The Baker Ranch Case Files [unpaid 17+]
Project Overview
Hello! I am a horror author building an original, expansive multi-century horror universe for an upcoming novel and wiki pages. This project serves as an interactive Analog Horror/ARG companion to the book, heavily inspired by the slow-burn psychological dread and format shifting of Marble Hornets.
We are launching a multi-perspective series tracking a tragic 1972-73 cold case in the deep Georgia woods through police recordings and hidden cassette tapes. This is an independent passion project to promote the future book, so it is unpaid. However, you will receive full, permanent credit on our public creepypasta releases and YouTube video descriptions, including direct links to your portfolios or social media.
I am a theater creator, so I will be handling all the realistic, practical background foley and audio mixing myself to ensure your performance sounds incredibly cinematic! Full scripts and character directions will be provided directly in your DMs once cast. Look below for the specific characters available for tryouts.
Note: I’m sorry if this doesn’t sound too professional
Edward Baker is the wealthy, powerful landowner of the Baker Ranch in 1972. He is a manipulative, unhinged abuser who completely lacks empathy. After murdering his teenage grandchildren, he confidently spins a lie to frame his dead granddaughter for the crime. He feels completely untouchable by the local police because of his status and political connections. He never panics; he treats the law like a game he has already won.
Vocal Style: Calm, chillingly polite, mocking, and low. He speaks with a slow, deliberate pace that is meant to push the Chief’s buttons. He never breaks his composure or loses his temper, treating the interrogation like a game he has already won.
Accent: A slow, arrogant, wealthy Southern country drawl. He has a traditional, smooth cadence that sounds deceptively charming but hides a deeply cold, sociopathic nature
You can drag that pond until your boats run out of fuel, Chief. You won't find a single thing in that water but lily pads and old tires. A man's word still means something in this town... especially when he owns half of it.
You listen to me real close, Malcolm. You keep your boy Gregory away from my fences. Children who let their imaginations run too wild tend to stumble into nasty accidents out in the high brush... and it'd be a real shame if your house went quiet too.
I believe our time is up. The state investigators officially pulled your funding, didn't they? So unless you're plannin' on chargin' me with something real... I reckon I’m gonna go on home and get some sleep.
Chief Malcolm Handler is a 42-year-old small-town police chief in 1972. He is a deeply moral family man who is physically and mentally exhausted, caught between a horrific supernatural tragedy and a corrupt local government forcing him to bury the truth. His voice should sound heavy, gravelly, and raspy from stress and lack of sleep. He carries an intense, simmering undercurrent of raw, protective fury.
Vocal Style: Gritty, worn-down, and capable of jumping from a tired, gravelly whisper to explosive, throat-tearing anger and country accent please this takes place 1972 Georgia
Accent: Thick, authentic Georgia or Texan country drawl (naturally dropping the "g" sounds in words like lying or standing).
I’m sittin' here in the dark lookin' at these blank case folders... and I reckon the law ain't worth the paper it’s printed on in this county. My boy Gregory is screamin' in his sleep every single night... and I can't do a damn thing to fix it
Edward thinks because he bought the judges... he’s safe. But he don't see what I see. The woods around his ranch ain't quiet no more. The crows are gatherin'... and I reckon the forest is finally comin' home to collect the debt.
You step one foot near my family again, Edward... and I won't bother callin' the county sheriff. I'll drag you out into those pines myself, and I'll let whatever is wailin' out there in the frost have what's left of you.
Willowdean Mae Baker is a tragic sixteen-year-old girl from Georgia who was murdered by her grandfather in July 1972. Trapped for fifty years at the bottom of the ranch fishing pond, her spirit has transformed into a terrifying, weeping Banshee. Her voice is ghostly and echoes with raw, painful supernatural energy, yet she is still just a heartbroken teenager mourning her lost family.
Vocal Style: Hauntingly beautiful, slow, and full of sorrow. Her voice carries an air-thin, weeping quality that can shift instantly into an eerie, echoing supernatural stillness. It needs to sound like a heartbroken sixteen-year-old girl trapped in an eternity of grief.
Accent: A slow, sorrowful, distinct Georgia country drawl. She stretches her vowels out heavily and naturally drops her "g" sounds (using a thick, melancholy country cadence for words like listenin', runnin', and screamin'
I’m just a sixteen-year-old girl who wants her brother back fierce. I scream because my soul is a hollow well... filled to the brim with the faces of my mother, my father, and Atticus. And my brain... it just keeps scratchin' 'em out.
If you're listenin' to this... I reckon you found a piece of these woods that don't belong to the livin' world no more. The local law is spinat'in their neat little lies down in the valley... but I ain't down there no more.
Somethin' keeps movin' my feet when the sun goes down. Somethin' opens my throat when a monster walks into these Georgia pines. I reckon I’m a prisoner here... but as long as Ferra keeps tearin' those nasty abusers to shreds... I suppose I'll keep ringin' the dinner bell.
Gregory Handler is a 68-year-old retired lawman. As a 14-year-old boy in 1972, he witnessed the horrific murder of the Baker twins and spent his life waking up in a sweat from the trauma. Now, fifty years later, he has finally reeled Willowdean’s bones out of the fishing pond and uncovered his father's old, forbidden police cassette tapes. He is completely heartbroken listening to the past, but fiercely resolved to face the entities waking up in the pines.
Vocal Style: Gritty, slow-paced, and weathered by age. He balances the tender, raw vulnerability of a weeping, broken old man with the deep, authoritative gravity of an experienced law enforcement veteran.
Accent: A heavy, slow-rolling Texas-Georgian country drawl. He stretches his vowels out deeply, speaking with a tired but intense country rhythm.
Malcolm carried that rot to his grave just to protect me. He kept the town’s ugly secrets locked tight in a desk drawer while Atticus’s restless spirit thrashed against my bedroom walls, and Willow’s wail curdled the Georgia pines.
I reckon the human law closed the books on the Baker Ranch massacre a long time ago. But lookat'in out into the black pines, watchat'in the shadows shift and twist like they're alive... I know the debt is still bein' paid. My daddy was right. The forest didn't forget.
Now that I’ve reeled her bones clean out of that pond, the twins are finally ready to finish what started fifty years ago. I ain't runnat'in this time. If the trees want to bleed, then let 'em bleed.
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