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A charming tale of mushroom people, a mysterious goat herder, and a giant woman. Sam the woodsman's got some stories he really wants to tell you for some reason.
A mysterious stranger wanders the woods and seems to have a burning need to tell a story to those he meets. There is clearly more to him than what is obvious, but his tales are no less intriguing.
WTW: Episode 1- A Stranger with a Story
Narration Script
By
SAMUEL GROM
SAMUEL [V.O.]
Oh! Hello there. I'm surprised you
found me out here. I'll often
spend days wondering around here
without running into a sing
person-not one.
Who am I? Well... I'm no one, truly...
Just your average outdoorsman
enjoying the air and the birds.
You can call me Sam if you like.
Doesn't matter too much to me.
I spend my time out here looking
for inspiration. I like to tell
stories and I find that there's
so much out here that can trigger
a funny little thought that builds
into fun fib to tell your friends.
Oh, I suppose I could sit in a
house thinking and thinking until
I squeeze something out the
ol'noggin.
It's just so much easier out here.
Just think. People used to spend
all their time outside, in the
woods. People also used to come up
with wild yarns they'd spin for
friends and kids.
I'm willing to bet you've grown up
on one of those stories. Little
fibs to tell the kids why the
leaves turn red or why the river
runs.
OH! Y'know what? I just thought of
a story... Just now! Really!
Here, sit on this rock, I've
already called the tree stump.
Here's the story of... Hm...
Oh! I know!
This is the story of the Mushrooms
Folk...
NARRATOR
Way, wayyy back... before the trees
first wore their leaves and the
first fish grew their knees, the
lands belonged to the Mushroom
folk.
Heads adorned with great caps of
many vibrant colors, they trod
upon the sod without help or
hindrance.
They ate invisible creatures in
the ground and air, and in all
directions their land was
everywhere.
They danced and they sung, in
great halls they had fun, and fell
asleep happily under the slowly
setting sun.
While the land called them master,
time would soon bring disaster, as
great beasts from the seas stepped
upon them with ease.
Many thought their day done, for
nowhere could they run, but time
would soon give them a way to get
by.
One day, a beast fell, seeming to
sleep for a spell, but as the
minutes went on, it was clear
something had surely gone wrong.
The mushrooms worked quick, and
while it might make you sick the
old folk did not have the chance
to make picks.
In days, the beast was gone, and
the shrooms carried on, and as
more beasts fell, they'd fed on
they heard the mourning dinner
bell.
Soon great towers of wood came,
and the shrooms feet soon became,
Like the roots of these newfangled
friends.
They'd burrow beneath, and perhaps
sink their teeth- in the meat of
whomever they meet.
SAMUEL [V.O.]
There... what do you think of that,
Hm?
T-too childish? But... that was the
point!
Huff... well, If you want bare
knuckles, then the gloves shall
come off!
Oh know, I'm not going to fight
you... Attacking a stranger in the
woods is just about the dumbest
thing I could do.
No no no, I'm going to tell you a
new story, one of intrigue, of
mystery!
This is the story...
Of The Garigton Goatking!
NARRATOR [V.O.]
150 years ago, the North
Pennsylvanian town of Gerigton
began reporting strange sightings
of a Wildman shepherding goats in
the woods around them.
A boy named Oscar was the first
witness. Every day he would come
home from the town schoolhouse and
play in the ravine behind his
mother's cabin.
He would pull sticks from trees
and break the over the trunks
until his mother called him for
supper.
One day, while scraping away brown
caps from the base of a dogwood,
he heard a strange sound.
A quiet bleating bounce about the
gully's stone walls.
"Bah... Bah... Bah"
Young Oscar, being a rascal,
thought to scare away the bleater
by throwing a rock against the
walls.
"Crack, crack, crack," went the
rock as it fell down the chasm.
The clangoring so great, it sent
unseen birds into the air with its
loudness,
For a time, the boy that his job
done, and went about tormenting
beetles.
He'd pluck them of their legs, one
by one, and watch them wiggle and
writhe with obscene curiosity.
"Bah... Bah... Bah..."
Said the ravine ones more, giving
the boy a great start.
This would carry on for some time,
with the boy tossing another rock
at every bleat until he'd gathered
a bundle of sticks and stones and
sent them all tumbling down the
gap, filling it with a deafening
clamor.
He looked down the gorge, ever
careful not to through himself in,
expecting an animal to calm
climbing out from under the
shadows.
"Bah"
(Man's voice)
The boy screamed and ran all the
way home and told all he could of
the voice in the woods.
Another was the account of a
basket weaver. An elderly widow
who'd go down to the wetlands to
weave baskets from old reeds for
her five pregnant daughters.
She would hike the long
journey to the marches every day to collect
materials. She'd trek over stone
and hill with her aching legs just
to get a bundle of cattail reeds.
One day, she found a goat resting
in the marches, cooling off in the
shallow waters. After plucking her
quarry, she gave the old goat a
soft, sugary-bread roll.
The next day, she made the long
journey once again, this time
finding two goats resting in the
waters.
She collected her reeds and fed
each their own bread roll.
This would go on for three weeks.
She would walk with a reed basket
of freshly baked bread to the
marshes, collect her new reeds,
and would find a new goat joined
the originals posse until she had
fed a whole party of goats with
sweet bread.
One day, the old woman woke with a
fever, and could not make the
day's journey.
Once her children had all left
her in the midday to work, she
heard a knocking on the back door.
She opened it to find a stack of
baskets woven from powerful
wines. In the highest basket sat
25 bottles of pure white goat's
milk.
That night, all 8 of her children
came over for dinner, and each
would say the milk tasted as sweet
as their mother's sweetbread.
Eventually, the hunters of the
town formed a posse, somehow
convinced the mysterious figure to
be an outlaw held up in the
wilderness and hinting all their
game.
The elders warned against such a
venter, armed with stories from
the old country, but the young
hunters refused their advice.
For the five long days, the
hunter's wives waited for them,
with every night filled with
shouts and gunfire in the
distance. On the sixth day, the
hunters returned.
Not a one would speak a word of
what they saw, only that the
sightings would end.
They brought now outlaw bound in
restraints, but instead a sack
filled with four things. Two
hooves wearing chaps, a grey goats
eyes, and a man's yellow tooth.
SAMUEL [V.O.]
What do you think of that?
Hm, a suppose everyone's a critic.
Hey, y'know... it's getting awful
late. You should head out before
it gets dark.
I wouldn't say its too terribly
dangerous per say, but it
certainly isn't as safe as the
day.
Oh, no, I'll be fine, I'm... I'm
going in the other direction
anyway.
I hope to see you around!
NARRATOR [V.O.]
Jamison sat in the captain's
chair, listening to the sound of
rain pounding against the roof of
his fishing boat's enclosed
bridge.
Three days off the coast of Rhode
Island, and still his nets were
empty.
He took a long drag off his
cigarette, filling his lungs with
burning ash. He was desperate.
"Mr. Jamison, I'm sorry, but if
you can't pay your debt in time.
We'll need to take your house,
that's just the way it is."
He watched as the embers climbed
up to the filter. He picked the
butt out of his mouth, and crushed
it with his foot.
"Don't even got no bed in here."
It's not like he'd lived in the
house much, spending all his time
in the boat just to pay it off,
but the sting was no less
bothersome.
The boat swayed back and forth in
the mildly tumultuous sea. He
hadn't even docked it, hoping to
at least catch something while he
slept.
He'd even preyed for a catch that
morning, a new method he thought
of trying. It didn't bring much
more than bottle caps and plastic
rungs though.
"I'd prey to anything at this
point," he chortled before dosing.
Suddenly, he woke to the sound of
sea spray crashing against the
window.
"Wha?! Its supposed to be mild
showers dammit!"
He charged through the door bucket
in hand and bolted for the water
pooling I'm the deck.
He tossed bucket after bucket
overboard, desperately working to
save what he had left.
The rain pelted his body as waves
tried to tackle him to the floor.
He'd scoop
He'd toss
X2
All just for the water to return.
Thunder rolled across the sky as
lightning filled the night with
blue light.
Soon Jamison found himself staring
out into the ocean greeted with a
bizarre vision.
The siluette of a woman was
defined by the storm's light.
Great and terrible in stature and
clothed in stormy clouds, she
hovered just before the ocean
surface.
Jamison froze, bucket falling into
the water as his eyes beheld the
giant.
"anything?"
The next day, the whole town
gathered at the docks to see a
strange yet dazzling catch.
Jamison, in his nearly sunk
fishing boat stood before them all
with nets filled with gold.
Statues of great fish and other
sealife shone with the morning
sun's light with near blinding
clarity.
"Where did you go?"
One fisherman asked
"What bait did you use?"
Asked a little boy.
"All I had to do was prey," he
would say, all while hiding a
strange set of slits on his neck.