wavePod

Get Wave AI

"THE CLOT" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9007 - Redwood Bureau | Wave AI Podcast Notes

Back to Redwood Bureau

"THE CLOT" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9007

Redwood Bureau

Sat Dec 07 2024

What begins as a minor wound could lead to an unimaginable nightmare.

Summary

Redwood Bureau Episode Summary: "THE CLOT" (Phenomenon #9007)

Release Date: December 7, 2024
Host/Author: Eeriecast Network
Title: "THE CLOT" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9007

Introduction

In the gripping episode "THE CLOT" of the Redwood Bureau series, hosted by the Eeriecast Network, listeners are plunged into a chilling narrative that unveils the dark operations of the clandestine Redwood Bureau. Through the voice of Agent Conroy, a former operative turned whistleblower, the episode exposes the Bureau's sinister methods in handling supernatural entities and the harrowing consequences of their actions.

The Incident: A Family's Tragedy

The episode opens with Agent Conroy (voiced by Josh Tomar) issuing a dire warning:

"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." ([01:53])

Conroy introduces a harrowing case involving a suburban family—Mark, Sarah, Jess, and their son Tommy. The narrative delves into the family's deteriorating situation, marked by mysterious ailments and growing tensions.

Sarah's Observation:

"The ache in my arm had grown worse, spreading down into my hand, the veins black and pulsing..." ([20:35])

As Mark's condition worsens, it becomes evident that something unnatural is unfolding within the family, hinting at an insidious infection or entity taking control.

The Transformation of Agent Conroy

Amidst the family's turmoil, Agent Conroy's own experience becomes a focal point. He begins to exhibit disturbing physical symptoms—painful scratches that darken and spread, accompanied by excruciating aches that suggest a parasitic influence. His struggle to maintain normalcy for his family's sake only exacerbates the situation, leading to terrifying transformations that blur the line between human and something far more sinister.

Agent Conroy's Desperation:

"I couldn't handle it. I wrapped a towel around my arm, drying it off before pulling on a long sleeve shirt to cover the mark. I didn't want Sarah to see it." ([20:35])

The episode meticulously details Conroy's descent as the infection takes hold, portraying his internal battle against an overwhelming force that threatens to consume him entirely.

Redwood Bureau's Response and Cover-Up

Parallel to Conroy's personal ordeal, the episode reveals the Redwood Bureau's methodical and ruthless handling of such incidents. Through a leaked report narrated by Agent Hawk, listeners gain insight into the Bureau's protocol for containing and eliminating affected individuals and their families.

Agent Hawk's Report:

"The containment was successful, but the unknown whereabouts of Tommy remains a significant issue..." ([55:13])

The Bureau's swift intervention transforms the tragic family situation into a fabricated cover story—a house fire—ensuring that the truth remains buried. However, the missing child, Tommy, poses a lingering threat as he potentially carries the infection, referred to ominously as "the clot."

The Ongoing Threat: "The Clot"

Concluding the episode, Agent Conroy emphasizes the persistent danger posed by the clot, an entity that continues to exist beyond the Bureau's control. The narrative warns of its potential to infiltrate and corrupt other families, underscoring the Bureau's failure to fully contain the horror they sought to eliminate.

Concluding Warning:

"The clot doesn't just take over bodies, it takes over families. And it could be closer than you think." ([56:39])

The episode ends with a call to vigilance, urging listeners to remain aware of subtle signs of the clot's influence and to question the Bureau's actions relentlessly.

Notable Quotes

Agent Conroy:

"I couldn't afford for Sarah to find out. As I drove... I couldn't let her see. Not the scratch, not the guilt." ([11:21])
Narrator:

"Trust can be fragile. It doesn't take much for something to slip in and take hold, changing everything before you even realize what's happening." ([02:31])
Agent Hawk:

"We breached through the back. Security was non existent... The smell was something we all noticed right away. A mix of rot and something else." ([49:42])

Themes and Insights

"The Clot" delves deep into themes of trust, vulnerability, and the corrupting influence of power. It presents a bleak portrayal of institutional malfeasance, where the pursuit of knowledge and control over the supernatural leads to the obliteration of innocent lives. The episode also explores the psychological terror of losing one's humanity and the desperate measures taken to conceal horrifying truths.

Conclusion

Redwood Bureau's "THE CLOT" serves as a compelling and disturbing exploration of the lengths to which an organization might go to conceal supernatural threats. Through Agent Conroy's tragic story and the Bureau's cold efficiency, the episode paints a grim picture of unchecked power and the enduring threat of the unknown. Listeners are left with a sense of unease, reflecting on the fragile fabric of trust within families and the lurking dangers that may exploit it.

Stay tuned for more unsettling revelations in the Redwood Bureau series, and remember to stay vigilant.

Loading summary...

Transcript

Shopify Representative (0:00)

We're heading into a brand new year, and for many of us, that means new goals, new opportunities, and maybe even a fresh business idea that's been rattling around in your head. You know the one, the idea you've been meaning to start, but you just haven't taken the leap yet. Well, this is the year to make it happen, and Shopify is how you can do it. Shopify is the commerce platform that makes it simple to create your brand, open your store and start making sales with thousands of customizable templates. There's no need to learn coding or design. Just drag, drop and you're ready to go. Shopify's powerful social media tools help you connect all your channels and create shoppable posts so you can sell wherever your customers are scrolling. And they make growing your business a breeze, helping with things like shipping, taxes and payments, all from one single dashboard. Here at the Eriecast Network, we rely on Shopify to run our merch store where fans of Redwood Bureau and other shows can grab their favorite gear. It's seamless, reliable, and most importantly, it works. You can check out our store@eriecast.com store and see just how easily Shopify makes it to create a professional shop that's ready to grow. And hey, if you're worried about whether now is the right time to start, just think about this. 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 period@shopify.com Redwood all lowercase go to shopify.com Redwood to start selling with Shopify today. That's shopify.com SL Redwood.

Agent Conroy (1:53)

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 work for the Redwood Bureau. But I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know.

Narrator (2:31)

They say family is where our greatest strength lies. Where we find love, support, trust. Everything that makes life bearable. It's where we're meant to feel the safest. Surrounded by the people who know us best and who do anything to protect us. But what if that sense of safety could be turned against you? An event that has been chalked up to another house fire. Another tragic loss thanks to the Redwood Bureau. They were there cleaning up the mess, making sure nothing was left behind for anyone else. To find. But what exactly were they covering up this time? A rogue experiment gone wrong? An anomaly that slipped through their grasp? Or something much worse. Something unknown in both scale and origin. I've uncovered details of this case. A story that involves more than just a tragic accident. A quiet suburban home, A family trying to live their lives. And something dark that took root, spreading through trust, through love, and through every touch until nothing was left of them but a grotesque imitation of what they once were. And the worst part? It all started with just a small, seemingly innocuous mistake. In nature, we see examples of parasites that exploit their hosts in ways that seem unimaginable. The parasitic wasp, for instance, injects its eggs into a caterpillar, and those eggs hatch, feeding on the host from the inside out. Or the cordyceps fungus, which takes control of an insect's body, driving it to climb to a high point before releasing spores to spread the infection even further. These examples show that even in the most trusted of relationships between the host and its own body, something can burrow in, take control, and change everything. Family can have a similar effect. It's meant to be the ultimate sanctuary. But it's also where we're most vulnerable. We let our guard down. We trust blindly. And that's what makes it so dangerous when something dark finds its way in, when it turns what should be safe into something threatening. There are cases that never make the news stories that vanish before anyone can ask questions. Families who vanish overnight. Tragedies written off as accidents. But sometimes, just sometimes, there's more to it. A darker thread that winds through the story. Something that doesn't fit. That's where the Redwood Bureau comes in. Not to save people, but to make sure that whatever horror has taken root is contained. Scrubbed away, Hidden. And sometimes that means more than just silencing witnesses. Think about the ones closest to you. The people you do anything for. And remember. Trust can be fragile. It doesn't take much for something to slip in and take hold, changing everything before you even realize what's happening.

Agent Conroy (6:39)

My fingers shook slightly as I buttoned my shirt. Each click of plastic against fabric. A reminder of my mistake. The room smelled of something floral. Cheap incense, maybe. I looked into the mirror hanging over the sink, my eyes catching my own reflection, and saw the guilt etched into my features. My stomach churned. I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't do this again, and yet here I was, buttoning up in the changing room of a massage parlor. I felt a dull, throbbing ache of shame just beneath my ribs. My hands fumbled as I tucked my shirt into my jeans, the fabric catching on my belt. It felt like a bad dream, this whole place with its pink and yellow walls, dim lights, the lingering floral scent. I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. I needed to leave. I needed to pretend this never happened. As I reached for my jacket, I noticed it, a thin red scratch on my forearm just below the elbow. I didn't remember that being there before. I blinked, rubbing my thumb across the mark. It was small, maybe an inch long, but there was something about it that made my stomach twist. The skin around it looked inflamed and puffy. Damn it, I muttered under my breath, wincing at the sting as I probed it. Maybe. I scraped myself against something sharp in the changing room. The place was dingy, poorly maintained furniture, the edge of the massage table worn and splintered. It wasn't hard to imagine I caught myself without noticing. I shook my head again, dismissing the thought. I just needed to get out of here. I slipped my jacket on, covering the scratch, and took a deep breath as I opened the door and stepped out into the narrow hallway. The soft hum of music drifted from the front of the parlor, muffled behind walls that were painted in peeling pastel colors. I kept my eyes down as I walked, hoping to avoid anyone who might recognize me. As I passed the small reception area, I caught sight of an old man leaning against the wall by the exit, staring at me. The man's eyes were dark, hollow, and they didn't leave me. As I approached, a chill crawled up my spine, the fine hairs on my neck standing up. I looked away quickly, pretending to adjust my sleeve, my heart picking up pace. I pushed the door open, the bell above it chiming softly, and stepped outside into the night air. The cold hit me instantly, a welcome shock against my flushed skin. I walked to my car parked around the corner, my breath coming in visible puffs. The street was mostly empty, the glow of the street lights casting long, solitary shadows. I fished my keys out of my pocket, my hands still trembling slightly. I tried to take a steadying breath, but my thoughts were spiraling. Get it together, I muttered to myself. Unlocking the car door, I slid inside, the leather seat creaking beneath me. I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror for a moment before starting the engine. I'd been stupid, I knew that. But what was done was done. I just needed to move past it. I couldn't afford for Sarah to find out. As I drove, the dull ache in my arm grew sharper. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off the strange sensation creeping up my arm, a sort of pulsing heat that made the muscles in my forearm twitch. I ignored it, focusing on the road, on the familiar turns that would take me home. By the time I reached the driveway, the ache had settled into a persistent throb, but I forced it out of my mind. I couldn't let anything show. I stepped out of the car, shutting the door softly behind me, and walked towards the front door of the house. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before I turned the knob and stepped inside. The house was warm, the faint smell of dinner lingering in the air. I could hear the TV on in the living room, some cartoon playing, and the sound of Sarah in the kitchen, pots clinking, water running. I swallowed, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it on the hook near the door. I forced a smile onto my face as I walked into the kitchen, the light bright compared to the dim hall. Hey. I called out, trying to sound casual. Sarah turned, her hair pulled back, a dish towel in her hand. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Agent Conroy (33:30)

I was just cleaning up. I couldn't stand the way Sarah looked at me, the worry, the fear, Like I was something fragile, something broken. She wouldn't understand. She couldn't understand what was happening to me. Hell, I didn't even understand it myself. The ache in my arm had grown worse, spreading down into my hand, the veins black and pulsing. It felt like something was moving beneath my skin, crawling Twisting. At night, the pain got so bad that I could barely breathe. I'd wake up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The sheets tangled around me. And then there were the cravings, the hunger that gnawed at me, deep and insistent. A hunger that food couldn't satisfy. That's what had happened in the kitchen. I'd looked in the fridge, every cupboard in the pantry for something, anything that might make the hunger go away. When I saw the clear bottle of yellow liquid. I don't know, I just couldn't resist. As the oil slid down my throat, it soothed my pained body. It was delicious. The pain had eased, the crawling beneath my skin slowing. But then Sarah walked in and I felt the shame wash over me, hot and heavy, my stomach churning. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way she looked at me, like I was a stranger. I hated it. That night I locked myself in the bathroom, my arm throbbing, the veins dark and swollen. I pulled up my sleeve, staring at the skin, at the way it seemed to move, to pulse with each beat of my heart. The veins were spreading up my arm, across my shoulder, dark lines creeping towards my chest. I pressed my fingers against them, trying to push them back, but it only made the pain worse. A sharp, searing ache that shot through my entire body. I looked in the mirror, my reflection, pale and hollow eyed. I barely recognized myself. My skin was stretched tight across my cheekbones, my eyes bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them deep and bruised. I looked sick. I looked like someone else. I turned on the faucet, splashing water onto my face, trying to steady my breathing. I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending. The hunger was growing, the pain was growing and I was losing myself to it. Bit by bit. I could feel it taking over, something dark and twisted, and I was terrified that soon it would.

Sarah (36:20)

I returned home with a sense of urgency clinging to me, something almost animalistic, driving me. I hadn't known what else to do after my friend Renea wasn't home, failed to pick up the phone again. I had left three messages, each one more desperate than the last. My words trembling, verging on hysteria. But there had been no answer. And now all I had left was the rising dread inside me. It had become unbearable, the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that Mark was slipping further and further into something bad. I didn't know what the was. Drugs or something worse. The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. There were no lights on, nothing to indicate the usual liveliness of our home. It was as if the house Itself was harboring a dark secret. My heart pounded, the fear gripping me so tightly I felt almost paralyzed. I tried. I tried to convince myself that everything was fine, that Mark was just sleeping, but I couldn't shake the gnawing sense of anxiety, the certainty that something had gone terribly wrong. I stepped out of the car, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the keys, finally managing to unlock the door. It swung open with a soft creak. I stepped inside, the darkness pressing in around me. I turned on the hallway light, my heart pounding in my ears, and I called out, my voice echoing in the silence. Mark? Are you here? Nothing. Not even the faintest sound of movement. I swallowed, stepping further into the house, my shoes tapping against the wooden floor. I reached the living room, my eyes scanning the darkness. And then I saw it. The overturned furniture, the chaos. The coffee table was on its side, the lamp shattered on the floor. And there was something else, Something dark smeared across the carpet leading towards the stairs. My heart lurched and I felt the bile rise in my throat. I stepped closer, my stomach churning. It was dark, almost black, smeared in thick streaks as if something had been dragged. I took a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I moved towards the stairs, my eyes following the trail of blood. It led upwards, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway above. Jess? Tommy? I called out, my voice cracking. My feet felt like lead as I climbed the stairs. He chose each step heavy, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The silence was suffocating me. Not a sound. My kids were never this quiet. They must be sleeping. They had to be sleeping. I reached the top of the stairs, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the hallway window. The door to Jess's room was ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. My heart pounded, my stomach twisting with dread. I could hear something now, a soft, wet noise, like something being dragged across the floor. It set a shiver down my spine, my entire body tensing. I held in a deep breath, my legs trembling, and took a step towards the hallway. But before I could reach Jess room, something caught my eye. A sliver of light reflecting from the master bedroom. Mine and Mark's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see a small shape standing in the doorway, just visible in the narrow gap. It was Jess. She was peeking out, her face partially hidden, her eyes wide and blank, staring straight at me. My heart skipped a beat. Jess? I whispered, having to force my voice out. She didn't respond, just stood there, her face expressionless, her eyes almost empty. There was something so wrong about the way she was standing, so still, so quiet, it made my skin crawl, every instinct screaming at me that something was horribly wrong. Mommy, she said then, her voice soft, almost mechanical. Can you come here? A chill ran down my spine, my entire body reacting in a way I'd never felt before. There was something off about her voice, something that made my stomach twist, that made my heart pound even harder. I took a step towards her, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. Jess? What's wrong, sweetheart? I asked, my voice trembling. She didn't answer. She just stared at me, her head tilting slightly, her eyes wide, unblinking. And then she turned, disappearing back into the darkness of the master bedroom, the door creaking softly as it closed behind her. I hesitated, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, to get out of the house, but I couldn't leave her. I had to make sure she was okay. I forced myself forward and pushed the door open wider. The room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway behind, behind me, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. My heart pounded in my ears and I took another step forward, squinting into the darkness, trying to see where Jess had gone. And then I saw him. Mark. He was in the corner of the room, slumped against the wall, his head hanging limply. His eyes were open. They were blank, unfocused, his mouth slightly open, a thin line of drool trailing down his chin. I let out a choked sob, my hands covering my mouth, tears blurring my vision. Mark, I whispered, taking a step towards him. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. His skin was pale, almost gray. And there was something else, something protruding from his chest, a mass of flesh, round and bulbous, slick with some kind of thick, dark fluid. It was pulsing like it was alive, the veins running through it dark and swollen. I gagged, my stomach twisting violently, and I took a step back, my eyes widening in horror. There were tendrils, thin, fleshy tendrils spreading out from his sides, crawling across the floor, probing absently at their surroundings. My eyes followed them, and my heart stopped. Jess. She was standing by the door, her small face blank, her eyes vacant, the same as Mark's. The tendrils were going into her, burrowed into the back of her neck and her spine, her movements jerky, unnatural. She took a step towards me, her head tilting to the side, her mouth opening, and a voice came out, a voice that wasn't completely hers. It was distorted and wrong. Mommy, she said, her voice trembling, a grotesque mimicry of my daughter's voice. Can I have a Hug. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, and I stumbled back, my back hitting the door frame. The tendrils twitched, the mass in Mark's chest pulsing faster, and Jess took another step towards me, her limbs moving in a strange palm puppet like way, her eyes empty, her mouth twisting into a horrible slack smile. Please, Mommy, she said again, her voice breaking, the words slurred as if she was struggling to form them. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. My entire body was frozen, the terror holding me in place as Jess reached out, her small hand brushing against my arm, her fingers cold, her skin clammy. I looked at her, my vision blurring with tears, and I saw the tendrils burrowed into her flesh, the way they pulsed, spreading beneath her skin, ticking around. Jess, I whispered, my voice breaking. I reached out, my hand trembling, and then I stopped, my fingers hovering just above her. I couldn't do it. I couldn't touch her. I couldn't. She moved closer, her head tilting again, her eyes locking onto mine. Mommy, it hurts, she whispered, her voice breaking, and I felt something inside me shatter. The sound of her voice, the pain in it, the fear, it was too much. I let out a sigh, my knees buckling, and I sank to the floor, my hands covering my face, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I'm sorry, I whispered, my voice barely audible. I'm so, so sorry. The tendrils twisted and Jess moved closer, her arms wrapping around me, her small body pressing against mine. I could feel the cold, slimy tendrils against my skin, the way they pulsed, the way they burrowed into me, and I screamed again, the hot, sharp pain, the sound muffled against her shoulder. I tried to push her away, my hands trembling, but she was unnaturally strong, her grip tightening, pushing my head onto her shoulder and holding me firm. It's okay, Mommy, she whispered, her voice soft, almost soothing. It will be all over soon. And as the pain burnt in, everything went black.

Narrator (56:39)

Almost as soon as it happened, the Redwood Bureau moved in. Taking swift and calculated action, they extracted what remained of Mark, his family, and left behind nothing but a pile of ash. And a tragic cover story for those close enough to know, it was just another family consumed in a house fire. A heartbreaking accident that took the Lives of a man, his wife and their two children. No one questioned it. The Bureau made sure of that. They covered their tracks as they always do, ensuring that the truth would never make it out from within the walls of their facility. But we know better, don't we? We know there was more to it. We know that the Bureau didn't just stumble upon this event. They were watching, waiting, ready to clean up the mess when the time was right. They waited to know what this entity was capable of. Waited to see how it spread through the very connections that make us human. And now, because of their reckless procedures, a piece of it is out there spreading. Now, Tommy, Mark's son, wasn't there when the Bureau made their move. There were no traces, no signs of a struggle. Just the absence of one child. They might have covered the rest of the incident up, but they can't erase an active entity, and that means one thing. He's out there somewhere, carrying whatever infected his family. The clot is still alive, still growing, and the Redwood Bureau knows it. What they're planning to do about it, well, that remains to be seen. They've ramped up their surveillance, scouring hospitals and local emergency lines for any mention of unusual symptoms, any hint of the infection. They're looking for Tommy. But let's be real here. The Bureau has zero intent on saving him. They want to contain him, control him, and only if necessary, neutralize him. At this stage, neither us nor the Bureau have a clue to this phenomenon's origins. I wish I could tell you that my team is ready to step in, that we're on Tommy's trail, looking to help him, if possible, before the Bureau finds him. But the truth is, we're stretched thin. Resources are scarce, and the Bureau's shadow looms large over everything we do. We're doing what we can, keeping our ears to the ground, watching for any signs of the clot's spread. But it's not easy and it's not enough. The Bureau has the upper hand and near limitless resources. This isn't over, not by a long shot. The clot is still out there, waiting for its next opportunity. And the Redwood Bureau is waiting, too. Waiting for their chance to take it all, to control it, to use it. But we'll be watching them. We'll be ready to tell the truth, no matter how hard they try to bury it. So to those of you listening, stay vigilant. Watch for the signs, the sudden changes, the strange behaviors, the feeling that something's not quite right. Because the clot doesn't just take over bodies, it takes over families. And it could be closer than you think. Until next time, stay safe and keep questioning everything.