That’s right, it’s time for a creepy story. I am not going to pretend that I have an explanation for this past speculation, because I don’t. However, it was very interesting and it seems like the time of year to share it. I looked for the photographs for days. For those of you that asked, no, this is not about what storage device they are on. These were actual photographs, without a digitized form anywhere. We have no clue where they got put, but if I find them, I will do a new post, linking back to this one, that has the photos in it. Apologies that you will have to imagine it, instead of actually see it. All images are approximations for visual similarities, and not of the actual locations.
Once upon a time, just before the age of camera phones, as a surprise, I sent my Significant Other and his best friend far far away to watch their mutually appreciated football teams go head to head in a battle, to indulge the very friendly rivalry between the two long time friends. It would not be a short trip, and they would be spending a great deal of their time on a heavily traveled interstate.
At some point or another, on that bright sunny day that they set out, they pulled off at a deserted off ramp, in an area that they were both familiar with from previous hikes, to hit the head as it were. To be sure that they were entirely invisible from said interstate (no one needs an indecent exposure charge, am I right?), they hiked, across a flat clearing, back a fair distance from the road, stepping over a dry creek, and ducking into the dense trees, and oh… what they found was (in my opinion) quite fascinating.
At home, having sent them off much earlier in the day I didn’t expect to hear from them for some time. Other than letting me know that they weren’t dead, had arrived in one piece, I figured this was their time, and assumed that I wouldn’t speak to him much for the next several days. That is, until the phone rang.
“You will never guess what I found along the side of the highway.”
“A Leprechaun, the fountain of youth, Indiana Jones? You’re right, I’m not going to be able to guess, so just tell me.”
He describes the situation, how they got there, how far off the road they were, all the while I am impatiently tapping my foot. Back stories are great, but get to the good part.
“…and when we got back there, all over everything, there is women’s underwear strewn around everywhere. Like a homeless encampment, but one that no one has ever lived at. It was absent of any sort of food, firepit, sleeping area. It was devoid of all life.
The underwear was on all over the ground, in the trees, but that’s not all… there was a sex doll, strung by its neck, by a bra, just staring at us, but that wasn’t all. She was tied up at her arms and legs, like you would restrain a person. No one else is around, and we’re just trying to figure out what we the hell we just walked up on.”
“That’s… super weird. Did you get photos of it?” I ask with my interest very piqued at this point.
He laughed, “No, we went back there to pee, and neither of us thought we wanted to document the occasion.”
“I need photographs. Get me pictures.”
“Because I do, and you need to get them for me. Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please …”
“FINE!" I will grab a disposable on the way home and get you pictures… weirdo.”
“Yay!” I was very pleased, and I awaited the photographs of the perverts nook accordingly. That is not to say I was patient about it mind you. I took every available opportunity to harass him about it. The game was good? Cool. Pictures. Do I want a souvenir? Yes. Pictures. How am I doing. Better if I had pictures. I can be very persistent, and before you feel sorry for him, he STILL almost forgot.
As promised on the way home they made another stop at the same deserted off ramp.
Again, there was no one around, but now it is getting dark, and is drizzling slightly. Quite the ambiance if you ask me, and into the woods they go.
They get back into the thicket where they were before, and it is all exactly as they had left it. All the bras are still dangling, turning back and forth slowly in the breeze that was able to penetrate the dense growth. The sex doll, slightly more deflated than before still staring, shocked at her predicament, and those there to behold her.
As it grew darker, they began to snap off pictures, trying to capture for me the uncanny sight before them. Still not certain what they had found, they did their best to make a good record of it, and then get back on the road home.
As strange as all of that is, and as odd as it was to find it, this is where the story gets interesting. As they made their way out of the woods, a pair of headlights emerged from beneath the overpass, and headed in their immediate direction.
Upon seeing my Significant Other’s parked car, the black tinted out pick up truck hesitated. It crept forward slowly, unsure of what to do next. It stopped about two car lengths away from my SO’s, and then crept forward in a slow roll, another half a length, and shut off his lights. Studying the truck carefully, my SO noted three things.
They couldn’t see the driver. The tint was far too dark
They couldn’t see the license plate, the truck seemed to be trying to hide it.
They couldn’t see into the back of the truck, the truck was too tall.
My SO and his friend were on alert. They hadn’t yet reached the car, but they don’t travel without protection, so they weren’t particularly worried, jut wary of the odd behavior. Keeping their eyes on this suspicious vehicle, they made their way back to my SO’s car, and got into their respective sides. A conversation was to be had.
“I don’t know what this guy is doing, but that was a pretty disturbing sight, and this truck is acting very unnaturally. Let’s see what he does now, “ and they started the car, leaving the headlights off.
The uncertainty was palpable, and the threat was real. It was evident that the driver was sizing them up, trying to determine his next move. Abruptly he snapped his headlights back on and roared past them and stopped about thirty feet ahead of them, positioning himself in a way that his license plate wouldn’t be seen. He seemed to wait for them to leave. Perhaps his intention was to follow them, perhaps not, but he waited for a long moment, until my SO flipped his headlights on.
This was enough for the driver to make his decision. Apparently it wasn’t worth trying to stand against long haired two men, both over six feet, and tipping the scale over two hundred pounds, when he wasn’t certain about the outcome. He floored it, and disappeared down the highway, leaving my SO and his best friend to really wonder exactly who that was.
They thought about calling the police, but to what end? The truck hadn’t done anything, and there was nothing to prove that truck had anything to do with the perplexing find in the woods. They chose to leave, and come home.
Within a week, I had the photographs developed, and it was everything that he claimed it to be. The rain and darkness added another level to the eerie vibe, and there was no denying that what I was seeing was something to be concerned with. I started on some research, I wanted to know what the chances were of it being something more than just kids playing a very unusual, and hard to find prank. This is what I found.
At any given time, upon that long interstate highway, it is estimated that there were likely five to six serial killers operating that had yet to be caught. It was a frequent dumping ground for the bodies of these killers, and a hideout like this had the markings of something that should be brought to the authorities, so that is exactly what I did.
I wrote to the FBI, both local, and national, targeting the appropriate investigative wings, I emailed them both. I detailed the scene. I told them about the encounter that my SO and his friend had had. I offered the photographs for them to do with what they needed to investigate.
I never heard a word from them. Nothing, which is too bad really. Who knows what they might have found if they had gone and investigated. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps the next day, there was a black tinted out pickup truck parked at that off ramp, and the owner, deep in the trees, frantically yanked it all down, erasing it from existence.
Perhaps, but perhaps not, and even if he had, they at least would have had the photographs for reference. They would at least been able to know what to look for at the next site this person built as a shrine to whatever his fetish was.
What did that driver think when he saw two people emerging from the dark woods with long hair. Did he know immediately that it was two men, or did he think that he had hit the jackpot, and that’s why he crept up so slowly? Was he formulating a game plan, for a two for one special? I don’t suppose we will ever know.
This is a story that frequently discussed between us, and interestingly enough is a great illustration of the psychopathic mind. Not the possible killer of course, but rather me. Bizarre as that site was, and as dangerous as the encounter could have been for my SO and his friend, from the getgo I knew that it was likely a serial killers nest. I didn’t care, and it didn’t even occur to me that information should not be more important than my SO and his friend’s safety. I wanted those photographs, and I got them. Once I had them, I did try to do the right thing with them in the end, but the FBI had no interest in them.
Perhaps, if they had taken the photographs, they too would have seen the drag marks of feet… leading off deeper into the woods.