.

He was the only one of the 12 prisoners that didn't disappear during a freak snowstorm last December, but that's none of my business. I ain't no snitch. I didn't tell them where they went. Exactly. I'm not going to broken pry. Fuck that. Diego did his time. When they released him, he came to work here, cleaning the store and unloading trucks. He comes in six times a day for each of his 30 minute shifts.

Now that I think about it, I'm not exactly sure what he does during those shifts. The store is never clean and trucks only come twice a week, exclusively during the daylight hours as per an arrangement following the incident. Maybe one day I'll ask Diego what he does for the owners. All I know is that he's the closest thing to a friend that I have here. I like the, uh, just like the quick world building. It's like, well, the trucks only come during daylight since the incident, you know, stuff like that.

Yeah, it's also setting a little bit of mystery, too, with the idea of setting up the fact that Diego's an ex-convict. He's here. We're not really sure what he does. He unloads trucks, but it's all very, like, who knows? Yeah, and he comes in six times a day for 30-minute shifts. So it's like, why? Almost reads like a drug-dealing kind of thing. Yeah, yeah. Just like some other kind of weird crime. Yeah, just another weird detail of the gas station, yeah. Right. Yeah.

Go ahead.

I usually hate to leave the front of the store unwatched. We have the occasional shoplifter. Plus, there was that one time Rocco got in and made off with two cases of cigarettes. The raccoon is stealing cigarettes. He's stealing camel crushes, dude. I love Rocco. I want to meet him. Not me, dude. Shut up. But Diego seemed serious, so I made an exception for him.

once we were in the sub freezing safety of the walk-in cooler Diego asked me if I had seen the guy in the suit I said yes I saw him he asked if I knew the guy I said yes I'd seen the guy around town his name was Kiefer he was running for some kind of office I can't remember which one stopped by the gas station every now and then he drove an old black SUV that only took premium I didn't know him much from in town but he was definitely local

His picture was framed in my high school's trophy case for one of those sports competitions he had won years and years before I got there. We only have so many things to be proud of, I suppose. I knew of Kiefer, but we weren't exactly acquaintances. I told all this to Diego, who shook his head and said, No, that can't be Kiefer. Why not? And Diego told me, That can't be Kiefer because Kiefer is dead. I killed him two days ago.

and his body's in the trunk of my car right now oh i like that that's cool also immediately i like how they kind of quickly established that diego i'm guessing is a hitman for the uh or do you think that's his job here at the place he probably does some kind of violent work yeah yeah i almost started that's like his job there yeah like anytime something gets a little too rough he takes care of it yeah sure yeah

That's also just fun. It's like that can't be him because I killed him two days ago. Yeah, he's in my car right now. And that's when things started getting weird. I really don't want to do this. I recognize how awful it is to pause a story at a place like this, but I'm about to head back to work. I'm only just now taking my lunch break and I came all the way down here to the library to document last night before I forgot. I still have to eat and change out of these dirt covered clothes before I head back. I did a lot of digging last night.

Plus, I don't want to leave the part-timers alone with all those lawn gnomes until we know exactly what's going on. Just all over the front yard of the gas station, there's lawn gnomes everywhere. Just invisible lawn gnomes everywhere. Look, I just don't want to leave them until we know for sure that they're not going to kill us.

Oh, I forgot to mention the lawn gnomes. I'm so scatterbrained right now. Like I said, it was a very strange night. Between the hand plants, Farmer Junior, and that cultist that wouldn't leave me alone, I hardly had any time to collect my thoughts. And of course, there's the Diego situation. I promise I'll come back and tell you all about it, but first I need to grab some coffee.

End of part two. You know, this is very, this is like a fun, cute kind of story. I like it. Yeah. Like there's clearly some like horror elements in there. Like I killed him two days ago and stuff, but it's more so just like, it's just fun. It's like, um, I'm trying to, there's something in my head that it reminds me of like a horror thing. That's more so just like,

It's like a Stephen King or like an RL Stein thing, you know? Yeah. I'm trying to think too. I know what you're saying. It kind of, well, my mind is it always going to, it's like a supernatural clerks. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Like it's like, you have just this guy who is kind of doing this mundane job. It has all of these kinds of crazy eccentric things going on around him. Gee, I don't know why I keep picturing the main guy looking like Dante from clerks. This would be really fun.

- I don't know why I had that thought. - It reads like a fun series. - But you could have so much fun with like the visual elements of this, you know? And it just be one contained set. So I don't know. I like this a lot. It's fun. So yeah, part three. - Can I tell you a secret? I'm in desperate need of medical attention and care. I'm so old, fat, I'm falling apart at the seams. But I don't know what doctor to use. I don't know anything about doctors.

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Sometimes when I get too close, I can feel that thing on the other side tugging at the corners of my mind. I'm worried about Diego. He doesn't seem to be taking this so well. In case you don't know, I work at the shitty gas station at the edge of our small town, and weird things have been happening for as long as I've been here. I finally started to tell some of my stories, and if you haven't caught up yet, I'd like to invite you to read parts one and two.

When I returned to work after my post yesterday, I was delighted to find a stack of receipt papers sitting neatly on the register counter with notes written in my own shaky handwriting. I don't remember writing these notes, but then again, I don't remember a lot of things. Just the nonchalant nature of like, well, I seem to have written this for myself. Well, even it's a funny way of being like a very nonchalant, like I'm an unreliable narrator. Yeah.

Take what I say with a grain of salt. Even you reading this right now, the recollection of events may not be accurate to the reality of them. You as the audience member must learn to differentiate fact from opinion. It's possible that I'm working too hard or maybe the fumes coming from beneath the gas station are playing tricks on me or perhaps it's just another side effect of my condition. At any rate, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth or any other animal in any other orifice for that matter.

Admittedly, this reminds, I think I've figured out, this reminds me of something you would write. You know what it really reminds me of a little bit? It reminds me of your setup for like the Papa Meat stuff where you're in the house and it's like the house is always the same setting, but more stuff is visiting you at the house and it like compounds and stuff like that.

Like it's very, it's like blues clues, but like meets goosebumps, you know? Yeah. That's, that's a fun way to describe it. Kind of like our narrator, Steve. Yeah. Yeah. Like, Oh, we just got a letter. Oh, it's from me last night in my drunken delusion. Yeah. Forgot about that. Admittedly, my handwriting isn't the best. And at times scratches on the receipt paper become nearly illegible.

So if anything herein seems unbelievable, it's probably because I copied it wrong. With that in mind, this is my best effort at a transcription. So, 7 p.m. It's getting dark earlier these days. 7.30 p.m. Farmer Jr. came into the gas station tonight asking about the hand plants. I told him that they weren't there anymore. He left his phone number scribbled on the back of a coupon for 15% off bulk pig feed from an online retailer. I think he's trying to send me a message. 9 p.m.

I think maybe some kids are playing a prank on me. I found a lawn gnome behind the pork rinds. I didn't think much about it. Put him in a box behind the counter. But then I found another matching lawn gnome in the soda case. I added this one to the box as well. It wasn't until I noticed the third and fourth lawn gnomes I started to suspect something. I'd taken out the...

Well, the first two I could chalk up to, you know, coincidence. All these damn gnomes. But by the third or fourth, the man has to ask himself, what is divine appointment? What is just circumstance? I had taken out the garbage and found the gnomes perched atop the branch of a tree. Perched atop the branch of a tree next to the dumpster, staring down at me like gargoyles. I used a chair and broom to knock them down. And my

I put them in the box with the other three. Dude, that's so funny. The visual of like, get down from there. Like swinging a broom back and forth. When I got back to my desk, I found a note on my chair written in red ink. Says simply, I'm in the walls. That was really, whoa, that was a great gnome voice. Wow. I don't know who wrote it, but the paper smells like oranges and plumeria.

What the fuck is Plumeria? I've never heard of that in my life. I'm not even going to look it up. I'm just going to assume it smells. I'm trying to even just picture it in my head. I need to just formulate a smell I've never heard before or smelled before.

Plumeria, also known as frangipani, is a genus of flowering plants in the subfamily. I'm not going to try to pronounce that. Of another family. It is most species are deciduous shrubs or small trees. It's just a super obscure flower. That's weird. Shout out, but all right. 10 p.m.

There's a strange scratching noise coming from the tiles above the cash register. I fear Rocco and his brood may have infiltrated the building again. That's so funny. Just the casualness of like, I fear Rocco. Like he's a general at war. I fear they've invaded the Eastern Front.

11 p.m. Farmer Junior called the store. He asked about the hand plants. I assured him that they weren't there anymore, and if they ever showed up again, I would call him. I think he's beginning to suspect that I'm lying. Midnight.

One of the cultist recruits wandered in from the community in the woods. They hate it when I call them cultists. I know the recruits aren't supposed to interact with the outside world, but from time to time, they'll sneak into town, never any further than this gas station and buy cigarettes. They aren't supposed to try and recruit new members until they graduate to the honorable senior cultist status. But this one isn't a very good cultist. I know they aren't supposed to have names, but I'm going to call this one Marlboro. I'll let you guess why.

Marlboro. See stuff like this is so fun. Like, Oh yeah, there's a Colt in the woods. And one of them came in here. I call Marlboro. He likes, he likes smoke reds, you know? It's like fun. Setting up a lot of stuff to where it's like at any time you could just like spend a bunch of time going down this cold lane if you wanted to. Right. It's just setting up all these like nice little open stuff. You'd be like, Oh, well the Colt has have a gnome and the gnome found the half pig and it's yeah. Yeah, exactly.

I like to stuff like that feels logical because within a world where it's like a supernatural area, it's like, yeah, if there was a supernatural force, there's probably a cult that worships something in it. Right. And it's like, yeah, but I don't really care about all that religious stuff. I just work at a gas station nearby.

Yeah, well, it's become so normal. Like, I mean, I see ghost. I see half pigs. So it's like, oh, a cultist walks in. Okay. Yeah, it's like it shouldn't bother you. It's like other people would see this stuff. And yeah, there'd be cults and religions and like people freaking out over it. But he's just so like, he's just so melatonin about it. It's funny. Right. Marlboro stayed in the store for at least half an hour trying to convince me to go back to the compound with him. I hate it when I call their home a compound.

He tried to appeal to my logical side, but I let him know politely but firmly that I was not interested in logic. I can't remember when he left. 2 a.m. I found myself digging again. Sometimes on slow nights, I let myself drift. My mind goes somewhere, and when I come to, I wonder, where was I just now? Who was that controlling my body while I was gone? My body did those things I've done so many times before that I guess it's learned how to do them without me.

My body restocked the cigarettes, my body rotated the frozen drink machine, my body scraped the mold off the bottoms of the ice buckets, my body emptied the rat traps, and somewhere along the way, my body found a shovel, went out back, and started digging a hole. Actually, I shouldn't say my body started digging. I've been, or rather, my body has been digging this hole off and on for the last few months.

Usually I come to after a few shovelfuls. This time I added another foot deep before I snapped back to reality and asked, oh, there goes gravity. Oh, and asked myself, what the hell am I doing? That's an interesting note. The idea that, that for some reason, anytime he, he isn't in control of himself, like something compels him to dig.

You ever have those times whenever you're driving and you kind of like come to and you're just like, oh my God, I've been on autopilot. Yes, yes. Like taking turns, like everything. That scares me. It's weird because you'll get to a point and you'll be like, okay, so...

I know I had to cross this distance. I have absolutely no memory of driving it today. How did I do that? Like, how did I autopilot drive that far? It's so especially like turns and stuff. Like, I mean like all kinds of veering around corners, all kinds of like you were dealing with traffic and stuff like that. Like how did I even, ah, it's so weird. Freaks me out a bit. 3:30 AM. I just noticed a door at the end of the hallway past the walk-in cooler. How long have I worked here? Never noticed that door before.

It seems disappointingly ordinary as far as doors go, except for the fact that it's warm to the touch and feels like it's vibrating. I tried the handle, but it's locked. It's disappointing, except of course we factor in the detail that it is hot and vibrating. When I go back to my register, I noticed a man in a trench coat standing outside beyond the gas pumps, just outside the reach of our lights, dangerously close to the road.

I can't tell if he's looking at me or if he's looking past the building at the woods on the other side. Ocean wouldn't stand there like that, stoic and still with his arms reaching down past his knees. Kind of weird, awkward, like, I don't know. When I think of some guy past his knees, I think they're kind of like bent over a bit. He's like his arm or his like shoulders. Oh, I was thinking of like super long arms.

You're probably right that he's like hunched over. I imagine he's hunched over a bit. His shoulders are pressed up and his hands are just past his knees like that. Just kind of a weird stiff looking man. I like how he's so used to this stuff. He's just like, are you going to buy something or are you just going to stand there like, you know, chop chop? Yeah. The scratching against the tiles in the ceiling over the counter is getting louder.

Guessing that's Rocco, right? Yeah. Or he'd say, well, he heard scratching and said, it's probably Rocco. So we don't know that it's Rocco. Yeah. 345 AM. Man came into the store rolling a large white ice chest behind him. He had sunken blue eyes, wiry hair coming from his nose and ears, long bony fingers and paper thin skin revealing every blue and green vein beneath the translucent dermis.

He wore a bowler cap and smelled like milk. I had definitely never seen him around before. He asked if we would be interested in partnering up with him. He sold ground meat at discount prices, but I told him that our store doesn't do well with the fresh foods category, recommending he try his hand at making jerky. Before he left, he scooped about a pound or so of raw ground meat from the ice chest onto a piece of parchment paper and gave it to me as a sample.

Once he'd left, I took the meat into the cooler where I found another lawn gnome waiting for me. I put the gnome into the box with the other seven. And those are just the fake ones, right? Like the statues that people are playing a prank on me, he said. Yeah, yeah, like the garden gnomes, you know? Right. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's those guys. They keep popping up everywhere, though. Like every time he goes somewhere else, there's a new gnome. 4 a.m. Diego just told me something very strange about Kiefer. 4.30 a.m.

There's a kid named Spencer Middleton who went to the same high school as me and Kiefer. Spencer was just a year ahead of me, but looked much older and acted much younger. I live in a small town, and small towns get bored. For entertainment, some turn to gossip, some turn to more sinister pastimes. The latter often fueled the former. There were rumors around town that Spencer liked to torture and kill animals. Rumors that Spencer's parents and siblings always locked their bedroom doors when they went to sleep at night.

Rumors didn't slow down any after the fire at Spencer's house. Spencer was the only one to escape unscathed. I once saw Spencer gleefully stomp on a lizard, throw his head back, and laugh. Some short time after his house caught fire for the second time, Spencer left town. Story went that he had gone off and joined the army. I didn't know what to think about that, so I simply didn't think about it. I would have been perfectly happy to never think about that, but after all these years I'm forced to...

Because Spencer Middleton just came to the store, ordered a cup of coffee, sitting in one of the booths, talking to Kiefer. Spencer survived the fire, joined some military, and now he's back in town, right? Definitely makes it seem like he is like...

I mean, some kind of, I, every time I hear someone say killing cats or whatever, or killing animals makes you think of a serial killer. Oh, I was just a serial killer. Yeah. Well, I do. I think serial killers, the logical route I thought maybe because he's talking to a dead guy, there's some kind of like incantation spirit summoning thing going on. No, you're probably that's, that's fair. Yeah.

Marlboro's back. He asked if I could spare him some time to talk about his fake religion. They hate when I call it a fake religion. I told him he had to leave and he seemed upset. Do you think the people, the cult people are actually real or do you think they're also? No, I think they're, well, it's like I said, it makes sense if they're real because if all the supernatural stuff happens in town, people are probably going to make a religion based around it. Sure. They're just, they're just like enamored with it. And he's just couldn't care less.

4.45 a.m. Spencer and Kiefer sat around for a while and didn't buy anything but two cups of coffee. When they finally left, I let Diego know. He had been hiding under a blanket in the walk-in cooler, although I can't really understand why. Diego explained to me exactly what happened. He had finished his shift a couple nights ago and just left the gas station when he saw Kiefer's SUV pulled over in a ditch at the bottom of the hill. Diego, being the good guy he is, decided to check and see if Kiefer needed any help.

He says that when he pulled up and got out of the car, he could hear what sounded like a loud, crunchy noise coming from just beyond the tree line. Diego went to investigate. That's when he saw something. When I asked Diego what he saw, he just started speaking Spanish in a fast panic sort of way. I don't speak Spanish, but I nodded along empathetically. The only word I could pick up was Striga, which is the name of a liquor we carry.

Oh, is that like the Strigo? Is that like the same thing? Am I right? What is Strigo? Strigo, it's S-T-R-E-G-O-I, I believe. Troubled spirits that are said to rise from the grave. Yes, they're effectively like demon-possessed vampires of sorts. They're like necromanced vampires, basically. Oh, that's kind of cool.

Yeah, so the Strigo is like this creature that's... Or Strigoi, however you pronounce it, is like this creature from... I want to say it's maybe French or like Italian legend. And it was like if someone dies and they were possessed, the demon like...

resurrects their body as like this monster of the night that eats people and stuff like that. And there was like very specific ways to kill it. One of the coolest things I remember about it is when you bury them, you decapitate them, you cut their hands off and you flip them upside down in the coffin. That way, if they ever do come out of it, they dig back to hell. I've always loved that detail. That's so cool. Yeah.

Now that all that could be completely off and Striga, but yeah, maybe he's saying like, maybe our author is like, I don't speak Spanish, but it sounded like Striga and what Diego's actually trying to get across as a street street, go street, go away, whatever. So interesting. Well, let's see. Let's see if it answers, whatever it was that Diego saw, it made him race back to his car as fast as he could and back out quickly without looking.

That's when he ran over Kiefer. Oh, shit. Diego's a good guy, but here he was in a bad situation. He stopped long enough to get out, check on Kiefer, and confirm that he was definitely dead. There's nothing he could do that would change that fact. It was an accident. Diego was on parole. There was that thing in the woods, and Diego had to make a decision. So he heaved the body into the trunk of his car and drove off.

Diego took me to his car and showed me the body. I can confirm 100% it was Kiefer in the trunk of his car. Not just because of his unmistakable face, but also because of his phone and wallet that were in his pockets. 5 a.m. I finally got tired of the scratching and pulled our ladder out of storage to see what the raccoons were doing in the ceiling. But when I pushed back the tile, the only thing up there was another gnome. That makes one dozen so far. 6 a.m.

The man in the trench coat is still outside. I love how there's like five things happening at once. There's a, there's a man that's jointed either. Yeah. Yeah. It's all like a natural, like spiraling. Cause there's a man outside past the lights. There's Kiefer, the dead guy who is talking to Spencer, the serial killer. There is gnomes that are appearing around everywhere and he keeps going out of his mind and digging periodically.

Like, it's just all this... Oh, and the cultist. Like, all this nonsense happening at once. The cultist came back in, demanding an audience with me, insisting that if I would just listen to him, I would see that his reasoning is superb and flawless, that I would be a fool not to join him in the perfection of logic and nirvana that his beliefs structure. I agreed to listen to his pitch if he would agree to ask the man in the trench coat to leave. Ha ha ha.

Fair bargain. Fair bargain, I would say. He's like, yep, I'll listen to whatever you want. If you can ask that dead guy over there to get out. Oh, shit. Our hasty verbal contract in place, I steeled myself to listen. Honestly, he did make a few good points, but I suppose that's to be expected from a viral thought experiment strong enough to convince perfectly normal people to abandon their real lives and go live in a commune in the woods past the shitty gas station on the edge of town. They call themselves Mathematists.

They believe that humankind exists to fulfill two moral imperatives: to decrease suffering and to increase happiness. A successful life increases happiness more than suffering. A decent life decreases suffering more than happiness. How good a person is can be determined by the spread between the happiness increased and the suffering decreased.

Obviously, if the individual has a negative spread, that is, if they've increased happiness less than they've increased suffering, or if they've decreased suffering less than they've decreased happiness, then that means, very simply, that the individual is bad. Therefore, if an individual causes a tremendous amount of happiness and suffering, one can simply determine which was higher and use this perfect rubric to determine whether that individual is good or bad. Simple, right? Totally.

The Mathematists believe that the world has been going about good and bad in the wrong way. For eons, we've been attempting to increase happiness, when instead we should have been focusing on decreasing suffering.

As happiness is a fluid concept, and the more happiness you create, the harder it is to sustain. As happiness has a clear set of diminishing returns. As happiness is a fluid concept, and the more happiness you create, the harder it is to sustain. As happiness has a clear set of diminishing returns. Suffering, however, is consistent. Suffering results from happiness coming to an end. Suffering is pure and eternal.

For mathematicians to be supremely good, they must simply end all suffering. That is why the mathematicians are working on a bomb to destroy the entire planet. Oh, wow. Immediately got the weird dudes in the VHS-94 that are holding that vampire. Yep, yep. That guy immediately reminded me of that. Like a weird militia out in the woods. We are going to destroy the ATF headquarters with this vampire blood. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

By ending all life on earth, they end an infinity of suffering into the future. With every life they avert, an entire lineage of people that would be born into a life of suffering will no longer. Every death is a preemptive mercy killing. Every happy moment that will no longer occur pales in the face of all the sad moments that are likewise prevented. And so, as Marlboro explained, their murder cult believes that killing is a kindness.

I told him that his ideas were stupid and he was stupid and that now he now had to go tell the man in the trench coat to go away. All that. I love how long the explanation was only for him just to say to me that disregarding of it. Yeah, it's like, well, that's stupid. Very consistent with his character, though. That guy over there at the edge of the light, you're going to tell him to leave because I don't like him. Cool. Stupid ideas. Go tell that guy to leave, please. Thank you. 630. The phone rang.

This is strange for two reasons. First, because it was not the landline. It was a cell phone, even though we do not get cell phone service way out here. Second, because it was the cell phone. The one that I took off of Kiefer's body. I'll admit, I was stuck in a bit of a moral quandary ever since Diego confided in me. On the one hand, Diego had killed someone. On the other, it was an accident and Diego's parole officer may not see it that way.

I thought I would have more time to figure this out. When the cell phone started ringing, I knew I had to make a decision. I answered it. I didn't speak first. The voice on the other line was one I recognized. It was Spencer Middleton. His cell phone in his wallet? I answered. He was right. I did. It was an accident. I explained. Can we do that? Absolutely. See, stuff like that's interesting too. Like the whole...

You know what we want? And he's like, yeah, I know what they want. They want the body. Like he just is understanding that whoever this is calling wants the body, you know? That's cool. 730. Diego came in for his shift at seven and I explained the deal to him. He wasn't thrilled, but as I laid it out very clearly, he didn't have a choice. We parked Diego's Camry behind the gas station near the growth of hand plants and made a point to stand far enough away to not get our ankles grabbed. Okay.

Kiefer's SUV drove up a few minutes later. Spencer was driving. He and Kiefer got out without a word, sized us up, and opened the back of their vehicle. Diego popped the trunk. Kiefer and I stared at each other, keeping eye contact the whole time while Diego and Spencer transferred the body from one vehicle to the other. Spencer had a tarp and blanket ready to wrap everything up. When it was over, Kiefer put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, You done good. Then they left. Diego started crying as I went back inside the store, and I heard a voice.

It was almost daytime and that's when the new part timer was supposed to take over. Interesting. So Kiefer and Spencer come up, right? And then they take Kiefer's body away, right? Yeah. It's pretty much like his ghost was pretty much just like you did the right thing. Yeah. Interesting. Yeah. Eight. The new part timer is late and I'm overdue for a lunch break. I made the best of my extra time here by putting price stickers on all the lawnmowers.

We're ringing them up as miscellaneous grocery for $9.99 each. And I've already sold a couple. That's a deal. I'm a really good employee. I'm a really good employee. These anomalous self-replicating lomgnones of unknown origin. $9.99. $9.99. 8.30 a.m. I went to the bathroom and saw a man standing there with his pants at his ankles. He wore checkered boxers and a cowboy hat. He smiled when he saw me and simply said in a somewhat sing-song voice...

Come on, man. Come on with it. I took the opportunity to ask him something that's been bothering me. Do you know, is everything going to be okay? The bathroom cowboy took a second to think, and he pulled up his pants and walked past me, spurs clinking against the bathroom tile. He stopped for a second when he was right next to me and said plainly, I appreciate it. Then he left. I honestly have no idea what that means.

Interesting. Oh, does that almost imply that the cowboy was waiting for like someone to, to acknowledge him or talk to him or something like that? Maybe before he could pass on. Maybe I'd have to think about if people interact with him before. I almost thought that he took it as a, him almost saying like, are you going to be okay? Are you doing okay? Yeah. Or something. Yeah. I can't, I can't tell. I'm kind of just as confused as the narrator. Either way. I like that interaction. That's fun. Yeah. That's fun. I like the cowboy.

These are the entirety of the receipt paper notes, but I did make a point to continue keeping a journal. I think this will be a healthy way of chronicling the weird events at the gas station. Maybe this will even help with my condition. I don't know. Next time something strange happens, maybe I'll come back and write more. Until then, I guess this is to be continued. Edit. Sorry, upon further inspection, I realized that some of the scribbles on the receipt paper may have been transcribed incorrectly.

I also made some adjustments to the spelling to fix some typos. While I was at it, I added another typo just for the observant reader. Lastly, upon the advice of some of my readers, I removed the part where I listed Farber Jr.'s social security number and address. Also, special thanks to the reader that pointed out that Striga isn't even a Spanish word.

I asked Diego about it when he came in for his fourth shift today, but Diego simply looked at me blankly and told me that he doesn't speak Spanish. God. That's so stupid. That's so...

this is great. I'm loving this so far. How do you feel? It's blown by. I mean, we're already at part five. I feel like it's, it's really like smooth, easy read. Like I said, charming. I hate just thinking charming. I'm like, Oh, that's nice. It is very charming. I agree. Also is a, did we get to part four? That was there a part four header I've skipped over? I think so. Yeah. I think we did part four.

Oh no, I think you're right. Part three. You know what I think it was? I think it was, there's that, there's those dot, dot, dots. I wonder if that's supposed to be part four. Probably. Yeah, you're probably right. So part five, I should begin this entry by saying how truly sorry I am to anyone who read part four. I had no idea that was going to happen. The agents have assured me that every trace of the story has been removed from the internet and that there's nothing to worry about. I was right. Look at me. That's fine. That's weird. The part four disappeared.

If you were unfortunate enough to have read part four, I beg you for your own sake, try to forget everything. If you experienced nosebleeds, dizziness, migraines, or hallucinations, go immediately to the emergency room. If you have a recurring dream of an Island made of song under no circumstances, should you approach or attempt to open the blue door with the painting of a crow on it? If you did not read part four, there was no part four. It doesn't exist. Forget you ever heard of it.

That's cute. I love stuff like that. It's like having fun with it. Like it, it understands a lot of the conventions, like the tropes that get played out a lot. And it's like, you know, like picking fun at them and stuff like that. I like it. Sure. Yeah. By now you probably already know that there's a shitty gas station at the edge of our small town and that very, and that weird things have been happening there.

The city council has personally asked me to stop talking about it, as there have been some astute readers that not only tracked down our small town from the brief descriptions I've given, but actually come and visited me at work. I heard that one of them has joined the Mathematist, and as far as I know, the other two are still missing. Once again, I am sorry. I'm not working right now. It's the first legitimate break I've had since I first started writing my stories on receipt paper all that time ago. Time moves funny here.

flowing slow and fast all at once like molasses out of a shotgun. It's a good thing I've been keeping a journal. I've got a few moments before my laptop dies, and I think now would be the perfect time to transpose my journal entries before the battery runs out or the blood loss gets me. Right now, it's a race to see what happens first. Before any of you worry, I've already called Tom. He said he's on his way here to give me a ride to the hospital. Right after he picks up dinner for the Ledford orphans, John Ben and little sister,

Tom and the other deputies have been taking turns checking in on and bringing them food in an attempt to make the whole thing less tragic. They've been living on their own ever since the incident that totally did not happen. And anyone who says otherwise is a damn liar. There I go again off on another tangent. I guess I'll get to it. Top up my journal entries while I still can. November 2nd, 2017, 9 p.m. So much has happened here since the Halloween incident that we aren't allowed to talk about.

I've been much busier than usual, dealing with the aftermath as well as the cult. The Mathematists have been cleaning out our inventory on a daily basis, planning ahead for some kind of secret event that I only get to hear about in hushed mutterings and whispers. Night is coming earlier and the weather's getting colder.

you don't be a really funny ending for this whole thing. I don't think it will in this way. Cause there's so many different elements, but if like, you don't hear about the cultists for like several entries and then it's like, I see a flash of fire. I guess the bomb. Yeah. Yeah. I see three missiles shooting into the air. It's like, Oh, those crazy sons of guns. Looks like they did it. November 3rd, 2017, 2 AM. The man in the trench coat is back.

He's standing just outside the gas station door, staring in. He's been there for almost an hour now. On the bright side, I haven't had a customer come in since he showed up. On the not-so-bright side, I can help but feel like he's trying to put thoughts into my head. He won't be able to, though. I've had way too much practice. Kiefer came in earlier, before the sun went down, and sat in a booth drinking coffee for a while. Eventually, Spencer Middleton showed up.

Spencer had a word with Kiefer, then came storming up to my register, screaming at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the display of lotto scratch-offs and threw it across the room. It was obvious that something had upset him. That's when I took the earplugs out. Everything okay? I asked stupidly. I knew damn well everything was never okay. Did you hear a word I just said? Spencer asked. I explained to him that I had taken to wearing earplugs in an effort to drown out the sounds of screaming that periodically radiate through the air vents. Ha ha.

I guess the screams must have stopped a while ago, or maybe I'd imagined them. Either way, I didn't need the earplugs anymore. At this point, Tom walked into the store, his white hair looking even whiter than normal. Spencer, I could see, became instantly aware of the deputy's presence. Where is he? He half whispered and half growled. Where's the other one? Diego? I asked. Spencer sighed. Sure, Diego. He's not due for another 20 minutes.

When he gets here, tell him we need to have a chat. With that, Spencer Middleton let out a shrill whistle and left the store. Kiefer jumped out of his seat and followed close behind. Tom helped me pick up the mess and put the lotto display back together without asking a single question. I wish more people could be like Tom. When Diego got to work, he told me that he had been having strange dreams. Dreams of something enormous. Living, breathing, underground, wild.

Oh, let's go, baby. Let's go, baby. Giant, let's go. I love that. I like that. The dream always ends the same way with the gas station collapsing into a giant sinkhole. I told him that Spencer was looking for him. That's when Diego grew solemn and asked me if he could show me something. In the freezer, behind a stack of boxes labeled non-aprear, whatever the hell that means. I've been here as long as I've worked here. There is a moving blanket and inside that blanket is another kefir.

Interesting. Cool. I love the little thread. It feels so warm. It feels so warm and nice. I feel like tucked in right now. All the little stories and threads and stuff. This is great. 3 a.m.

The man in the trench coat is finally gone. He left claw marks on the glass on the front door. I checked the security footage to confirm my suspicions. He always stays just outside the range of our cameras. Why can't I remember what his face looked like? Well, that's fun. 3.30 a.m. Marlboro was the first customer in the store after the man in the trench coat left. I told him that I was surprised he was still alive. We just took this for a compliment and said thank you. Ha ha ha ha ha.

I asked if he was ready for the big event, but then he just stared at me blankly. I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about, so I filled him in on how I had put it all together. The unusual cultist activity, the whispers, the buying up of all our supplies. I could tell that something was about to happen. Marlboro went pale in the face as I was talking and ran out the gas station before I could finish. 99 cent frozen drink still in his hand. I know I should write up an inventory loss slip for the theft, but I just can't bring myself to do it.

As hard as it is to explain, there's just something about Marlboro that makes me genuinely feel sorry for him. 6 a.m. I caught myself digging again. I don't know how long I was out there or who was running the store while I was gone. The hole is so deep now that I nearly couldn't climb out on my own. I should maybe think about considering the possibility of one day asking a doctor if this is normal. 8 a.m. Marlboro is currently crying in the dry storage closet. Ha ha ha.

Well, the cultist is upset now. I heard his feelings through his sobs. I could barely make out the story. Marlboro was sent on some kind of vision quest for the last week and has no idea what the other cultists have been stocking up for. When he went back to the compound earlier tonight, he found the whole place completely deserted. Beds were left unmade. Some plates had food on them. Fire still burning in the fireplace. He's

Everyone's clothes were still in their personal milk crates next to their sleeping bags. But the people, all of the people were simply gone. Marlboro isn't taking this very well, but I have a business to run. So I asked Diego to help me carry him into the dry storage area. I figure he can work through some stuff in there and then maybe when he's done, he'll just, I don't know, go home. November 4th, 2017, 9 p.m. The exterminators just left.

They said they got all the snakes this time, but I have my doubts. This is great. November 5th, 2017, 5:00 PM. Kiefer came into the store again today and made some thinly veiled threats. He asked about Diego too, but I told him that I was tired of being the go-between and that if he had business with Diego, he needed to take it up with Diego. That's when Kiefer started getting weird.

You know this place is just a big experiment, and you're the little mouse. I asked Kiefer to buy something or leave, so he bought a pack of toothpaste and started to undress in the store and rub the toothpaste on his naked body. They tell me that something's wrong with your brain. Is that true? Nice crest.

Toothpaste all of your nipples and shit? Yeah, just rubbing it on his naked body like, they tell me something's wrong with your brain. Oh, something's definitely wrong with that brain. I try to be polite and avert my eyes as I answer. Yeah, you have some kind of mental condition. I answer it again. Yeah, that's too bad.

At this point, Kiefer was completely naked. He walked over to the frozen drink machine and filled a large cup with this sugary red concoction before turning it upside down on top of his head. Then he shook himself violently like a wet dog, flinging bits of cold, sticky debris across everything from the ceiling to the walls. Some of it even landing on my face, but I tried not to let him see me flinch. I knew this was all just an attempt to intimidate me, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. What is it exactly?

He asked as he crossed back to where his pile of clothes waited for him. What? What is your condition? Paranoia? Schizophrenia? The gay? No. I don't sleep. You don't sleep? Like, ever? I haven't slept a single day since high school. It's a rare genetic condition with no cure or no treatment and one day, it'll kill me. But until then, I handle the effects as best as I can. That must be it.

That must be why he can't reach you. Why? Who can't reach me? Interesting. Right then, Spencer came into the store, threw a blanket around Kiefer and ushered him out to the waiting SUV. A moment later, he came back into the store and offered me $100 for the security tape from tonight. I wonder what I'll spend my $100 on. Interesting. So we have some stuff there. Okay, so our main character can't sleep. First time we were...

Yeah, the first time he's ever mentioned that in the six entries or five entries so far. So, okay, we see some pieces. Diego dreams of a giant beast underneath the gas station, right? Yeah. And then eventually it will swallow it up. And then here we have Kiefer, who is like a clone or a ghost or something like that. Apparently Diego keeps killing him and he keeps coming back, right? Whatever that means. Mm-hmm.

So we have Kiefer who's like, oh, you can't sleep. That's why he can't reach you. So that's probably referring to the beast under the gas station, right? Maybe he talks to people through dreams. Right. And maybe that's what everyone else has fallen in line for. The cultist also disappeared. Could be the effects of the thing under the gas station or something. I would assume it's something under the gas station. Well, it makes you think that the thing under the gas station was telling them a particular thing of why, uh,

you know, the Mathematist would be doing that kind of objective anyways. Like, who knows? The visual is so funny of just like, oh, what's wrong with you? Like as he's rubbing toothpaste and like a drink on his naked body. Oh, you can't sleep. That's weird. Anyway, that's odd. 9 p.m.

I was beginning to suspect something wasn't quite right in the store. I've been finding empty candy bar wrappers strewn about, security tapes were seriously deleted, strange noises coming through the walls in the middle of the night when I should be alone. At least, more strange noises than usual. At first, I assumed it was just the raccoons. But now I know the truth. Now I know that Marlboro has been living here for the last two days. He just walked out of the supply closet wearing a bathrobe, nodded to me as he grabbed a stick of meat jerky, and went into the bathroom.

It had not even occurred to me that Marlboro never left. Oh, man, he's been there the entire time. He's been living, Marlboro's just living at the cooler. He's just showering and just eating their food. He has nowhere to go. I feel bad for him. He can't go anywhere. His people's gone. They're all gone. He's just showering at the gas station. September 6th, 2017. It finally happened. I suppose it was only a matter of time.

I know I should feel regret or shame or any of the other emotions that normal people feel after something like this happens, but all I feel is embarrassed. I came to a couple hours ago with a shovel in my hand. I'd been digging again. This time I'd made some serious progress. The hole was at least seven feet deep. Steep walls made of loose red clay. It took me a while to realize that I was staring up into an inky black night peppered with uncountable stars.

Some of the bigger celestials started to move. I realized that those stars were actually just the soulless red eyes of the mutant raccoon staring down at me over the edge of the hole. Awful, vile creatures. Probably looking for food. Those shameless beggars. Those shameless beggars. I checked the shovel out of the hole. That's when I heard it.

Imagine the sound of a butcher's knife hitting a watermelon like a solid wet thwack. Now imagine the watermelon gurgling and falling over like a sack of potatoes. Oh man, this metaphor has really gotten away from me. When I climbed out of the hole, I saw the shovel standing upright. The business end firmly large inside the open chest wound of a still twitching kefir. The kefir was dead before I got to his side.

In a final act of defiance, he had turned both of his middle fingers up to me. I felt just the slightest amount of respect for him before I went into a mental state that I can only describe as subdued panic. The first thing I wanted to do was find something to wrap the body in because surely Spencer Middleton was come for it soon. When I went into the gas station, I was surprised to find that Marlboro had taken it upon himself to work the cash register while I was gone. Ha ha ha!

He was ringing up one of our regulars, Charles, a great big fat man that always buys soap and boiled peanuts. All of these throwaways are great. All of these just like, oh, this guy that does this and that thing that does that. That's awesome. I nabbed a tarp off the shelf and took it outside. That's when I learned something. Kefir is heavy, like really heavy.

I understand that a human body is basically just a meaty flesh water balloon full of guts and excrement, but nothing could prepare me for how leaky and gross and heavy a dead man could be. It was only by some miracle that I managed to drag Kiefer through the back door and into the freezer without being seen. It took all my strength to pull the mask behind the boxes and onto the stack with the other three.

There's four dead keepers in there now. Yeah, I was going to say, he must be fucking collecting them like crazy. Well, it seems like between him and Diego, they keep accidentally killing Kiefer, right? Yeah. Because he backs into him. And then there's another time that's an accident. And all that...

Our guy did this time was he just threw the shovel out and it accidentally speared him in the chest. Yeah. So for, they keep accidentally killing Kiefer and then Spencer comes to take the bodies with Kiefer. Yeah. Like gives, gives them basically money and another Kiefer comes and like cleans up the mess too. I like the way it was referred to as the Kiefer, the shovel staff, the Kiefer. Cause it's just like Kiefer is like an entity at this point. There's like, at this point it's just a, yeah. Yeah.

Yeah.

The freezer door opened to Barbaral Inner, dragging a dead keifer by the legs. He stopped to make eye contact with me. When he saw the keifers at my feet, I said the only thing I could think of. Well, this is awkward. Erm, it's right behind me, isn't it? Erm, what the sigma? Erm, what the sigma? Erm, well this is awkward. Hi, you're probably wondering how I got here. Yeah, exactly.

Marble and I decided to open a bottle of Striga liquor and have a few drinks. Okay, so there is Striga liquor. He explained that he had accidentally killed Kiefer a couple times. I totally understood. The guy was just so easy to kill. At one point, Diego came into the freezer to grab a box of cookie dough. Didn't even acknowledge all the Kiefer. Yeah.

My laptop's battery is currently at 2%. It's obvious now that I won't have time to transcribe the rest of my journals before it dies. I don't have time to tell you how I ended up at the bottom of this hole underneath the store with a broken leg, but I can tell you that I hear someone moving around above me, which is good because I don't think I'm alone down here. If you're reading this, it means I managed to upload my story. If you're not reading this, then I don't know. What even are you?

Someone just called my name from the top of the precipice. I think it was Diego. I wonder what happened to Tom. Why didn't Tom ever show up? Come to think of it, I seem to remember Tom didn't survive the Halloween incident. Wait, who the hell have I been talking to this entire time?

I promise that if I survive long enough to recharge my battery, I will come back and tell the rest until then. I guess the story is to be continued, man. This is great. I'm loving every minute of this. This is awesome. Was it Diego that had the dream of falling down into the pit or whatever? The dream of the gas station falling into the sinkhole. Yes. Yeah. And then that's a fun way for, uh, to kind of in that part five is to have, uh,

our narrator pretty much to be like, and to have fallen down into a pit essentially and break his leg. So, and also there's obviously some kind of beast down there. Plus like the way that's worded where it's like, uh, wait, Tom, where'd Tom go? Wait, Tom didn't survive the Halloween incident. Like,

Like what do you mean the Halloween? Yeah. Yeah. I do think it is part four, but like we heard Tom mentioned earlier. So it's like, wait, there's a, there's a fake Tom. He's been talking to dealing with like, you see what I mean? That it's like everything happening, but it's aware that it's everything happening at once. Like it knows it's an absurd level of events going on. Well, yeah, it's also, it's, it's just so much happening that even our narrators just kind of like,

he gets lost within the flow of all these stories and things he's telling us. Yeah. Yeah. This is, this is great. How are you feeling about it? How do you, how do you feel about it so far? It's good. I mean, it's fun. I'm just, I feel like there's just so much happening. It's like whiplash. Yeah. Yeah. It's going so fast. It's back and forth all over the place. It like hits us with a little bit of humor, but then it also gives us a bunch of exposition and a lot of more stuff to chew on and digest. So I feel like I'm just like,

just kind of marinating and all of the story that's been given to me so far. Yeah. I feel that also about this. The visual is so funny of like all this absurdity happening at once. So our main character is like talking on the floor tomorrow, Burl, you know, the cultist who just like decided to start working there and live there. And the Diego comes in and steps over the same dead guy five times to get to cookie dough and just walks out like, Oh, excuse me. Yeah.

I wonder how much too, if you were, if you were seeing something happen so often, even if it is like the death of somebody, but imagine it's the same death of somebody that you barely know. It just becomes inconvenient. Yeah. Yeah. Well, it's like, you don't have to pay. It becomes a part of the clutter of the store. Almost all the dead bodies of the same guy. Yeah. Of the same guy. You don't pay attention to it. Cause it's just like, it's another meaningless kind of decoration or item in the store that you've passed a million times. Yeah.

Yeah, this is a lot of fun. All right, so part six. Hey, everybody. It's me, Jerry, from the gas station at the edge of town. Proud to be the newest member of the team. The owners were so impressed with how I managed to stay inside the store for several days without leaving or going insane that they offered me a full-time position while the regular clerk is out recovering from his leg injury. Happy Monday, y'all.

The other guy asked me to do him a small favor while he's getting some much needed rest and relaxation. He gave me the password to his laptop and detailed instructions to transcribe his journal entries from last week. In exchange, he agreed to keep me on as a full-time assistant after he gets back. I get to learn what to expect on the job through firsthand documentation. And he gets to continue his weird little blog thing. Now that's what I call a win-win.

I hate this guy. I'm sure he'll die. Don't worry. Yeah, I'm hoping so here. If I'm being honest, it is funny though to like in the middle of this have like a customer service guy come in like, hello, I'm from HR. Hey, I'm the new guy. If I'm being honest, this is probably the best thing that could have happened to me right now. Ever since the program mysteriously dissolved at the Mathematist community, I've been feeling very lost and vulnerable. Yeah, that's why I thought that I thought this might be Marlboro.

Like his actual name's Jerry, you know? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ever since the program mysteriously dissolved at the Mathematist community, I've been feeling very lost and vulnerable. I've been losing weight and having trouble sleeping. And when I do, I keep having these weird dreams of some enormous being deep below the gas station, waiting to devour us all. Clearly a mistake was made and I was overlooked.

If any of my old brothers and sisters are out there and see this post, please, please contact me. Tell the seniors they forgot me. I'm not mad. I miss you. I love you.

Before I get started, some guys in suits came by and suggested that if this blog were going to continue, that I make a PSA. If there is anybody still alive that read the story about what happened here on Halloween, don't wait for symptoms to start. Just please go to the nearest emergency room or call the CDC and tell them that you are experiencing the effects of Rommel's Syndrome.

So yeah, anyway, back to the journals. I'm going to do my best because the guy's handwriting is awful, but here's the parts I could read. That's a fun intro. You have Barbaro like, oh, yep, the guy's in suit said, don't wait for symptoms. Just get treated now.

Well, I also like that the guy is just like the owners are just like, Hey, you're you're, you've been here for so many days. You refuse to leave the store. Do you just want to work here? It's like, wait, you haven't left for three days and you're not dead. Uh, do you need a job? It's a very cultist thing to do as well. Like a guy who's vulnerable and kind of like, you know, in, in, in hard times immediately just gets hooked into another kind of crazy. We'll take you in. Yeah, exactly. Yeah.

November 7th, 2007, 7 p.m. The man in the trench coat was standing out back when I went to take out the garbage tonight. I don't know why the man in the trench coat keeps visiting my store or why I've never gotten a good look at him. He was standing at the tree line just beyond the dumpsters, staring as he ever did. Tonight, I stared back. The hinge of his jaw began halfway up his face where his nose should have been. The edges pulled back to either ear in a skeletal grin.

His tiny, milky-white eyes were beads behind the oily black hairline that hung down straight in bangs all the way to his cheek jowl. His impossibly wide mouth bisected the head between greasy hair and wet flesh. Drool, I would assume. We stood there, 15 feet apart, staring at one another for what might have been 10 seconds or 10 minutes until finally the man in the trench coat turned away, his legs bent funny in a way that human legs shouldn't be able to bend.

and he landed on all fours before galloping off into the woods I don't know if I've seen the last of the man in the trench coat oh that's a that's an interesting visual

I always wonder what the intention is too. We have these guys in suits coming in with kefirs makes me think, do you think that there's some kind of like lab or something around the area that is, I think, I think there's some like SCP organization type thing. Sure. That is like, that has like field agents monitoring what happens in the region.

Makes me think that they're keeping a close eye on the gas station because that's where this monster, I'm guessing, is residing under. Yes. I mean, there's a lot happening at the gas station. Yeah, a lot. A lot of anomalies going on. They're monitoring a lot of stuff, it seems like. And then we have a note from Marlboro. Holy shit. Did you guys read that?

This is some crazy shit. Sorry, Jerry again. I promise I'm not going to do the running commentary thing. I just had to say, wow, you know, this is some weird stuff. I mean, I remember him telling me a couple weeks ago to go outside and talk to a man in a trench coat. Super glad I did it now. What the hell? Okay, that's it. I'm done. Back to the transcriptions. The next page is soaked in blood and completely unreadable, so I'm going to have to skip that part. Okay.

Hundreds and hundreds of them. She had never seen so many in one place before, not even in her dreams. Before she left, she told me that I would see her again. Was that supposed to be a warning or a flirtation? That's the end of the story. Cut off my blood. Hundreds and hundreds of them. 3.23 a.m. It's a quieter night than I'm used to. The package from yesterday afternoon still sits on the counter where I left it.

The label is made out to me with a return address I don't recognize. The rectangular parcel is wrapped like a Christmas present with red and yellow stripes and feels heavy. I would say it's just the right size for a dead cat. I can't think of any realistic reason I shouldn't open the package, but there is something in the back of my mind telling me that to open this would be tantamount to opening Pandora's box.

that the contents of this little parcel will irrevocably change the course of my life in a way that may have seemed impossible before i feel like this box is full of butterflies ready to create tsunamis and i'm just not sure if i'm ready for that yet i think i'm going to teach marlboro how to clean the drink machines do you think that the narrator is a part of this organization as well i mean as a being like doesn't have to sleep he acknowledges that it's sick it's bad for him but do you think it's kind of crazy that he

Does not sleep at all. I don't think he's a part of an organization or anything. I think he is kind of a creature, basically. Like he's a person who's been effectively deemed as like the one by whatever means has been deemed as like the keeper of the gas station of sorts. Yeah. He won't be affected by the kind of dream messages and shit that this monster. Yeah. Yeah. 347 a.m.

Marlboro was passed out in a hammock in the supply closet. I think he finished that bottle on his own. I guess I'll go clean the drink machines myself. 5.45 a.m. The hand plants are growing faster than I had anticipated. They're now past the elbows, almost to the shoulders. I saw that the crop had caught a curious coyote that got too close. It was not pretty. I also noticed that Rocco's still alive. I caught him sitting on the roof, tossing food to the crop of hand plants. Ha ha.

This is why they're growing so fast. They're eating way too much. If it gets out of control, I may have to torch this crop just like the others. I don't want to. It sends shivers down my spine whenever I hear the way they scream. Yeah, I mean, they're fully growing into full-sized people. Yeah, and you have to burn them to get them out. 7.30 a.m. Diego came in for his morning shift looking pretty terrible. Filled up on coffee and told me that he hadn't been sleeping too well.

10 a.m.

Without any fanfare drumroll, I'll just tell you that what I found inside was a brand new laptop computer. I never owned my own laptop before, and the only computer that ever belonged to me was a crappy little Tandy 1000 that I put together as a kid. I've always used the library computer lab with the browser on my phone to access the internet. This could be a game changer. The box also contains a signal repeater and some other gizmos. I know this is crazy, but I think I may actually be able to access the internet from the gas station now.

There's a handwritten note at the bottom of the package.

I think you'd do great if you actually write out a whole story at a time. I bet you really could get a lot of upvotes and attention. It gets kind of confusing right now. Maybe start with when you got there and work your way up to now, and I bet that it would be super awesome. I'm so fascinated, but a little muddled as well. I could tell you have a great talent for writing, but I just thought maybe I'd offer a suggestion to help. Please do not take offense. It's just something I was thinking. Hope all is going well for you.

This is the average Creepcast viewer, for one. Yes. Like, oh, I really like that story you were doing, but maybe if you, like, read the story instead of talking. Yeah, don't... Get your personality out of it, please. Yeah, could you just do a read-along? I know those exist on YouTube, but I don't want to click on something else. Or it's like the people...

If you were like, oh, why are you taking so long to read? Can't you read it quicker? It's like, okay, what are you here for? What are you clicking on this video for? Also, that's so funny. Someone's like, hey, all these stories seem to be kind of sporadic and out of order. Have you ever tried putting them in order? Like, wow, I never thought of that. It's almost like I was doing it on purpose the whole time.

Great, another one of my readers tracked me down. I'm gonna have to figure out how to keep people finding me and put a stop to this. Thank you, whoever you are, for the laptop. I'm definitely keeping it. 10:15 AM. I turn on the Wi-Fi card and notice that for some reason there are dozens of secured networks around the gas station, most of which have four or five bars. The names for their networks are pure gobbledygook like this one. It's just a series of letters and numbers. Who the hell is transmitting Wi-Fi out here?

So that's obviously the government ones, right? Right. I wonder if this... Do you think that codes to anything? I don't know. The one thing I saw was just the... So the code is 1E7G7CTA11GUY232331324. I just didn't know if guy had anything to do with it, if there was any kind of like...

I don't know code thing. That's the only word I can really make out from it, but I don't know. Or tall guy. That could not mean anything, but yeah, probably not. Anyway, 11 a.m. A man came into the store to buy a gas can a couple hours ago. I didn't think much of it at the time, but then he came back in asking if we could help him out with something down the road. I never got his name, but he was a big guy, tan skin and a thick beard. He said he was having car problems.

I told him I wasn't a car guy, but he insisted that he didn't need a car guy. He just needed someone else to see what he was seeing. Marlboro agreed to watch the counter while Diego and I followed the bearded man down the hill and around the curve, close to the spot where Diego saw that thing in the woods. He couldn't remember what happened that night. After we got everything sorted out with Spencer and things started to go back to normal, I asked Diego what it was that he saw in the woods that sent him running in such a careless panic, but he just shook his head and said he didn't know.

Mine's a funny thing. Memories aren't the most reliable. I realized that I'm not the only person from the gas station with a list of try and forget stories. The man's car was parked on the side of the road, close to the same spot that Kiefer's SUV was broken down. So my car started acting funny, the guy said as we neared his vehicle. I began to wonder why we had walked this whole way when our own vehicle would be quite useful in case of a dead battery or random bear attack. The guy kept going.

I pulled over onto the side of the road when my electricals all started going haywire. I killed the engine. Then when I tried to turn it over again, nada. I could see at this point that the hood was open. The man was driving a big black SUV, similar to the one Kiefer owned, but newer and shinier. I don't see what's so weird about that. You need to call us to tow or... The man cut Diego off, rudely, I might add.

Gotta be a keeper. Oh, wow.

The trunk of the tree had swallowed a decent portion of the engine, and from the looks of it, the car had been parked there for years. Interesting. And you're sure that wasn't there when you started driving? That's funny. Literally a tree growing through the car, and you're like, are you sure that wasn't there? Fascinating. Before he could answer, he spun his head around and looked at the forest. Do you boys hear that? He stood still and listened, but I couldn't hear anything. No. Diego shrugged.

You boys know what an anglerfish is. Bearded Man asked as he walked to the back door and opened it. Yeah, I guess. Bearded Man pulled up a secret compartment from beneath the floorboard and retrieved a large automatic rifle.

Just this guy. This is so funny because it's just like a guy who works at a gas station and he's just dragged into like this guy. Like, do you boys know what the angler fish is as he's grabbing a rifle? And he's just like, I mean, I guess I saw it on animal planet. I'm not a gun guy and I can't tell you what kind of gun it was, but it was big and impressive and cool looking.

The guy checked the clip and clicked something on the gun that could have been the safety. *cough* Magazine. Again, I'm not a gun guy, but it sounded super cool. Diego put a hand on my shoulder and slowly backed away from the man with the gun, pulling me with him. But the man didn't seem to mind us one bit. He was focused on whatever he heard in the woods. If I'm right, you boys are an angler fishing them woods. It's putting something out there to lure me in. Made me think I'm hearing something that I'm not.

Then, when I go looking for the one thing, BAM! It attacks. Oh, like a siren. The man looked at me over his shoulder with a smirk and said, Yeah, like a siren. Y'all may want to get out of here. This could get dangerous. Don't worry about me. I've dealt with these things before. I'll be fine. The man pointed his gun and marched into the woods while Diego and I made our way back to the gas station. Like, you see what I mean? Like, any other story, that's the main character, right?

I'm hunting the thing that lives in the woods. And he gets his rifles like, do you boys know an angler fish? And he's like, oh yeah, it's like the siren. Yeah, we got a siren. She lives out there. She'll get the straight hitchhiker every now and then. 2 p.m. It's time for me to go home. I haven't used laptop yet, but maybe tomorrow. I'll start to type up these journals. November 8th, 6 p.m.

It's getting dark so early these days. I noticed that the bearded man's SUV still at the bottom of the hill with the tree growing through it. I wouldn't call that a good sign. 11 p.m. I burned the rest of the hand plants. I finally know what's going on. A long time ago. Like, yeah, just the jumping between all these different stuff going on. Yeah, I think I personally like it. How do you feel about it?

It's good. I think that it's good that it's of a comedic kind of tone. Like, I think that this is a serious story.

Not to, you know, delegitimize it. I just mean like if it was something that was trying to really build your tension, I think it would be too distracting and it would be too all over the place. But to me, it's kind of like a small dopamine hit each time. It's kind of like every couple new paragraph or these new entries, it's kind of like tapping your brain about like, oh, remember this? We're talking about this now. But it's like kind of fun. It's upbeat. It's fast. And every one of them, it does something unique with it. Like Kiefer keeps dying.

or like the thing in the woods luring in this guy or like the hand plant. Like every one of them is like an interesting little vignette that you come back and visit and stuff like that. Like, yeah, I'm curious to see how this kind of story structure gets, uh, rounded out. Yeah. Yeah. A long time ago, I noticed what looked like strange mushrooms growing in a patch near the dumpster behind the gas station. I didn't think much about them, except that it was strange that Rocco's brood wouldn't go near them.

When I took a closer look, I could have sworn that they looked just like baby fingers poking out of the ground. As the weather got warmer, I kept an eye on the crops. They started getting longer and looking more and more distinguishably similar to human fingers. I swear they even started growing fingernails. Sometimes I could see them bend at the digits to squash a bug that wandered too close. Visually, the mushrooms started sprouting leaves and the finger sections continued to stretch out, creating what could only be described as hands. Human hands.

It'd ball up into fists during the daytime and open up in the moonlight. I dug one of them up one day when we were really slow at work, and I called Farmer Junior to ask for his professional opinion. To the untrained eye, the hand plant looked just like a regular human hand. Smaller than an adult's, but larger than a child's. Adolescent. Teenager, maybe. At the wrist, it turned into a gnarled root that smelled like sassafras. And throughout the plant, tiny leaves were sprouting.

Farmer Jr. stood in the gas station looking it over for a while before asking me if we had any more of those things. I lied and told him no. Asked the owners what they wanted me to do. They thought it over for a couple days and then told me to keep them. I think they expected to be able to make some money off them somehow, but eventually everyone forgot they were there. Everyone but me. And Farmer Jr., of course. I was thinking about the bearded man when I first heard the sound of a baby crying somewhere outside.

I was alone in the store and my first instinct was not the heroic one that most people may have had to run outside and see where the poor baby was. My first instinct was more callous and rational in the form of a question. How the hell did a baby get way out here without me hearing it coming? Also, like, who do you think the owners are?

Well, that's what I'm trying to wonder too. I think that, I think it's the people that are running that base. It could be, but in my head, I almost like it better if it's like a Mr. Weller's thing, right? If it's just like an unidentified like shadow, you know? Yeah. I mean, I think it's kind of, it feels irrelevant. Maybe a little bit. I, to me, it could just be like a guy who's just like, yeah, I've owned it for a long time. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Something wasn't right. The sound of the cries, which I could deduce were coming from the tree line, were getting louder and louder and more and more desperate. I looked around for Marlboro, but couldn't find him anywhere. If I was going to investigate the potential forest baby, I wasn't going to have to do it alone. I remembered the bearded man hearing the siren call of the thing he called an anglerfish. I remember Diego's sound of crunching in the striga.

And absolutely no part of me believed that I would be safe if I went into the woods or that there was really a baby crying out there. But what if? I grabbed a flashlight and went out back. The crying seemed to be moving deeper into the forest. Quickly, like the crying baby were being carried off by something that didn't have to stop and move around trees or physical barriers. I walked in the forest just far enough to find the last thing I ever expected to find.

It seems that the hand plants had extended slightly further than the little patch outside the gas station. Those plants that I had been watching and burning whenever they got too aggressive were not as controlled as I'd previously believed, because out here, just a few steps into the woods, was a hand plant that I'd missed, that I'd never trimmed or cold or burned, that was left free to grow as large and wild as it possibly could.

Out here was a hand plant that had grown so large it had fallen over. It had grown past the shoulder. It had grown its own head and torso and crotch and legs. Out here was a full human body covered in tiny leaves, huddled on the ground and attached to the soil by thick talons of brown roots. And the weirdest part of all, body was one I recognized. The body, the fully grown hand plant, was kefir. That's cool! That's awesome!

That the hand plant, the thing that keeps being alluded to as like growing people, that is what the kefirs were. Yeah. I like that better than having him be like a weird lab experiment. Yeah. Yeah. Cause I thought, I thought that's where they were kind of going with it. Yeah. It also makes sense. Cause it's like, oh, well there's a patch of them I didn't get. And that's why kefir keeps showing up and dying over and over.

That also could make sense because Steven went off to join the military, right? So maybe he got contracted into the government or something like that. And now he's sent back here to like manage the kefirs, right? Cause when he called, when Steven called, he was like, you know what we want to come get the body, right? Right. I don't know what possessed me to touch him. Maybe I just wanted to make sure that he was real as if touching him would prove one way or the other. When I did his eyes open and he cracked a smile.

He could not move. The roots had him firmly stuck in place. This kefir plant could talk. Talk he did. Kefir was the one who stripped naked and rubbed the toothpaste all over himself, right? 100%, yeah. That's a very plant human thing to do, I think. We stayed out there talking for over an hour. I won't go into everything the kefir plant said, but I will say this. There is something under the gas station. Something big, powerful. Something plodding.

And I've been working for years in a cloud of this dark God's farts. I felt extra terrible setting the fully developed Kiefer playing on fire after I burned the rest of the crop of hand plants. But honestly, what choice did I have? That's just a funny way to phrase it. I felt terrible burning the fully developed Kiefer in line before me. Yeah. But really as an affront to God and man, what choice did I have but to call the creature from the earth?

What the fuck? I'd like to say I got a few good hits in as well, but that would be a huge lie. I don't think I laid a single finger on him. Although I did mess his knuckles up pretty good with my face, so I have that going for me.

Spencer dragged me across the gas station to the hallway past the bathrooms, past the walk-in cooler, to that big strange door that I had only just noticed a couple weeks ago. If it were possible for me to pass out, I'm sure I would be unconscious right now. Why are you doing this? I asked as he banged on the door three times. There was a sound from the other side and then Spencer yelled. Open up! It's me! The door cracked open and Spencer dragged me in a room I had never seen before. It looked like an old office.

There was a desk next to a wall of monitors with security feeds from all over the store and the perimeter. Security feeds from cameras I never knew existed. The middle of the room was a large hole that looked like it had been created with a team of jackhammers. It's time for you to meet my boss, Spencer said as he dragged me to the edge of the hole. Kiefer? I said, to which Spencer let out a hearty laugh. No, not Kiefer. My boss put Kiefer out there and hired me to watch him.

My boss is much bigger than some idiot politician. I have expected Spencer to go into the cliche movie villain exposition rant, but instead he sparted me right into this hole. I think my leg's broken. At least I assume that's what the bone poking out means, but hey, I'm no doctor. I'd be really worried right now if it weren't for the fact that I stole Spencer's cell phone in the scuffle. Just as I expected, Spencer has the same network as Kiefer, which means he somehow has service.

Put in a call to Tom's direct number. So I'm sure he'll be along shortly till he gets here. I'm just passing the time, updating my journals. Like I was just on his laptop at the bottom of the pit. Yeah. Somebody just dropped the laptop into this hole with me. Maybe it was Spencer. Maybe he thinks I'm dead. Maybe I am again. I'm not a doctor. Whoever it was. I think I might've heard the sound of boots first clicking against tile as he walked away. Oh, that's fun.

A nice little cowboy gave him a way to chat with people. That's so cool. After all that he's kicked out there, it's like the cowboy's just throwing his computer down. There you go. I love that. I love all the characters. I love all the absurdity of it. This is so fun. I'm having a great time. I guess I'll boot this thing up and start transcribing my journal before it's too late. And now we're back to Marlboro.

Okay, so this is the last of his journals. You're probably wondering to yourself, where was Jerry while Spencer was beating the crap out of poor old Jack? Well, I'd gone into town to see a movie. Yes, I went and watched Thor Ragnarok. Jesus Christ. If you haven't seen it, go see it. It was awesome. I guess I'm lucky I went when I did. Otherwise, this Spencer guy might have tossed me into that hole as well.

I love Marlboro. He's such a fun character. A former cult member who's just assimilated into this group, and he's like, I was seeing Thor Ragnarok. They never let me used to see movies in my old group.

Fuck. Fuck.

How does Jack usually end these things? Oh yeah, to be continued. Edit. I just caught myself digging.

You think that edit is from, yeah, that's what I was about to say. Do you, that's probably from, um, that's going to be from Jack, right? No, I think that's from Marlboro because like we know that we know Jack's been doing it. I think that now Marlboro, since he is the one at the register, it's now using him. Okay. Yeah. This is great. All right. Part seven, recovering from an injury sucks. Recovering from an injury when you can't fall asleep sucks worse.

Recovering from injury when you can't fall asleep while simultaneously being hunted by a sociopathic lackey of a dark god with a personal vendetta against you sucks even worse. But what sucks even more worse is having to do all of the above and still being called in to work because, as the owner puts it, the new guy is, quote, a complete and total moron with willful and malicious idiocy that borders on the criminal. Hey, don't talk about my boy Marlboro like that. I love Marlboro.

And so I am here against the doctor's advice at the shitty gas station at the edge of town, only a little worse for the wear. What's really incredible is that I've only been back for one day and there's already a body count. More on that later. My right leg, gosh, I love this. My right leg is in a cast from ankle to thigh and I've elected to use crutches because unsurprisingly, the gas station is not wheelchair accessible.

The cast has several signatures and messages, which is very strange because I have no memory of anyone signing it, but that could just be a result of the pain meds. Looking down now, I can see that Diego scrawled this message. Try and stay out of trouble. D. There's also a message in red crayon. Jerry was here. A few signatures. Red crayon. How do you feel about Jerry? I like Jerry. I think he's funny. I love Jerry. He's my favorite.

a few signatures scribbled in sharpie and a little further at my leg i have to pull my pants way up to read this is the note right time right time yeah r r capital r lower lowercase t capital r capital a lowercase t capital c ritter ritek hmm well that's annoyingly cryptic

I would check the tape logs to see who I let get so close to my delicate area, but the owners had every camera in the place removed. I guess there was something about finding that secret room full of security cameras feeds to bring personal privacy into the public discussion. I feel like the act of removing all the security cameras was a bit of an overreaction, especially with Spencer still out there.

The police took a statement and confiscated the remains of the bomb. They're taking the whole thing very seriously and an arrest warrant is out for Spencer Middleton should he ever show up again. As for Kiefer, things get a little more interesting. The police were unable to find any evidence that he ever even existed. He had no property in his name, no driver's license, no public record of any kind. The only thing even linking him to this town was a grainy picture and an old yearbook photo.

It would seem that Kiefer was living off the grid ever since he graduated high school. Now that Spencer's attempt to blow up the gas station failed, Kiefer had suspended his election campaign and simply disappeared. That's really fun. So Kiefer either never existed or he did exist when he was younger and then became the subject that these plants began to copy. And now that the jig's up, he's like disappeared. I'm still not fully, I'm still not fully, uh,

Done with the idea that something was involved in that creation. Potentially. Like a group wanted him to be duplicated or something like that. You know what I mean? Yeah, that's possible. I could see that. The sheriff has been sending a new deputy, Arnold, out to check on me once or twice a day. Arnold isn't from around here, which is probably why he agreed to replace Tom as a new gas station babysitter. He's about 6'2", dark skinned with a mustache thick enough to plant a yard flamingo in.

He has eyes that constantly telegraph the sentiment of knock that nonsense off. And I have yet to see him smile. I don't know if Arnold will become the next Tom or the next Spencer. Right now, he could go either way. Arnold was the one that dropped me off at work today. I'm not supposed to get back behind a steering wheel for a while, which is fine, I guess. It's not like I'm going to go on any road trips anytime soon. On the way to work, we pass the SUV of the man with the beard, the one staked in place on the side of the road by the tree growing up through its engine.

I asked Arnold about it, but he just shrugged it off. It said, I shouldn't worry myself with other people's business. I asked him about the owner of the vehicle and Arnold said that they think he got lost in the woods. Uh, just like those hikers last fall search and rescue effort was underway and he was confident that they would find him quote one way or the other.

After all to drop me off today, I went about my regular shift starting duties. I reconciled Marlboro's till not at all surprised to see he was somehow $150 over that surplus was entirely in $1 quarters. I logged all the invoices that had piled up while I was out. Then I emptied the trash cans.

I was hoping that I might run into the cowboy, but the only thing in the men's room was an obese Hispanic trucker punishing the toilet and surrounding air with an unholy fury that deserves its own scary story. Jesus. The sun was starting to go down when I hobbled out to the dumpster, balancing garbage bags against my crutches and probably looking like a baby deer learning to walk. You know, if that deer were drunk and two-legged and carrying several bags of garbage, I'd

The scorched earth near the dumpster was the same as I had left it, blackened down to the subsoil. Somewhere just past the start of the trees was another patch of smoldered remains, one that I neglected to mention in the police report, one that might look to the casual observer like the remains of a human body. Before I turned to go back in, I noticed something odd on the side of the dumpster. First, I thought it was a child's toy, stuck to the dirty outside wall. Then I realized that it was moving.

breathing, crawling slowly and eating the gooey drippings off the rest of the dumpster. The thing looked like a giant tomato caterpillar, about eight inches long. And as the sun went down, I swear I could see the thing giving off its own light source. The squishy caterpillar thing didn't seem to mind my presence and even let me feed it an old Starburst that I had in my pocket.

a yellow because like all people i hate the yellow starburst the critter bioluminesced a little brighter as it ate the taffy and i gave it a gentle pet its hide wasn't as wet as it appeared in fact it seemed to be covered in tiny clear hairs you're not so bad i said walt nibbled at the candy not everything out here needs to be scary huh it wiggled and crawled away to a place on the back of the dumpster with more gunk and i went back into the gas station

Marlboro's taking up smoking again. He quit for a while, but then explained that the suffering he was causing himself by not smoking grossly outweighed the suffering he was causing us through secondhand smoke. Mathematically speaking, it didn't make any sense for him to quit. I'd hoped that he was beginning to shed his cultist philosophy after the entire compound mysteriously vanished, but now I'm starting to fear that he can't be rehabilitated. Oh well.

Day was pretty normal. Well, not normal, but, you know, average day at the gas station. We had some strange people visit. We had some normal people visit, too. Along the way, I zoned out, finished a book I'd been reading, made some boring journal entries, and even got online to browse the internet for a while.

There's another package sent in under the counter, addressed to me from a return address I don't recognize. I took a gamble with the last package and it turned out to be something great, but that was before Spencer tried to kill me and once again my gut is telling me not to open it. I got a phone call today at the store a few hours after sundown. It was pretty late, hard to say when exactly. Marlboro was asleep in his hammock in the dry storage room and I couldn't remember the last customer. This was somewhere in that temporal wasteland between dusk and dawn. Hello?

Right then, I heard a car horn honk. It was the old widow, Mrs. Sistrunk.

She's another local somewhere in the area of a hundred years old, if I had to guess. And at this point, not much more than a skeleton wrapping in an ill-fitting skin suit with vibrant lipstick smeared all around the general mouth area. Well, that's kind of harsh. After her husband died, Mrs. Agatha's cish trunk had taken to buying and collecting sports cars and oversized trunks and racing them around the outskirts of town at all hours of the night. She's cool. I like her.

Her most recent purchase was a brand new Ford F550 with a painting of the Hulk and all of his green smashing glory along the side. In person, she was a sweet old lady, no taller than four and a half feet. She wore special shoes to reach the gas pedal and always came to this gas station to fill up because she knew I'd help her pump her gas, something she had never done before and wasn't interested in learning how to do. One sec. I said to the voice on the other end of the phone. Be right back. Mrs. Sistrunk needs me to top her off.

Listen to me. You go outside and you're dead. Oh, I hear what you're saying. I said as I grabbed my crutches and got ready to leave. But I don't work for you. With that, I hung up the phone and went outside to help Mrs. Strunk. That's so funny. Like, someone's on the phone like, you'll be dead if you go outside. He's like, yeah, I know. But look, I'm on the clock right now. And I've got to get this shift over with. So just let me. Yeah.

Old Agatha was happy to see that I was back at work. Apparently Marlboro made her nervous. She said he was flirting at her and wouldn't stop smoking while he pumped her gas. Before she left, she gave me a case of empty light beers and asked if I would...

Being lamb and toss thief. For her, I can't say no to Agatha. Such a funny visual of a hundred-year-old woman just like getting hammered and like ripping a car. Yeah, ripping her truck around the outskirts of town. And he's like, oh, I can't say no to you, Agatha. When I got around back to toss her trash, I noticed something incredible. The glow worm from this morning had formed itself into an enormous cocoon against the back of the dumpster.

I can't explain why exactly, but this filled me with some sort of… I don't know, what means the exact opposite of existential dread? Euphoria? Existential hope? Is this what optimism feels like? Again, I know it doesn't make any sense, but seeing the weird garbage eating caterpillar thing begin the brave journey of transformation gave me this tingling feeling in my soul, like this was some kind of sign. Just when the caterpillar thought this world had come to an end, he became a butterfly.

My world just felt like it was coming to an end for a while too, little buddy. Maybe I'm also on the verge of a metamorphosis. Maybe the world doesn't have to be strange and scary. Maybe it can be strange and cool. I decided that whatever hatched from the cocoon, be it a butterfly or moth or monster, I was going to name it Starburst. Aw. That's a good name. That's a good name. I hobbled myself back to the gas station and tossed one last look over my shoulder at the dumpster to see that one of the raccoons was stuffing the cocoon into its mouth.

Oh, God. It devoured the whole thing in a couple bites before making eye contact with me and dashing off into the woods. Jesus. That's so good. A whole paragraph about, like, maybe life will get better. Maybe little Starburst is going to teach me a thing or two about living or whatever. It's like, I turned around and the raccoon swallowed it whole.

Diego came to the store for his late shift and asked how I was feeling. I told him that the pain was tolerable. He nodded like that was the kind of answer he was looking for, and I went back to reading my book. A few minutes later, the man with the beard came into the gas station. I almost didn't recognize him as the same man that went off into the woods after the creature he called an anglerfish. He had lost a lot of weight, his beard wasn't nearly as well kept, and he smelled like he bathed in a tub of pee that someone farted in. Hey!

You're still alive. Cool. Did I mention that the man was holding a pistol when he walked in? Just the image of like, this guy has had his own journey and he walks in the dudes on crutches like, Oh, you're alive. And you have a gun. Good for you. The thought crossed my mind for the briefest moment that I wonder what happened to his big gun. I didn't have time to ask. He quickly found the locks on the doors, use them, then covered the short distance to my register, gun extended and aimed at my face.

I told you not to go outside. You're lucky you're even alive. He screamed before grabbing the store phone and yanking it out of the wall. He threw it to the ground with a loud, satisfied smash and asked, Who else is in this building? Well, let me see. There's you, me, and probably the other cashier unless he went into town again. I saw one other car out there. Toyota. Is that yours? No, that's gotta be Diego. He has a gun in his face just so casual about it. Yeah, just super chill.

Right on cue, Diego walked out from the back and froze at the side of the bearded man still pointing a gun at my face. Diego might have been tempted to take action if he hadn't been carrying a 50-pound bag of corn over his shoulder. Instead, he just raised his free hand. What does Diego do? He walks into the gas station. He's like, time to grab the corn. And then he just walks back outside. Instead, he just raised his free hand and said softly, Hey, man, we don't want no trouble. If you're after the cash, go ahead and take it.

Ain't no heroes here. The bearded man laughed in a noxious way and said, Well, there's at least one. My name is Benjamin, and I'm here to save your sorry asses. Dude, I mean, he's like the protagonist of any other story, but the story doesn't care about him. Diego and I made eye contact. A lot can be conveyed in just an instant if you know the person you're looking at.

He was trying to see what I wanted to do. I was trying to tell him to relax. This was neither the worst nor the weirdest thing to happen in that room. Okay, what do you need us to do, Benjamin? There's something evil under this gas station, and nobody's leaving here until I understand what it is. Because I know that someone is working with that thing. I've seen it in my dreams. I know you have too. Well, he was wrong about one thing.

Right then Marlboro walked out of the dry storage closet, stretching and yawning. Benjamin snapped him into a chokehold before he knew what was going on and jammed the gun against his head. Are you listening to me? I just told you that the world, as you know it, is just a facade. There's a devil here, and one of you is working for him. He looked at both of us for some kind of reaction, but I don't think he got the one he was looking for. I just shrugged and said, Nate.

Right then, Marlboro surprised the pants off of everybody by half yelling, half laughing. Do this! I'm not afraid to die! Before reaching up, grabbing the gun pressed against his head and pulling the trigger. Good God. Whoa! Whoa, Marlboro's just like, all right, bam, like shoots himself. What the heck? Well, do we know for sure that he's dead? Okay, let's keep going. I've seen a lot of weird stuff working at that shitty gas station.

I've been nearly killed once or twice. I've watched the same guy die over and over in front of me. I've seen things that may or not be real because I can't dream. And sometimes I wonder if my mind is making up for that in other ways. I've seen ball lightning, people with blue skin, a man with two heads, a talking dog, and an Elvis impersonator that may have been a little too convincing. I've seen so much weird stuff in that room, but this was the first time I ever saw a look of surprise like that on anybody's face.

And it was absolutely priceless. What the hell is wrong with you people? Benjamin said, backing away from us. Ain't nothing wrong with us. Said Marlboro, relieved to be free from the headlock. What the hell is wrong with your gun? How did you know I was out of ammo? I didn't. Okay, gotcha. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Yeah, that's what I was wondering. There was a loud thud as Diego dropped the sack of corn. He was the next to talk.

I heard a wet thunk before I saw anything. Before Benjamin went limp and hit the ground, when my eyes caught up to the situation, I hoped that what I was seeing was a hallucination. But the look of fear on Diego's face told me that this wasn't the case. The man's-

The man standing behind Benjamin holding a bloodied shovel. The man that just saved our bacon was smiling a toothy, delighted smile that he had only ever made after inflicting the kind of pain he just inflicted. Hey, Jack, said Spencer Middleton. You miss me? Okay, so Spencer showed up and killed Benjamin. I see. He stuck Diego Marlboro in the walk-in freezer.

Marlboro is and always has been a go with the flow kind of guy, so he went into the freezer voluntarily right after trying to kill himself. Well, yeah, it makes sense that the coldest dude's just like, yeah, let's die! Like, woo, let's go! Diego put up a fight, which is why he ended up bruised and bloodied and barely clinging to consciousness. From what I could see, Benjamin looked like he might be dead. At best, he was out cold in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood.

Spencer pulled a couple of chairs out of storage and placed them both in front of the cash register facing one another. He made me hobble over and sat down in one. He spun the other around to sit on it backwards like a cool school teacher from the 90s. I just want you to know I'm not mad at you. And neither is he. He wanted me to relay that message. Spencer's face still had specks of blood on it from where he'd beaten the shit out of Diego. Your boss? Yeah. He was upset at you for what you did to Kiefer and wanted me to show what happens to bad children.

You're supposed to meet him. And, but then that got all cocked. That got all cocked up, huh? I guess it just wasn't my time to die. That's when the smile faded from Spencer's face, shook his head at me and said, die. No, no, no, no. You weren't supposed to die. You can't die. We need you. Okay. So do you think what's happening here is Benjamin was right. Whatever he figured out, someone is working for the beast and that person is Spencer. Yeah. Okay. Yep.

I saw some movement behind Spencer, but tried not to break eye contact. It was Benjamin. He was alive, and right now my best shot at getting out of this. He was moving slowly on the ground, regaining consciousness, but miraculously not making any noise. I tried to keep Spencer distracted. Your boss. Tell me more about him. How did he find you? Who is he? Oh, he's got a lot of names. But you'll meet him soon enough. And this time, we will not be interrupted. And my friends?

Uh, yeah. The police took it. They know it was... They know it was you. They know everything. Well, almost everything. Okay, in the grand scheme of things, they know very little. But they do know that you tried to kill me and you put a bomb in the gas station. Spencer shook his head again.

Wrong on both accounts. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. And a bomb? Seriously? Not my style. I think he had more to say, but I'll never know, because right then Benjamin yanked his head back and whipped a knife blade the size of a large chihuahua across his neck, neatly slicing his head halfway off. Bloody rupted out in a couple spurts, then stopped, and Spencer Middleton was no more.

That's what you get! Taunted Benjamin as he flung Spencer's lifeless body onto the floor, his blood pouring out and mixing with all the rest. It was going to suck forever to clean all this up. When he opened the- Definitely going to be him. Yeah. When we opened the freezer, we had found that Marlboro had gone all bad nurse on Diego, sticking clumps of frozen meat all over his face for the swelling.

I made us a fresh pot of coffee and we took seats around the table by the window. Just in case a nosy passerby decided to pass by, put a tarp over Spencer and moved the wet floor sign next to it. It's just a body like clearly with the tarp over it. Tons of blood, whatever. For about half an hour, we all just sat and drank coffee in a pregnant silence. When we were all done with our third cups, Diego finally spoke. His jaw was swollen to hell, but he was still able to pronounce his words with only minor difficulty.

So, why haven't we called the cops yet? This is clearly self-defense. I've got the face to prove it. Yeah, said Benjamin after some lengthy deliberation. Yeah, let's call them. That would be good. But tomorrow, you and me need to have a serious talk, Jack. Cardinal from the only phone in the building within your reception, Spencer Sell. The deputy listened to what I told him, just the most basic and simplified version of what happened that night. And he said he would be on his way right after he got out of bed and put some clothes on.

Called the owners next, and they were not very happy. They told me next time I should call them first. Next time? Right now, the others are at their booth, staring out the window, and I'm still sitting on my laptop, documenting the night while the memories are still fresh. I know this isn't over yet. I think the gas station's going to have to close for a day or two, but when it opens again, I'll be here, writing my journals and doing my best to ignore anyone who walks through these doors. I guess that means this is to be continued.

All righty. I've got to say, like, I, um, this hits a good vibe for me, this whole story of, like, sure, I don't want every story to be so campy and, like, self-aware, but it's a good palate cleanser every now and then, you know? No, I would say this is so far the most, which I was going to touch on this when we were done, but so far this has been, definitely been the most successful of, like,

acute, funny, fast-paced thing that's like, it utilizes humor in a fun way that isn't just Marvel quips. Yeah, exactly. Yeah. And also like I do in earnest, like care, I like the characters, like Diego, I like Marlboro, stuff like that. I mean, I think that they've done, it's a good story. I mean, it's just, it's definitely not a good story that is also like, doesn't take itself too seriously. Yeah. It isn't remotely scary or anything, but I would say earnestly, I think that I'm,

intrigued by what's going on. And I liked all the characters. Like, I think that it's done a good job about setting that. I agree. All right. So part eight, it's been about an hour since my last post. We haven't had any customers yet. And if the gas station were an active crime scene, I might have asked one of the other employees to squeegee the large pool of blood into the drains by the cooler. For those of you out of the loop, you may want to catch up. I read in my earlier post that

I don't know what Arnold's personal grooming routine looks like, and I have to assume he spends at least 20 minutes a day in mustache prep. But even factoring that in, he should have made it to the gas station by now. I called him a few minutes ago to make sure he hadn't gone back to bed and to make sure I hadn't imagined the phone call in the first place. Conversation went something like this. Hey, Arnold, you on your way? Okay. Okay. Which one? Even the service roads. I've never seen anything but trees, but...

I've been trying to find a long foot. You said you heard from him. Has he made any contact? Well, actually, he's here. He came in and some stuff happened and now he's dead. I already told him all of this. Man, I really miss Tom. Did you not realize that? I'm sorry. Earlier, I just... Calling me into the eternal grace. Taking... Freeing me from all the suffering of this prison. I'm going to devote myself to... Okay. I guess I'll see you when you get here. All of that and then...

Okay. He hangs up the phone. He's like, all right, well, we've lost, the sheriff department's gone. The dark god got the sheriff's department. Yeah, exactly. I hope he never makes it. I ended the call and checked the charge on the phone. The battery was sitting close to 50%. What's the deal, Lucille? Asked Benjamin. Arnold's on his way here on foot, but we might have another problem.

"Holy shit, you guys see that?" Diego asked, pointing out the window. I couldn't quite make it out from where I was seated behind the computer, and I didn't feel like hobbling over a corpse just for a look. "What is it?" "There's a bunch of naked people out on the road walking this way." "The hell you say?" said Marlboro, who had suddenly taken interest. He pressed his face against the window for a better look. "Those just aren't any people. I know them!"

That's Marlon! Tyler! There goes Fred! At least those were the names I gave them. Benjamin crossed to the frozen drink machine, throwing over his shoulder quick. They friends of yours? Family, actually. Well, they were anyway, before they disappeared. I don't remember them looking like that. Like what? I asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling. Like... He took a second to find the words, but all he came up with was... They look funny.

They continued walking closer to the gas station. Close enough by now that I could see them. At least a dozen people, stark naked. The closer they got, the more details I could make out. The more I wish I couldn't. Their eyes were milky and pale, maggots crawling out of infested crevices all over their bodies, their skin dirty and covered in lesions and bruises. Marlboro was certainly not wrong. They looked funny.

That's fun. Like the cult disappeared because they were like recruited by the god basically, right? Yeah. Another corpse. Yeah, they died somehow and now they're like almost like reincarnated or something. Yeah, they're necromanced. I'm sure you know the Hollywood style zombie walk, the shuffle of an undead body with impaired motor skills. Scarce part of these people approaching the front door of the gas station was that they were walking 100% perfectly normal. Just a bunch of decaying nudists out for a stroll.

There was a loud crash that snapped us out of our probably rude staring. We all turned to see that Benjamin had pulled the frozen drink machine to the ground and was attempting to drag it over Spencer towards the front doors. The sticky syrup concoction spilled out all over the ground, mixing with the congealed blood and coating the floor in a red and brown and purple viscous soup. There's no way we won't have an inspection, an insect problem after this.

Marlboro and Diego didn't have to ask what was going on. They instantly knew the plan and began yanking down whatever fixtures were bolted in place, piling up in a barricade against the glass doors. It would have helped if it weren't for this broken leg. Besides, it looks like they've got this under control. You boys think you can stay alive long enough for help to arrive? Benjamin asked. I've got almost 90 years experience staying alive between the three of us. Diego joked. Benjamin directed his next question to me.

you got any weapons in this place i told him no the only thing i have is a half empty canister of gasoline in the supply closet and some really hard jerky but he was welcome to whatever he could find that's when he started macgyvering some spears out of chair legs and broken glass from the drink cases about 10 minutes ago the gas station lost power now really would be a great time to have a giant pet glow in the dark butterfly stupid raccoons

It's been pretty quiet, save for the wet, guttural whispering coming from those people outside. Benjamin is still searching for weapons while Diego finds things to push against the front door, and assuming he hasn't fallen asleep, Marlboro has taken the back door. I was feeling pretty useless after Benjamin confiscated my crutches, so I figured I would take this opportunity to type up the account of what happened, just in case Arnold gets here too late.

And in the spirit of preparedness, I should say a few things to whoever finds this message. Or is it whomever? I never could get that right. First to the owners. Sorry about the mess. Second to her. Sorry we didn't run into each other one last time. Third to whoever keeps dumping tar into the ditch outside of the gas station. I hate you. Guess that's all I have to say. It's been a weird, crazy ride. This is Jack from the gas station signing off one last time.

And then followed by, I didn't die. Sorry it's been so long since the last update. Just got my laptop back from the police. Special thanks to whoever gilded me, by the way. I don't know what to do with Reddit gold, but it brings warmth to my soul. I know you guys are probably wondering what happened. Well, last week I met a dark god.

We were in that gas station without power for hours. It's cold this time of year, so we huddled together around a plate of scented candles and ate pork rinds and canned beans. Marlboro almost dozed off a couple times before Diego decided to loot the energy pills behind the counter. He handed them out and we all took a few, washing them down with cold coffee and telling ourselves it was for alertness. But all they did for me was create a heartbeat arrhythmia. That sure would be funny if those things finally broke in here just to find the four of us dead from heart attacks.

Well, not funny, but you know. Diego tried to strike up a conversation with Benjamin a couple of times, but the bearded man wasn't very social. You army? I knew a guy. He was a ranger in the army. You remind me of him. All right. Those things out there. Any idea of what we're dealing with? You ever see anything like that before? Nah. You got any family? I checked Spencer's phone throughout the day, but it wasn't getting any service anymore. I tried 911 a few times, but even that wouldn't go through.

When the battery got to 5%, I turned it off. We might need it later for an emergency call. Eventually, the adrenaline and pills started to wear off, and I remembered that my leg was still healing from a complex fracture, and maybe I shouldn't have agreed to come back to work so soon. I did the cripple walk back to the front desk to grab my meds. While I was there, I spotted the still unopened gift wrap package on the shelf beneath the register. I decided to ignore it and instead grab the employee whiskey bottle that was behind it.

We told ourselves it was for our nerves, but all it did for me was give me an even worse heartbeat arrhythmia. A few more hours passed. After we killed the first bottle, we opened another. The Marlboro got into the energy drinks because we needed mixers. At some point, the former cultist pulled out his stash and lit a joint and, without asking I might add, turned the whole station into a hotbox. I couldn't remember if I'd taken my pain meds yet, so I went ahead and took them. As the sun started to set, I had two thoughts competing for first place in my mind.

First, it sure is getting dark early these days. And second, I think we might be getting a little too messed up to handle what's about to happen. Time became even more illusory than normal once the laptop died, and we had no way of knowing how long we'd been waiting. We started measuring the time in candles. Our snack food and morale raced each other to depletion. At some point, Diego got me away from the others to ask what I thought about Benjamin.

I told him he was the nicest guy that had pointed a gun in my face all week, but Diego told me that he had a weird feeling about him. I reminded Diego that he had killed Kiefer a couple times and maybe he should get off his high horse. Hey! Benjamin yelled at us from across the room. What are you talking about? Anime! I lied. I think he bought it. Get back over here! I don't need any more dead bodies piling up tonight.

Benjamin was in the corner, warming his hands over the candle plate. It was the only source of light in the building, and was casting shadows that could maybe be described as spooky if I weren't in such a serious life or death situation. Some of those shadows looked like faces, smiling, laughing at us idiots. One or two looked like old presidents. One of them asked me what time it was, and holy crap, I was tripping.

You okay, man? Diego ass snapping me back to reality. Oh, there goes gravity. Oh, there goes... Sorry. I honestly have no idea. What are these? This is still quotes. These are still quotes. Oh, my bad. Did you ever figure out who placed that bomb? Ask Spencer. What do you mean? Ask Spencer. Oh, sorry, go ahead. So, did you ever figure out who placed that bomb? Ask Spencer Middleton in a gurgle. What do you mean? I thought you did it. Not me. Bombs aren't my style. Who do you know that can build a bomb? Oh!

Hey, where's Marlboro? Yo, that's cool. So the body is talking to him now, right? Spencer's body lying on the ground. It's like, yeah, who do you know that can build a bomb? Benjamin picked up his spear, formerly my crutch, that he had paracorded his knife to and asked, Who the hell is Marlboro? Is there someone else here? Yo! No way. Marlboro, the other employee. I looked at Diego, who just shrugged and said, I don't know no Marlboro. How many of them pills did you take? Ha ha ha ha!

Oh, look at that. I didn't expect that. Did you have any inclination of that? No, not at all. It also kind of makes sense why they left them without, you know, why they left them. Or do you think the cult is still real or no? No, I think, I think the cult is real. I'm saying Marlboro is not real. That's what I'm saying. It's like in his mind. That's why the cult, like he like left. He's like, Oh, they're gone or whatever. What the heck? That's so cool. Okay.

Had I imagined Marlboro this entire time? Did I just Tyler Durden this guy into existence? I tried to sit down on the tarp, but it turned into me lying on my back while the room spun. I could feel the human debris squish beneath the tarp fabric as I rested my head. How much of any of this was real anyway? You're losing it, you know. I know. That's the body talking to him saying you're losing it, you know. That's so fun. This is dope. Wait, okay, so...

Are the most, because like Marlboro has done stuff in the story. Like he grabbed Benjamin's gun and pulled the trigger on himself. Right. So was that actually Jack doing it in those moments? I'm guessing it was Jack. Probably. Cause especially him referencing Tyler Durden makes me think that, which for people who don't know fight club. Yeah. Yeah. Brad Pitt spoilers. Yeah. Someone could be watching it right now. What? Oh fuck. Okay. Movie night. Ruin. Thanks guys.

All those years ago, the first doctor tried to prepare me for life with my condition. There weren't that many other cases before me, so they didn't know exactly how everything would play out. But every case had a few of the same side effects. Of course, there'd be weight loss, fatigue, headaches, all the signs of a normal physical illness early on. As the condition developed, there would be more interesting side effects. Hallucinations, memory loss, the works.

Of course, I can't be properly anesthetized, so they tried in other cases to induce medical comas, but that just messed things up further. I'm always wide awake and halfway lucid during surgery. If you want to know what that's like, I'll tell you the truth, it's boring. You know what? Usually when I hurt someone bad enough, they pass out from the pain. Gave me a couple years tops. I haven't been keeping track of time. Right then, Marlboro walked into the room, zipping up his fly.

Presumably, he had just come from the bathroom. But who really knows? I pointed at him and yelled, "That guy! You see him, right? It's Marlboro!" Diego looked where I was pointing, then back at me. "What, you mean Jerry?" "Oh, that's right. He has a real name." "I hate it when he calls me Marlboro." Benjamin set the improvised spear down and turned his attention back to the fire. "You better get him under control. You should open your package," said Spencer. "Hey, wait a second. Aren't you supposed to be dead? Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

He said back, "Chewshay, Spencer." "Who you talking to?" "As Diego." "Spencer?"

Stop that. It's freaking us out. Okay. So is, so it's, it's ambiguous if Marlboro is real or not. Right. I think he's real. I just think that no one, I think that people just know him as Jerry. Well, I mean, even then, like he's called Marlboro Marlboro forever. So they would have recognized it. It's kind of like in the middle of if he's, if he's real or if he's not, I think. How did Diego know then to be like, Oh, you mean Jerry? Yeah.

Because this could be part of his hallucination. Continuing right now. I see. Anyway, two candles burned from start to finish before Benjamin decided that help wasn't on the way and our best chance of survival was to fight it out with the things outside. I disagreed, but Benjamin informed me in his own polite way that it wasn't up for vote. Pilled back the layers of the barricade just enough to get a view of the outside. Once we knew what we were dealing with, we could come up with a better game plan.

Only he couldn't actually get a good look because something was blocking the view. Something just on the other side of the glass doors. Benjamin yanked the rest of the barricade down and took a few steps back to marvel at it. Well, you don't see that every day, said Jerry. Nope, I can't do it. I'm sorry. His name's Marlboro. We were trapped there inside the gas station.

On the other side of the doors, a network of trees had grown together, twisted into knots and pressed against the glass. They were so densely pressed into a single wall of tree trunks that not even light could get through. For all we knew, it could have been daytime outside. We have to get out of here, said Benjamin. We checked the back door, but it was the same thing. I often wondered how long a person could survive inside the gas station without any new supplies coming in. I'd run the scenario in my head a million times on boring nights. What else is there to do?

I'd run the thought experiment for countless different contexts, but how long could I survive if the gas station were transported back in time to another planet, if there were a zombiepocalypse, etc. What I had deduced was that, under ideal circumstances, I could live off the supplies on hand for four years if I could find a source of water, six weeks if not. These were not ideal circumstances. We'd already smashed up, weaponized, or eaten almost all of our supplies.

If we were trapped here, it would take long for us all to go don- for us to go all Donner Party on each other. While I was pondering this in the hallway by the cooler, we heard the sound of glass shattering from the main room. Benjamin raised his spear and led the way back. The wall of trees was still there on the other side of the doors. Our mess was still there. Everything was as we left it with one exception.

The tarp was pulled back and Spencer's body was gone. A series of footprints coagulated and blood leading from where he should have been to the shattered glass of the front door like he had just gotten up, walked over, and was absorbed into the trees. I need you boys to think real hard. Is there any other way out of this place? Well... Marlboro started. I shot him a look and shook my head, but I guess he couldn't see it in the dim candlelight. Or maybe he was just too dense to understand.

There is that hole. Hole? What hole? Hole in the secret room back there in the past the cooler. Secret room? Yeah, right over here. Marlboro pointed at the blank blank space on the wall where the door used to be. The owners had decided that the smartest thing they could do when they found out about the secret room was remove the door, build a good old fashioned wall and forget all about it. But that only works if everyone agrees to forget all about it. Marlboro.

That's so funny to imagine that for one, Jack's so dedicated. He's like, we're not supposed to mention it. The boss said not to, but also just like, oh, well, if we build a wall, they'll forget the observation rooms there. Also, I kind of like this idea that Marlboro is just a different version of Jack's psyche. That's just like optimistic and cheery. Well, there is the secret room. You tell me there's a secret room behind there.

And a hole in that room that we can maybe fit inside and escape? Why didn't you boys tell me about this earlier? You did wait for an answer. Benjamin went straight to the wall and started smashing it to pieces with his spear, and then, after he got it down a little, his bare hands. After a minute, the wall was once again a door. While Benjamin lit and placed a few candles around the giant hole in the floor, I grabbed Diego and pulled him aside. Hey! I shouldn't tell you, I should tell you something. I opened that package. The one that looked like a present. Yeah? Yeah.

I'm not sure at what point I'd finally cracked it out, cracked and opened it, but I had been carrying around the contents of the box in my pocket for at least one candle. Just like the last package, there was a note with this one. It read, I didn't expect you to use my letter as a part of the story, but thanks, lol. I didn't mind you using it. That was very neat. I liked it.

I was very surprised. Thank you. I enjoyed your stories and I knew it could be really great from the beginning. That's why I wrote what I did. I was surprised, but in a good way that you use my letter. Lol. Thank you. I'm honored. Really? This is like every fan comment I've ever got. It's just like, wow. Thanks. Thanks. Wow. Like this is what that every, everyone is like, wow, this guy seems that's you remember that animals, monsters.

Underneath that letter was a small handgun. I just shipped him a gun. That's funny. I knew enough about pistols for playing video games to know how to check the clip and sure enough, it was loaded. I showed the gun to Diego, who said, That's a Ruger 380. Is that good? Well, it's a gun, so it'll probably have more stopping power than a chair leg. Why didn't you give it to him? Diego gestured at our fearless leader. I don't know. More trust him. Good point. Here.

I said, trying to hand it over. I'm not a gun guy. No way, man. You keep it. I got both legs. You need it more than me. Benjamin yelled to us from the secret room. Y'all ready or what? Time to see what's down here. And then he jumped in. I may have neglected to mention that it was a 10 foot drop to the cave floor below. I also may have taken a little pleasure in the sound of him crash landing in the pain moan that followed.

For the rest of us, we rolled up a tarp and put some knots into it like a poor man's rope ladder. And I have to give credit to tarps, those things are incredibly useful. We had spent hours above ground in a room with a dead body, unrefrigerated food, and Benjamin's body odor. We were all eating canned beans and I think somebody probably threw up in the garbage can. My point is this, we were all smelling pretty bad to the point where I was doubting that I still had a sense of smell.

But once we went into that hole, I knew for a fact that we hadn't. The smell down there made our gas station funk seem like cologne. The very worst putrid odors from the storm drains around the station were nothing compared to this. Is it possible for a smell to be heavy? Because that's the best word I can think of for it. Not thick, just heavy. Diego Marlboro took turns barfing. When they were done, Benjamin handed out the torches he had made from gasoline-soaked rags and chair legs.

I don't know what the guy's deal is, but he sure is crafty. The cave was a straight tunnel starting under the gas station and heading away from town. It was plenty tall enough for all of us to stand comfortably, and there was a slight incline taking us downhill as we walked further into the hole. "What the hell is this?" Benjamin asked after about 20 feet. He waved his torch at the wall, and I saw that somebody had spray-painted a message on the cave wall in red. It said, in shaky handwriting,

Rita the raccoon ate the cocoon. Oh, that's the thing that was on his cast. R-T-R-A-T-C. Oh, yeah. Yeah, you're right. So down there on the wall of the cave, someone had spray painted the thing that someone had also written on his cast. He was the only witness of it. I bet that's him doing that.

That's what I'm thinking. Because you were kind of finding out that the narrator is kind of crazy. Which would mean that he's been down here before with this old God, right? He just doesn't remember. Yeah, that's also why it didn't kill him or anything. Also, the writing on his arm that said Marlboro was here is now much more menacing if it is him. Like his alternate self was writing like I was here on his own cast. It's pretty cool. Right.

I said it a few times in my head and was pissed off at just how close it came to rhyming, but didn't. Like, a song slightly off key. The handwriting was eerily familiar, especially the capital R, but I couldn't remember why. Well, we know why. There's another Lomgnome on the ground beneath it. We continued further into the cave, Benjamin way ahead of us, me bringing up the tail, hobbling along the best I could with just a single crutch.

The deeper we went, the narrower the cave, the stronger the smell. Nothing about being down here away from the gas station felt like an improvement from our previous situation, but it wasn't until we made it to the tree that I really decided that we had messed up. I don't know how long we had been walking down there, maybe a half mile or so. Crutch miles feel a lot longer than normal miles. We eventually came upon an enormous black tree taking up the width of the cave.

Looked like one of those thousand-year-old sequoias, big enough to put a two-lane road through. Holy shit, nonceded Benjamin. I was the last to see what everyone else was wide-eyed and gawking at. The tree, in addition to being enormous, had some characteristics that you wouldn't expect a tree to have. Specifically, human body parts. A few arms and legs poking out at random spots. Right at eye level, a human face. Hey, I know that guy. It's Patrick, said Marlboro.

He touched Patrick's face and it peeled off and plopped to the ground like a wet Halloween mask. I don't think he's gonna make it. Benjamin said as he pulled something out of his jacket pocket and stuck it to the tree. What is that? I asked. Surprisingly, it was Marlboro who answered. That looks like C4 plastic explosives to me. Benjamin chuckled. Wow, you win the prize for that one, Rain Man. Yeah, it's the last of my explosives. I've been trying to kill this thing

Interrupted Diego. I know. Um, guys? Marlboro tried to get their attention, but it wasn't working. You knew?!

He would have died if that thing went off. Guys! Look, asshole. This is war. And in war, there are always casualties. You can't make peanut butter without smashing a few nuts. Hey, guys! What? Screamed Benjamin. I'm a little busy! Marlboro pointed back the way we came. We all turned to see Spencer standing in the middle of the path, a wicked smile on his face. Miss me? Diego screamed at me.

Jack the gun! I pulled the weapon out of my pocket and chucked it as hard as I could. It smacked Spencer right in the face and he fell over. I was very proud for the two seconds until I realized what I had done wrong. What came next almost happened too quickly for me to comprehend. Something burst out of the wall next to us. An enormous object the size of a car and mostly hand-shaped.

It wrapped its giant fingers around the other three and pulled them into the wall. And then I was falling. The earth had opened up below me and I was sliding through a dark tunnel. Now I was being pulled. More like swallowed, really. It went for a while. Dirt filling my nose and ears and mouth and then whatever it was spat me out into a pitch black room onto a rocky wet piece of ground. I landed on my bad leg and probably broke it again. Well, I thought, at least this time I managed to hit Spencer.

As far as last moments on Earth go, this one was a slight improvement over last week. The room I was in was cool, not cold, and cavernous. I could hear my breath echoing off the walls. I could also hear something else breathing. All at once I became aware of another presence down there, an entity in the room with me. It's hard to explain, the same way I remember it being hard to explain a dream right after you wake up.

It's something that you have to experience to understand, but the feeling was something like being plugged into a shared consciousness with another intelligence that was putting thoughts directly into my head. Of course, it might have just been all the drugs. Welcome to my home. Came a loud voice from somewhere in the pitch black room. I'm sorry it's taken this long for us to meet face to face. I can't see anything. Yeah, a part of dark God do you not understand? Ugh.

Yeah, I agree. That one was a little rough. That was a little... We're getting a little too Marvel here, guys. Let's dial it back. Oh, shit. I bid the throne room of a dark god and he sounds like an internet troll. I guess that makes sense. Might as well get this over with. Do you think you can maybe turn on some lights so I can actually see who I'm talking to? He let out a very human-sounding sigh and exclaimed, Fine. Fine.

Out of nowhere, the entire room turned into an intense, furious bright white. All I could see was pure light. It covered my eyes, but even then, I could see the bones of my hands through my eyelids. Even with the meds, that shit hurt. "Too bright! Too bright! Split the difference!" "Wow." Responded the voice. "I didn't realize that you were going to be such a big baby."

So I'm assuming what this is, is it's actually an organization underneath the facility. Yeah, I'm guessing it's the lab thing, like I was saying earlier. And then, just as suddenly, the brightness relented. After a moment, my pupils adjusted. I could see what I had been talking to. Behold! And tremble before the dark god! He, if it was a he, I'm just going off of the sound of his voice, was about the size of an elephant, swollen and round with a tanned yellow hide.

The best animal I could think of to compare him to would be an enormous tick with six rows of stubby arms on either side, six rows of sagging breasts, and a human-sized head on top. The head contained a somewhat human face and no neck. The body connected to the earth at the widest point of its stomach like it was half buried. And to top the whole thing off, he had a red mohawk. He smiled at me. "What do you think?" "About what?" "My hair! Isn't it amazing?" He looked up at his mohawk.

Okay.

I said attempting to push myself to my feet only. I'm going to just interject real quick. Losing me really quickly. It is. Losing me extremely quickly. I was strapped in, and I'm immediately, like, falling down the staircase really quick. I hope this turns out to be like a rug pull. It's like this is just, like, the lab people doing something or whatever. Yeah, we'll see.

Because the way it was working is there was humor built around these like legitimate threats, like a cult, like the supernatural, like time moving through trees. So like nonchalantness of how these like very real threats. Yes, versus just making the threats also kind of like a nonchalant thing. It's just kind of, it's kind of cringe. Yeah. Attempted to push myself to my feet only to remember that my leg was pretty broken. I was immobilized underground high and without any weapons. There really was no chance of escaping. If you're going to kill me, do you mind just giving it over with?

What is it with you people? So entrusting! So prejudiced! Why is it that any time you see something you don't understand, you think it's "kill or be killed"? I'm not the monster here, you are! I can see into your soul. I've seen your sins! Remember that time when you were 15 and you keyed the principal's car? No. Really? Maybe that wasn't you. Humans all look alike. Why am I here? Why'd you drag me underground? Because, Jack!

Take over the world? I asked even though I was starting to see where this conversation was going.

No, I went to pressure the city council to cut back on logging! I'm trying to save the world! But you and your awful friends keep killing us and trying to blow me up! Spencer, he beat the shit out of me! That guy is awful! He's following your orders! Well, excuse me for thinking that people have the potential to be rehabilitated! I had Spencer because I needed someone to protect Kiefer! And I gave him very specific orders not to kill anyone! Which he agreed to.

But you've killed tons of people, the cultists, their entire compound! Yeah, actually, no. I hate to be the one to say this, but those guys killed themselves. Yeah, it was really sad mass suicide. But if you listen to them, I think it was pretty obvious. I mean, you guys should have seen it coming from a mile away. I mean, consequentialism mixed with a moral obligation to end suffering?

He waved one of his six arms in a jerk-off motion before continuing. I didn't want to let all those perfectly good, fully-formed adult bodies go to waste. Do you even know how hard it is to make one of them from scratch? It's not easy. You sent those things after us at the gas station. Again? With the self-centered hero complex? It was never about you. I sent my children to bring Spencer's body back here. I was hoping I could get him home in time to rebuild him without any permanent brain damage.

I think next time you see him, you should apologize for what happened. I swear, ever since Romero made zombies cool, people see a dead man come back to life and instantly they get the urge to kill, kill, kill! Whatever happened to calling this a miracle? Nobody freaked out when Jesus came back. Oh, God. Are you saying that Jesus was like the Mathematist? Just a reanimated corpse? Is that really what you want to talk about, Jack? But doesn't Dark God mean, like, evil? The last time I was awake, Dark God had a completely different connotation.

This is really getting brutal. This is rough. But you can't use my branding as your excuse for burning up Kiefer. You asked me. You deserve the ass whooping you got. I searched my mind for any proof that the Dark God was the monster I knew him to be, but the only thing I could come up with was a sad, icy cold realization. We're the monsters. I'm afraid so. I'm sorry. Good. That's a start. So this is it?

Your reason for all the weird stuff going on here at the gas station? No. Nope. I'll be honest with you. I have no clue what half of these things are. Their gas station is weird. And even I don't know why. The hand plants and the kefirs were me, and the smell off us up. That's me too. But all the other stuff, man, it gives me the heebie-jeebies. You know, the weird glowing worm bug thing? That was pretty weird, huh?

"So, what do we do now?" "Now? I send you and your friends back home, and you quit killing me. That's my deal. Can we agree to that?" "Uh, yeah, I think so." "Good." "Should we shake hands or..." At that moment, an enormous hand burst out of the wall and wrapped its fingers tightly around me. The next thing I knew, I was coughing up dirt down on all fours in the street outside the gas station. It was morning. "Oh, good," said Benjamin.

you made it out too looked over and saw the other three standing there covered in black dirt i was back where it started trees were all gone leaving no sign they were ever even there in the first place gas station was a wreck and the front doors were smashed out and the raccoons were excitedly running a loot train for whatever edibles they could carry from the front to their nest behind back what happened man asked diego i'm not really i'm not really sure i answered digging the clumps of dirt out of my nose and ears well you're lucky

your friends made me wait a few minutes to get you a chance to get out i looked at my hands they were nearly black from all the layers of dirt coating them wait for what for this benjamin answered as he pressed the button on his remote detonator somewhere deep in the woods came an explosion that rocked the earth and sent birds flying into the sky diego's car alarm went off and the pavement diego's car alarm went off and the pavement cracked a black cloud slowly started to fill the sky and i felt something inside my mind scream and die

Then he walked off into the forest, hopefully never to be seen again. And that's what happened, if you can believe it. I'm back at the gas station, working again. Arnold is on personal leave from the police force, and I didn't care to ask for details, so we have a new deputy babysitting us. I'll tell you all about her another time, maybe.

The police investigated the incident and ultimately concluded that we were victims of hysteria brought on by GasLink, and once again, there was nothing supernatural to be reported. I don't know if this is the end for the Dark God, but I do know that I haven't felt any compulsions to continue digging ever since Benjamin blew up that underground tree. Things are settling back into our brand of normal. I still work way too much, I'm still keeping a journal, and weird things still happen at the shitty gas station at the edge of town.

In fact, just yesterday, people started reporting that they had seen something in the woods that looked like an enormous raccoon with bat wings, stealing small animals before flying off into the forest. They even said this winged raccoon monster glows in the dark. Marlboro just came up to me and asked, You know there's a guy in the bathroom dressed like a cowboy? I assured him that I did not know that.

This may be the last update for a while. It's going to be a lot of work putting this place back together. And it's, I've got a whole new crew of part-timers to train. So until next time, Jack from the gas station. Boom! Tales from the gas station, volume one, done! Down in the books! You know what?

you know what? Ending kind of slogged a bit. Didn't I get a little more quippy? It kind of killed my momentum. I did not. Not bad. All in all, I like the story. I did not like the conversation with the God quote unquote. I do think it's funny how after they came to an agreement about like, we'll save the planet together. Benjamin's like, and I'm going to blow it up. Like,

Like, yeah, that's a comedic beat itself because again, it is the characters reacting to these massive whores and like funny ways, right? Rather than the horror being like a funny, quippy character itself. I kind of wish the evil guy was like the dark God was just super evil. And he was just like, you're my puppet. He like, he had some like giant, like evil speech, whatever. And he's just like,

you know, now you're here with me forever, blah, blah, blah. And then he goes out and that's when he just gets blown up. You're like, oh, well, what if it was this way? What if Jack goes down there and he sees just like a tree, right? And he doesn't, he doesn't have a conversation, but he's like, I looked at the tree and I understood this creature didn't want to hurt us. It was trying to save us. It was trying to save the forest. It wanted us to do better. I woke up back on the street, ready to know my goal. It was then that Benjamin pulled out the detonator, right?

Like, yeah, I mean, it kind of, that has the same kind of ending too, is like starship troopers. When they pulled a giant bug out that they've been mad at the entire time. They're like, it's afraid. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I feel like that's a same kind of beat. It is also the same beat as like him having the whole realization about the glowing caterpillar and then the raccoon eats it. Right. Like, well, there that goes. Right. Yeah, exactly. Yeah. To me, the monsters themselves also not taking it seriously, kind of kill it a bit.

But that being said... I think comedy should accent horror in a really fun way. I think you completely lose a lot of the tension that you can build with horror. They can work hand-in-hand, but if this threat is never there, then it's just kind of a weird...

It's just kind of like a kind of campy, like, I don't know. I just never liked that really. It was fine. I mean, it's fine for what it is. It was a fun turn. The story was fun, but like, I don't think I was ever that I would say nearly invested. I think that like, it was a fun. Go ahead. No, no, no. Sorry. I didn't mean to cut you off. You're saying you think it's a fun.

I just think it's a, I mean, I think it's a fun story. I liked all the characters. I think that like in terms of a world, it's a very eccentric and fun, very flavorful world, but I don't think I was ever really bought in on any of the developing stories that were coming in. It was always just kind of something that felt like every time I get,

was getting somewhere. It got kind of cut at the legs with a joke or something. So I never felt really obliged to fully give myself over to like giving a fuck about any of the stuff, which is fine. I mean, it's a, if it's a comedy story, I think that's fine. But once again, I think you do a better service. If you can't have this lackluster character, who's just like all of this evil shit is going around me. That's very serious. Um,

but I just can't seem to give a fuck because it's so normal. You know what I mean? Yeah. Yeah. And I kind of just wish it lean more into that. I think, I think again, the horror needs to come from people's reaction to it rather than the monster itself, because if everyone's goofy, there's not really anything to stand it by. You kind of need a straight man. And the straight man in this scenario was the monsters, right? Well,

Also, what do we have with the guy, the trench coat guy? Or is that just supposed to be something that happens in a different volume? I think it's just something else strange that happens because we had that. We also had the garden gnomes, right? There were several things that weren't explained here. The woman that's alluded to. I mean, I don't even think what we read is all of volume one. And there are four books, it seems. Book one of four, I think. Yeah, it seems like there's a lot of stuff. This definitely is not everything. This is just the first...

stuff that we found on creepypasta.com as like the first entries. And I thought it would be interesting to see. I think that like doing all of them would be just a lot right now. It would be, it would be a lot for us, but like for an individual reader, I'd be interested where the rest of this story goes. I think if it leads more into like the way the horror and like comedy was in the first half, I thought it was interesting. And again, I just really, the only part I didn't like was the conversation with the dark God, uh,

Other than that, I think everything else was solid. I enjoyed it. Yeah. It was very charming. I think that like, there was still some fun revelations like Marlboro being like a Tyler. Yeah. Yeah. But I think just, uh, and that's just kind of the same thing too, of like having a character, a bunch of exposition back and forth as being, uh,

Kind of a bit on the nose, heavy handed, whatever. And also too, I just don't think the joke landed for me. I could see some people thinking that's really funny. So who knows? I think that's just more of a subjective kind of. I've seen the whole like ancient God turns out to be just kind of like whiny, whatever. I've seen that enough. Yeah. That didn't really hit, but you know, to each their own. I loved it up until then. I would highly recommend checking out the series and I'm sure a bunch of you people watching this loved it. So be sure to show them some love. Yeah.

Yeah, I showed Jack Townsend some love. I want to especially preface to very well-written. Yeah, very like fun very quick-witted like the way that Jack introduced

all of these story elements, like all these kind of dangling carrots, I think were, were, uh, was just a lot of fun. Like I, I would be curious to read more of it in the future. Um, after, especially after we get back some, like it was like you said earlier too, it's a nice palate cleanser, do a lot of crazy weird shit and then have a nice palate cleanser with, uh, tails from the gas station. I think could be a fun, if people like this one, we'll see, we'll see what they say. Yeah. We'll see. Well,

Well, everyone, that's your episode of Creepcast. Thank you so much if you're listening on Spotify or Apple Podcasts, any of that jazz. If you are there, please be sure to give us a nice little rating. If you're on YouTube, be sure to smash that like button and subscribe. I don't think anyone says that anymore. But as always, we love seeing all the comments, the memes, the art. It's all amazing. We appreciate you guys. You guys are the best fan base on the Internet. I'll say it.

Sure. And you know what? Especially when I bless you, Jeff Goldblum notes. No, no, no. That's whenever that's when you that's well, those aren't fans. Those are, he said it. He said that you all are his favorite. So keep doing that. We'll see you next time. Goodbye. See you in the next one. And Jeff Goldblum forever. Bye.