Ep.202 – The Stop-Sign Man - This Legend is DEADLY

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Growing up is challenging. There's no
right or wrong way to do it,

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00:00:04.719 --> 00:00:09.560
and everyone has their own version of
a right of passage. But in this

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small town in South Carolina, the
right of passage is a bit more devious,

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a bit more dangerous, and maybe
for one young man, a bit

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deadly. What's that you want to
be scared? Come with me. You

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00:00:36.840 --> 00:00:44.719
will experience tales over opera, ghosts
and death. It is not recommended at

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00:00:44.759 --> 00:00:52.759
the foot the weak at heart listeners
in the dark. It's more fun that

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way way. This Weekly speaking,
Hello, my spookies, It's Wednesday,

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and you know what that means.
It's time for a little spooky in your

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Weekly. I'm your host and narrator, Enrique Kuto, and we have a

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really excellent story tonight from a brand
new author, at least brand new to

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us. But before we get to
that, I want to remind you that

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at Weekly Spooky dot com, not
only do we have access to our Patreon,

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I'm a Spooky in the style of
I'm a Pepper from Doctor Pepper. But

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this one is all about loving being
scared and so much more so. If

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you love Weekly Spooky, you love
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you nothing, and while you're there, you can make sure you're subscribed so

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that you never miss any of your
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of Spooky on the Weekly, this
Friday will have a brand new episode of

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Cutting Deep into Horror where I sit
down with Rachel Rodolphi and we dissect the

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terrifying and almost two real horror film
funny games. So make sure to check

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that out this Friday. But now, my dear listeners, oooh, I

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think it's getting chilly. Out Fall
is approaching, and now it's time we

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head south to find out about a
local urban legend that's slowly but surely getting

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real. And we'll hear all about
that after these quick words from our sponsors.

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The Stop Sign Man by Bryce Gibson
one for guys that grow up around

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this part of South Carolina. Stealing
stop signs is a rite of passage,

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all for the sake of an old
urban legend. It is something some of

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us do on our seventeenth birthday.
If you choose to do it, there

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are three rules to follow. One
do it alone. Two, don't tell

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a soul about what you see.
And three, the most important rule of

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them all, never get caught.
If you do, the stop sign Man

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will make your life a living hell. I Stratton Duke failed at number three,

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and the folklore is right, My
life sucks. Two. Most everybody

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around here has heard the legend at
some time or another. If you haven't,

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you're either too young or you've been
living under a rock. It goes

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something like this. On the night
of your seventeenth birthday, steal a county

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stop sign, take it out to
the old Williamson Barn, and you will

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see him for yourself. The first
time I ever heard the story, I

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was seven years old. I was
sitting with Dad at the barber shop on

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Main Street. It was mid afternoon
and I had just gotten out of school

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for the day. Halloween was right
around the corner. Mister Perry, the

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barber, had the shop decorated with
paper jack o' lanterns, green faced witches,

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and spooky black cats. After telling
Dad that he'd heard a stop sign

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had been stolen the night before,
the two of them discussed the fact that

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it had been so and so's birthday. None of it made sense to me

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at the time. Then mister Perry
looked at me and asked, do you

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know about the stop sign? Man? I told him I had no idea.

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Well, the barber continued, he
has eyes shaped like octagons. They

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glow red and twirl around and around. After we got home and I was

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lying in bed with the blanket pulled
up to my chin, I asked Dad

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if mister Perry was just saying those
things to scare me with it being Halloween.

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I figured it was possible. It's
just an urban legend, Dad said,

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a ghost story. It's something that
gets passed down and told again and

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again. After that day, the
legend was ingrained deep in my mind,

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even though I didn't know many details. I thought about it often, and

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it wasn't just me who fell under
the spell. Soon I realized the other

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kids at school knew about it too. Sometimes at recess we'd play a game

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we called stop the Stop Sign Man. One of us would be him and

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the others would be his adversaries.
We played the game on the wobbly roundabout,

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from which we tried to fling the
stop sign man off of Octagons play

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a big part in the weird mythology, from the signs themselves to the strange

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locale. Over the years, I'd
seen the Williamson Barn many times in passing.

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I always knew something was a little
off kilter about the construction, but

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I couldn't pinpoint what the building stands
on a stretch of overgrown land next to

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a cow pasture and hence woods.
Not long after learning about the stop Signman,

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I realized the truth. The barn
has eight sides of equal length an

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octagon. Needless to say, with
the knowledge of the story, I was

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terrified to go anywhere near that place. Three boy, how things change.

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Between the ages of seven and sixteen, I became a completely different person.

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My body grew in ways I never
imagined. Over those years, I shot

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up like a weed. Now I'm
nearly six feet tall. I don't fit

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in with any particular group at school. That's not to say I don't have

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friends. I do, but for
the most part I linger on the outside

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looking in. Ten years ago,
nobody would have been able to drag my

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skinny ass anywhere near the Williamson Barn. And now I'm sitting here offering myself

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up like it's the great sacrifice that
will save all of humanity. And really

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it's about a girl. Her name
is Alison Weaving, new to our part

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of Crow County at the beginning of
senior year. From the moment I saw

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her, with her long blonde hair
and perfect body, she was everything I

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wanted to put it simply, I
would have done almost anything to have a

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chance with her. Unfortunately, what
Alison wanted was far removed from the likes

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of me. Right off the bat, she became besties with Becca Mansfield.

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Becca, a literal beauty queen,
liked to hang out with a slightly rougher

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crowd than the atmosphere me and my
friend Greg Collins could provide. The group

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was led by Mark Taylor. Every
day after school, Mark and his gang

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liked to congregate behind the Big Courthouse
on the town square. There they smoked

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stolen cigarettes, drew half assed graffiti
on trash cans, and dared each other

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to do stupid shit like flipping mid
air from a picnic table. One Friday

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night in early fall, I dragged
Greg to a party at Mark's house because

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I knew Alison would be there.
Mark's parents were out of town and the

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place was slammed. Greg and I
pushed our way through the crowd. We

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found Alison and Becca sitting on the
countertop in the kitchen. They were watching

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Mark and his friends do the latest
viral challenge, placing a penny on the

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prongs of a halfway plugged in phone
charger. As sparks flew, I couldn't

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help but to notice how both Alison
and Becca laughed at what they were witnessing.

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At that moment, one thing became
glaringly clear to me. For Alison

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Weaving to notice me, I needed
more of an edge. Four. I'm

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gonna do it, I say,
Thursday night, It's on my seventeenth birthday,

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is only three days away. According
to the legend, you only get

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one shot if I don't do it. I might regret it later, I

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add. Greg and I are sitting
in one of the study rooms at the

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library, which is located in a
flat brick building on the square. He's

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on one side of the wide wooden
table and me on the other. Greg

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throws a pencil and it hits me
upside the head. You could have put

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my eye out, I yell out
and retrieve the yellow number two from the

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floor, promptly flinging it back in
his direction. Greg ducks out of the

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way. The pencil bounces off the
cinder block wall behind him and rolls underneath

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the radiator heater. Greg sits up
straight and stares at me. The stop

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signman is just a lame ghost story. You know that, He says.

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You need to grow up. Man. We pack up our belongings and walk

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outside. Greg reaches into the front
pocket of his book bag and pulls out

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a pack of cigarettes he'd lifted from
his older other. Without asking, he

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hands one to me. I just
don't want you to get in trouble,

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he says. Chip Wagner is the
most recent guy we know of to perform

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the ritual, and that was ten
years ago. Chip was caught and charged

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with theft. With the common knowledge
of the legend, it didn't take a

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rocket scientist to figure out who to
bring in for questioning. After all,

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it was Chip's birthday. I placed
the cigarette between my lips, light the

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tip with Greg's lighter, and inhale. The smoke makes me cough, and

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Greg laughs at my lack of experience. Besides, if you're that desperate for

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some action, I'm sure Roxy is
ready and willing. Just take your ass

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over to the filling station. By
the time we were young teenagers, we'd

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already heard the rest of the stop
signman folklore. After entering the barn with

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a sign as an offering, a
woman appears. People say, she takes

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your innocence, she makes you a
man. They say, no, one

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really knows what that means. Though
obviously, with what Greg is suggesting to

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me now, his takeaway leans more
towards something of a sexual nature. The

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girl he's talking about, Roxy is
someone who grew up in the boggy land

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on the other side of the railroad
tracks, swamp rats we call them.

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I glance across the square. The
filling station is visible from here, and

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I see her. She's sitting on
an old wooden church pew that's pushed up

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against the side of the store,
I groan in disgust. I'm sure she

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is, but I don't want to
catch some kind of disease. Later that

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night, after having birthday dinner with
my dad, I drive all the way

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out to Layman Road to where an
intersection sits deep in a long stretch of

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pines. Over the past few days, I've been scoping things out and making

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a plan. Anybody who does this
has to choose his own sign, and

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the one I've picked has a spray
painted X on the back. With a

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wrench from the toolbox on the back
of my truck, I remove the sign

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from the metal post. After I
have the sign taken down, I place

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it flat on the bottom of my
truck bed. I drive out to the

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Williamson Land and pull off the road, parking in a secluded, unused red

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dirt driveway located on the far side
of the barn. Admittedly, the exterior

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of the barn is creepy as all
get out, even at seventeen years old.

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Briefly, I'm taken back to several
years earlier, when I thought the

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stop signman might be real. Just
as quick as those stories begin to resurface

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in the back of my mind.
I push all the nonsense away and focus

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on the present. Here's the kicker
about all of this. Tonight, I'm

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going to one up Mark Taylor.
My visit to the stop signman is going

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to be recorded. If the girl's
got a kick out of Mark's penny trick,

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Allison is going to flip the f
out when she sees this. With

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the stop sign held under one arm
and my phone in the other hand,

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I walked toward my destination. For
dramatic effect, I hold the phone at

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a low angle, recording the tall
weeds that slap and brush against my jeans.

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Once there, I lift the wooden
latch and pushed the door open with

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the toe of my boot. The
rusty hinges creak in the still dark night.

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The door makes a soft slap against
the interior wall. Finally I step

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inside. Narrow slants of moonlight come
through the gaps between the boards of the

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wall. The smell of old straw
hangs heavy in the air. Not knowing

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what else to do, what step
I'm supposed to take next? I tossed

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the sign onto a loose scattering of
hay and nothing happens. I'm about to

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leave when the wall on the far
side of the barn begins to shake,

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like a set of shutters in a
thunderstorm. As the boards clatter, a

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shower of thick dust falls from the
rafters, making me cough and sneeze.

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Finally, the wall literally folds in
on itself, and I'm able to see

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what is on the other side,
a wet, boggy swamp. This can't

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be real. I think this has
to be a prank. Greg, I

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call out, I don't know how
you're doing this, but you need to

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cut it out. I imagine him
around the corner or high above in the

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hayloft, looking down on me,
watching and laughing. Movement within the wetland

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catches my attention and I look.
A girl is standing on the end of

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a moss covered wooden dock. She's
wearing a white tank top that's way too

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small and a pair of jean shorts
that fit tight over her thighs. Roxy

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A moment later, I'm standing on
the dock in front of her. I

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have no idea how I got here. I look down and see the bottom

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half of my jeans are covered in
thick, dark colored muck. Obviously,

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I walked through the water, but
I don't remember any of it. I

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wonder if I'm hallucinating Greg. I
call out again, enough is enough jokes

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over. Roxy speaks. There's nobody
here but us. Her voice is soft

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and strangely seductive. At first,
I think she's talking about me and her,

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but then I notice her eyes.
Look over my shoulder. I turned

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to look. A shadowy figure is
standing in the barn. I can't make

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out any particular features, but I
can tell it's a guy with a body

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built like an athlete. The tips
of Roxy's fingers brush against my neck.

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The length of her nails causes my
skin to crawl for some reason. When

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I turn back around, I'm looking
at her exposed midriff, a cubic zarconi,

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a belly button piercing catches, a
sparkle of light. Logically, I

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know I should run far away,
but there's something else deep inside of myself,

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a pull that makes me stay.
It draws my body closer to hers.

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She slides her fingertips against my lips. It is done, she says,

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you are a man. Five.
I wake up the next morning,

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still wearing the clothes I had on
the night before. The inside of my

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mouth feels like I've been chewing on
a sheet of coarse sandpaper. My head

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pounds, and when I sit up, I feel dizzy. Sitting on the

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edge of the bed, it takes
me a moment to gain my composure.

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I stumble into the bathroom to take
a leak and brush my nasty ass teeth.

206
00:18:17.440 --> 00:18:22.960
That's when I notice the crumbly,
crusty mud smeared across my shirt and

207
00:18:22.119 --> 00:18:29.519
jeans. Dry leaves are stuck in
my messy hair. I look like crap.

208
00:18:30.400 --> 00:18:34.960
My eyes are bloodshot, below them
dark bags. My skin has a

209
00:18:36.039 --> 00:18:40.480
washed out, sallow look. To
someone else, I might look like I've

210
00:18:40.519 --> 00:18:45.000
been on an all night bender.
After looking for my phone, which is

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00:18:45.079 --> 00:18:48.039
nowhere to be found, I change
clothes and then go into the kitchen for

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00:18:48.079 --> 00:18:53.799
a glass of water. Dad's sister, Rita is here. Aunt Rita lives

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00:18:53.799 --> 00:18:59.160
next door and comes and goes as
she pleases. Currently, she's sitting at

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00:18:59.200 --> 00:19:03.480
the kitchen table talking on her phone. She acknowledges me with a brief smile.

215
00:19:04.440 --> 00:19:10.000
I pull a glass from the cabinet
and fill it with tapwater. This

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00:19:10.119 --> 00:19:15.039
is just like nineteen ninety six all
over again. Aunt Rita says to whomever

217
00:19:15.079 --> 00:19:18.440
it is she's talking to. I'm
clueless to the reference, but I can

218
00:19:18.440 --> 00:19:22.720
tell by the sound of her voice
that she's upset. Did you hear about

219
00:19:22.759 --> 00:19:27.599
that girl, aunt Rita asks.
Now, her voice has a different tone

220
00:19:29.039 --> 00:19:33.359
the one in your class. It
takes me a second to realize she's talking

221
00:19:33.400 --> 00:19:38.720
to me. I pinched my eyes
in confusion and shake my head. Alison

222
00:19:38.799 --> 00:19:45.400
Weaving. She explains she had a
crash last night. She died. My

223
00:19:45.559 --> 00:19:49.880
heart slams against my rib cage.
The glass of water nearly slips from my

224
00:19:49.960 --> 00:19:55.640
grip, but instead I slam it
onto the countertop. What do you mean

225
00:19:56.680 --> 00:20:02.039
another car te boned hers, They
say she i'd on impact. I feel

226
00:20:02.039 --> 00:20:06.119
so terrible for that girl's parents.
The loss they must be going through is

227
00:20:06.119 --> 00:20:11.960
impossible to fathom. This can't be
happening. I think the room is twirling

228
00:20:12.000 --> 00:20:18.400
around me. I need to sit
down, aunt Rita continues. They say

229
00:20:18.440 --> 00:20:22.759
the stop sign was gone. The
driver of the other car didn't even know

230
00:20:22.880 --> 00:20:27.200
they should stop. What I'm hearing
can't be true. It all makes me

231
00:20:27.279 --> 00:20:32.319
feel like I could puke. Finally, I fall into the seat of the

232
00:20:32.440 --> 00:20:37.359
chair opposite aunt Rita, where Where
did it happen? What road was it

233
00:20:37.400 --> 00:20:45.440
on? Her answer solidifies the thoughts
churning through my head way out on Layman.

234
00:20:47.000 --> 00:20:51.200
Later that day, English class is
interrupted by the secretary from the Principal's

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00:20:51.240 --> 00:20:56.000
office. After tapping on the door, Missus Brown leans her head in and

236
00:20:56.200 --> 00:21:00.640
calls my name. I stand from
my desk and feel the entire room watching

237
00:21:00.680 --> 00:21:07.000
me. Missus Brown escorts me down
the hall. It's the middle of fourth

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00:21:07.039 --> 00:21:11.920
period. All the other students are
in class. It's just me and her.

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00:21:11.799 --> 00:21:17.200
The heels of her shoes clomp on
the tiles. The sound is loud

240
00:21:17.279 --> 00:21:22.640
and echoes in the long, narrow
space. Missus Brown opens the door to

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00:21:22.680 --> 00:21:27.480
the office and I notice right away
that two uniform police officers are standing next

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00:21:27.519 --> 00:21:33.720
to the principal's desk. And Dad
is here too. I can tell he's

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00:21:33.759 --> 00:21:38.759
pissed. Stratton Duke. One of
the officers steps forward. There's something we'd

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00:21:38.759 --> 00:21:45.599
like to talk to you about.
You turned seventeen last night, right more

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00:21:45.720 --> 00:21:59.279
scares to come after these quick messages. Six. I'm sitting in the back

246
00:21:59.319 --> 00:22:03.519
seat of the officer's car. The
old Williamson Barn looks even creepier than it

247
00:22:03.599 --> 00:22:10.200
did the night before. Now the
mystical ambiance of the setting is long gone.

248
00:22:10.720 --> 00:22:15.559
It seems real. It is real, I remind myself, and the

249
00:22:15.599 --> 00:22:21.279
reality of all this terrifies me.
The repercussions of my actions are gut wrenching.

250
00:22:22.839 --> 00:22:26.000
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I say, it's just a

251
00:22:26.119 --> 00:22:30.640
silly urban legend. We get out
of the car and I lead the officers

252
00:22:30.640 --> 00:22:37.279
inside. Dad follows us, but
he remains quiet the whole time. He

253
00:22:37.440 --> 00:22:41.799
stands with his arms crossed, watching. And you say, you dropped the

254
00:22:41.839 --> 00:22:45.920
sign, and that wall there.
The officer nods across the space. You

255
00:22:47.000 --> 00:22:49.839
say it opened up. I can
tell by the look on his face that

256
00:22:49.880 --> 00:22:55.720
he doesn't believe a word I've said. Look, I know it sounds crazy,

257
00:22:55.799 --> 00:23:00.759
but yeah, that's exactly what happened. And this girl, roxy you

258
00:23:00.839 --> 00:23:06.240
call her, she took your innocence. I noticed a smirk on the second

259
00:23:06.279 --> 00:23:11.519
officer's face. Yes, I say, it's not anything raunchy, well,

260
00:23:11.640 --> 00:23:15.680
not like sex, or I don't
think so. Anyway. Look, I'm

261
00:23:15.720 --> 00:23:21.640
not sure what happened, but I'm
telling the truth. The second officer walks

262
00:23:21.640 --> 00:23:26.079
across and pulls open a wide door, revealing a second room, this one

263
00:23:26.240 --> 00:23:30.759
is full of stop signs. From
floor to ceiling is a menagerie of red

264
00:23:30.799 --> 00:23:36.480
octagons. Some of them are lying
on the floor, while others are nailed

265
00:23:36.480 --> 00:23:41.319
to the walls and the support beams. With both doors open, wind barrels

266
00:23:41.319 --> 00:23:45.960
through the space. The hanging signs
swing and clatter against each other. Look,

267
00:23:47.039 --> 00:23:51.200
kid, what you're telling us.
All that mess about the stop signman

268
00:23:51.400 --> 00:23:55.480
is nothing new. I've heard it
all before. Don't forget. I grew

269
00:23:55.559 --> 00:23:59.319
up in these parts. I've heard
the stories. Hell, when I was

270
00:23:59.359 --> 00:24:03.119
your age, I was tempted to
do it myself. But the thing is

271
00:24:03.880 --> 00:24:08.599
I didn't. What we're dealing with
now is something else altogether. The other

272
00:24:08.599 --> 00:24:14.880
man speaks up. A girl is
dead because of what you did. I

273
00:24:15.039 --> 00:24:18.279
ride home in the back of the
cop car after being issued a citation for

274
00:24:18.400 --> 00:24:22.839
theft. I stand on the porch
and watch the cruiser pull out of the

275
00:24:22.920 --> 00:24:27.720
driveway. The horrifying truth of the
matter hangs over my head. I could

276
00:24:27.759 --> 00:24:33.279
be charged with involuntary manslaughter. After
telling me I'm grounded for the rest of

277
00:24:33.279 --> 00:24:37.480
my life, Dad heads back to
his job. He's working a double and

278
00:24:37.559 --> 00:24:41.400
can't get out of it. While
he's gone, I decide to sneak out

279
00:24:41.400 --> 00:24:45.680
and make a quick visit to Greg's
house. I pull into Greg's yard and

280
00:24:45.759 --> 00:24:51.039
spot him sitting on the porch swing
drinking one of his dad's cheap beers.

281
00:24:52.160 --> 00:24:56.880
I've been worried sick about you,
he says, what's going on. I'm

282
00:24:56.880 --> 00:25:02.240
sure the gossip of me leaving with
the police spread like wildfire through the school,

283
00:25:02.440 --> 00:25:07.000
and I can only imagine the assumptions
people have already made. Greg offers

284
00:25:07.039 --> 00:25:10.759
me a beer, but I decline. I take a seat on the steps

285
00:25:10.799 --> 00:25:17.240
and tell him everything. Seven they
say, if you get caught, the

286
00:25:17.359 --> 00:25:22.440
stop signman will come after you.
You can't sleep because he invades your dreams,

287
00:25:22.759 --> 00:25:26.839
and staying awake doesn't help either.
He constantly stalks every corner of your

288
00:25:26.839 --> 00:25:33.039
mind, turning every peaceful thought into
a nightmare. Even when I was talking

289
00:25:33.079 --> 00:25:37.160
to Greg, my attention was broken
by the shape of the porch tiles octagons.

290
00:25:38.119 --> 00:25:42.279
Greg didn't believe my story. In
fact, he suggested I seek mental

291
00:25:42.359 --> 00:25:48.480
health. The knowledge that my best
friend no longer has my back hurts me

292
00:25:48.119 --> 00:25:55.720
deep inside. After leaving Greg's house, I have an idea. My phone

293
00:25:56.359 --> 00:26:00.480
I recorded everything the night before.
I wasn't able to find the phone in

294
00:26:00.519 --> 00:26:03.079
my room this morning, and I
hadn't seen it in the barn this afternoon.

295
00:26:03.920 --> 00:26:08.839
There's one person I can think of
who might have an answer. Finding

296
00:26:08.880 --> 00:26:14.279
the phone won't change what I did, but it will give proof that I'm

297
00:26:14.319 --> 00:26:18.160
not crazy. Instead of going home, I make a stop at the filling

298
00:26:18.200 --> 00:26:23.480
station where I spot Roxy today.
She's leaning against the wall by the bathrooms.

299
00:26:25.160 --> 00:26:27.440
I get out of my truck and
charge across the parking lot, not

300
00:26:27.680 --> 00:26:33.160
stopping until I'm standing directly in front
of her. Her hair is damp from

301
00:26:33.200 --> 00:26:37.160
a recent shower. I can smell
the flowery scent of shampoo other than the

302
00:26:37.200 --> 00:26:42.039
wet hair. She looks exactly like
she did last night. Where's my phone?

303
00:26:42.559 --> 00:26:47.839
I cut right to the chase.
Roxy laughs and stands up straight.

304
00:26:48.279 --> 00:26:52.400
I don't have your phone, Stratton, My name on Her voice is like

305
00:26:52.599 --> 00:26:56.000
fingernails on a chalkboard. Oh yeah, well, where is it? Then?

306
00:26:56.599 --> 00:27:00.039
I just happen to lose it?
Huh? I throw up my hands.

307
00:27:00.839 --> 00:27:06.880
That would be really convenient, wouldn't
it. Roxy reaches out and grabs

308
00:27:06.920 --> 00:27:11.680
my forearm. The sleeve of her
shirt rides up and I notice a sketchy

309
00:27:11.720 --> 00:27:15.839
red tattoo spread across the underside of
her wrist. The artwork is badly done.

310
00:27:17.240 --> 00:27:21.039
It's like something someone would get in
prison, but the symbol is clear

311
00:27:21.200 --> 00:27:26.480
enough. A stop sign, let
go of me. I jerked my arm

312
00:27:26.519 --> 00:27:30.799
away. What you did take someone
of a certain character, she says,

313
00:27:33.240 --> 00:27:37.759
Why did you do it anyway?
Was it to prove a point or to

314
00:27:37.799 --> 00:27:42.279
show that you're It was because of
a girl. My voice cracks. Roxy

315
00:27:42.400 --> 00:27:47.960
laughs again. This time it sounds
like a cackle coming from an old witch.

316
00:27:48.000 --> 00:27:52.440
You came to the barn with one
goal in mind, and you got

317
00:27:52.480 --> 00:27:56.480
it. That girl was standing in
your way. She would have held you

318
00:27:56.519 --> 00:28:03.680
back. I realized now that Allison's
death wasn't just an accident caused by what

319
00:28:03.759 --> 00:28:10.400
I'd done. She was payment.
I'm not sure what for, but I

320
00:28:10.480 --> 00:28:15.079
know it's something I don't want.
That's messed up. I say. If

321
00:28:15.160 --> 00:28:19.079
I would have known there was a
price, I would have never You're part

322
00:28:19.079 --> 00:28:23.000
of it now, Honey. From
here on, it's between you and him.

323
00:28:25.039 --> 00:28:30.440
You have to finish what you started
by him. I know she means

324
00:28:32.079 --> 00:28:36.200
the stop sign. Man, If
facing him is what I have to do,

325
00:28:37.079 --> 00:28:41.960
so be it fine. My breath
is coming and going out of my

326
00:28:41.039 --> 00:28:48.519
lungs. In deep rhythmic puffs.
I'll do it eight. The first rule

327
00:28:48.559 --> 00:28:52.240
in the legend of the stop sign
Man is that you have to go alone.

328
00:28:52.640 --> 00:28:56.119
I look at it like this.
If I got myself into this mess,

329
00:28:56.599 --> 00:29:00.640
I'm the only one who can get
myself out. I'm still not sure

330
00:29:00.680 --> 00:29:07.200
how or why, but the octagon
shape is significant. I think I can

331
00:29:07.279 --> 00:29:11.160
use that bit of folklore against him. When I get home, I go

332
00:29:11.200 --> 00:29:14.400
into my closet and find an old
work book from when I was a kid.

333
00:29:15.200 --> 00:29:18.160
One of the multiple choice questions was
to select an octagon from a group

334
00:29:18.160 --> 00:29:23.599
of shapes. I'd picked one,
but it was wrong next to a red

335
00:29:23.839 --> 00:29:30.960
X. The teacher wrote, an
octagon must have eight equal sides. Then

336
00:29:30.000 --> 00:29:33.680
I go into the garage, where
I find the hatchet Dad uses to chop

337
00:29:33.759 --> 00:29:38.640
firewood. Later, I park in
front of the Williamson barn. I go

338
00:29:38.720 --> 00:29:44.640
inside. Not long after entering,
I hear movement in the hayloft above me.

339
00:29:45.480 --> 00:29:48.200
I turned to face the wooden steps
that lead upward, and I wait

340
00:29:48.960 --> 00:29:56.640
for the stop Signman to appear.
Finally he does. The steps creak under

341
00:29:56.680 --> 00:30:00.960
his weight. His thin legs are
bare, the s on his feet is

342
00:30:00.079 --> 00:30:06.559
thick, calloused, and cracked.
The toes are gnarled and bent, like

343
00:30:06.680 --> 00:30:11.440
the knots on an ancient tree stump. He's wearing a pair of white boxers.

344
00:30:11.319 --> 00:30:18.200
It's obvious he's built from pieces of
different men. His torso is defined

345
00:30:18.240 --> 00:30:23.920
with muscle, despite the fifties era
greaser haircut. His face is wrinkled and

346
00:30:25.079 --> 00:30:30.279
spotted with age. The story mister
Perry told me ten years ago is true.

347
00:30:30.400 --> 00:30:37.920
His eyes are spinning red octagons.
Who what are you? I ask?

348
00:30:38.839 --> 00:30:44.640
When he speaks, his voice has
an eerie timber of a teenager and

349
00:30:44.720 --> 00:30:48.720
a ninety year old speaking at the
same time. We're an organization that stretches

350
00:30:48.759 --> 00:30:56.079
all across the southeast, from Virginia
to Texas and everywhere in between. Right

351
00:30:56.119 --> 00:31:03.079
here in South Carolina just happens to
be the epicenter a secret society. Some

352
00:31:03.240 --> 00:31:10.160
might call it, or a cult
or in a flash, he's standing in

353
00:31:10.200 --> 00:31:15.720
front of me. I can feel
his breath against my face. So are

354
00:31:15.799 --> 00:31:21.640
you the president of the whole thing? I ask? He scoffs at my

355
00:31:21.720 --> 00:31:27.279
question of this particular chapter. Yes. The idea that there are others like

356
00:31:27.480 --> 00:31:34.839
him makes my head spin. Everywhere
all over there are boys, young men

357
00:31:36.839 --> 00:31:42.799
looking for ways to achieve their wildest
dreams. But this is not about them.

358
00:31:44.799 --> 00:31:51.039
This is about us. Let me
show you. He grabs hold of

359
00:31:51.079 --> 00:31:55.599
my arm. His grip is strong, the palm of his hand feels like

360
00:31:55.720 --> 00:32:04.640
hot asphalt against my flesh. Look
deep into my eyes, really really deep.

361
00:32:05.440 --> 00:32:08.680
I don't want to, but I'm
transfixed. I stare into his face

362
00:32:09.119 --> 00:32:14.880
and her eyes lock. His octagon
shaped eyes light up in a traffic like

363
00:32:15.079 --> 00:32:22.039
glow of green, and I fall
into them. Go, he says,

364
00:32:22.200 --> 00:32:30.359
go, go go, and I
do. I let myself go. It's

365
00:32:30.359 --> 00:32:35.960
as if the interior of the barn
melts away from us. In my mind,

366
00:32:36.000 --> 00:32:38.599
I'm speeding through space and time,
through the years of my life that

367
00:32:38.680 --> 00:32:45.160
haven't happened yet. I see myself
with what seems like everything a man could

368
00:32:45.200 --> 00:32:51.559
want. It's different for everybody,
he says. What you imagine won't be

369
00:32:51.640 --> 00:32:54.720
the same for the next. In
the vision, it all goes on and

370
00:32:54.880 --> 00:33:01.519
on. There's no stopping us.
He said, you see the potential,

371
00:33:02.599 --> 00:33:09.519
You see what you can be,
the things you can do. An octagon

372
00:33:09.799 --> 00:33:17.519
symbolizes a rite of passage. Eight
is a number of transcendence. I recognize

373
00:33:17.559 --> 00:33:22.440
the truth all of what he's showing
me only looks good on the surface.

374
00:33:23.440 --> 00:33:29.440
None of it is worth the price
he tricked me into paying. Somehow,

375
00:33:29.480 --> 00:33:35.400
my thoughts break the spell. You
weren't tricked, he snaps. You wanted

376
00:33:35.440 --> 00:33:39.640
to steal that sign. It was
your idea. You wanted to prove you

377
00:33:39.720 --> 00:33:45.440
were a man. I shake my
head. No, not like this,

378
00:33:45.519 --> 00:33:50.039
I didn't. I think about the
page from my grade school workbook and all

379
00:33:50.039 --> 00:33:53.319
the various shapes that were drawn on
it. Do you know what the opposite

380
00:33:53.319 --> 00:33:59.799
of an octagon is? A surprised
look spreads across his face. His eyes

381
00:34:00.039 --> 00:34:04.880
fade to yellow, and then the
red they were before. Stop, he

382
00:34:05.000 --> 00:34:10.679
demands. I answer my own question. It's a concave polygon. I pull

383
00:34:10.760 --> 00:34:15.800
the hatchet from the waistband at the
back of my jeans. It means one

384
00:34:15.840 --> 00:34:19.519
of the sides is angled inward.
At the sight of the weapon, the

385
00:34:19.599 --> 00:34:24.280
man's mouth drops open and possibly wide. I notice his teeth for the first

386
00:34:24.320 --> 00:34:30.920
time. They're the yellow of corn. I swing the axe against the wall.

387
00:34:30.199 --> 00:34:35.039
The first blow only cracks the wood, but it's enough to cause the

388
00:34:35.119 --> 00:34:39.280
stop signman to pause. He cries
out in pain, clutching his side with

389
00:34:39.400 --> 00:34:44.719
both hands. His body bends I
swing the axe again, harder. This

390
00:34:44.800 --> 00:34:50.639
time the wood splinters the stop signman
hollers. This time his voice is so

391
00:34:50.760 --> 00:34:55.599
loud it cuts deep into my essence. Dark blood gushes through the gaps between

392
00:34:55.679 --> 00:35:01.000
his fingers. Stop, he yells, jerk, king his disproportioned body back

393
00:35:01.039 --> 00:35:06.400
and forth, moving toward me.
With the hand not holding his side.

394
00:35:06.440 --> 00:35:09.840
He reaches toward me. Put the
axe down, you little shit, I

395
00:35:10.000 --> 00:35:15.360
don't. I swing a third time, harder. Now the sharp end of

396
00:35:15.360 --> 00:35:20.480
the blade crashes through and I jerk
it free. The broken slats are jagged

397
00:35:20.480 --> 00:35:24.639
and sharp. My nemesis body folds
over on itself, like the snap of

398
00:35:24.679 --> 00:35:30.639
a mouse trap, and as his
bones crack, it sounds like that too.

399
00:35:30.679 --> 00:35:35.760
The vocals of his agony pour from
his throat in a torrent of pain.

400
00:35:36.679 --> 00:35:42.000
Still he reaches for me. He's
not giving up. I'm on the

401
00:35:42.000 --> 00:35:45.159
other side of the space, And
just as he returns to his unsteady feet,

402
00:35:45.360 --> 00:35:51.039
I swing the axe through this section
of lumber. His body slams over.

403
00:35:51.440 --> 00:35:55.119
This time a deep fissure cuts into
his abdomen, pulling his upper half

404
00:35:55.159 --> 00:36:00.360
horizontal to the floor. Now I'm
sure what I have to do to finish

405
00:36:00.360 --> 00:36:06.239
this once and for all. Each
of the next five walls are met with

406
00:36:06.320 --> 00:36:09.760
the blade, and each time my
ears are assaulted with the agony of the

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00:36:09.800 --> 00:36:15.920
stop signman being reduced to a broken
and splintered pile of nothing. On the

408
00:36:16.000 --> 00:36:21.880
eighth wall, I chopped the blade
through the boards and then twist the handle

409
00:36:22.079 --> 00:36:27.400
so the axe head catches on the
other side. Then I pull with all

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00:36:27.440 --> 00:36:32.519
my might. The wall splinters inward, and the screams are finally silenced as

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00:36:32.559 --> 00:36:39.480
the stop Signman's head splits in two. I stand for a moment, catching

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00:36:39.519 --> 00:36:44.360
my breath, when the entirety of
the barn begins to rattle around me.

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00:36:47.920 --> 00:36:53.159
Nine on my eighteenth birthday, I
go out to the intersection on Layman Road.

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00:36:53.960 --> 00:37:00.639
Now a wooden cross stands by the
road, marking the spot where Allison

415
00:37:00.760 --> 00:37:06.480
died on that night the year before. After I brought down the barn and

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00:37:06.559 --> 00:37:10.480
destroyed the stop signman, I drove
out here and reattached the sign to the

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00:37:10.559 --> 00:37:17.159
post. I was taken into custody
for destruction of property. Thankfully Dad bailed

418
00:37:17.199 --> 00:37:22.039
me out. He told me it
was the one and only time he'd ever

419
00:37:22.119 --> 00:37:28.199
do it. My actions didn't bring
Alison back, and my phone was never

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00:37:28.239 --> 00:37:32.119
found, but the evidence from a
nearby game camera and the analysis of the

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00:37:32.119 --> 00:37:37.960
skid marks at the intersection revealed the
truth. The fatal wreck wasn't because of

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00:37:38.000 --> 00:37:44.400
the missing sign. The car that
hit Allison was coming from the opposite direction.

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00:37:45.880 --> 00:37:50.320
It's been one year since all of
that happened. One plus eight is

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00:37:50.440 --> 00:37:55.639
nine. Recently I learned that one
of the meanings behind the number is wisdom.

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00:37:57.960 --> 00:38:02.280
After dropping a single flower X to
the wooden cross, I drive away

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00:38:04.159 --> 00:38:10.920
the end. That story definitely ticked
all the boxes for some good old fashioned

427
00:38:12.280 --> 00:38:15.920
Southern fried fear. I hope you
enjoyed it as much as I did.

428
00:38:15.920 --> 00:38:20.920
And a huge thank you to Charles
Campbell for bringing Bryce Gibson to the show.

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00:38:20.920 --> 00:38:22.880
And if you want to check out
more of Bryce's work, check out

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00:38:22.920 --> 00:38:30.000
his many books at County Line Horror
dot com. That's County Line Horror dot

431
00:38:30.039 --> 00:38:34.440
com. Show him some love for
helping us bring the spooky on the weekly

432
00:38:34.920 --> 00:38:37.559
And speaking of, we have a
lot going on here at Weekly Spooky,

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00:38:37.639 --> 00:38:44.559
including what will be an unbelievable October. I don't want to tease it too

434
00:38:44.639 --> 00:38:50.239
much just yet, but this October
you can expect more content than ever before

435
00:38:50.480 --> 00:38:57.599
and not just episodes, but novella's
and maybe even a couple of full audio

436
00:38:57.679 --> 00:39:04.519
books to tantalize your terror loving self. So make sure you're subscribed on your

437
00:39:04.559 --> 00:39:07.440
favorite podcasting app. And if you
want to help support us and guarantee that

438
00:39:07.480 --> 00:39:12.679
the Spooky comes every single week,
you can support us on Patreon for as

439
00:39:12.719 --> 00:39:16.679
little as one dollar a month if
you get exclusive episodes, other exclusive podcasts,

440
00:39:16.679 --> 00:39:20.039
and so much more. All you
have to do is go to Weekly

441
00:39:20.039 --> 00:39:22.920
Spooky dot com and click on Patreon. And speaking of I want to thank

442
00:39:22.960 --> 00:39:27.960
our Patreon podcast boosters. These are
folks who pay just a little bit more

443
00:39:28.239 --> 00:39:31.639
to hear their names on the show. And they are Johnny Nicks, Bobletopia

444
00:39:31.760 --> 00:39:37.639
dot Com, Megan Hua, Julia
Kersh, Brent McCullough, Karen Weemet,

445
00:39:37.719 --> 00:39:39.679
Jack Kerr, and Craig Coo.
And thank you all so much. And

446
00:39:39.719 --> 00:39:44.519
if you want to join them,
just head to Weekly Spooky dot com and

447
00:39:44.679 --> 00:39:49.599
click on Patreon. But now,
my spookies, I've got to get out

448
00:39:49.599 --> 00:39:51.760
of here. I have a whole
lot of work to do to make sure

449
00:39:51.800 --> 00:39:55.239
that I bring the fear to you
multiple times a week. So take care

450
00:39:55.519 --> 00:40:00.480
and be well, and for myself, for our producer Dan Wilder, executive

451
00:40:00.480 --> 00:40:05.320
producer Rob Fields, and our composer
Ray maadis Oh my dear, I will

452
00:40:05.360 --> 00:40:14.840
talk at you later. Great googly
movely bye. Thank you for listening to

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00:40:14.880 --> 00:40:20.800
me. Make sure to find your
way back next week, but for now

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00:40:21.360 --> 00:40:23.159
you are safe. Trust me,