Hmm. Mr Thing loves winter. Fluffy slippers, hot chalk, the heating on.

Uh-oh, that didn't sound good. Looks like the boilers packed in.

Thankfully, Mr. Thing has British Gas Home Care cover, which means unlimited repairs for his boiler, heating, electrics and more.

So he's covered for whatever winter throws at him. And right now it's 50% off for the first six months.

Search British Gas Home Care, one of the ways we're taking care of things. Teas and C supply, no claims within the first 14 days, ends 1st of December, new customers only, remaining six months at full price. Gidey, mates, it's Bbuster here. And before the episode begins, I would just like to let you know that Be Scared, which is produced along with

Studio 71, features scary stories from around the globe on a weekly basis that aim to fuel

your nightmares with a smile. And if you enjoy the podcast, it would be great if you could

hit that subscribe button and drop a review. Thanks for listening, guys. And without further

ado, let's begin.

Thank you. Thanks for listening, guys. And without further ado, let's begin.

There's a place that I used to hunt every winter, north of Stillwater Creek, a long spion of pine-covered ridge that tapers off into pretty much endless hills. The locals, they call it the back shelf. Not many go

up there anymore. The trails have eroded, and the old fire roads are sort of half-swallowed by moss

and blackberry vines now. It's the kind of place

where the forest feels older than the maps really, and I hadn't been up there in years.

But late last November, I decided to take a bit of a day off work, load my gear, and hike in

alone. Just me, the woods, and the slow patience that comes with small game hunting.

I figured that I'd set up before sunrise, find a quiet spot, and just wait out the day and

relax. By the time that I reached the top of the ridge, the air had that sort of glassy

stillness that you only get in the deep forest. No wind, no birds, even the

snow muffled sound in a sort of strange way. My boots crunched once for every five steps that I took,

and I remember thinking that it felt like walking across the roof of the world, quiet, suspended,

and just completely empty. For most of the morning, quiet, suspended, and just completely empty.

...