There's A Shack Called 'The Devil's Toy Box' In Louisiana And People Who Go In There Supposedly Lose Their Minds

There’s A Shack Called ‘The Devil’s Toy Box’ In Louisiana And People Who Go In There Supposedly Lose Their Minds

Jason’s blood and brains were still splattered across the front of the Toy Box (so I assumed that meant I hadn’t imagined the whole thing), but the folding chair where he had been sitting was now void of his slumped, lifeless body. As I stood there, trying to figure out where Jason’s corpse could’ve gone, a stream of stagnant-smelling water splattered against the side of my face.

I turned to see Jason’s (mostly) headless body draped over one of the Exorcist game’s mounted water guns. I’m not exactly thrilled to admit this but it’s true that I froze when I saw him, thinking that Jason had gone full-on undead zombie on me, but after almost a minute of me standing there waiting for him to make the next move, I finally realized that wasn’t going to happen.

What I was seeing was nothing more than a dead body lying on a mounted water-gun. Which meant that someone or something was out there in the darkness, moving around a 160-pound corpse and propping it up on shit simply to fuck with me. This was the realization that finally sent me running.

I was in my ’91 Jeep Cherokee and halfway down the unpaved dirt road back to the highway when the Cherokee hit a bump that dislodged something from its undercarriage. I pulled over and started to get out so I could take a look at what it was when I finally realized I was once again looking at Jason’s mangled body. Moving a grown man’s corpse is one thing, but moving it and then wedging it up into a car’s undercarriage in the time it took me to get back to my car? That’s crazy talk.

I really don’t want to give this part much thought because the truth of it is kind of depressing. Real Life Jason HAD been really depressed about the breakup with Gretchen and I guess I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t.

And so I went back home and started to write it all down, just as Jason knew I would. I got about this far when I was interrupted by a knock on the door to my apartment. I opened the door and saw there was a note taped to the outside.


It was about 11PM and I was pretty sure the management at my complex had long since gone home for the evening, but I headed toward the lobby anyway out of sheer curiosity. I started down the steps leading to the first floor of my complex to see Jason’s mutilated body leaning against a coke machine at the bottom of the stairwell. Somehow, they had found me.

I sprinted back up the stairs, seeing everything in slow-motion as I hurried inside my apartment and locked the door. A moment later, the knob began to rattle as someone tried to turn it from outside. I was slowly backing away from the door when something big crashed through it.

Though “it” wasn’t my front door, but rather the inside wall of the Toy Box that suddenly buckled inward to reveal a familiar set of headlights. Jason had crashed my Cherokee into the side of the Toy Box.


About the author

Joel Farrelly

When Joel isn’t writing creepy-ass short stories, he can be found scripting and acting in subversive comedy sketches on YouTube. You can follow Joel on Twitter or support him on Patreon, if you’re into that.