"LOCK BOX" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0511

Summary

Redwood Bureau Episode Summary: "LOCK BOX" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0511

Podcast Title: Redwood Bureau
Host/Author: Eeriecast Network
Episode Title: "LOCK BOX" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0511
Release Date: September 14, 2024

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Introduction: The Redwood Bureau's Warning

The episode opens with a chilling warning from Agent Conroy, the protagonist and whistleblower against the clandestine Redwood Bureau. A former operative, Conroy exposes the Bureau's dark endeavors in researching and capturing supernatural entities, often resulting in innocent lives being lost. He declares,

“Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation.”
[01:53]

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Nate Weber's Descent: The Lock Box Affair

Background and Initial Encounter

Nate Weber, the central character, is introduced as an ordinary man working at Totaldis Exchange, a mundane investment firm. Despite a monotonous job, Nate longs for adventure and fulfillment outside his professional life. His routine is disrupted when his cousin, John, contacts him with an urgent plea:

“I need your help, Jordan,”
[13:00]
(Note: Although the name "Jordan Milden" appears, it intertwines with Nate's narrative, suggesting a dual perspective or intertwined identities.)

The Mysterious Box

John requests Nate to retrieve a seemingly innocuous lockbox from his storage unit, emphasizing its significance as a family heirloom. Despite Nate's skepticism, he complies, driven by a sense of responsibility and familial duty. Upon retrieving the box, Nate experiences unexplainable fluctuations in his mood and behavior, hinting at the box's malevolent influence.

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The Box Unleashed: Chaos Ensues

Domestic Turmoil

Back home, the presence of the box begins to wreak havoc on Nate's personal life. His interactions with his family become strained, marked by unexplained anger and frustration. A pivotal moment occurs during breakfast when Nate loses his temper:

“I grabbed it because that fucking asshole John wouldn't leave me alone about it.”
[34:56]

Neighborhood Nightmare

Nate's control over his emotions deteriorates further, culminating in a terrifying incident outside his home. He witnesses his neighbor violently attacking others with the same box, transforming victims into homicidal maniacs. The neighborhood spirals into chaos as the box's influence spreads like a virus, inciting widespread violence and paranoia.

“It's the answer you see now.”
[51:56]

Police Intervention and Escalation

The arrival of law enforcement only exacerbates the situation. Officers, initially unprepared for the supernatural onslaught, fall victim to the box's power, turning against each other and escalating the massacre. Nate attempts to flee but is pursued relentlessly by the transformed individuals, symbolizing the inescapable grip of the box's influence.

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Agent Conroy's Revelation: The True Threat

In the episode's conclusion, Agent Conroy provides a grim analysis of the events surrounding the lockbox phenomenon:

“The box wasn't just a catalyst for Jordan's insanity. It's a conduit for something far more dangerous. The force it releases spreads like a pathogen, infecting those who came into contact with it, twisting their minds until they're consumed by violent impulses.”
[51:56]

He elaborates on the Redwood Bureau's failure to contain the situation, emphasizing the irreversible damage caused by the box:

“The Bureau has encountered phenomena like this before, but never on this scale. Thankfully, the Bureau was unable to locate the box. Jordan's body was found at the scene, mutilated beyond recognition, but the object itself was gone.”
[51:56]

Conroy warns listeners about the pervasive threat of such objects, urging vigilance and skepticism towards unexplained phenomena lurking in everyday life.

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Key Takeaways and Insights

• Supernatural Objects as Catalysts: The lockbox (RBP0511) serves as a conduit for widespread violence, illustrating how ordinary objects can harbor unimaginable power.

• Psychological Manipulation: The box's influence on Nate highlights the subtle yet devastating impact supernatural entities can have on human psychology.

• Institutional Failure: The Redwood Bureau's inability to contain the threat underscores the limitations of even the most secretive and powerful organizations when confronted with true supernatural forces.

• Vigilance and Awareness: The episode serves as a cautionary tale, encouraging listeners to remain alert and question the unexplained phenomena that may intersect with their lives.

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Notable Quotes with Attribution

• Agent Conroy:

  “Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation.”
  [01:53]

• Nate Weber:

  “I grabbed it because that fucking asshole John wouldn't leave me alone about it.”
  [34:56]

• Narrator:

  “The box wasn't just a catalyst for Jordan's insanity. It's a conduit for something far more dangerous...”
  [51:56]

---

Conclusion

"LOCK BOX" delves deep into the horrifying consequences of meddling with unknown supernatural artifacts. Through Nate Weber's tragic spiral and Agent Conroy's sobering revelations, the episode paints a stark picture of humanity's vulnerability when faced with forces beyond comprehension. It serves as a gripping installment in the Redwood Bureau series, blending psychological horror with supernatural intrigue to leave listeners pondering the unseen dangers that may lie just beyond the surface of the ordinary world.

Transcript

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[Narrator]

Here.

[Shopify Representative]

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[Jordan Milden]

Just think about this.

[Shopify Representative]

How much will you regret it next year when someone else beats you to the idea? With Shopify, your first sale is a lot closer than you think. Ready to make 2025 the year you finally start? Sign up for a $1 per month trial [e-mail] Redwood all lowercase go to shopify.com Redwood to start selling with Shopify today. That's shopify.com Red SL Redwood.

[Agent Conroy]

Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation. Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost. I am Agent Conroy. I worked for the Redwood Bureau. But I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know.

[Narrator]

There are some objects in this world that defy our understanding of the natural law. They are not alive. Yet their presence alters the very fabric of those who possess them. Some whisper promises of power. Others offer visions of grandeur. But most exact a terrible price. Those who come into contact with these artifacts rarely leave unscathed. Some find their bodies withering away, decaying with the mere touch of something not meant for this world. Others, perhaps more fortunate, find themselves robbed of time, aging without ever Growing old, such objects are not easily found. And for most, they pass through life unaware of the hidden dangers lurking just out of view. But sometimes an artifact makes itself known. It worms its way into the life of an ordinary person, twisting their minds and warping their realities. The power these objects hold is typically subtle at first. An itch, a nagging thought that gnaws at the edges of sanity. It grows slowly, feeding on frustration, anger, and fear until it can no longer be ignored. And when the madness finally takes hold, it is too late. You may have even had contact with such individuals. The lunatics screaming on street corners. The people who snap without warning, committing unspeakable acts of violence. We dismiss them, call them madmen, and move on with our lives, blissfully unaware of what might have driven them to such lengths that it easily could have been any one of us. Philadelphia, 1953. A woman kills her children before turning on her husband, mutilating their bodies with disturbing precision. She is found days later, hiding in a shed in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead animals and reeking of decay. The authorities call her insane, and she is locked away for the rest of her life. What they didn't know was. What they couldn't have known was that this was not an isolated incident. Colorado, 1975. Two men get into an argument over a simple exchange. A family heirloom. One man stabs the other in a fit of rage. And when the police raid his home, they find walls covered in filth, dead birds littering the floor, and a letter that leads them to believe this man has a connection to another string of violent crimes. It all centers around one object. A box. These are just a few examples. The tip of the iceberg. The truth is, there are many such objects in this world. Artifacts that hold the power to corrupt, to destroy, to push people to the very brink of their sanity. But this box is different. Its effects are not just physical or mental. It spreads like a virus. It infects, twisting minds and driving people to acts of unspeakable violence. Jordan Milden was just an ordinary man. He had a family, a job, a life like anyone else. But the moment he came into possession of this box. This is the story of a neighborhood that fell victim to something far worse than madness.

[Nate Weber]

I gripped the steering wheel in frustration. Another standstill in traffic, further provoking my temper. A strong inhale followed by an exhale. My futile attempts to keep myself calm. As moments pass, the various tones of honking horns wear on my sanity. The person in front of me keeps moving forward, inch by inch with nowhere to go. The guys next to me are blasting obnoxious music, and everything on the radio is getting on my nerves. I look down to my coffee, already half empty as I progress slowly through the roads. In this moment, I find nothing to be soothing, and my anger only seems to be growing. Truthfully, it's mostly caused by stress at work. Today I may or may not get a raise in a new position. Perhaps today is the day that I'll finally graduate from an office worker to an executive in the company. But I feel less than confident. Sitting in traffic gives me far too much time to overanalyze. I count my every mistake and rethink my standing within the company. I turn off the radio and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes momentarily as we are yet again at a standstill. I sip down some lukewarm coffee. The skies are clear and the sun presses against my eyelids with a warm, fleshy glow. A gentle breeze passes through intermittently, providing momentary relief from the sun's glare and brushing through the leaves of nearby trees. After an hour or so, we're moving again, the gridlock finally broken. A tremendous sense of relief fills my chest. As the wind rushes past my window, I spotted the cause of our lengthy wait. An SUV had somehow flipped and had to be pushed out of the way. I could barely make out its undercarriage as I passed by. Soon after, I was at the office a small investment firm, Totaldis Exchange. I've worked as a number cruncher for many years, constantly making adjustments based on our customers whims. My boss is a bit of an ass, but he makes sure everyone is paid enough and on time. If he seems standoffish, it's because he wants to be certain everyone's keeping up on my floor. There's plenty of us that manage people's money. It's quite a boring job. Admittedly, the money keeps me here. I do have a family to feed and clothe. As I enter the building, the elevator doors open up on the opposite side of the lobby. I rush over and manage to squeeze inside, packed in like sardines. A handful of us quietly stand as we rise to the fifth floor. There, doors open to a sea of cubicles, each one a copy and paste of the last. I head to my desk and get set up. Sitting down, my thoughts immediately begin to wander. Scenes of wildlife and wonder, of camping and ATVs. Really, that's where my heart is. Deep in the wilderness, surrounded by nature. My mind begins diving through fond memories. Late one night, the full moonlight shining through the tent I shared with my wife. I hear rustling on the opposite end of our campsite. I rise from my warm and plush sleeping bag to see what it was. Exiting the tent, I spot a little raccoon who runs off into the dark with a small piece of food one of the kids must have left out before going to bed. I chuckled, watching it run off into the dark on two legs. The cool breeze and pale moonlight were soothing, fireflies glowing in the woods in little dots, igniting momentarily a beacon in the dark, a faint warmth still radiating from the campfire. I found myself sitting there until morning, when the night sky was replaced with pinks and reds on the horizon and the sun finally cast itself on our sight. In the light of day, we were surrounded by lush green pine trees, which stood proud and tall, and the ceaseless sounds of insects buzzing from everywhere. The wind was calm that day, the sun was bright and skies were clear. We raced along the soft dirt trails, followed by the smell of pine and covered by a dark green canopy shielding us from the sun's rays. On the way back, we followed the scent of hot dogs and barbecue. A slam nearby startled me from my daydream. Surrounded again by grayish white walls, I turn around to see my supervisor, who shoots me an awful look. My heart sinks and for a moment I grow pale. He then smiles, saying, jordan, you've come very far, before instructing me to go to my boss's office. I sigh in relief as he walks off. Then a newfound anxiety starts burning in my chest. No time to think. I stand up and steel myself for the confrontation ahead. As I walk down the hall, a number of my co workers lean out of their cubicles and wish me luck. I respond with a thumbs up and continue down the speckled blue carpet led by fluorescent lighting. I approach the double doors to my boss's office, checking my watch before opening them and heading inside. Several men sit around a table. My boss stands up and welcomes me to have a seat. We talk about my job performance, my future at this company, and how I'd handle a new position. After a little while, a deal was sealed. I was going to be getting nearly double my original pay and working a new job within the company. To celebrate, I'm given a week off. I walked out of there feeling refreshed, renewed. Immediately, I started texting my wife, telling her that we're going camping this week. I get in the car and call a few friends, inviting them for celebratory drinks at our favorite bar. Later, I drive with a surge of excitement and joy, a rush of dopamine setting fire to my mind. All of which comes crashing down as soon as I see an incoming call. Not from someone I sent a text to, but rather someone I haven't spoken to in a few weeks. My cousin John. He's a bit weird and I tend to keep my distance from him, but given I'm one of his only relatives, I try to speak to him on occasion. I answer it and to my surprise, he seems to be in a good mood.

[John]

Hey Jordan, how you doing?

[Nate Weber]

He asks cheerfully. Hey man, I just got a promotion, I answer, still feeling the genuine excitement. That's awesome, he responds. Our conversation goes on. He asks about my new position, how the benefits are, and if my boss is treating me alright. We share a few stories as I head back home, the traffic not bothering me so much this time. Eventually he gets to the point.

[John]

I need your help, Jordan, he says.

[Nate Weber]

I inhale slowly and try not to sigh. John, I gave you a good amount last month, I responded.

[John]

No, this ain't about commissary, it's about.

[Nate Weber]

My storage, he pleads. Again, I try not to sigh. We live somewhat near his storage unit, containing everything he stored before he was arrested. I've helped him move a few things into and out of his storage over the months. He said he doesn't care about the stuff and offers it for me to sell. While I appreciate the sentiment, we both know I won't do that.

[John]

They're gonna take my unit away and there's one last thing in there that's.

[Nate Weber]

Important, he blurts out. Okay, just please don't tell me it's another piece of furniture, I say, still feeling the ache in my back from the last favor he needed relating to his storage unit.

[John]

No, it's very small.

[Nate Weber]

It's just a lockbox, he says.

[John]

It's a family heirloom. The key was lost years ago, but it's something I can't let go of.

[Nate Weber]

Why? I ask.

[John]

What's inside could be the answer to.

[Nate Weber]

All of our problems, he starts. I take the phone away from my ear. He always does this, this. He tries to aggrandize himself with stories about his parents who I'd never met. I didn't even know about what happened until I met John over the phone while he was in prison. I put the phone back to my ear.

[John]

Listen, it's the only thing I need you to find. We gotta take it out of there.

[Nate Weber]

And we gotta get it open, he continues.

[John]

I know a locksmith in the area.

[Nate Weber]

He can get it open. No Questions asked, John. It's probably Dust World photos and shit. I don't really have the time to do all this, I began.

[John]

No Jordan, trust me, you'll thank me later. It's important.

[Nate Weber]

He starts up again in exasperation. I fake going through a tunnel and we lose connection. My newfound excitement is already fading and the familiar sense of frustration is seeping back in. Sighing, I resigned myself to the annoying task at hand. I'd have to go to the next town over, search for an old dusty lockbox, then take it to a shady locksmith to even see what's inside. As I near home, I turn onto the backroads, texting my wife about what happened and where I'm headed. Be careful. Was her prompt response. A warranted one at that, as John has sent us on wild goose chases for certain things in that storage unit that haven't turned out too well. One time we're taking canisters of paint out of it. They were pressurized so we should have figured, but we later found out that they may have been full of Agent Orange, though John swears they weren't. There's a whole manner of creepy, dangerous and probably illegal things in there. He calls them objects and trinkets, things he's somehow come across and gotten attached to. One of the worst examples being a shrunken head which my 9 year old daughter found. Overall, we get an eerie feeling anytime we go near that unit. I'm shocked to hear that anyone is threatening to take it away. None of us had ever seen another soul near there. As I approached the storage facility, it was getting dark for the first time since I'd stepped foot on the property. I saw an old truck parked in the front of the main building and I gently skirted around it. At the very end of the rows I could see someone standing there. Pulling up my lights revealed a stout man, old, with a worried, wrinkled face. I hopped out of my car and choked out an awkward greeting.

[Storage Unit Manager]

Hey, you're Jordan?

[Nate Weber]

He asks. I nod, confused and more than a little weirded out.

[Storage Unit Manager]

Oh well. Can I ask you something?

[Nate Weber]

Sure, what's the problem? I ask.

[Storage Unit Manager]

Someone heard banging on the door, he answers.

[Nate Weber]

For a moment I'm shocked and stood still looking at him from from the inside.

[Storage Unit Manager]

We got the sheriff coming down here to investigate. I hope you're alright with that. I had to make the call.

[Nate Weber]

Yeah, yeah, sure. Please. I'll open it up for you right now. I worriedly responded quickly grabbing my keys and walking over to shakily unlock the padlock. He helped me to hoist the door as soon as a lock popped off. These units are fairly large, and looking through the masses of random stuff, you could be fooled into thinking we'd never help John take anything out of here. The man shines his flashlight around, and as he does so, I talk to him a bit. Heard you guys were taking the unit. What for? I ask, curious about it. What? He looks back at me, confused. Yeah.

[Storage Unit Manager]

That isn't what's going on?

[Nate Weber]

Uh, no. Knowing the truth was soon to follow.

[Storage Unit Manager]

We've had more than a handful of complaints about some freaky things going on around this unit, but nobody's taking it unless you stop paying or unless we got a legal reason to do so.

[Nate Weber]

I stop again thinking about it. Yeah, I paid the bill for this place just last week. If anyone would be notified about the unit being taken away, it'd be me. I let the man look around. Clearly he owns the unit, or at least manages the building.

[Storage Unit Manager]

I don't see anything, he says. Maybe a rodent got in there. Careful of wild critters. They're your problem, not mine, and we won't cover damages.

[Nate Weber]

He flicks his flashlight off, leaving us in the headlights blinding glare.

[Storage Unit Manager]

I'll call off the cavalry. You have a fine night now, he.

[Nate Weber]

Says as he walks away. I nod and wave him off, then look back to the storage unit. My hands shook as I warily flicked on my small keychain flashlight and began searching around. As I did so, I wondered about John's intentions. Why would he lie to me? I should have seen through his story. I guess I was caught up in the moment. As I looked around, dodging spiders and lifting old tarves, I searched through his assortment of odd objects. Some of them looked alien. Warped wood wrapped around crystal formations and tied with string, a metal cylinder with a big faded yellow sticker on the side, and of course, the infamous shrunken head. There's a phone book that freaks me out, as it's never in the same place. I saw it last. One box I eye apprehensively. I put yellow tape all over it and stuck it against the wall. I've called the sheriff's office three separate times to report hazardous waste, but each time they give me the runaround. It's got many jars of red fluid inside, and in one of them I swear I saw an eyeball. When I asked John about this box, he demanded we keep it. When I asked him why, he said it's all that remains. I'm sending out weekly requests to get it removed. Eventually I saw it an intricately carved wooden box with a keyhole on its face, faded flowers drawn across its surface, various gold engravings, and it was surprisingly heavy. I shake it lightly and hear something metal inside, like a heavy stone. For a moment I question what John told me, but I just want to get this over with. Cursing my sense of responsibility to him, I bring it back to the car, lock up the unit and drive off. The dead of night isn't the time for bringing this to his locksmith, so I chose to go home to finish this tomorrow. On the drive home, my headlights illuminated a narrow winding road which I'd been driving down for a very long time. Time my mind was completely occupied by the box, wondering what's inside of it. Could it be gold? Maybe it's just a lump of iron. Perhaps something more. Maybe this is something nobody's heard of or seen. More than likely it's just a pretty rock. I reined in these fantasies. This is John we're talking about, after all. For all I know, it's coal on the inside, like a gift for a naughty child on Christmas. I forced my mind on the road on the asphalt, traveling in between the lines uninterrupted for miles with no moon, I couldn't see anything unless it was in my headlights, leaving me to count the passing lines as I gently drifted off. I snapped back awake as my car veers off the road, shaking violently as I slam into a few bushes before I finally regain control and get back on the road. Gripping the steering wheel, I struggled to stay awake all the way home. Turning off the car, I head inside, exhausted from a roller coaster of a day practically falling into my sheets. I quickly fell asleep next to my already sleeping w. I wake up the next day to familiar sounds. My wife was in the living room with my daughter and they were giggling about something. I slowly got out of bed, mostly forgetting about the whole John thing yesterday and focusing on the positives. I get dressed and can hear my sons outside playing. Meanwhile, the smell of bacon and eggs wafts through the house. I left my bedroom and walked down the hall. Entering the kitchen, I see my wife and daughter fiddling with something. It's the lockbox. Within a second, my calm demeanor is shifted into momentary restrained panic As I yank the box from them. I stuff it under my arm and look at them accusingly. They seem confused. I realize that I'm standing with my mouth open, a full breath, ready to scream at them. They ask me if everything is okay. Looking a bit scared now, I nodded and said yes. Releasing the breath to find my way back to normalcy. Just don't go touching things that are from the storage unit, okay? My daughter nods and my wife stops for a moment, not realizing where I got it from. When she asked why I had it again, I began fuming. Suddenly my whole body was hot, muscles flexing and my face getting red. I I tried to explain. It exploded midway. I grabbed it because that fucking asshole John wouldn't leave me alone about it. I shouted. My wife begged me to calm down and eat some breakfast. I breathed hard, not understanding what was going on with me. Apologizing, I rubbed sleep from my eyes and sat at the table with my daughter trying to engage in small talk and put the outburst behind us. She's a curious one, always asking too many questions about anything. She notices her current fixation, unsurprisingly. Is the box? She asks what's inside. I say I don't know. She asks if it's treasure and enumerates a bunch of theories as to what it is. All the while my head begins throbbing and I struggle to keep focus. She continues to ask and ask and just before I snap, my wife thankfully rescues her, telling her to leave me be. This morning I couldn't understand why I had such a short fuse. Maybe it was staying up so late to grab this box. Regardless, I still have the week off and a planned camping trip. I scarfed down breakfast and got into the car, bringing the lockbox with me. My only mission today is to get this thing open and be done with it. Back on the road, I anticipate a follow up call from John and I plan all the things I will scream at him. The nerve of him to send me on another goose chase for a box with a rock inside of it and to lie to me about the status of the unit just to express urgency. Frustrated as hell, I knew if he'd called I'd give him a piece of my mind. Thankfully for him though, he didn't. I drove along until merging onto the highway where there was again, of course traffic. I sigh, realizing the fact that I'd be here for quite a while. There's another way however, but it's a mostly dirt road. I make my way through traffic, taking the next exit, feeling smart. I pass the lines of waiting cars as I veer onto this dirt road. The locksmith is back in the town where the storage unit is. Another long drive of nothing, but it's a lot better than inching forward in bumper to bumper traffic. Along the way I start fantasizing about the box contents Again, it'd be so nice if I discovered something incredible inside, just like John said, something valuable that could benefit my family. I could start my own company off that and build it into a supergiant with infinite income. But let's face facts. The reality is it's likely something worthless. Knowing John's track record, it's probably radioactive. We've found containers with such warnings many times in his unit. What worries me is why is he a fading man, finally losing his marbles? Was he genuinely concerned about a threat I'm unaware of? What if he just exchanged a threat with me, passing it off and getting his responsibility taken away? At this point, I'm unsure. All I know is I'm mad at him for wasting my time like this. I jerk the wheel suddenly as a rock passes beneath my tire and I see a herd of cattle walking across the road. About three cars are behind them, and I have to slam my brakes in order to avoid a crash. At the moment, I'm once again overwhelmed with frustration, and I take it out by beating my steering wheel and cursing John and every cow on earth. I never escape the gridlock. I just traded it. I see the cattle walking, and one of them stops in the middle of the dirt road. Their head sways over and looks in my direction. My chest swells with hatred as I envision slamming the gas pedal and crashing into it. What snapped me out of the haze this time was the sound of my engine revving even as my other foot is stamped firmly on the brake pedal. I stop and take several deep breaths. Putting my hands on my head and looking down, I started getting genuinely worried. How is it that I'm having this much difficulty controlling myself today? Is it the weather? Maybe I'm just not feeling well. Hopefully by the time I drop this box off at the locksmiths, I'll feel better. If not, maybe I'll take a trip to the hospital just to make sure nothing's wrong. After what felt like hours, the cows had finally moved out of my way and I could proceed. As I pass by the farmer guiding his herd, he waves at me. I wave back, my eyes nearly watering with a fresh, seething batch of anger growing inside my chest. The road gets bumpy, and it feels like that frustration hits me over and over again as my body is jostled back and forth. I slam my fists against the wheel, cursing the road and everyone who'd created the traffic I was trying to bypass. Time passes, and I just can't seem to calm myself to anything less than barely contained rage. Something is seriously wrong and I don't know what it is. Since this morning I've been so temperamental. A sense of relief poured over me as I saw the locksmith's building showed up on my gps. More relief as I pulled into the front parking lot. I swiftly grabbed the box and head to the door, nearly shoulder checked by a lady walking by. She shot me this nasty look, the one I returned effectively conveyed I was a second away from ripping her head off. Indoors, the cool air conditioned air starts washing over me. I'm almost instantly relaxed. I calmly bring the box to the front and put it on the counter. Finally I can be done with this whole thing and move on with my vacation week. The locksmith comes out, an old man with glasses and a boonie cap. He greets me and I tell him John sent me with the box. He looks it up and down, eventually giving me a surprised look. I don't think I can help you here, he said plainly. Again the fires start. What do you mean? I ask in a bit of a rude tone. Well, it's just that the keyway is all twisted up. It looks like torn metal in there. He describes peeking into the keyhole with one eye. Can you fix it? I ask with no patience left. The man stops looking at me up and down. This kind of stuff can't be fixed, son. You're just gonna have to break the box. He watches as I twist in frustration, veins begin bulging under my skin. Quietly he says, look son, I don't want no trouble as he reaches for something under the counter. Just take your box and head off now. I take a deep breath, hold it and exhale while counting to five in my head. I don't remember exactly where I learned this, probably a random video in my feed. I hear the distinction. Distinct sound of movement, something sliding from behind the counter, and the temporary feeling of calm shatters. The darkness of my closed eyes is nothing compared to what follows. I'm speeding down the road, the bumpy terrain bouncing me almost out of my seat. I'm too aggravated to have the seat belt pressing against my skin. I'm angry at this road. I'm angry at my slick hands that are having trouble gripping the steering wheel. And I'm fucking furious at this box, wasting so much of my time refusing to open. I'll take it home and shoot it open with this gun I keep forgetting that I'm holding until it clatters against the steering wheel after hitting what feels like the thousandth pothole. If that doesn't work, I'll hit it with my splitting maul until it breaks open. John better hope there's something valuable inside or I'll go see him. After I see the farmer again, still standing in the road, waving his hands for me to slow down. It looks like one of his cows is giving birth on the side of the road. The nerve of this fucking idiot and his cows. The bubbling anger boils into a seething rage, which turns into an all consuming red that covers my eyes until the dark days takes over again. I pull into my driveway, stepping out of the car with a lockbox tucked under my left arm. Before I can even close the car door, my daughter is outside of the house asking me questions. Why is the car all smashed up? Why am I covered in red? What's in my hand? I can't take it. I squeeze my eyes shut, my left arm clamped tightly around the box, my right hand tapping the metal of the handgun hard and fast against my skull. I can't take it anymore. The black begins to creep back in. Warning Signal interruption detected.

[Ryan Reynolds]

Renew your health and wellness purpose this year with the reset on Allomoves, a curated weekly program of Pilates, strength and step goals to kickstart your fitness journey. It's a 30 day week by week program. Three days of Pilates, two days of strength and 8,000 daily steps plus bonus nutrition tips from Sakara. Plus for only $99 you get a year's worth of access to Allomoves on demand. Full studio experience wherever you are. Get moving [e-mail] hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds.

[Mint Mobile Representative]

Recently I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two year contracts, they said, what the are you talking about, you insane Hollywood? So to recap, we're cutting the price of mint unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a [e-mail] Switch $45 upfront.

[Jordan Milden]

Payment equivalent to $15 per month. New customers on first three month plan only taxes and fees, extra Speed slower.

[Nate Weber]

Above 40GB Details hey there.

[Darkness Prevails Host]

Darkness prevails here. Founder of Eeriecast, my little network of scary shows. I appreciate you listening to our scary content, but did you know you can support us? Get ad free feeds of your favorite shows, get a 20 discount code to the Eeriecast store and unlock access to members only audiobooks all at the same time. Just go to ericast.com/ and become a member today. It's cheap and really helps us out. That's eeriecast.com/thank you.

[Agent Conroy]

Signal connection restored.

[Jordan Milden]

The last box sat on the kitchen floor, mocking me. I rubbed my forehead, brushing off the sweat. Moving was exhausting, and unpacking was worse, but I wasn't in the mood to finish. I needed a break, maybe some coffee, but I was feeling too lazy to make any. I flopped onto the couch instead, pushing aside a stray throw pillow. Then I heard it. A banging noise. At first I dismissed it. I let my head rest against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. But the noise continued, rhythmic, like someone hammering away at something. I sat up, my curiosity getting the best of me. The sound was coming from outside. I walked to the window and parted the blinds just enough to get a look. It was my neighbor, the guy who lived next door, though I hadn't met him yet. He was standing in his driveway, his back turned to me, swinging an axe down at something on the ground. I couldn't make out what it was at first. Just a shape. A box, maybe. Small and clearly tough. Must have been metal. He went at it with all his strength, but it didn't budge. I half expected it to split open after the first couple of hits, but it held firm, like it was made of impenetrable steel. What the hell was he doing? I felt a twinge of unease. This didn't seem normal. He swung the axe again, this time missing the box entirely and slamming the blade into the pavement. The clang rang out like a bell, and he let out a frustrated grunt. I took a step back from the window, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on something private. Maybe he's just having a bad day, I muttered to myself. People get frustrated. It happens. But it wasn't just that. Something about his posture, the way he moved, seemed off. There was a feral energy to him, like he was on the verge of snapping. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought. I had just moved here, and I didn't want to be the nosy neighbor already. Still, my eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before I let the blinds fall back into place. I tried to focus on unpacking again, but the sound kept pulling my attention. The banging continued for a long while, steady, then quiet, then erratic. I couldn't ignore it. My mind wandered to what could be inside that box. Was it really worth all that effort? And why was it so damn hard to open? I caught myself pacing, feeling more and more anxious. Then it happened. A loud pop, like the crack of a gunshot. I froze that wasn't just a loud noise. That was a gun. I rushed back to the window, my heart racing, but what I saw made my blood run cold. He was standing in his driveway, but he wasn't holding the axe anymore. Instead, he had the box in his hands, cradling it like it was something precious. His arms were streaked with blood, and his eyes, they were wild, unfocused. He looked around, muttering something under his breath, but I couldn't make out the words. Then he turned and looked straight at me. I froze in place. His eyes were locked onto mine through the window. For a second, I considered ducking out of sight, but it was too late. He had already seen me. His mouth was moving, but the words were slurred, incoherent. I strained to hear him, pressing my forehead against the glass. It was hard to make out anything clearly, but then his voice rose, sharp and angry. You can't open the box. The box opens you. The way he said it sent a chill through me. There was something off about his tone, something deranged. My gut screamed at me to close the blinds and lock myself in the bathroom, but I couldn't. My hands shook as I backed away from the window. Was he talking to me? To himself? Either way, none of this made any sense. Before I could think it through, there was a pounding at the front door. My breath caught in my throat. No, there was no way. He was just in his driveway a moment ago. I crept to the hallway, inching my way toward the front door. The pounding continued, harder this time, shaking the frame. Open up. His voice was a low growl now, filled with something primal, something wrong. My whole body tensed and my fingers itched toward the deadbolt, as if I was actually considering opening the door for him. Open the fucking door, Nate. He screamed. How did he know my name? I snapped out of my trance and slammed the deadbolt into place, my hands trembling. I had to think. I had to do something, but I was too rattled to figure out what. Call the cops? Yeah. But the second I reached for my phone, the pounding stopped. Silence. It was so sudden, it felt like the world had paused, like time itself had taken a breath. I waited, listening for anything, footsteps, a voice, anything to tell me where he had gone. Gone? Nothing. The stillness should have been comforting, but it wasn't. It was suffocating. And then, through the crack in the blinds, I saw him again. He was in the street now, pacing like a caged animal, cradling that box in his hands. His entire body was shaking. His face twisted into something I couldn't recognize. Then, without warning, he bolted towards the house across the street. A woman had come out into her driveway, probably to see what all the noise was about. I wanted to yell, to warn her, but my throat locked up. He reached her in seconds. I couldn't hear what he said, but I saw her face change, confusion turning to fear. She tried to step back, but it was too late. He swung the box at her, striking her in the head with a sickening crunch. She crumpled to the ground and he climbed on top of her, smashing the box down onto her face repeatedly. I stumbled back from the window, bile rising in my throat. What the hell was happening? He was going to kill her. I forced myself to look again, expecting the worst. But the woman. She wasn't dead. She was getting up. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She should have been dead. Her face had been smashed in beyond recognition. But there she was, standing back up like nothing happened. Well, not nothing. She was staggering, swaying on her feet, like she'd forgotten how to move. Blood poured from her ruined face, soaking her shirt. Before I could process it, her husband came running out of the house, probably having heard the commotion. He reached for her, panic all over his face. Sarah? Sarah, what happened? His voice cracked with desperation. For a moment, she just stood there, swaying. And then she turned on him. No warning, no hesitation. She lunged, teeth bared, hands clawing at his face. He didn't even have time to react. I watched in stunned horror as she ripped into him like a wild animal. He screamed, falling backward, but she was on top of him in an instant, slamming the back of his head into the pavement open, over and over again. I backed away from the window, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. This wasn't real. How could this be real? But it was. And it was getting worse by the second. I ran to the kitchen, fumbling for my phone, my fingers barely working as I tried to dial 911. My mind raced. What the hell was I supposed to say? That my neighbor was attacking people with a box and turning them into what? Zombies? No, not zombies. They weren't mindless. Whatever this was, it was different. They were angry and violent, but they knew exactly what they were doing. The operator picked up 911. What's your emergency? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. I forced myself to spit it out. My neighbor. He's attacking people. There's blood everywhere. You have to send help now. The operator's voice was calm. Too calm. Officers are on the way, sir. Stay inside and stay safe. Can you tell me where? I didn't hear the rest. My attention snapped back to the window as another scream tore through the neighborhood. This time it came from the house next to mine. The front door slammed open and a man stumbled out, clutching his face, blood streaming between his fingers. Behind him, his wife, or what used to be his wife, charged at him with a broken bottle, slashing wildly. He tripped and fell to the ground. And she was on him in a second, driving the bottle into his chest again and again. I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking so hard and I could barely think straight. This was spreading fast. He was still out there, standing in the middle of the street, watching everything unfold. His eyes darted from one house to the next, as if he was drinking it all in, feeding off the violence. He still had the box in his hands, gripping it like it was the only thing that mattered. As if sensing my gaze, he turned and locked eyes with me again. A slow smile spread across his face, blood still dripping from his fingers. He raised the box, holding it up like a prize, and shouted. It's the answer you see now. I couldn't look away. My body felt frozen, rooted to the spot. As he started walking, walking toward my house. I backed up, my mind racing. I had to get out of here. I had to get as far away from him as possible. But before I could move, I saw another figure stumble into the street. One of my neighbors, blood covering her clothes, her eyes wild with the same fury that had overtaken the rest of them. She ran at him, screaming something I couldn't understand. He barely flinched as she reached him. With one swift motion, he raised the box and slammed it into her skull. She dropped like a stone. For a second, everything was still. Then she started to move. She twitched, fingers clawing at the pavement as she dragged herself back to her feet. Just like the others. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't watch this happen anymore. I grabbed my keys, clutching them in my hand, and headed for the door. But even as I did, I knew I wasn't fast enough. The chaos was spreading. I wouldn't be able to make it to my car in time. My hands were trembling as I reached for the door. I knew I had to move, but my body didn't want to cooperate. Outside, the street was in complete chaos. Neighbors I hadn't met yet were tearing each other apart. Blood splattered on sidewalks and screams filled the air. This wasn't some freak incident. It was a full on nightmare. I twisted the deadbolt, feeling the click under my fingers, my heart slamming in my ears as I cracked the door open just enough to peek outside. He was still there, stalking up and down the street like a predator, his grip tight around the box. I needed to get to my car. I could see it in the driveway just a few yards away, but it might as well have been a mile. All around me in the car stood chaos. People screaming, fighting, tearing at each other like rabid animals. He wasn't paying attention to me now, but it was only a matter of time. His eyes were darting from one house to the next, feeding off the violence like he was orchestrating the whole thing. The box pulsed in his hand, and every time he raised it, it seemed like someone else snapped, attacking their own family, friends, anyone they could reach. I swallowed hard, gathering what little courage I had left. My hands shook as I fumbled with my keys, gripping them so tight they bit into my palm. I had to be quick. I had to get out of here before they spotted me. Then the sound of screeching tires cut through the air. Red and blue lights flashed across the neighborhood as police cars pulled up on the street. The relief that hit me was short lived. They had no idea what they were walking into. Two officers stepped out, weapons drawn, shouting orders at my neighbor to get on the ground. I saw the moment he turned to face them, his lips curling into a twisted grin. He didn't drop the box. If anything, he held it tighter. The officers moved in cautiously, guns trained on him.

[Narrator]

Drop it.

[Nate Weber]

Hands on your head.

[Jordan Milden]

He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at them. Then, slowly, he raised the box above his head like some kind of offering to the gods. The officers exchanged a glance, clearly unsure of what to make of him. One of them edged closer, holding his taser. You want this? He asked, his voice loud and manic. You think you can take it? Before they could respond, another neighbor came charging out from behind a parked car, slamming into the officer with the taser. The officer cried out, stumbling backwards as the enraged man tackled him to the ground. The second officer turned, trying to help his partner, but it was too late. The man grabbed the officer's gun and fired wildly, the shots ringing out across the street. The chaos exploded even further. I ducked down instinctively as bullets whizzed through the air. Screams echoed around me as the entire neighborhood seemed to join in the fight. The remaining officer tried to get back to his car, but he was quickly overrun by the mob. The box seemed to shimmer in the air, fueling the violence. I couldn't stay here. This was my Only chance. I bolted from the porch, making a beeline for my car. My feet slapped the pavement hard as I sprinted, heart racing, eyes locked on the driver's seat, I shoved my key into the car door, my hands shaking so badly I missed the lock twice before finally getting it open. I threw myself inside and slammed the door behind me just as another shot rang out.

[Nate Weber]

Nate.

[Jordan Milden]

His voice cut through. Through the commotion like a knife. He was running toward me faster than I expected. His face was a mask of fury, blood smeared across his skin and eyes fixed on me. My hands fumbled with the keys, my heart pounding in my throat as I jammed the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered once, twice, then roared to life. I slammed the car into reverse, tires screeching as I backed out of the driveway. He reached the side of the car just as I pulled away, his fists slamming against the window, each pound sending a wave of panic through me. I floored it, swerving to avoid the carnage unfolding around me. The street was a war zone, people tearing each other apart, windows shattered, cars overturned, fires blazing. But the police had only made things worse. They were up now, having retrieved rifles from the cruiser and were shooting blindly, fighting amongst themselves as the madness took over. In the rearview mirror, I saw him standing in the middle of the street, watching me go. His hands still gripped the box and his smile. God, that smile that's burned into my mind. He was in control. He was spreading this thing. I didn't look back again. All I knew was that I had to get as far away from here as as possible. But it won't matter if you don't stop him. It will spread fast and soon it will be everywhere.

[Narrator]

Redwood Bureau phenomenon 0511 lockbox threat level disastrous by the time the authorities arrived, it was far too late. What was once a quiet suburban neighborhood had become a war zone. Blood stained the streets and bodies littered the yards of homes that just hours ago had been peaceful. The police were ill prepared to handle what happened next. Officers were attacked by the very people they were trying to save, their own minds warped by the Box's influence. Within minutes, what should have been a routine response turned into a massacre. By the time the Bureau arrived, it was too late to contain the situation. The infection had spread too far, and there was no way to stop it. Jordan Milden's rampage was only the spark. The fire that followed was a catastrophe. Nearly everyone who came into contact with him or the box fell into violent urges, spreading the madness like a plague. Nate Weber, seemingly unaffected by the phenomenon, managed to escape but he didn't make it far. He was tracked down a few hours later, still clutching the steering wheel of his car, parked on the side of an empty road. He was in shock, hands shaking, eyes distant. When approached by Bureau agents masquerading as police, he didn't even acknowledge them. What Nate witnessed was the true nature of the object in Jordan's possession. The box wasn't just a catalyst for Jordan's insanity. It's a conduit for something far more dangerous. The force it releases spreads like a pathogen, infecting those who came into contact with it, twisting their minds until they're consumed by violent impulses. The Bureau has encountered phenomena like this before, but never on this scale. Thankfully, the Bureau was unable to locate the box. Jordan's body was found at the scene, mutilated beyond recognition, but the object itself was gone. Whether it was taken by one of the infected or moved by an outside force, I'm unsure. What I can say is I'm doing everything in my power to locate and destroy this object before the Bureau can get their hands on it. As for for Nate, the Bureau has him in custody. It's likely much too late for us to help him at this point. And if any lingering remnants of the Box's influence reside within him, it will surely cultivate that under strict containment. This case serves as a chilling reminder that objects like RBP0511 are out there, hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone to stumble upon them. The Redwood Bureau is not out to protect you from such things. In the end, it's up to each and every one of us to remain vigilant, to question the world around us, and to be wary of the things we do not understand. Because many times the most dangerous threats are the ones we never see coming. Never see coming?