full image - Repost: This National Park Has Armed Guards And I Know What They Kill (from Reddit.com, This National Park Has Armed Guards And I Know What They Kill)
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Here goes everything. I’m getting this post out on Halloween in hopes that it will fly under the radar enough it won’t get immediately taken down. Also that enough individuals will pass the message along. That being said everything I’ve written is true, I’ve seen the images, the documentation, the videos, the bodies, hell I’ve even been out in the field killing whatever these things are. They are real and no one is doing anything of worth about it. Sure we have it “contained” for now but they’re changing, evolving, and they’re getting better. It’s only a matter of time before they get to a point no one can stop them.I’m getting everything I know down on pen and paper and of course to the broader internet. I know there will be doubters but what’s important is that this shit is known. I’m officially blowing the whistle, damn this job, damn the legal nightmare I’m opening. If this post does get taken down, it’s safe to assume it’s been purged and I’m either dead, or in legal custody in Lenerwood. Honestly I don’t know what worse.Regardless I’ll take it from the top. I’m an armed guard for Green Oaks National Park. Not a park ranger, not a grounds keeper, not a search and rescue officer. An Armed guard. I work with a team of fifty individuals all ex military, like myself, or worked as a first responder in some regard. We usually work in tandem with park rangers and the like. If someone goes missing or has problems with wildlife or other individuals, we assist.That’s at least how it was when I started. I’ve been employed for two years now and we still go on such calls. Now however, we’re tasked with additional patrols. I won’t go into detail on my hiring process for the sake of anonymity and keeping as many parties out of this mess as I can manage. Just know it was suspicious, and ridiculously quick with how fast I was given a rifle and how much they know about my record.I now know it’s the fact this is a federal job, and every three letter agency out there has their fingers in everything, especially the parks records. Explains the NDA. Gives verification to an old conspiracy theory.The Park itself is massive in its acreage. Something over a million even though only a third of that is accessible to the public through traditional means. It’s got miles of walking trails, streams and a river, hunting grounds further in, cabins for rent and camping, and of course our perimeter cuts into a mountain range. Most of the park lives up to its name, miles and miles of hundred year old oak trees. I’m no botanist mind you, there is of course ash trees, cedars, mesquite, a lot of trees, grasses, and weeds native to the southern United States but it’s the oaks that dominate. I’ve walked those woods more times than I could count when I wasn’t stuck on CQ duty. No matter where you go they always give then new guy the shit work. Yet every time I walk those trails or make my own, there is an aura to those woods. Being cheesy it’s like stepping into another world one that you always felt uneasy and watched. Makes my stomach want to hurl itself out of my body to know what was really watching me. I would’ve preferred it to a bear or cougar which I know stalk those woods, they don’t have the intelligent eyes that make your brain shudder.It wasn’t human, it never was. I’d give anything to run into a crazed murder or the drug deals and cartel that backpack their ways through the park for easy deals. I never got assigned to those cases. Nor the bear attacks, moose encounters or hunter mishaps. Of all the animals that call the park home, all the thousands of people that are in the park at any given time, I came across those things.My first encounter that I can say with certainty was during one of my many nights of CQ a year into the job. For brevity sake, I was on overwatch staring at wall of screens feeding me visuals from our thousands of trail cams through the park. Whenever one detected movement it took front and center on a monitor on my desk. On top of body cam footage. I had a computer to make notations of park staff and armed guard squads movements. If anyone needed anything they’d radio me and I’d advise their next corse of action. It was a boring job.Most days and nights nothing happened. That night was when I knew something was wrong, it stuck with me.A team of two rangers and three guards were following up with a report of a mass killing of some kind. Details were on a need to know basis at the time but it was a good five miles off a popular trail for its ruggedness, its stench of death was what raised concern. Our captain determined it would be best to go after sun down to not draw attention and concern as our guards had rifles ready. They took a side by side out and trudged through the worst of the brush guided by their noses to the pile of rotting meat they eventually found. I was watching body cam footage at the time as they came across the small gully full of dirty meat and bones until it was flush with the forest floor, probably a good six inches. The flys were swarming but they were the only animal in sight. A ranger came to the conclusion as he poked the pile with a stick that this wasn’t a wild animal storing a kill, it was exposed too much and looked as though it was all muscle tissue just thrown about. Some still attached to bone but no skin or fur to determine the animal and no indication of what killed it. The running theory was some pelt hunter came through and dumped the rest. I called bs but still went through the effort of making a notation.At least until the trail cameras picked up something in between the squad and their atv. All I could see was the screen flash and leaf litter fall. Rough estimates say it’s two to three miles from the squad. Protocol kicks in to radio the squad they have something heading their way. I didn’t even get the chance to press the call button before a figure emerged on the body cam. The night vision of the body cams was the classic green, the kind that would let you see what’s in front of you but make the shadows long and blurry. There was no mistaking something watching you in that darkness. I saw the reflection of eyes staring at the guard who in turn was making it stare at me. It was still far off with the bobbing head of a figure running. It was about the height of a large dog but as it got closer, clearer in the image, I could see the spindly, impossibly long, legs to its side stances like a crocodile.The squad was on the mark to their credit. Rifles were raised, formations made, and a garbled call came from the radio still in my hand, “CQ, we have contact. Clear the engage?” I cleared them and practiced hands clicked off safeties. Traditional ROI is to not fire until fired upon or charged by man or animal, use non lethal force when available. As such each guard when on patrol is equipped with both a .308 semiautomatic rifle, a .45 handgun, medical gear, vest, helmet with NODS and white light, flare, tear gas, mace, taser, and zip ties. Other gear is left in the atvs we would utilize. Being prior service, the guards know when and what to use to their discretion. Those three guards unloaded a total of twenty eight rounds into a hair less, pale skinned, gangly quadrupedal, flat faced abomination that was charging them from a frightening fifty yards before it was spotted. It didn’t drop dead until sixteen yards, shuddering as it lie in a heap in the brush. Then came the radio, “CQ, please advise,” no amount of training prepared us for this. Nothing prepared me for this. I still hear the squeaky rasping of the abomination’s death rattle in my nightmares and how loud the dying beast was. The captain took things from there, and it was a lot of paper work and debriefing afterwards. I was able to take a break from CQ after that. Which just meant cleaning our lobby and barracks but also doing field work. That’s when I realized just how much is off the books.Like I previously mentioned we had some drug trade through the forest, instead of doing cool operator, detective things like that, I got stuck on the missing persons cases and guarding posts out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. I still think they were using me as bait.Like clockwork there was at least one missing person report a week. Hikers traveling off the path, estranged campers not returning home when they should’ve, kids and pets wondering off, people being in places they shouldn’t, those kinds of things. I’m not heartless, some of them still weigh on me knowing the fate most of them inevitably came to. A few we could even give closure to the family by finding remains, it was always remains never a full body. Even fewer we found the person but I knew they would never be the same again. Some lost limbs and digits, it was never cold enough for frost bite, all had that look in their eyes. Of the maybe thirteen percent we found in my time eight made it back home, the other five got taken by one of the three letter agencies and their records wiped. I got told I was bad luck, the fellow guards busting my balls, but even when I was taken off SAR those statistics didn’t get better. I followed the same process as everyone else when it came to searching. Search parties always ranged in size and duration. The standard for us was having the search and rescue officers , SAR, send their team of twenty individuals out and who ever volunteered from the families with a patrol of three guards. We would scope at least twenty five miles over the corse of seventy two hours. Depending on how much was “donated” helicopters would get involved and searches would be extended. On top of our extensive network of trail cams and reports from visitors we should’ve had a better success rate.We didn’t, often times visitors who stayed from the path got swallowed by the forest and whatever got found was spat back out. Something about the ones we could fine always made my skin crawl. Those vapid looks, slack jaw, and the way they struggled with the simplest functions and to understand even the simplest question or command. They always knew their names, but if you tried to ask how they got there they would just stare you in the eyes. The jaw would work sometimes, like they wanted to say something, only raspy breaths came out. Those were the lucky ones.The remains only got worse. It started as a corpse, bloated or exploded, rotting in the thick soup of meat and blood. Making the already horrid air in the southern heat oppressive. Skin and muscles would have bites taken out of them, as if land sharks were out here taking chunks out of unsuspecting travelers. Those were always chalked up to animal attacks or scavenging. Medical reports say otherwise, at least the few I could get my hands on, the tooth pattern from the animal never matched local wildlife.The constant was victims never had their face left. Eyes, tongue, noses, even their teeth were always gone and missing. Leaving just the thin fibers of muscle clinging to the skull. We had to identify them by DNA and fingerprints, and their organs were always left alone, the ones that didn’t explode in decomposition. I’m no biologist but I know that not usual for animals to pass on liver and the like.Then there were then bones, shreds of clothes still clung to them. It was still rare to find a full skeleton but staff got wise to start taking and documenting any bones and skeletons they’d find. Some animals got in the mix with that practice but they were still sent off to a lab to be analyzed. Regardless the animal they were always missing the teeth. That just being the victims we could find. The corpses and remains accounted for at least forty three percent of all missing persons cases I worked on.The subsequent locations of last seen verses where they were found were infrequent at best, it could range from a couple hundred yards off a path, to miles on a different path, in and around a stream or river, buried under ground, in the canopy of oak trees, or the only correlation that could be drawn is three miles around the foot hill and mountain range. Even then it had it higher density sure but we had people who would’ve had to cross the entire park in less the three days on foot to have died around the region to match the time line. In a park where we have thousands of trail cams, countless patrols and visitors, you would have to think they would’ve been seen or stopped before hand.My time guarding our posts was rather lackluster for the longest time. Which I was happy with the change. It consisted on driving to said outpost, which would change weekly, with two other guards to a more remote section of the park. These outposts were trailers with a lookout tower attached, designed for emergency aid for lost hikers or if there was an animal attack and they needed to be stabilized and lifted out. Each post was placed in a manmade clearing with enough space for helicopters. “Luckily” I never had to call in or use such measures.In the meantime our duties were to take inventory, rotate inventory, check trail cams for maintenance, service weapons, and more or less sit tight. With three of us we got a lot of important things done early and used the rest of the time to recoup unless we had additional orders. Unless we were stationed near the mountains. There was only one outpost but it, stupidly, saw the most foot traffic by visitors and hikers. The mountains were strictly off limits to the public, and because of that thrill seekers and teenagers flocked to it. There was only one trail that led to a clearing on one of the surrounding foot hill that gave a view of the mountains. Without saying how, if one hiked another mile or two you came to a pass at the foot of the mountains. If you were brave enough to leave the forest behind as oaks thinned to ash trees and thinned further to meadows there was supposedly a cave. Now I never went that far, I always stopped just after the pass. That’s usually when I caught up with whoever it was trying to sneak up there. I never had the gaul to keep going. I’ll be the first to admit I let a few trespassers get away from me because they made it to the caves. Whatever happened to them I try not to think too hard. They ended up a missing person who was never found.The fear of the mountains were shared by most of the other guards as well so it was always a dreaded occurrence when you got stationed there. It also meant having to stand and post guard to scare off the brave and the stupid with the help of CQ. Everyone’s got their own horror stories from those damn mountains. Mine came from the fourth night of a week long stent. It was my turn to stand guard outside in the look out tower. It was getting close to sunset, still plenty of light but late enough that the sun started its light show of color on the horizon. Can’t even enjoy sunsets anymore. I happened to be watching said sunset when my radio squawked, “REDACTED, do you copy?” I rolled my eyes picking up my rifle that was leaning beside me, “Go ahead,” “We got movement heading your way from the trail. Unknown how many.” “Copy, enroute now,” there was a copy as I made my way to the forest floor. One of the other guards coming out of the trailer with their rifle, hearing their own radio and no doubt choosing the shortest straw got stuck helping me. We share a nod and start walking towards the last known spot where the trail cam picked up movement. We were silent, listening for any kind of movement through the brush. We come to our normal hiding spot, a large tree bigger then four men standing abreast but gives us great visibility on a slight trail most use when coming this far up. It’s either that or try and truck through thorny weeds and shrubs stomping your way through an off limits area of the forest. So we waited and listened.Dread has a funny way of filling your stomach better than any meal, and it filled me as I noticed the forest went silent. No birds, no breeze, no buzzing insects just me, my breath hitching in my throat and my heart beating its way out of my chest. I glance to my partner who sits like a log but flicked off his safety, gripping his rifle as if it’s keeping him rooted to his spot. I smelt it first. The rot, damp, stink wafting from the trail. I turned that dread to nausea, and it was so much worse than all those corpses I came across. Then I heard that snapping of sticks and brushing the weeds out of the things barreling way. When I saw it my heart stopped, from pounding against my ribs to still as a stone. I couldn’t breathe, I hadn’t, not since the smell. What shambled through the shrubs with a steadfast determination was a deer built wrong. It was a white tail buck, without the signature tail. Its backside was curled impossibly behind its head like a scorpions tail, the spine broken and breaking the skin with its hind legs flopping uselessly in the air to either side of its chest. In place of its hind legs it was using two broken, protruding rib bones as back legs to stabilize its self. Splitting open its belly pouring out black blood and guts that drag behind it. Using only its front two impossibly long and multi joined legs to crawl forward. Like fingers inching forward. It’s antlers jutting from its throat acting like a bloody battering ram with brush stuck to the blood. That left the head, its top jaw was smashed into its skull giving it a flat face with a protruding lower jaw that had no teeth. The eyes are what made me shoot first, they were tiny no bigger then my thumb, but they were human eyes bright icy blue human eyes deeply set into its crushed face so that they were staring, unblinking, forward. Staring directly at me.The crack of my rifle broke me out of my stupor. I hadn’t even noticed I shouldered and fired until the recoil hit me. I didn’t stop shooting. The thing charging us let out a shrill scream like the mating call of a deer but through a man’s voice. It sent shocks down my spine to run, to move my feet. Training was the only thing that kept me squared until my mag ran out. It was those four quiet clicks and the trigger refusing to move that I saw the heap in front of me. It got dangerously close, twelve feet, but it lie a mass of broken anatomy and flesh. I look to my partner who was sheet white, and I don’t doubt I looked the same. He kept his rifle trained on the heap while I try to reload with shaking hands as the adrenaline dumps from my system. Fighting in combat doesn’t prepare you for this. My radio and its nonstop chirping gave me something to concentrate on “REDACTED, do you copy!” “Copy,” my voice shakes more then my hands “Atvs inbound to your location, eta five mikes, sit tight Captains on standby when we get you back,” “Copy.” Was all I could muster.I was taken off duty for a while after that. I can still see the things face. I can’t go into the details of my debrief and there after, not now at least, all I can say is I did more research then I’d like to admit about Green Oaks National Park, biological infections, even demonology, and even crazier shit. I never liked to study and I hate some of the conclusions I’ve come to.I am back on post right now. Currently watching a different outpost but if things like that are out here, things like that pale lanky fuck, there could be even worse things out here. It poses a threat to everyone who comes to the park, hell it poses a threat to the surrounding cities, the state, fuck even the county. I know if I try to say anything to the media it won’t get any where. I met with some of the higher ups after my encounter, they’re determined to keep this under wraps. To make sure people don’t know the danger. I want to at least warn people and hopefully this will slip by long enough for someone to see it, maybe even repost it. I’ll take my chances with that. If I know someone out there has seen this I’ll try and update the more I find out, but I can’t promise anything. Until then, ask your National Park if they have armed guards.
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