Speaker 1: I've been feeling something watching me for weeks. I couldn't
have told you what it was, and if it hadn't
made its presence known, I Polly would have never had
a clue. It was early spring, and any time I
was out feeding chickens, tending to my goats, or milking
cows had since the presence of something just behind me.
It was never foolish enough to let me have a
look at it, and that may have led me to
believe that it was afraid of me. I'd turn around
suddenly on my milking stool with chicken feed ready to
throw in my hand, expecting to see a cat, maybe
some kind of stray dog. There was never anything there.
It wasn't until about three weeks after I had first
felt the eyes that I found the dead goat. Myrtle
was one of my older goats, an animal I had
had since I moved out here after my husband died.
She was as good a goat as you could have,
pretty good temperament, not what most people would call the butter,
and generally pretty amiable as far as goats went. I'd
come out to do some milking and check on some
kits that had just been born. And she was lying
dead right there in the middle of the paddock. The
other goats were giving her a wide berth, and it
was as if they were also a little afraid to
get too close to her. She'd been ripped open from
throat to groin, and whatever it was, it taken a
pretty big bite out of her. I didn't really know
what to expect. I knew the area. I had had
coyotes and a lot of problems with feral dogs, but
I never had anything like this happen. I called my neighbor,
mister Ward, a big old guy who's been here since
just after World War Two. He helped me sometimes and
it's been a good neighbor to me since he knows
that I'm new at this. He shook his head, said
exactly what I've been thinking. Yeah, looks like coyotes got her. Coyotes.
I haven't seen any coyotes around this year. Well, it's
still pretty early in the year. Hasn't been really what
we would consider spring for more than a couple of weeks.
Probably been lying up and not getting far from their dens,
since most of them have new pups to care for
and food's just starting to wake up. For the season.
My advice, he'd be to put out repellent. You have
any I told him I had a little left from
last year. He shook his head said that it wouldn't do.
He came back about an hour later with a bag
of something that stanked a high heaven. I asked him
what was in it, and he puffed up a little
with pride. Has He told me that it was an
old family recipe made out of mothballs, sulfur, black powder,
and all sorts of stuff. He said coyotes wouldn't want
to get in their nostrils. Coyotes have a very sensitive nose.
Most soon we'll get away from this and not want
to come anywhere near your property. I don't think you'll
have much of a problem after this. He told me
to sprinkle it around outside the property line, and I
thanked him as I took the bag and set to work.
He wasn't kidding. Stuff was extremely smelly. I was glad
once the sack was empty, I could return to my
life as it usually occurred. I was sad for the
loss of my goat, but I reminded myself that she
had been old when I got her. She probably didn't
have too many winters left in her. I reminded myself
that it wasn't as if it was one of the
young goats ones I had just got done spending all
that money on. A couple days later, it was like
I was living in a sensitive jau vous. I came
out to the goat pen and found another dead goat
laying there in the middle of the paddock. Its throat
ripped out, split open from throat to groin. I wonder
if mister Ward's family recipe was really as potent as
it smelled. When I called him to make inquiries, he
laughed and said sometimes that would happen. He said, it
is nothing to get concerned about. Just to make sure
that I was bringing my goats in at night so
that the coyotes would leave them alone. I hated to
do it. The goat seemed to enjoy sleeping outside at night,
but I figured they would enjoy being alive more. I
started bringing my goats in, and for a little while
it got better. A few days afterward, I noticed some
damage to the side of the building. I knew coyotes
liked to dig, but this didn't look like damage from
someone digging. It looked like something had tried to make
its way through the side of the goat barn, and
it made some pretty good progress, and have to replace
the wood on the side of the barn if I
wanted my goats to stay in. Then went to the
hardware store and reinforced it with some sheet metal, and
hopefully that would be the end of it. The sense
of being watched had never quite gone away, but now
it only seemed to get worse. I could catch sight
of things out of my peripherals, some kind of strange
animal shape that was never far away. I started getting
worried that it might be a wolf, for some kind
of animal with a strange aggressive disease. You never know
when something's going to come up with the mange, or
with rabies or something, and it's best to be prepared
if it should happen. If it were something with rabies,
then it might be best to put it down before
it bites somebody. Mostly I was worried about it biting me,
since my closest neighbor was mister Ward. He was over
two miles to the east. Really didn't want to have
to get all those rabies shots that I knew a
bite would lead to it was never any guarantee that
you wouldn't pick it up. At some point after work,
I started carrying my gun with me, the old shotgun
that my husband had carried for years, and it gave
me a certain amount of comfort to have it close by.
I guess that was about the time the dreams started, too. No,
I don't usually put a lot of stock in dreams.
In my dreams, I was always going about my farm chores.
Something followed me across my waking hours. It was unlike
any animal I'd ever heard of. It had legs that
were longer than any animals should be, walked around on
them most comically, as it stopped me across my farm.
I never looked behind me, but just the sights when
the edges of my periphery were enough to make me think.
I didn't really want to see what it was. It
looked like a big dog, but that was just what
I could tell from little glances. I started looking for
this long whatever it was, anytime I was out doing
farm stuff, and luckily I never really caught a sight
of it. But as the dreams persisted, I almost came
to expect that one day I would started to feel jumpy.
My paranoia really racketing up. The longer this went on,
and it was hard to maintain my sanity day in
and day out. I had had a problem with drinking
right after my husband died, and it had taken me
a couple of years to finally realize it and get
it back under control. After the dream started, I picked
up a bottle for the first time in nearly a decade,
and it should have felt like a step backwards, but honestly,
it felt just right. Mister Ward started stopping by more often.
I could tell he was a little worried about me,
probably thought I was losing it out there on my own.
He'd never been one to hover or try to tell
me my business, as so many people in the community did.
I didn't really mind the extra attention. He was a
nice enough fella. He also never tried to get in
my pants like many of the people in town. Most
of them just saw me as a woman on her own,
and that made them think that I needed protection of
some kind or another. You sleeping all right, y, asked
me one afternoon after inviting me over for dinner. Your
eyes look like you haven't had a good night's sleep
since before Trump got in office. I laughed and told
them that I've been having some weird dreams lately, but
it's probably nothing. He sipped at his coffee, giving me
a look that made me think that he wasn't so sure.
My grandma told me a story when I was a
kid about a creature when they gave people bad dreams.
I ever told it to you, I shook my head.
Mister Ward usually didn't indulge in stories. As he got
rolling with it, I've realized this was probably more of
a folk tale than some sort of historical event. When
Grandma always used to say that it was a creature
that attached itself to people, swallowed their soul while they slept.
It was called the laramie or something like that, and
it was supposed to be pretty nasty, since the form
of a big dog, some kind of canine, maybe even
in coyote. It would continue to attack them in their
sleep until there was nothing love would stalk them, and
eventually it'd either get tired of him or it would
drain them dry. I told him it sounded like his
grandmother had the same taste in kids stories that mine did,
but he didn't laugh. He looked deathly serious. About this,
and I wondered if this was another one of his
anecdotes or if this was something a little more personal
to him. On the Laramie could only be run off
by ignoring it completely. You can't acknowledge that it exists
because it feeds on your fear and your trepidation. You
have to completely turn your back on it, or else
it'll find you and it'll take what it wants. I
asked him if his family's coyote repellent worked on this
thing too. He still didn't laugh. I'd take this seriously, girl.
I had a great aunt and my grandmother claimed drained
dry by the laramie. She started having the bad dreams,
and she began getting very paranoid, and all of a sudden,
she just died one night, went to bed. It's fitful
as usual. She simply never woke up. Thanked him, but
I really didn't take what he was saying seriously. It's
just bad dreams. Nobody really believes that some spiritual boogeyman
is trying to get you through your dreams, do they.
This isn't a horror movie. And I was extremely skeptical
about anything that sounded that preposterous, that night. That night,
the dreams changed slightly. I was still being stalked by
whatever it was. I firmly put the name Laramie out
of my head, but it had begun whispering something to me.
I wasn't quite sure what it was. It never got
close enough for me to really tell, but no matter
what I was doing in my dreams, it got closer
and closer, until I felt as if it were right
behind me. I'd be washing the dishes, or feeding the chickens,
or doing something out on my farm, and I could
feel its hot breath on the back of my neck
as I went about my day. I could still catch
a little glimpse of it in my peripheral vision, but
it still just looked like a big dog with long legs.
Now that it was closer, I could tell it was
probably a coyote, but still had those huge noodle legs
that it walked around on like some kind of deranged
children's drawing. It would whisper just low enough for me
to not make it out, and as my anxiety racket
it up, I tried my best to put it out
of my mind. Suddenly, mister Ward's story didn't seem so
far fetched. And I obediently set my face forward as
I washed dishes and fed chickens and tried to vibe
this monstrous dream. It went on like that for three
or four nights, layer me now in my mind. At
all times when whether I wanted to think of it
or not, it had come to me and whisper in
my dreams, and I would try my best not to
acknowledge it. I turned my face away and keeyed forward,
not looking left or right, so as not to let
it know that I had ever seen it. Each dream
seemed to last a thousand days, and I really believed
that I would go crazy before it ended. And then
on the last night that I saw the creature, it
changed yet again. It was coming around to the side
of me and not fully letting me see it, but
letting me know it was there. It wasn't whispering anymore either.
It was saying my name out loud, letting me hear it.
It had never done this before. It had always whispered,
and for it to be all but shouting my name
made me even more nervous. I didn't know what to do.
I just kept ignoring it and kept acting like it
didn't exist. As the night went on, it seemed to
get more and more agitated, and instead of saying it,
it started yelling my name in this deep, guttural voice.
It sounded like a dog trying to bark someone's name,
and it sent every hair on my body standing on end.
I dropped a plate while I was washing dishes and
had to slowly bend down to pick up the pieces
while the creature capered around me, just out of sight.
I was shaking near the end, certain that I was
about to go insane, and when it shouted my name,
it took everything I had not to jump or flinch,
er showed any sign that I had heard it at all.
I could feel my lips trembling in my face, getting
ready to break into a scream. And then as suddenly
as it began, the dream ended. I was sitting on
my bed, sweat standing out on my body, but it
was It was the last night I ever saw the creature.
I told mister Ward about it, and he said that
I had gotten very lucky. He said most people don't
survive their encounter with the Laramie, and that I should
be very careful of it in the future. It hasn't
been back since, but sometimes sometimes I feel myself being
watched in my dreams that I wonder if it's waiting
just on the edge of my vision trying to see
if I'll notice it. Once again, Hey, their kids, it's me,
mister creepy Pasta. And before we say good night, I
just wanted to say thank you so so much for
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