Trapped in the Backlogs

Entry 1
I finally managed to find this little notepad and a working pen, so I guess I might as well leave a record of my current circumstances. That’s what you do right? When you’re trapped in a liminal place? You write journal entries, notes or something for the next poor soul to find? That is assuming you don't make it out yourself. I always said, if I had to die, I wanted it to be immersed in creepypasta. Wish granted! 
I dont think I’m going to die here, well maybe, who knows? This place is certainly creepy and feels dangerous. But I digress, let’s start at the beginning.
I go by Review Cultist, I’m a podcaster and reader of all things internet horror. I love collecting strange items and visiting places related to creepypastas. Hell, I went to West Virginia once just to drive by the spot where Ichor Falls is supposed to be. So you can imagine my excitement, when I was hiking in my local forest and found an old digital recorder in a plastic bag. I was thrilled! Even with the bag's protection it took some time to clean it up once I got back home, but once I popped in some fresh batteries it worked. There wasn’t anything to playback as far as I could tell, so I did the tried and tested method of saying “Test-test-testicles.” into the mic to test the recorder itself and played it back. Probably should have NOPED away from it when I heard my voice through the grainy speaker, but it was saying stuff I had never said, or at least I didn’t recall saying at the time.
“...personally I really enjoyed the setup for this story… the creature brought to mind Swamp Thing…” This seemed to be stuff from my show: Al Dente Rigamortis. On the show, my friends and I discussed and reviewed various creepypastas (plug, plug, plug… even in a weird space). The weirdest part was, when a story's title was dropped in the fragmented sentences, it was one I knew we hadn’t done yet. Also, as I would rewind and play things back, it would play new lines or discussions.
At that point, I got really excited, and a bit creeped out. I went to do what I usually do in these sorts of circumstances: grab my phone and send a message to one of my co-hosts and maybe even post another update on twitter about it. Problem was, I couldn’t find my phone! I started looking around in futility, still clutching the recorder in my hand and I must have hit something. The recorder’s speaker suddenly crackled to life on full blast this time and a high pitch version of our show's intro music started playing. I’m not ashamed to say that it jumpscared me and I dropped the recorder… onto a leafy forest floor?
I didn't even have time to fully process the sound of leaves crunching as the next thing I know, in the blink of an eye, my house had suddenly been replaced with a darkened forest. The jump and the sudden change in my surroundings caused me to trip up and I fell over. This resulted in sudden pain and the sound of my fat ass crushing the recorder under me. I sprung up and turned around to inspect the damage and yeah, that recorder was in pieces. As I was looking at the bits strewn about and half pressed into the dirt however, I noticed another recorder, and another. There were recorders of various makes, models, and ages scattered about the forest floor in and beneath the undergrowth. I picked a few up, but every one I checked was heavily weather damaged. 
As I looked around this weird forest I had found myself teleported, that’s when I noticed the sounds. If you live near forests you get pretty familiar with the soundscape: birds, insects chirping, trees creaking in a breeze, that sort of thing. I was hearing something like that kind of soundscape but it was… off. Straining to listen closely I realized that the sounds were actually the murmurs of people talking or chatting, but muffled and maybe even sped up and distorted. I tried to trace where the sounds were coming from but it was coming from everywhere. I listened harder, and as I got closer to one of the trees, I was able to make out one set of voices. Though I couldn’t make out any of the words, I could tell it was coming from inside the tree. The call was coming from inside the goddamn trees!
I had to be dreaming. I’d had some vivid dreams and even visceral nightmares in the past. Some even with weird creepy trees, so maybe I was dreaming. I tried the methods I’d heard of for waking myself up, I damn near pinched myself black and blue, and all I had to show for it was a very real and painful bruise on my cheek. Either I was in a coma or this was some weird surreal forest I’d just been teleported to.
I know they say if you get lost in the woods, you're supposed to stay put and wait for rescue, but does that count for weird audio forests? Besides, my personal saying about the woods is ‘They be scary, yo!’ I didn’t want to be out in the open when it got dark. I decided I should search for shelter and it actually didn’t take too long before I found a man-made path in the forest, though this trail proved to be quite the winding route. There wasn’t a clear choice this way or that, so I just started walking in one direction along the path. The whole time I walked, the background sounds of the muffled voices continued playing. Occasionally I’d hear other footsteps behind me, but every time I looked back there was nothing. My pace would quicken every time… for a while anyway. I must have walked for several hours with no sign of a trailhead or other people, except for the muffled murmurings and the phantom footsteps. There were hills that the trail weaved around, climbed over, or even went up along and hugged areas densely carpeted with tall trees. These were a mixture of pines, oaks and maples. The views would have been really cool, if it wasn’t for my circumstances and the weird atmosphere of this place.
Night never really came, still hasn’t come. It just stays a perpetual dusky twilight. As I continued, some voices up ahead began to get clearer. I could understand a few words and it sounded like some people talking to each other, just around the next bend. I slowed down to a cautious crawl as I moved forward towards the people. It sounded like they were talking about some movie, like… they were reviewing it. And there were others talking, but with other topics. A soft cacophony of conversational chatter was ahead of me and as the source finally came into view, I was both confused and felt like I was further down some rabbit hole.
It wasn’t people, it was trees… or rather logs. They’d been cut down and stacked, with the conversations bleeding out of the open ends of the logs. There were saws and other old lumber cutting tools here and there, even a crane-like machine. A cabin-like shack loomed on the other side of this clearing. No people in sight but I saw boot prints in the mud and dirt, so I walked quickly across the cleared area where ghostly conversations played out from felled logs. I kept surveying the place looking for signs of movement, but found none. The big machine had some brand on it, the graphic work was old-timey and gilded. 
“Pods and Casters Company” 
Really… Where the hell was I? Come on Alice, Wake up!
I made it to the little porch of the cabin when I heard it: the sound of a chainsaw Revving up from the direction I had come from. I looked out that way, scanning the treeline, but saw nothing moving. I decided it was best to get inside the cabin, and thankfully the door was unlocked. Inside was a single empty office of rustic décor. There were some chairs, a couch, and a desk with some burned down candles. Strewn on the desk were various bits of a device, some kind of dissected radio. I went around the desk and checked the drawers, hoping to find something useful, and that’s where I found the small notepad and pen I am currently writing this with. There were also some fresh candles, to give a bit more light in the cabin. I’ve barricaded the door with some of the chairs, but at this rate, if you think I’m going purposefully to sleep after hearing that chainsaw… which I’ve heard again twice now outside, a little louder, a little closer maybe… Well, sleep is going to have to come to me.
Just figured I’d get this down in case the person or thing wielding the chainsaw gets in here and I end up… you know. 
----Entry 2
Glad this notepad and pen were still in the bottom of my bag! Guess I should play catch up here while I can.
The few hours after my last entry while I was in the cabin were a bit uneventful, though it proved to be a “calm before the storm”. I had rummaged further through the office and found the aforementioned satchel and even a thermos of what smelled and looked like tomato soup and spaghetti-ohs? It tasted fresh and fine and I was getting hungry at that point. After stuffing what I found down my gullet and into the bag, I must have fallen asleep on the couch. That is where I awoke from, to the sound of a chainsaw cutting through the door.
The figure wielding the chainsaw was tall and lanky. He wore a wife beater with greasy coveralls, held the chainsaw with heavy leather gloves, and had a burlap sack over his head  held there with rope around his neck. There was a “V” splashed in… paint(?) on the sack’s front.  His exposed skin seemed to be glowing faintly with a pale green. As he came crashing through the now destroyed door, I swear I heard a mechanical whirring and clicking sound from beneath the sack. I managed to put the desk between me and him, though I was not taking this as bravely as it might read. I was definitely in flight mode, scrambling as best as I could trying desperately not to be near the saw blade. I was able to kick the desk into the tall guy’s shins and he backed up enough for me to vault past and escape through the door.
That’s where I saw the other one, same outfit, wielding an ax, but this one had a big bold “B” painted on the front of the sack over his head. He was coming out of the woods quickly and quietly to my left, so I ran right. The path I had walked earlier continued on this side of the cabin so I just continued down it and away from the logging site with these slasher film rejects. Thankfully, in the panic of the cabin, I had thought to grab the bag of stuff as I got off the couch. I kept running and running, and when my lungs burned and my feet were sore, I ran some more. I tried my best to keep a lookout for various roots sticking up out of the path as well as what was in front of me. Last thing I wanted was to trip and fall or run into another one of those loggers waiting in ambush. By the time I looked back, I couldn’t see any sign of the glowing fiends, so I started to slow down and eventually crashed next to a large oak by the trailside. I shuffled behind it out of view, just in case. The lighting was still gloomy dusk, and I tried my best to quietly start controlling my heavy ragged breaths. Sweat was pouring down my face and I tried to listen for any movement coming my way as I wiped it with my sleeve. All I could hear around me was more soft muffled murmurs from the trees. Leaning this close to the oak, I realized that I could make out part of the conversation, through a burl directly above me. It was my co-hosts and I on Al Dente Rigamortis, and we were discussing a story, as we do, but again I didn’t recall the conversation. We also didn’t mention the story's title as I listened but it sounded like it involved Halloween? That’s when, on the recording, there was a knock at someone's door? Mine by the sound of my recorded self’s confusion. When I went to go check, headset unmuted, there was a loud crash. This was followed by screaming, panicked shouts, what sounded like fighting and then static. I listened to that static for a prolonged period and then decided I didn’t want to stick around that tree any longer. Hearing my own voice and the voices of my friends talking about stuff I had no recollection of was bad enough, but the distress of the latter part sent a chill down my spine. I decided I didn’t want to have some kind of dissociative panic attack develop, so I hopped up and tried not to think about it much.
As I got back up and on the path and saw a light a ways down, I froze. It was a light that wasn’t there before. Initially I ducked back down in the ferns and brush, waiting to hear the chainsaw rev up. When all I heard was the murmuring forest, I poked back up to see the source of the light. It appeared to be a short old light post, near a building now on the side of the path. Another cabin looking structure, a distance down where I had been heading but definitely not there when I was running as far as I could tell. I approached the building cautiously, looking around and expecting something to happen. When nothing did, I went to the door and opened it, nearly jumping out of my skin when a brass door bell above me chimed. Even from the dirty windows on either side of the door I could tell there were lights on the inside, but I wasn’t prepared for this as I entered. The interior was a cross between a modern gas station store with fluorescent bulbs bathing everything in a soft humming light and an old-timey trading post with the rustic decorum and antiquated yet new looking goods. My stomach grumbled as I looked at various snacks on shelves. As I went to grab the closest bag of corn nuts, the lights wavered and darkened as a deep voice bellowed nearby. 
“You gonna buy that, son?” The voice came from a shadow in a dapper suit behind the counter. Once I had recovered from my heart attack, I looked over, not expecting a well dressed darkness to talk to me. 
“Um, yes?” I responded eventually, not sure if I actually had my wallet on me still. 
“Well, that’ll be 2 money units.” the shadow claimed.
“Money units?” I asked as I fished into my pockets… where a wallet was not.
“Yessir, Company script, Pods and Casters Company issued money units.” Said the darkness beyond the counter.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit short on funds?”
“Then I guess you’ll be a bit short on goods too.” said the voice in the void. It had this melodic drawl similar to a friend of mine in Kentucky. I just stood there, dejected. I wasn’t sure what I was really even talking to and I didn’t want to make it mad. I looked over and saw a small eating table with stools by the windows.
“Mind if I just sit down over there for a bit?”
“Go right ahead, that’s free… for a time anyway.”
So I sat down and checked the satchel, where I found the thermos, candles and the notepad I find myself updating in now. After a few moments, I decided to brave the counter and ask some questions. As I approached, I noticed there was more, intact, radio equipment next to a register and the lights over the dapper clad shadow were off. All I could really make out was his dark green suit.
“Where am I?”
“Why, you’re in Reverend’s Goods, in partnership with Pods and Cas…”
“No, sorry. Like where is this place? What’s this forest called?” I swear the shadow must have leaned in closer, I could just see the dark suit hutch forward, everything else blended with the shadows around him.
“We call this place the Backlogs, a forest grown deep and expansive from the soils of What Ifs and What Could Be broadcasts, built on the ashes of old airwaves and nurtured by the waters of the Ever Stream. The Company has prospered here for some time, logging and mining as it pleases.”
“Ok… (Really… the Backlogs? I thought to myself)... Do the sack heads work for the Company?”
“V and B? Yeah, they handle logging in these parts. Might wanna stay clear of ‘em, they have… anger issues sometimes.”
“Yeah, I got that… um, is there a way out of the forest?”
“Now… that is proprietary information, son. That’s gonna cost you… 10 Money Units outta do it.”
I just sort of slumped at this, again. He knew I didn’t have it, and despite the fact I couldn’t see any expression, I could tell he had a smile on his “face”. He leaned back and chuckled.
“There might be someone who could help you out. There was another, like you, who came through not too long ago. Don't recall their face too well, but I think they called themselves Nare. They asked where they could get some Money Units and I may have mentioned they should head on out to the old Company Mine, it's a ways down the path, over the Ever Stream and up in the hills. Can't miss it, honestly. Word from the Rumour Mill is fortune favors the bold there.”
I looked to the door, looming and ominous, if I wanted out of here… this liminal rustic dreamscape from hell. I guess I was going to a Mine. I hope they weren’t going to say I needed to work in the mines to get the money… What did they even mine here?
“Thanks, I guess I’ll be back then.” As I said this, the only response I got back was a suspicious cackling as he moved back into the shadows beyond the counter. It sounded like he had started fidgeting with a radio back there.
So I guess my next stop is the Mine to get Money Units so I can find out how to get out of here. Not going to lie, this is weird and creepy and also kind of exciting… but mostly creepy and weird. I still don't know if I’m just unconscious on my living room floor after some episode I’ve had that I’ve never had previously. The other option being if I did indeed bite off more than I could chew, finding and tampering with a creepy item in the woods when I shouldn’t have. Hopefully I make it and can maybe report back in this little journal… god this is cliche… I kind of love it.
----Entry 3
Story time…whoever ends up reading this.
After I left the Reverend’s Goods, I started hiking along the path away from where I had walked and ran previously. There was no sign or sound of the loggers, once again just the soft murmurs of the tree recordings. The path eventually went by a small trail that led to a bridge that crossed the “Ever Stream” as the shadowy clerk had called it, which had been running roughly parallel to the path I was on for some time. Something I had come to notice in my travels here, there were no stones or boulders on the ground. Instead, much like the recorders from earlier, there were old TV and computer monitors, as well as analog audio and video equipment poking out of the dirt and among the undergrowth and tree roots. I guess these were the “natural rocks” of  this place. The nearby bridge was one of those arching bridges that was made from wooden planks. As I stepped on to the bridge, I looked over the edge to the passing water below and was yet again reminded of the strangeness of this place. The water had a pattern running through it, similar to the light reflections you see in normal water, but this was much more angular and straight. The pattern reminded me of a circuit board, and as it continued filtering through the water I saw that the streambed was covered in more older computer parts, like hard drives and routers. I shook my head at this nonsense and tried, in vain, to wake myself up from this weird nightmare.
The other side of the stream had more hills and slopes than where I had previously been walking. When the trail began to climb up, I began to pant from the extended climb, and started seeing the signs.
The signs were nailed to wood posts along the trail, only partially obscured by brush, and read the following: PODS AND CASTERS CO. MINE, WORK AVAILABLE - ENQUIRE WITH THE FOREMAN, WARNING: WATCH OUT FOR NIT’S PICK.
“Nit’s… Pick…? Like… Nitpick? Really?!” I exclaimed through heavy breaths as I reached the halfway point in the path and this sign. At this point I was about ready to pack it up and see where the main path kept going back across the bridge, when I heard a distant short scream up ahead. Part of me wanted to run, I even ducked down reflexively and looked around frantically. After a good five minutes of nervously listening and looking about from the side of the trail in what I hoped wasn’t some kind of poison ivy, I decided to keep going up and see what that was about.
As I reached the top of the trail, I could see some more signs similar to the ones on the way up the hill and there was a small but sheer cliff face jutting up from a leveled out area with an old prospector-like mine setup built into it. There were old and rusted carts and mining equipment with the company’s brand and a lit lantern by the entryway in the mine. No one was working or around outside… of course.
I took the lantern and looked down the dark tunnel… recalling my mild claustrophobia. After a moment, I took a deep breath and started venturing into the dark.
“I swear to god that if the tunnel narrows and I have to crawl, I am turning back! Fuck that noise.” I whispered to myself as I moved forward. I’ve been in caves and mines before, but I’ve also found that through reading various creepypastas and watching various YouTube videos about caving, I have NO desire to try and squeeze through a tight spot in the earth. 
As it was, the tunnels were cramped but walkable. There was really only one time where I had to crouch down and walk like a Gears of War character, which… let me tell you, doing that for a prolonged time sucks. I wasn’t sure what this mine was even for, though I did occasionally come across what looked like some iridescent vein of mineral… I think? It gave off a hum when I touched it. Aside from these stones and their faint glow, there were signs of old unused lanterns and even some spent candles. In this area the lighting was quite poor. 
Up ahead was a sign on the tunnel wall which said “FOREMAN’S OFFICE” and an arrow pointing forward. I began to slow, that hum from the stones and other unpleasant hollow earth sounds were all around me. I don't know which was worse, this or the incessant forest whispers and murmurs outside. My lantern light shone on something glistening on the ground, a puddle of what I first thought was water. As I got closer I saw the form of a person crumpled out on the bloody ground… head facing down and in my direction, like they had been walking… or running back the way I was coming. An old-timey miner’s cap was nearby, but the person's clothes were modern. I crouched down beside them, after looking back and then behind the body for any movement, and didn’t like what I found. They were dead, I didn’t need to check for a pulse. The back of their head was a mangled hole, like something large had pierced it… maybe a pick ax? I didn’t even bother trying to lift and see their face, the smell of blood and brains was gradually starting to set in over me. Strangely, the smell didn’t hit me till I knelt down to the body. Now that it was there combined with the gruesome sight, it was all I could do to stop from puking up the spaghetti-ohs from earlier.
I decided to check their pant pockets for any type of I.D… and Money Units, while fighting back the taste of tomato pushing up my throat. They didn't have a wallet, but they did have some paper and bills. The Paper was postcard sized, and basically a workers note, stating their temporary worker status with the company, and their signed name: “Nare A. Tor”. I groaned, and not just from my rebelling guts. It’s an in-joke from my podcast, which apparently is a thing here. The bills were Company Money Units, about 15 of it in 1s and 2s and a 5. As I was putting those in my own pocket and getting up away from the body is when I heard a new sound. 
Up ahead, there was a soft orange light, likely another lantern around a bend. Coming from that direction was a distinct clinking sound, like metal hitting haphazardly against stone. As I stood there in a moment of nervous paralysis, I saw the source and its wielder. A tall lanky dark figure was slowly and methodically walking into view, pickax dragging at his side, occasionally tapping the ground and wall. The orange light behind him casting a silhouette, leaving him still mostly in darkness, but the light of my own lantern bounced off some writing on a name tag: Foreman Nit.
When his eyes lit up red like a goddamn sleep paralysis demon is when I broke from my own frozen state. As I turned to escape this nightmare of a mine, I felt a woosh of air as the pick narrowly missed where my head had just been. This guy, while lumbering when moving around, was very quick on the draw with that pickaxe. I heard it crash into the wall next to me as I began fleeing, the accompanying sound of his heavy boots stomping onto poor Nare’s body was… unpleasantly squishy.  
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur and rush of darkness, dim light and sound. I whacked my head on the ceiling twice when I got to the low section. As I felt the throbbing pain on my scalp, I hoped that the tall bastard behind me would have more trouble but I didn’t hold my breath on that. Eventually I saw the light at the end of the… you know. Even with the twilight gloom outside I didn’t give myself a moment's pause to adjust, so my vision didn’t quite catch the OTHER tall lanky fellow outside. He quietly wielded a wood ax and with a sack over his head. It was actually the repetitive click-clacking sound coming from beneath the cloth covering that gave me an indication of danger. I still ended up getting a nasty gash on my upper arm and immediately dropped the lantern that hand was holding, as I frantically weaved and ran by. The lantern must have smashed on the ground, because I think I heard the sound of fire, right before I tripped down the trail. I just proceeded to eat dirt, rolling and skidding a quarter of the way down toward the bridge. When I finally stopped, the world was still spinning and my arm was burning and wet with blood from the slice. The wound wasn’t deep, but I held it tightly with my other hand and tried to see where to go.
I could hear both soft and heavy footfalls coming from above me, so aching all over I got up and continued downhill. This was probably the most I’d run in years, but when you're being chased and attacked, I guess you’ll do what it takes… or just die. I was really wishing I had the lantern as I crossed the bridge since it might have helped to have it burning between me and the 2 psychos.
In desperation, I decided to run back to the “general store”, hoping it might still be there and could help me. I risked looking back once as I ran ahead and… didn’t see anyone. Luck struck twice as the Reverend’s Goods was still there and open! I raced inside and practically sent the doorbell flying as I opened and slammed the door closed.
“Trouble up at the Mine, son?”, asked the suit wearing darkness behind the counter. I didn’t respond, I simply walked among the shelves, looking for some kind of first aid kit, which I found pretty quickly. I put it on the counter and grabbed the Money Units from my pocket awkwardly. I need the bandages.
“That’ll be 5 money units.” said the shadow from beyond, definitely grinning as he spoke.
I gave him some mixed 1s and 2s and took the kit to the eating table on the other side of the store, where I’d left my satchel. Glad to see my stuff was still there, I started performing some quick and dirty patching up of the cut in my upper arm.
Only 10 Money Units left. I had hoped when I found them that I could maybe buy some more food or a drink. I cursed that B-sacked asshole with the ax. Nothing to be done about that any longer, if I could get the info to leave, I could eat back at home. Maybe I’d buy a Sausage Farmer’s Wrap with a coffee… or fuck it, 2 Farmer’s Wraps?
Once more into the breach, I crossed the anachronistic convenience store from hell again and put the remaining Money units on the counter.
“How do I get out of these woods? Back to where I came from?” My tone was tired and straightforward. A hand-sized shadow crept over the bills and took them. After an agonizing moment, the voice in the darkness spoke.
“Well, I s’pose you earned it. To go back to where you came from, you must go off the path behind my humble shop, and follow the Ever Stream away from the bridge and mine you visited.”
“I just need to go BACK the way I came in the first place?!” I was getting a bit flustered. The darkness spoke calmly and casually.
“Follow along the stream back to the Old Tracks, into some of the oldest parts of the Backlogs. Then from there follow the tracks in the left direction, them tracks go over the stream, so go left of the stream. Follow them for a spell and you’ll make it back to where you came from.” The shadow leaned back, as though leaning back on a seat.
“That’s it?”
“Well… you’ll want to keep an eye out for Echoes.”
“Echoes? What are those? Like the logging psychos?” As I asked this, the shadow moved closer again. 
“Keep away from Echoes, you’ll know ’em when you see ’em, and if you do… run.” He was practically whispering in hushed tones at that point. Then he seemed to go and put the money units in the register and started tinkering again with the radio behind the counter.
So that’s my next step, follow a stream off path till I find a set of old rail tracks and follow them home. I guess I’ll end up somewhere in the real(?) world and can find my way back from there. Or… who the hell knows, maybe the tracks will pop up right inside my house and I can just call it a day… a really weird, painful day. 
As I’ve been writing this last entry, I’ve been thinking of whether I should leave this notepad here or take it with me. Still haven’t decided, but I could post it online when I get back. On the other hand, maybe I should leave it near the trail somewhere, in case someone else gets trapped or lost here, might save them some Money Units. I’m also a bit worried about the Echoes, can't get anymore about them from… the Reverend? Hopefully I don't meet one… knock on wood.
Until next time… maybe.
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