4chan Exposes the Elite Secret Society - YouTube
Transcripts:
We now continue with Smurf. >> I'm not sure how long this will stay up or if anyone will even read this and if it will even get any attention before this is fully gone, but I want to try anyway. I can't live with the guilt anymore. I don't know why I went along with it and did what I did. But once I had a change of heart, it felt like I was in too deep.
And so I stayed until I had a clear exit route. It has been a few years since I left. I have changed my name, where I live, how I look. I have no connections to my previous life, but I have no one to talk to who would understand. And I figure people here will ever be interested or at least humor me before telling me to GTFO and stop spreading BS.
When I was quite young, I was inducted into a secret society through a familial connection. More specifically, my father had been in the society for most of his life. He kind of um groomed me into it, if that makes sense. He went on and on about how we had a sense of duty to uphold, that we had to make sure that the world kept spinning, and that it was up to us to cast judgment and carry out his will.
That is something I remember he said to me word for word. I guess you could say it was the family business in a sense. And I mean, it did pay well. That's why I agreed to go through the initiation in the first place. But I did not get any kind of special treatment. I had no idea and still have no idea why we were doing what we did.
All I knew is that I would be given orders and be expected to carry them out. Fail to go through with it, fail my task, betray people, etc., and I would receive punishment. Everyone in my family would receive punishment. Everyone I ever smiled at or even had a brief chat with would be punished. Not literally, obviously. Once you were in, they take all of your important documents like your birth certificate, your passport, your social security, etc.
They set up a bank for you which only they can access, etc. This is so they have even more leverage over you so that you cannot escape. Anywhere you want to go, anything you want to do, every purchase that you want to make, it goes through the people there first. So, even though I earned all of that money, I am still broke and a loser after managing to escape.
Again, I want to specify that I was at the bottom of the totem pole and not any kind of leader. I got asked to do something and I did it. The society I was part of was based in California, but we had members all over the country, and you would sometimes be asked to leave the state to complete your tasks.
They could be anything from menial work, like scrubbing something clean, dumping some trash, or something far worse. My initiation was an odd one to say the least. I had a bag put over my head, and then they drove me out to the middle of nowhere. Even I don't know where I ended up. I never found out. The drive was so long, I guess it must have been out of state.
It was somewhere rural that I did not recognize with only empty fields as far as the I could see. At some point, the vehicle just came to an abrupt halt, and I was ripped out of the truck and thrown to the ground on a road somewhere, but not on a main road or anything. There was basically nothing inside except for some kind of tall wooden pole.
It looked like the kind of ones you would see used to connect power lines, but the top of it was vacant. The lead guy in the group, the one in charge of the initiation, he told me I had to strip down naked. When I refused, he punched me in the face and told me that I would not get another chance. He told me if I refused even once more, then I would have failed my initiation and would have to face the consequences.
So, I stripped down to nothing. I was not even allowed to wear any underwear. The other members of the group came and held me down as I was tied up. The leader, I guess I'll just say L for short, came up to me and squeezed my nuts so hard that I let out a scream. And then he punched me in them hard. He punched me so hard that I instantly had a stomach ache and I felt winded.
My hands were tied up with rope and a gag was put in my mouth. And then they carried me up to the top of the pole using some kind of ladder or whatever and tied me right near the very top. I was told that I would have to sit there for free days and free nights in order to pass and be accepted. They said if I somehow managed to scream or draw attention to myself, which they told me was unlikely since no one lived out here, then I would be punished.
They told me if I died, then they would bring me back to life just to punish me. And with that, I was blindfolded and left for I don't know how long. I heard them drive off, but there must have been someone nearby just in case. It would be too risky otherwise, even if there weren't any other people around for miles. I remember some time passed.
I could not even track the time because I was just in darkness. With the way I was tied up, I could not sleep either because I basically had to bear my whole entire body weight. I would guess it had been a few hours, maybe a few more, but a vehicle pulled up and someone told me to open up my mouth.
They took the gag off and put something to my mouth. It felt like something plastic, like the rim of a water bottle. But when I took a sip, I had to spit it back out because it tasted so disgusting. It tasted bitter and salty, and I could feel myself wretching reflexively. The person who made me drink it just laughed and told me to suit myself, told me I would not be getting anything else for another couple of hours.
And 3 days passed just like that. They would not give me water, just whatever the horrible drink was. Although it didn't always taste as bad as the first time. They brought me food, but it was just all mashed into a liquid concoction and tasted horrible. But after I got through that, I was accepted.
Although for months, for even years, all I did was scrub up messes and drive things places. It was usually things boxed up, I never knew the contents. Sometimes I would be told to deliver letters to people and just to make sure that they got the message. Most of the time it would be someone I had never seen before and they would have the most horrified looks on their faces while reading it and retreat inside their homes.
After a while I started getting jobs that actually meant something. These ones were different. We had to wear masks for these. Not only were these for other people to not be able to see us, but so that we could not know who we were working with. That way there was no power imbalance and no one could start a coup or blackmail their way to the top.
They would always be these really shitty plastic masks in the shape of an animal or those weird latex ones designed to make you look like a celebrity. We only wore those on the night of the rituals. Though sometimes we received envelopes of preliminary work that we had to do first. We had to do exactly what was instructed on the letter and make sure that the work happened the same way every time.
Getting sloppy or panicking would result in punishment. And we also had to make sure that we made things fit neatly. We were asked to dispose of people, but we were never really given a big reason. It wasn't anything as dramatic as revenge or members who had fled and betrayed us. I was just told that they had been chosen as part of specific parameters and that we had to cast judgment.
I had a wife and a mortgage by the time I was asked to do this. I had a kid already. Well, on the way. This is how long I had to shovel for. The first one I was involved in, I remember, was this man in his late for days, who I think was newly divorced or something. He worked overnight inventory for a big box store, and he did not have any kids to take care of.
I think his parents were long gone, too. He was the sloppy drunk kind of guy, always drinking, always trying to numb himself from his sorrows. He was an oversharer, too. I know this because my involvement started a few weeks before we erased him. We never just grabbed people off the street, shoved them into a van, and slit their throats.
No, we had to be smart. And not only that, it had to be a ritual. Something like that would be too messy. Too many people would ask questions. Too much evidence would be too easy to come by. Sure, we could erase a lot of that evidence, but not only was this much safer, the society generally viewed it as more fun. That's not to say it did not have a purpose.
I just don't know what that purpose was. So, someone would be assigned to become a part of that target's routine, worm their way into their lives, become their friends, work colleagues, acquaintances, etc. Make them trust you, make them feel vulnerable with you, learn all of their weaknesses.
It would be done in a natural way. Some targets you would have to crack open for years. Some were more easily trusting and could be wrapped up in a matter of weeks. For this case, we had a woman who was stationed at a bar that he stopped by after every single shift pretty much. He would talk and she would listen.
She remembered little details that he would bring up. She laughed at the right things without coming on too strong. The poor sucker fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. I dropped by one night, pretended to be a noob, stopping by for a drink just to check the status. He trusted her wholeheartedly. He basically believed that they were best friends and that he had charmed her and won her affection.
He was wasted, completely spilled his guts out to me, even though all I had said was a polite hello. The next night, we moved on to the next phase of the ritual. When she asked him to follow her to a storage unit under the pretense of helping her move something to her house, he jumped at the chance.
She asked him early so that he would not drink. For some reason, one of the rules was that they needed to be fully aware of what was happening to an extent. Anyway, we did have to minimize the amount of variables. The unit was already prepared. There were no cameras active nearby. The thing had been sound dampened.
The moment he stepped inside, the two of us came from behind and took him to the ground. The bar girl just went home. Her part was finished. We tied him up with zip restraints and put his hands behind his back and then shoved a hood over his head. We put him onto his knees facing the wall. I remember just how confused he sounded. That's what really stuck out to me.
He was not scared at first, just really, really confused. He just kept asking if this was a prank or if he had done something wrong. Kept asking what we had done with the bar girl. Even to the end, he trusted her with everything he had. No one answered him, of course. No need to give away what we sounded like without reason.
Silence was almost a part of the ritual in that way. The killing happened exactly 48 hours later in a rented house on the edge of a development that never quite filled in after the housing crash. He was kept conscious most of that time, fed just enough to keep him alive, spoken to, only to give instructions.
On the second night, we dressed him in clothes identical to what he had been wearing when we took him, right down to the scuffed up sneakers, then drove him to a closed municipal pool that had been slated for demolition. The daff itself was quick, a blow to the head followed by submersion time so that the water entered the lungs.
Afterwards, we staged it as a break-in by a drunk trespasser who fell, hit his head, and drowned. His wallet was returned to his apartment. His car stayed where it was. The woman who lured him in cried to the police and gave a statement. And then she was gone, reassigned, and I never saw her again. That was how it worked.
Clean and repeatable. After that, the um erasure process would begin. Anyone who went looking would come up empty. records would no longer turn up if he went looking for them. It was like they never existed at all. How this worked, I have no idea because I was never involved. It was never something I was assigned to do.
All I heard were rumors. Nobody involved spoke about how it felt because how it felt did not matter. Not that there was ever any time to gossip. You were either carrying out a task or trying to maintain whatever semblance of a normal life that you could. Most people ended up single, lives falling apart, relationships falling apart because of the secrets.
That is how they kept you in. Who would believe you if you told them? And if they did, who would stay with you? And if they did, what could you even do except for your next task? I'm not sure if I should even share in her case. I suppose it could give you a better understanding of how this society works. I don't know.
I guess typing all of this out makes it feel even more real. I suppose these memories, I just pushed them down. They are not things I have ever confronted head on and acknowledge like this before. Acknowledging that it was me who did this, that I did this, that I chose to do this. It makes it feel real. Some people might rationalize it as not having a choice, but I did.
I had a choice. I could have chosen to lay down and die and refuse to be a part of something evil, but I was too selfish. I valued my life over random ones. I valued money and safety over real people. And that is something I am not sure I will ever be able to live with. This other case, I remember it was this woman in her early 20s who was a nobody really.
I know she was bouncing around between friends couches because her parents had disowned her. She had no money to live on and could barely keep a job. I think that she was working part-time delivering orders for some food service that I could not remember. This approach took a lot longer. We had someone positioned to become a neighbor in her apartment.
Someone else helped her get a better paying job, helped her out with bills, etc. It was just these little things designed to make her feel, I don't know, lucky, I suppose. give her loss of little wins over the course of a few months. Make her feel like life was finally improving, that her suffering was finally a thing of the past.
I don't want to go into too much more detail about how she was charmed. This is the one I am most ashamed of. We took her from her own car after we had convinced her to pull over and help with what looked like a broken down vehicle on a service road. We restrained her face down on the gravel. She was just screaming into the dirt while someone else held her head still so that she would not break her teeth or suffer any of her injuries.
We could not allow any damage before the ritual was complete and the person could be erased. She was kept in a basement for 3 days, which I remember being longer than usual. I remember her begging in a very practical way, offering money she did not have, asking what she needed to say to make it stop, promising she would not tell anyone.
The man overseeing it checked his watch every few minutes and adjusted things to keep the timing aligned. When it was done, we drove her to a stretch of highway where accidents were common. Her car was accelerated to speed and she was forced behind the wheel just long enough to be conscious when it happened. The impact killed her instantly.
Her death was ruled a fatigue related crash. I watched the news report the next morning while drinking coffee and listening to my wife talk about baby names and the disconnect made me feel hollow in a way I did not have words for. After that, there were more that just kept on piling up. There were so many that I do not even remember them all anymore.
As horrible as that sounds, they all just started to blur together. This took years of my life. It took me years to gather up the courage to escape. What finally broke me was the last disposal I was ever a part of. And it was all because of a screw-up. We were assigned to a man who fit every single parameter that we were told that we, and by we, I mean the society, have been looking for.
Again, what those parameters were, I do not know. Only when we were becoming a part of his routine, we did not do our due diligence and we overlooked something that on the surface may have been nothing. But for us, it was catastrophic. He had a brother who was always lodged firmly up his ass. Checked on him every single day without fail and was a foreign in my side.
He was always defensive, always suspicious, always asking who I was, always giving me weird looks. I naively thought he was irrelevant, that we could handle it, but I guess I was too cocky by this point. Nothing had ever gone anything but my own way so far. When our target did not answer his phone for 12 hours, the brother found a missing person's report and kept on pushing.
We had already taken him by then. I was there when someone suggested accelerating the timeline to avoid complications. And I was there when the person in charge shook his head and said no because the ritual must be followed to the letter. Apparently, to forsake the ritual was to forsake ourselves or some other preachy that I cannot remember.
The man was killed the same way as always and his death was staged as a workplace accident involving heavy machinery. The brother did not buy it. He hired a lawyer. He kept asking questions and then I was told to handle it. I was told to insert myself into his life the same way we always did. Offer help, offer answers, steer him away from the truth without ever lying outright.
I sat in his kitchen and listened to him talk about his brother like he was still alive somewhere. I made a big song and dance about how close I was to his brother, how much we bonded, how much I missed him, etc. And I guess grief just clouded his brain to the point where he dropped his guard.
He went from being suspicious of my every move to just eating up anything and everything that I said because I told him things. I told him things that his brother had barely shared with him, let alone anyone else in the world. I earned his trust by dripfeeding him information that proved I had earned his brother's trust. I guess his brother was the only one he trusted more than himself.
Once this was done, I guess something inside of me just snapped. It finally clicked in my head. It clicked in my head that my life was not normal. That normal dads do not bring their sons into something like this. that compartmentalizing an entire week's worth of memories just to be able to function and not have to see those judging faces staring up at me from inside my head was not normal.
I mean, it could have been me on the other side if not for my father. What if one day my wife fit the parameters, my son even? How was I supposed to tell my son that this would be his life for as long as he lived? In the end, my decision was made for me. I thought I was being smart about it, but they just knew. They knew what I was planning.
They knew I was not buying what I said, that I was buying things and then pawning them so that I had cash on hand. So, I got home one night to a letter. A letter that told me they had my wife and son. And the letter offered me a choice. I could go back, admit my wrongdoings, and accept my punishment, or my wife and child would bear my punishment instead.
And I just I just panicked. I grabbed a small bag, whatever cash I had managed to squirrel away, and I just drove. I drove for so long. I drove until I was having micro sleeps at the wheel and waking up in a panic and swerving all over the road. And I just I never went back. I know I'm a coward.
I know that I deserve nothing but death. Worse than death. My wife, my kid, they never asked for this. I had a choice and they did not. All I can hope is that they were killed quickly and painlessly. All I can hope is that one day I do not receive a knock on my door and everything goes black. I can't trust anyone. I have no friends.
I mean, how could I? I just hope the people here can understand why I did what I did. And if not, then that's okay. I would not forgive me either. I just hope that death comes from me peacefully in the dark while I am all alone. getting this off of my chest. Um, I can't say it made me feel better exactly, but I feel less heavy.
I know most will not believe me, and that's okay. You don't need to. Just a final note before the video finishes. If you somehow managed to miss the disclaimers in the description and on my channel, this story is not real. This is a creepy pasta for entertainment. My channel specializes in immersive fiction, which means that stories like this are written to feel realistic so that you can more easily suspend your disbelief and enjoy being scared.
Only a fool would take any story on my channel as fact. Remember, this is a creepy pasta channel and not a conspiracy one. Hey, hope you've enjoyed the story so far. If you want to hear more, make sure to subscribe, like the video, and leave a comment because it lets YouTube know you like the content and helps more people to see these videos.
My next big goal for the channel is 100,000 subscribers. And as a celebration, I will be doing a Q&A video once we hit that goal. Thank you. And back to the stories. I used to have a job where I needed to travel a fair bit. I was working on cruise ships selling art in the galleries and was in Australia/ New Zealand doing runs when I got the email.
I was really glad because I was being transferred to Hawaii and it was on my bucket list. I flew from Melbourne to San Francisco to Lihou. This bit is kind of important. After a lost baggage and a late flight, I got to Hawaii at around 10 or 11 p.m. I called a cab and took it to my hotel about a 20inut ride away.
Once I got to the hotel, I tried to take money out of the ATM and was basically told I could not access my account. I was really ashamed that I could not pay the cab driver, let alone my first night in the hotel, which was pretty expensive. So, I told the hotel clerk that I would head to a nearby McDonald's to get some Wi-Fi and try to call my bank back home.
The clerk told me not to go because it's Lihou, and I didn't really understand what she meant by that. After walking over two hours to the McDonald's to find the McDonald's closing for service, I was stuck in Methhead Central. One was an older woman who followed me for a couple of blocks asking for change. I told her I did not have anything spare and said that's all right.
I wrote it off too tired to keep up with what she was really saying until I heard her mumble. You know, I can tell when people are lying when I touch my hair and noticed that she was yanking on her bangs. I increased my pace and I decided to walk to the airport to use their pay phone because it was closer than going back to the hotel. The Lihooie meth addict then said, "I can also tell when people have knives on them.
" Now, I did not carry a knife on me. I'm from Canada, so guns and knives are really only openly carried up north when you go hunting. This made me nervous around her. She was one lone methad who probably weighed like 80 lb, but I could see others skittering in between buildings like cockroaches. What she said next was what made me bolt.
She stopped, looked up at me, and asked how could I have her papers. I did not want anything to do with her. My phone was dying, and I was not going to take a second to double check if I was going in the right direction. I just took off running towards skylights in the distance and hope that it would be the airport.
Thankfully, it was and I finally made the call back home to Canada. My bank suspended my account because I had used my card at a San Francisco vending machine after flying from Numea to Melbourne to San Fran to Lehou. They said they would sort it out, but that it could take a few hours. Anything was better than nothing. So, I started to make the walk back to the hotel, taking back ways around the town center to avoid the meth addicts.
Eventually, I got back onto the main hallway, but it was so dark. Nothing out of the ordinary so far besides the odd wild chicken or piglet that darted out of the brush and I got used to it. Here is where things get strange. I decided to stop and take a break on the side of the road. I knew I was only about a half an hour away from the hotel after walking for about 2 or 3 hours.
So, I was glad to see the home stretch. I only knew where I was because I remembered a creek that ran parallel to the road. It went down to a ditch and rose up slightly on the other side into what was maybe a sugarcane field. Tall stalks like corn. That is when I saw it. I didn't really know what it was at the time, but its eyes were reflective like an animal.
And in my head, I thought, "Oh, great. Another pig." But this pig would have had to have been enormous because the eyes were above my own line of sight by at least 2 ft. And I am about 6'2. I did not stop running. I did not survive the crackheads of Lhoui just to be pulverized by some crypted on vacation. I made it back to the hotel drenched from the late night rain in Hawaii.
It was warm, but by the time I got back, it was almost 4:00 a.m. and the adrenaline had worn off. The night clerk, an elderly old lady, could tell I was shaken up, gave me a towel, and she brought me a few granola bars and an apple after I told her the whole story. But I left out the bit about the sunny Sasquatch because I was not 100% sure if I really saw what I saw.
Anyways, she booked me into a room and let me have a bed to sleep in that night as I promised to her that by the time I woke up, my bank account issues would be resolved. The next day went about normally. I did some shopping after waking up, still exhausted and jet-lagged, but it was a good sleep. I'm home now in Canada, but lately I've been having weird nightmares of the Hawaiian beast I saw that night in the sugarce field.
Woken in the middle of the night, I felt compelled to get down to the mystery of the thing and read about a Sasquatch type creature of Hawaii called Hikanaka, a large 7 to 8ft tall pigish men type beast with a gnarly growl. This happened to me around December of 2009. I am driving on a small winding road around a mountain. It's snowing.
I pass by a car that is on its side. What the hell? I turn around. I pull off road across from the wreck. I see the driver partially fern from the car. I run over to help while shouting, "Are you okay?" I get to the guy. It's a complete and utter horror show. The guy has been decapitated. There is blood everywhere.
I call 911. I give them all of the information that I can. They tell me that they are sending people out right now. The dispatcher hangs up. I didn't think they were supposed to do that. Um, whatever. I am waiting for the paramedics. I am creeped out just from the side. I am leaning against my car. The decapitated man starts screaming.
He keeps crying out for his mom. It gets louder and louder. It lasts for a total of about 10 seconds. I am completely frozen. I cannot take my eyes off the men. No one else is around. There are no cars, no people, no houses, nothing. I cannot wrap my head around what is going on.
I stay this way for what feels like eternity. Help finally arrives. Police, fire trucks, ambulances, they sent everyone. I give my statement to the police minus the talking dead part. I am completely numb. I can only talk in short sentences. The police say I can go. I get in my car and drive away. It's not much of an ending, but real life rarely has good endings.
I have no explanation for how a decapitated head could speak, but it did. That was the worst day of my life. This happened to me about a year ago. I was having this series of dreams. In the first dream, I am walking around my town. I am running errands and such very mundane stuff. When I get home, I walk into my room and flip the light switch a few times.
The switch does not work and I am filled with a sense of dread. Suddenly, I am lifted off of the ground and dangled by my leg upside down. Objects are thrown around and the lights start to rapidly flash. I go lucid and start to recite the Lord's Prayer. I wake up. Strangely, I am very calm despite the circumstances. About a week later, I am dreaming again.
I am in my house and I walk into the bathroom. Lights start flashing and I have that same sense of dread as before. I am dangled by my leg again. I recite the prayer again. I wake up again. I am very calm. Another week passes by. There is no dream this time. I wake up very early in the morning.
It could not be later than 6:00 a.m. I think I may have been in sleep paralysis. There is a shadow figure at the side of my bed staring at me. I stare back and recite the Lord's Prayer at first time. I fall back asleep and wake up later that morning. I have not had a similar experience since. I'm convinced I was attacked by a demon through my dreams.
How it appeared three times, how my prayers drove it away. I know that these were not just regular dreams. I've had many nightmares during my life, and every time I've woken up shaken afterwards. I felt no fear during this event, God was with me.
