Episode 361: Listener Tales 50 | Morbid

Hey weirdos, it's Ash here, ready to share a little secret.

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Hey weirdos, I'm Ash. And I'm Elena. And this is Morbid.

Oh, I think my chair is squeaky. My chair is always squeaky.

My chair's never squeaky. I fucking hate these chairs.

Whoa. Yeah. I mean, they're beautiful. Let me backtrack.

They're gorge chairs, but they're squeaky.

Like, come on, man. Yeah, it's not great.

It's not great. It's not great. It's not great.

But you know what is great? Listener tale.

Listener tale. Brought to you by you, for you, from you, and all about you.

Exactly. And you might be wondering, wait a second, fellas.

It's Monday. It's Monday. You don't do listener tales on Monday.

You do them on Fridia. That is a Sabrina the Teenage Witch reference because I can make one for anything.

That's such a talent. That was Salem Saberhagen who said that.

Fridia. Fridia. It's not Friedia today.

It's Monday. So we really wanted you to have Jordan's just voice in your ears on Friday.

We just couldn't wait. Couldn't wait to give it to you.

Needed to penetrate your ear. Wow. Someone said that Jordan sounded like hipster Dumbledore.

And I've never heard a better description in my life. i love that you get rid of the facial hair and he essentially is yeah there you go you know what my favorite thing about i have like so many favorite things about jordan but i love jordan here how he says a boot i love it so much it's the canadian of it all that's what it is so we love you jordan glad you guys got it a little ahead of time and he'll be back soon yeah so and we decided to give you a listener tale on monday just to because we really wanted to do one They're fun.

And you like them. And we didn't pull one out last week.

So we were like, you know what? Here we go.

Whoop, there it is. And when we opened up the folder and we saw these Listener Tale, the names of them, we were like, yeah.

We said, that's the move. That is the move.

So we're going to do that today. We hope that you're cool with that. hope so i hope so because it's happening so i don't know but this one uh begins really strong i would say i haven't read this but just the by virtue of its title it's starting off real strong that's how i feel so this one is entitled spooky audio attached edition what which always grabs my attention i love spooky audio always spooky audio this is spooky audio hold on i gotta i know what you're doing i gotta put it into a word doc because i don't have my glasses because i never have my glasses and that's just who i am as a person where are your glasses where are my glasses they're downstairs where they shouldn't be I was telling Elena this morning, I think, eye doctors, hi, can you develop astigmatism like over time?

Because my eye doctor always says that I don't have it.

But lately, I can't look at my bright screen without wanting to cry because I can't focus.

So write in. Let us know. Let us know. We're going to get like 900 emails now that are like, Ash, you have astigmatism.

There you go. I appreciate it. I do, too.

All right. So this one says, Hi, guys. I've been listening to Morbid for about a year now or so, and I thought it was finally time I submitted my own listener tale.

Before I begin, I just wanted to say thank you guys for all that you do.

I know it isn't easy researching and talking about this stuff almost daily, but it doesn't go unappreciated.

Thank you. That's really nice. Thank you.

We all love your content and keep up the good work.

You keep up the good work. Yeah, that was really nice.

You're so kind. Anyways, here's some background for you, not from you.

It's for you, from you, by you, and all about you.

I'm from Indiana. I know. The state of corn.

It's actually the state of... Cone. Ash has been singing.

I don't know if you guys. The world has been singing this.

If you are on TikTok or you have watched the news where they do those cute little wholesome segments every once in a while, that little boy holding the corn, the cone.

A big lump of knobs. And somebody made like an auto-tuned song out of it.

Do you know what the title of that song is on TikTok?

No. I don't know it word for word, but it's like the corn song that unites the world.

That's amazing. And it is. And 100%. I agree.

My friend just texted me and she was like, that song is the best thing to ever happen to me.

It truly is. Ash has been singing it for days.

So as soon as I just saw the state of Korn, I was like, wow.

I meant to be. I would sing it right now, but I think copyright infringement.

Probably. So it's the state of cone, the potholes, and as the state motto says, the crossroads of America.

People always passing through and never staying.

But this is a place I was born and raised, and the smell of the cow farms and seeing the cone fields has become like home to me.

However, another little known fact, Indiana, and more specifically my hometown, has a shit ton of limestone, which is an amazing conductor of energy, which, you know, means ghost.

Mm-hmm. It means ghost the band. It means Mariana.

It's just one ghost, which means ghosts.

Growing up, that five-letter word was always so common to me.

I was raised on ghost hunters, ghost adventures.

Oh, me too, my friend. Nothing is better.

I said this to John the other day. Nothing is better than, like, before you had any responsibilities in life.

Period. Period. And end the sentence there.

And you could just sit down and just engage in hours of ghost hunting marathons on TV.

Yeah. Just barely moving and just, like, getting food.

Like, on weekends, we were just, like... marinate in front of the television watching ghost hunters who are you kidding ghost adventures weekdays when i was like in the middle of dropping out of college i used to just roll up to alina's apartment i'd say don't tell ma that i'm here pre-kids and then we would just turn on some fucking tv yep it's true i just love watching a ghost hunter Such a beautiful time in life.

It really was. I wish I had appreciated it more back then.

But you know what? Maybe we'll be able to go ghost hunting soon.

Oh, my God. I'll shit myself. Maybe it'll happen.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe we'll ghost hunt with some people.

I don't know. Some famous ghost hunters.

Ooh, we've spent too much. Did you like my Mrs. Crocker sound?

I did really like that. Or Mr. Crocker. I like it.

Very good, Barrett. Sorry. I was raised on ghost hunters, ghost adventures, traveling to historic haunted locations, and even with a mother who always had just had a sense of knowing when something wasn't quite right.

No, literally. I have so many ghost stories that involve her knowing freaky shit that turned out to be factual.

But that's a story for a different time.

Also, are our moms the same? Yes. Anyway, this story begins on a summer evening back in 2017.

My mom and I were about two hours down south visiting my grandparents when we decided that it was late and we needed to go home.

So we start driving back home and then bam, we're in standstill town. traffic for two hours on I-69.

It was horrible. I had to pee. I was hangry.

And worst of all, it was getting really, really late.

Finally, traffic starts moving again and we're headed home.

We finally get off the interstate and start making the drive through old country roads to get back to our old country house.

We're just jamming along, trying not to be annoyed when suddenly my arm is absolutely filled with goosebumps.

I look to my right and notice we're passing an old cemetery and suddenly I cannot breathe.

The hair on my neck stands up. I have tears in my eyes and I turn to my mom and I say, mom.

She quickly cuts me off and says, I know.

Don't address it and don't look back. It'll be fine.

Cool. Okay. Mama knew. Mama said, don't call Ghostbusters.

I am Ghostbusters. I suddenly am filled with the horrible realization that my mom feels it too.

Someone or something is in the backseat of our car.

Oh, I didn't pick up on that. We continue driving, but both of us have tears in our eyes and can't quote unquote see.

I put in quotes because it's more like a mental image.

A larger, oh, they can see. Excuse me. I just messed that whole feeling up.

Oh, I thought you did say can. I thought I said can't.

Maybe I said it right and I fucked this up twice.

I don't know. You're doing amazing, sweetie.

Thank you so much. We continue driving, but both of us have tears in our eyes and can see, quote unquote, I put in quotes because it's more like a mental image, a larger man in our backseat with overalls.

And he's absolutely angry. Ooh. Were you driving down the Bridgewater Triangle?

I was going to say, was he a redhead? We try and put on the radio to distract ourselves.

I wanted something funny, like Never Gonna Give You Up or something, because nothing bad can happen when you're listening to that type of music, right?

Too bad the corn song didn't exist. I don't know.

I feel like it's almost like... happens more to that like jaunty kind of music.

But my mom must have thought the situation was more dire because she put on the Christian radio station.

Oh, shit. Because we needed Jesus and we needed him fast.

At this point, my mom's speeding to make it back to our house so we can get out of the car and away from that thing.

After what seems like forever, we pull into the driveway and into the garage.

My mom turns the car off and I finally breathe and was about to make a mad dash inside.

However, something stopped me. I looked down at my phone and noticed it started randomly recording by itself.

It somehow turned itself on, went on a text message, and was recording.

When I finally noticed it, though, it stopped and sent to someone.

It was one of those voice messages and chats.

I was like, huh, that's weird. but not weird enough for me to stay and investigate, so I made a mad dash into the house and ran upstairs.

Finally, with the comfort of my own home around me, I decided it was the perfect time to listen to that audio message, because, you know, nothing like standing in a dark hallway in your creepy old farmhouse to listen to a scary message that randomly sent on your phone without your consent.

Can I ask you a quick question? Just interrupt here.

I feel like I can smell this house. Like, it smells like cozy home.

Oh, yeah. I love a farmhouse. It's a cozy home.

I feel it. So I click play and immediately turn white.

Oh. At the very beginning of the clip, you can hear a man's voice say something.

No, thank you. I thought it said, I'm not on my own or I'm in your room.

I'm not sure. Honestly, I would... Both of those kind of suck.

I'm going to be honest. I was going to say I want the first one, but then he's like, I'm not on my own.

Like, I got more of me around here. I got more of me.

Like, there's more ghosties coming. Yeah, I don't like that.

So those both suck. I don't know which one I would choose.

I'd choose my own adventure. Yeah. Maybe it wouldn't have been unusual if it wasn't for the fact that it was just me and my mother, who you can hear talking in the clip, so it's not us.

And the car was off, and there was no man in sight.

So, of course, I did the most logical thing.

I ran down crying to my mom to listen to the message.

Mm-hmm. Ooh. Ooh. Ooh. This would make sense if the man said I'm not alone.

I don't know what that thing was or why it chose us that day, but regardless, it was freaking scary.

I also talked about it with my mom later, and she confirmed she also saw the man in overalls too.

Freaky shit. I'll attach the audio message for you guys to listen to.

Tell me what you think. Thanks for listening, and if you want to hear more stories, let me know.

I have tons. Please send them. I'm letting you know right now.

Right now. Thanks again, and remember to keep it weird, but not so weird that you decide to listen to a spooky message by yourself in your creepy ass farmhouse i added ass okay thanks bye also oh okay or oh also i have a shit ton of scary stories about plymouth massachusetts thanks again hannah please send those hannah send them stories all your scary stories hand them i just said hand them i'm it's a day living no I'm not I'm not are you among us I'm not we're gonna play the audio message can we ready because do you want me to it's necessary pump her up yeah pump her up hold on let me pump up the volume dance dance the jams pump it up I need to hear it one more time because I think I hear I'm It almost just sounds like he says... Hold on.

I need to hear it off air for a second. I feel like I'm starting to hear I'm waiting around.

And I hear, I like it loud. So maybe... He's like, turn up the gospel.

I like it loud. I like it loud. He said... hallelujah that was uh compelling something that was real compelling hannah something and i appreciate you sharing it with us and also i love that your mom just like knows this shit she's just like it's such a what is it with moms you know i do not know what Is it like I myself am a mom and I don't know, will I develop this later in life?

I sure hope so. You're spooky. I, lately, I'm just like, I am going to be somebody's spooky mom someday.

Yeah, it's so fun. I'm stoked on that. I mean, kids are in our like three to five year plan.

So I'm pretty excited to be a really hippie ass, weird ass mom.

Yeah, I'm a straight up spooky mom. I mean, that literally goes without saying.

Yeah. In fact, I saw, I actually, we took the kids to Castle Island in the city.

And we just, like, took a walk around. And I saw a listener there.

What? Who said hello. And she was so sweet.

And I didn't get her name. And I'm sorry for that.

You were wonderful. You were great. And you looked great.

You were rollerblading in, like, a full outfit.

And I meant to tell you, like, you look fucking phenomenal.

So if that was you, you looked great. And good for you.

And you can rollerblade. Like, that's iconic.

But I realized how, like, my family looks hilarious.

Like, because... Like, the kids are just, like, these cutie patooties just dressed as, like, I just let them dress however they want.

So they are always, like, mismatched. Whatever.

They look hilarious. And, like, John was, like, that day he was full-blown dad mode with, like, the diaper bag on his back and, like, ready to go.

And then I am always wearing all black. Yep. like bright red lipstick like i am always like the ghoul of the bunch and you have like you're super pale and you have like super bright red hair i stand out from from the the group of us so much and i was like john tell you the other day that you looked like a vampire yeah he said he goes he just said you always look like a vampire he said it like in a good way no he was yeah he was saying in a compliment but and i appreciated it I just look... I don't even know.

You look great. My brand lately is just like lump.

You look... A big lump with knobs. Get out of here.

You're calm. I'm calm. That's my look. All right, moving on.

You're a beautiful thing. You're a beautiful thing.

And so is this listener tale. It's called Listener Tales.

I had lasagna. I just said that that way.

It's actually lasagna, but I like lasagna better.

Lasagna. You had lasagna with a serial killer.

And then it says true crime. True crime.

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Hi, Elena and Ash. I'll keep this note short because the story is kind of long.

I have attached a double-spaced putt-a-fuh for your convenience.

That's literally so hot. Thank you. Just want to let you know that I love the show, and I've been dying to share this story with you.

You may use my name, Julie. I write like I talk, so expect lots of parentheticals and all-caps moments for emphasis.

I love that. I write like that, too. I write that way, too.

She said, it's an ADHD thing. It definitely is, because I love an all-caps moment.

Also, I'm half Sicilian. So while you read this, imagine all kinds of expressive hand gestures flying around.

I did them. Don't read. Oh, I will not read that out loud.

Don't read it. Don't. Oh, I'm really happy for you guys.

Just know that. Okay. Oh, I love it. All right.

So it starts off and it says, hey, wonderful weirdo women.

My mom was a single parent with four kids.

Shout out to your mom. Yeah, seriously. You are the oldest.

In 1978, she was working as a bartender in Schiller Park.

That's Illinois, right? Yeah, it is. Illinois.

Just outside of the Chicago city limits.

I was 13 and mom worked nights. So I was usually home in charge of my younger siblings.

This wasn't at all weird in 1978. Mom was twice divorced already while my real father was out of the picture.

More on that later. My stepfather was still around quite a bit, what with visitation and all that.

One night, a guy came into a bar where mom worked and struck up a conversation with her.

He seemed somewhat familiar to her, and as the night wore on, they tried to figure out where they knew each other from.

When the guy said his last name was Gacy, mom suddenly remembered how she knew him.

He was a year or two older than she was, but they had gone to the same elementary school.

And in fact, mom had been one of the bridesmaids in his younger sister's wedding in the late 60s.

What a claim. That is insane. Eventually, the bar closed and they parted, but he returned to the bar several times in the intervening weeks and they got along pretty well.

Oh, my. What? Oh, my. What? Oh, my. Oh, my.

A week or two after Thanksgiving, she'd host a big party for friends who either had no local family, who preferred not to spend holidays with their families, or who just wanted to hang out for a meal and some drinks.

She would make lasagna and a bunch of salads and sides, and everybody who was invited would contribute like potluck style.

That sounds fucking awesome. I know, I love that.

She'd been spending time with John for several weeks, so of course invited him to come.

He replied that it had been a long time since he had had an authentic home-cooked Italian meal and that he would love to come.

I bet he fucking would. In 1978, that party was held at our home on the northwest side of Chicago on December 9th.

There were a lot of people there that night.

But I did talk to John for a while. Even at 13, I was obnoxiously outgoing and talked easily with adults.

This is wild. He told me about being a clown and showed me a wallet photo of himself shaking hands with Rosalind Carter.

I'm screaming. And as mentioned, I was a pretty perceptive kid and knew mom was semi-sorted dating this guy.

So I was kind of scoping him out. He didn't give me any particularly bad feelings, but I thought him kind of a blowhard, braggy kind of person.

You nailed it. Yeah, he seems that way. I described him later to friends as a guy who had the personality of a used car salesman.

Nailed it. No offense to people who sell used cars, but there's a stereotype of a pushy, never take no for an answer kind of guy for a reason.

There you go. It's the truth, man. Mom's parties were well known for being big, noisy, everyone's welcome bashes, so there were a ton of people there, from work friends of mom's to her regulars from the bar to family and close friends.

My stepdad was even there, as this was one of the friendlier periods in him and my mom's ex-marriage.

Party ended, everybody went home, time moved on, blah, blah, blah.

Then, on December 22nd, mom called home as soon as she got to work.

In 1978, there were no cell phones. She said, if daddy calls and asks about John Gacy, tell him that John came to the party with Flores.

I think. Sure. Yeah, you got it. I happily agreed to lie for my mom, but asked her why.

She told me John had been arrested the night before, but didn't say why, and said she had to get back to work.

I figured, like, a lot of traffic violations or something equally minor.

Of course. Imagine my surprise. I can't imagine your surprise.

I turned on the news and every channel, okay, there were only three back then, but still, was showing news coverage of a small bungalow on Chicago's far north side with plastic sheets covering things, people standing in the rain, and stretcher after stretcher of sheet-covered bodies being carried out.

I cannot even imagine this. Can you imagine being the mom and dating him at this specific time?

While you have a child and not even... Multiple children.

I think there were three of them. He was so good at manipulating and charming.

If you read the Cliff Leyendecker book, The Man Who Killed Boys, you'll find a mention of Fleurice Branson, a psychic who claimed to have read Gacy's tarot cards and was so frightened by the reading, she just made up some random feel-good stuff and left the party quickly.

Oh, that's terrifying. Then had to pull over at the side of the road and vomit because she was so terrified by him.

Oh, I want to read that. Wow. Wow. Wow.

Wow. Wow. For me, the worst part of this whole thing happened years later when I looked at a timeline of Gacy's murders and realized that his last known victim, Robert Peist, was abducted two days after Gacy had been at our house for dinner.

Oh, my God. Can you imagine? No. You're just like sitting there shooting the shit with this guy about being a clown and you're like, oh, he's so braggadocious.

And then two days later. And then this happens.

And his last known victim. yeah that's so he was very active at this point so scary wow weirdly after gacy's arrest and trial conviction and after we'd moved out to the suburbs my mom hired a live-in housekeeper slash babysitter her name was gloria roadie turns out she was the estranged wife of gacy's best friend ron roadie and she'd left her husband because she thought it was disloyal of him to have testified against gacy at his trial thank god uh on the record right now anybody that is my best friend and i know about like eventually that you've killed somebody i'll testify against you yeah i'm gonna get you i'm gonna get you i'm gonna get you turns out gloria didn't turn out to be too cool herself and she got fired she was she was slacking a little bit and going back way up there to my first paragraph i mentioned my real father well being the true crime fan i am after the golden state killer was identified through familial dna i sent in my own dna to one of the dna tracking companies 23 and me if you want to a witch sure heck yes i love that company and they did that in the whole i know we both did 23 yeah we did they didn't tell me i was italian so i'm kind of pissed off they told me i was 1.4 percent yeah i think you're a little braggadocious over there i am i'm kidding I was going to say, like, live in your Italian.

Yeah, I was going to say it's like the Viking in me or something.

I don't know. Oh, I have that in me. You do?

Yeah, we have Viking blood. Anyways, they sent in their DNA in the hopes of being the key to solving some long-ago terrible crime.

Instead, I found out that at the age of 56 that my real German and Swedish father is not related to me at all.

And my actual real father is a Korean man I have never heard of.

Wow. Which explains... All the anti-Asian abuse I took from classmates as a kid.

Oh, that's terrible. As I sat there saying, I'm not Asian, I'm Italian and German.

Oh my goodness. I'm sorry that you went through that.

Yeah, that's awful. People, I was going to say kids are the worst, but really just people are the worst.

Also, my mom was not Italian. She was Sicilian and Turkish.

Turns out her mother changed her surname and claimed a different ethnic background because in the 1920s, when she was growing up, Sicilians were not considered quote unquote white people while Italians were.

Wow. History is a wild bitch. It really is.

I track down my biological father eventually and he wants, oh, I'm so sorry.

He wants nothing whatsoever to do with me and has instructed the rest of his family not to talk to me either.

That's a bunch of bullshit. Fuck that guy.

Yeah. I expressed my disappointment to my own grown daughter.

I guess my real father is kind of an asshole.

Without skipping a beat, my daughter replied, your mother was divorced three times and dated a serial killer.

Asshole is totally on brand for her. What?

She's like, listen, grandma's wildin'. Your daughter is awesome.

I love your daughter. Which means you must be a badass mom to have raised that.

That's amazing. That's iconic. That's awesome.

In conclusion, stay weird, but not so weird that you date serial killers and lie to your children about what race they are.

Cheers, Julie. Julie! My goodness, Julie.

What a time! I'm so sorry that you went through that, though, with your father.

Like, to be, to find that out is so, like, to be gobsmacked by that information.

Yeah, that's just a lot. Just to be treated like that by somebody that you share blood with is horrible.

Yeah, that's wild. But holy shit. Damn. Your daughter's really funny.

And you're really fucking great. Yeah, and you're great.

You deserve to have everything you ever want in life, Julie.

You do. You really do. Sometimes you don't even need a dad.

You don't. I love mine, but, like, you don't always need them.

I was going to say, I love mine, but, like, they're not always.

You don't need anybody but people who really love you.

Yeah. And want the best for you. And that's us.

You know what I mean? We're love bombing you, Julie.

That's us. That's us. We love bombing you because we love you.

We love bombing you because we love you.

We have no ulterior motive for that, I promise.

We just love you. Love. And we appreciate your tail.

Yeah. Now, my next tail is yeeting a potential axe murderer out of a moving vehicle.

Ooh, so, like, that's a problem because the yeet ones are usually for me.

All right, you don't get it, though. This one's mine.

I'm upset. I'm upset. I'm upset. I'm upset.

This one says, Hi, Deb, Deb, Ash, and Elena.

Of course, I adore you beautiful badasses and Deb, Deb.

I love that you love Deb, Deb. You freaking rock for picking out some awesome listener tales.

Oh, I love that. If mine makes the cut, I have attached it in a Puttafa double spaced in size 13 font.

It took me about eight minutes to read out loud, just so you know.

Wow, you are a real one. You are organized.

You're amazing. Thanks for doing Listener Tales and letting us be such an integral part of the podcast.

You are. Thank you for being a part of the podcast.

P.S. Please don't say my name in the podcast if you read it.

I didn't include it in the tale, but just to be safe, Psycho X and Small Town Shit, you'll understand if you read it.

I got you, my friend. Anonymous. Let's bring this up.

Hi, weirdos. I just finished a Listener Tales episode and said to myself, damn it, it's about time I write mine.

I was saying that. I was saying that too.

I've been listening to your podcast for so long, turned by other true crime loving friends onto it and spend a slightly concerning amount of my free time making graphics of true crime sayings like, sorry, my Uber is here just because.

You're the best. You rock. So needless to say, I'm a weirdo as well and somehow still didn't lock my goddamn doors and have this Listener Tale to tell.

I'm glad you're telling me it. So here is my I love you too so much sentence along with my I'm not sorry about the lengths and I know you won't cut a single word disclaimer and let's go girls.

Yes, said like Shania Twain. Let's go girls.

There it is. A few years back, I moved out to a tiny town in Oregon.

Good job. Thank you. Did you hear that Oregon?

Oregon. Oregon. It's still the Oregon Trail.

A small tiny town in Oregon. I knew nobody.

I was in my 20s. It was my first time living on my own.

I freaking loved it. When I say this was a small town, I mean it.

There were plenty of the classic small town issues like gossip, trying to find somebody to flirt with at the bar that you don't already know, and the police.

To give you context on what the police force was like here, I had to call the non-emergency number and 911 and then physically go sit in City Hall for over an hour to get just one decent officer to listen to death threats on my voicemail from an ex-boyfriend for them to even start doing anything.

How sad is that? We just told a tale about that recently where like there was death threats and the guy was showing up at the house and he was like throwing rocks.

And they were like, they were like, until he hurts you, there's nothing we can do.

Until he maims you, we really can't do anything about it.

Unreal. Shout out to that officer who honestly probably saved my life.

Fuck yeah. Shout out to them. But F every other person I talked to that barely even wanted to listen to me.

Fuck those people. Fuck right off. Yes, I'm just going to blow past that statement because as you're used to hearing, that is a whole other story.

And thanks to a bomb-ass therapist, I've healed from that experience.

Get it? Love therapy. Anywho, now that you know how the police function in this little town, let's get to the cautionary tale.

I drive a truck that has a topper on the back with a lock on the tailgate. which I usually check the same way I would always check my backseat for axe murderers because, you know, I'm a woman existing in this world.

We feel you. It's a hard job. It's a hard knock life.

My routine was usually walk up from the back, check that the tailgate is locked on the way, drag one foot under the bed as I manually unlock just my driver's side door, and once I'm in, I'd lock the door and glance into the truck bed through the back window.

That's really smart. It is. I always do the full check.

I like the drag and the foot under the bed.

That's smart. That's smart. i like that because you kick what if they grab your foot then you kick them in the face what if you don't have enough leverage under there you pound that guy with your face i got him in my face you got him yeah you got him i really just i knocked on this podcast you did i sure did just went full dog yeah you sure did then of course plug in my phone Then, of course, plug in my phone and put on a true crime podcast for the drive.

Wondering why in the world I have such a paranoid routine for just getting in my car.

Because of us. Well, I truly don't know what demon with a sick sense of humor possessed me this day, but I did not check my tailgate.

Just walked right up to my door like someone asking to be murdered.

I did the rest of my routine, and even though thought about getting back out and checking the tailgate, but convinced myself, or the demon on my shoulder did, that I had done this routine for months and never seen anything suspicious, and I was simply paranoid for no reason.

PSA, you're never paranoid for no reason.

So I decided to opt out of the true crime for the morning drive to work and just listen to music, because surely that would calm the slightly uneasy feeling I had about messing with my routine."

I'm about five minutes into the drive. I've stopped for coffee and I'm jamming out to some throwback pop punk.

Like I'm on the way to a Blink-182 concert.

Not my big girl job. We were just talking about pop punk today.

We were. Can I just do a quick little side note here?

I was asking you to. That's why I said that.

So I had a real moment, like a real 36 year old moment this weekend.

My youngest is, she's hilarious. And she just all of a sudden loves Spider-Man.

Never seen a second of Spider-Man in her life.

Does not know what Spider-Man is. Saw him somewhere and was like, I love that man.

And that's it. So she just became obsessed.

And we found out that Disney Junior has this like Spidey and his amazing friends kid version.

Shout out to Drew. Why does he know that?

It was Drew. I was going to say, how did we find it out?

It was Drew. We found out through Drew, but I don't know who told him.

Yeah. And it's like a kid version of Spider-Man.

It's cute. It doesn't have all like the too much action in it and like too much craziness.

The only problem with it is that the villain's voice is un-fucking-bearable.

Oh yeah, like the green goblin there? No, the rhino guy.

Oh yeah, him too. They're all annoying. I fucking hate that guy's voice.

Parents, do you feel us? They're all annoying.

But she loves it, so she's been like super into it.

So now it's her thing when she does something that we ask her to.

She's like, can I watch it? And we're like, hell yeah, you can.

So we put it on, and the intro theme song starts.

And I'm listening to it, and I'm like bobbing along to it.

And then I hear the voice, and I'm like...

Wait a fucking second. And then I looked it up and I was like, oh, my God.

This song is being sung by Patrick. What's it, Patrick Stump?

Oh, fuck. Why do you do this to me? I think it's Stump.

I think you're right. The lead singer of Fall Out Boy.

And I had such a moment because this song and John said it.

He was like someone who is exactly your age had this song written.

I was right. Patrick Stump. It was Patrick Stump.

And they were like, because this is such a pop punk like vibe to it.

Because literally at one point it goes. it's your what is it it's your friendly neighborhood spiders whoa and then it starts again and i was like jamming like i was at it ruined me though because all of a sudden i was like oh this is okay this is where we're at this is where we're at now and then i immediately was like ladies gather around to my six-year-olds and i was like Listen to this song.

And I put on Grand Theft Autumn by Fall Out Boy, which was like my anthem when I was younger.

And I was like, same guy. And they were like, what?

They were just like, I don't care. They didn't really care.

I really don't care. But it was a real moment.

And that's like fucking Blink-182 does the new song.

Yeah, fuck. It's either Blink-182 or Sum 41 that does the Scooby Doo song.

Oh, really? I think it's like 182. I'm almost positive.

Yeah, it's just we're reaching that point.

Yeah, you know, it gets there. Here we are.

But yeah, just when you decide, check that.

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So the song comes to an end, and right as the radio goes silent for a moment, I hear a thud from the bed of the truck.

Nope. No, I could have written it off as my tire kicking up a rock or the firewood I keep back there for impromptu bonfires falling over.

That's badass. That is badass. But no. I had already stopped my brain from checking the back and refrained from listening to a gruesome murder on the drive, so I think I've had enough of this rational thinking shit for the day.

I'm paranoid. I turned the radio off and moved the rearview mirror to get a better view of the truck bed.

For a couple miles, everything seemed fine.

But the topper made things really dark back there, and I couldn't see everything, so I was not satisfied.

I had about 20 minutes left in my drive and knew the route like the back of my hand.

There was a pretty significant curve in the road coming up that I would usually slow down for.

Not today, Mr. Satan. Today I am a NASCAR driver and taking that left turn like my life depends on it because it actually might.

So with one hand white knuckling the steering wheel in one hand, ready to grab my phone and call 911.

I took the turn prepared to see my emergency boxes and firewood slide across the back of my truck.

What I was not prepared to see was a real live person literally fly out of the shadowy corner of the bed like a demon coming into the daylight when I opened my eyes from a nightmare.

I screamed internally, but some switch in me flipped.

Yeah, my psychology edition would say it was the definition of fight and flight, and I toast fight, but it truly felt like a switch.

Yes, education. I went into bad bitch survival mode.

I knew everything else that was in that truck bed, and there was definitely things that could be used as a weapon, but nothing that could immediately break through both the windows between me and him.

Thank goodness. I didn't know if he knew.

I knew he was there, but I saw him tuck himself back into the side of the bed.

Oh, and knew that as long as I kept driving and kept an eye on him, I was relatively okay.

Who the fuck hides in somebody's truck bed?

Like who fucking does that? What a fucking creep.

I got my phone out and called 911. I was put on hold.

Is that a real ass thing? It says, I'm sorry, but it feels illegal to immediately put on hold with fucking 911.

It certainly should be if it's not. Someone finally asked me where my emergency was, and I relayed the last mile marker I passed.

Please learn how to use mile markers and read paper maps, people.

It's important. Oh, girl, I'm so bad at that.

I told the woman on the phone that someone who was in the back of my truck had access to weapons back there, including a literal axe if he found it, and it felt unsafe.

She told me that because I was driving south to a different town, she would need to talk to the county to see if a sheriff could get to me, and she would need to call me back.

What? I'm leaving. Oh, it gets worse. She suggested I park at the nearest safe pullout location and wait so that I can let an officer know where I am.

No, keep driving. I guess now I can see the logic.

No, I don't. No, don't stop your vehicle.

No, but come on, read the room, girl. I have no intentions of stopping.

And one last straw, she told me it was probably just a harmless homeless man who wanted to find a place to sleep.

No. It doesn't matter. Somebody's in my truck.

I don't know who they are. And also like, no.

While she could be right, she could also be so wrong and I wasn't willing to risk it.

So despite me asking her not to, she gets off the line and my stomach drops even further than it already had.

Who trained this woman? I thought to myself, all right, pull yourself together, girl.

You've listened to enough podcasts to figure this out.

People have survived more dangerous situations.

I'm so stressed for you. The wherewithal.

I'm so glad you're writing this to us because I'm like, you're okay.

I know. So I came up with a plan. I'm not saying it was a good one, but it was a plan.

And I'm here writing the listener tale, so spoiler alert, it worked.

We were just saying that. We were. We were.

I took a few deep breaths and knew I just needed to do this without thinking any further and risk talking myself out of it.

There was a relatively popular kayak area launching area coming up near a river.

There wasn't a real parking lot, but a pullout spot.

And I knew the DNR had a trail clam in the area to monitor bears and such.

I rounded the corner and saw the spot empty because it was 7 a.m. and didn't usually get busy until later.

This was good. Nobody else would be at risk, but there would be a camera in the area just in case my super solid and safe plan didn't work perfectly.

I pull onto the dirt, take a deep breath, grab the knife I keep in my glove box, and get out of the cab.

What? Well, my body did. It felt like my soul and all rational thoughts stayed buckled in, screaming at every fiber in my body not to do this.

But I kept going. Trying to act normal, I walked to the back corner of the bed, counting how many movements it took for me to get from my seat to the taillight.

It was five. I'm so stressed. It was five.

Gripping my knife for my literal life in my left hand, I reached my right hand to the obviously unlocked tailgate and opened it.

Then as fast as I could, I made those five movements back to the driver's seat, counting down to what felt like safety, slammed the door shut. and locked in one motion, threw the truck in gear, and with no regard for traffic, gassed it back onto the road.

I wished I was kidding when I say I saw this man roll out of the bed of my truck and land in the cloud of dusk, through my tires spinning in the dirt along with loose firewood, hoping some of it hit him along the way.

Wow. The rest of my belongings were behind a bungee cord barrier I had made the week before because I was tired of my bins sliding all around.

Oh, that's good. So I drove another five-ish miles to a public parking lot before stopping to close and lock the tailgate.

Then I took what finally felt like my first breath since I saw him.

In case you were wondering, I still hadn't gotten a call back from the dispatcher I spoke to.

Wow. Fuck that person. That's bullshit. I let my boss know something had happened and I wouldn't be in yet.

I needed to go to the police station. So I drove to the nearest station and told the man at the desk what happened.

To sum up what had already been a long story, they told me that they would check with DNR to look at the footage, took my statement, and said they'd be in touch if anything else was needed from me.

As you probably guessed, I never heard back from them.

Are you kidding me? That night when I got home, I parked in a different place than I usually do and inventoried my things in the truck.

While everything was still there, my totes I kept with emergency supplies had been opened and clearly rifled through.

So I don't even know what to think about what intentions my stowaway had.

Moral of the story, please, for the love of every god and goddess in the universe, just lock your doors and trust your gut.

It is so much better to be paranoid and wrong than to be paranoid and ignore it.

Thank you, ladies, for doing the Listener Tales series and for doing more of them lately.

While we do look at them as a nice reprieve from the tragedy of stories like Jack the Ripper, they serve as a platform for healing and cautionary tales for us, and it means a lot to hear you tell and validate our stories.

Aw, thank you. Man! Also, who the fuck was it?

Was it your ex? I'm horrified by this. I want to know if they ever found out who it was.

You're a badass for going through all that.

You are wild. That dispatcher needs to have a stern talking to.

That dispatcher needs so much. And I don't even know if we can fit it all in one sentence.

The end of that was really nice, because we were just talking about it, how much we love Listener Tales, and it seems like people love them.

Yeah. And we were like, oh, I hope they're not going to be upset that we're doing them on a Monday instead of a Friday.

That was, like, perfect validation. And it's like, you guys heard us.

I know. Because I think the last tale said something about Listener Tales, too, so I feel like it's, like, weird.

You guys were, like, one. It feels weird.

We're connected. I love you guys. We're connected in a way.

You guys rock. But honestly, you, you anonymous you, you did a great job telling that story.

I'm so glad you were able to tell it and that you're okay.

Same. And I hope that everything's going okay.

I also hope so. I hope all of those same things.

Sending love to you. Love and light. Love and light.

And my next listener tale is called Listener Tales.

I really, oh, excuse me. I just really wanted a Capri Sun into French Arando.

I used to be in that state of mind for so long of my life.

It says you're, nope, it's not. Nope. I almost just said, it says your message is ready to be sent with the following file or link attachments.

La-di-da-do. All right. It doesn't say anything.

La-di-da-do. It says all names can be read.

Awesome. Howdy, my name is Grace. Use it if you want.

I just can't express to you guys how much this podcast has enriched my life.

Oh, having something to look forward to is a powerful thing.

And you guys are putting out content faster than I eat a bag of fun sized Snickers.

So I have so much to look forward to. Thank you for that.

My stepdaughter led me to your pod. And I love that we share our obsession with your hard work, research and top notch comedy.

Oh, my hell. Yeah, so much. She and I are bonded, perhaps not in blood, but by our shared love of bloody stories.

Shout out here to Kelly, my stepdaughter and first baby.

Love you, kid. Oh, my God. I love your relationship.

I know. That's beautiful. Wonderful. I have been a high school art teacher for 27 years.

So you're rad as fuck. I was going to say every art teacher I ever had.

I loved them. Oh, yeah. Even like the ones that I used to get in trouble with for like never shutting up.

I loved them. You still loved them. yeah every time i go to a former student's wedding i see my art babies of the past and our conversations often lead us to hey do you listen to morbid and then the dialogue just flows from there i love it i don't know if you'll ever understand the depths to which you have simply just made my life better oh my goodness this is like so beautiful we were having like kind of a rough day today like nothing in particular it's just like a lot of things were just like going wrong And you just like made it better.

You guys are the light in the world. You guys like really made it better.

I've been meditating lately. I don't know if you can tell.

And I've just been really focusing on light and like positivity and just like really focusing on that.

And when you start to really focus on it, it does diminish the shitty stuff.

Oh, yeah. Because when you're putting shitty stuff out there and like wishing bad stuff on people and like talking shit about people, then you're going to get shitty things back at you.

I do still love talking like a little bit of shit.

Of course. But like talking shit in your own private, like, you know, but when you're like talking shit to like a lot of people and you're like only talking shit.

Yeah. It's not good for you. That's bad.

It's like lift people up. If you have something nasty to say, go whisper it to your friend by all means and like have your moment.

But yeah, that's it. Yeah. You know? I don't know.

I just feel good lately. I do, too. I feel great.

I'm happy for you. Because it's just positivity, you know?

I don't know. I swallowed that word accidentally in the middle of it.

It said, it said, it said, oh. I don't even know.

I just lost my statement. There's just a lot to be thankful for lately.

Yeah, there is. There's a lot to be grateful for.

And you know what? There's always a lot to be thankful for, even if you don't think there is.

So that's my meditation moment for you. If you do have a mirror, like the workout mirror, I do suggest doing Rachel's meditations.

There you go. I fucking love Rachel. I love Rachel.

All right. But honestly, but just like a quick little... You guys are one of the things I'm grateful for.

Oh, yeah. That goes without saying. Thanks for that.

You guys are like the bee's knees, the cat's pajamas, the fucking watermelon sugar.

All of it. Harry. Okay, so teaching through COVID and other personal tough spots was hard, but you two helped this girl out big time.

Here's to karma making sure that Elena's book is... Oh my god, I love that you're talking about karma now, too.

Oh my god, guys. It's like you just knew.

You did. Here's to karma making sure that Elena's book is a soon-to-be major motion picture.

I love you. And that Ash's wedding is the most romantic, magical, splendid event that she and Drew deserve.

This is the nicest. I don't even like hugs and I am sending you the hugiest hug.

Seriously. Ever. I love you guys. This really just like pumped us up.

I know. I can't wait for my fucking wedding.

Oh, you guys are cool. I can't wait for September 13th, The Butcher and the Wren.

Check it out at tinyurl.com slash the butcher and the wren.

I already got my copy and it's signed. So eat it.

My forever hype, man. I love it. Spread love and light.

I'm like, I got my copy first. Eat it. okay oh thanks guys all right really sweet okay see what i did there i spotted niceties in the hope that they'll distract you while i confess what a complete and total dumb fuck i was at 15 i already forgot like real dumb like let's touch this electric fence to see if it's working dumb Like just a little foil in the microwave won't hurt them.

My little sister one time was like, like, I think she put foil in the microwave and my dad was like, what is that sound?

And she was like, oh, like I put this in the microwave.

My dad was like, you can't put tinfoil in the microwave.

Like, what are you doing? Just a little bit.

Just a little bit. Jinx, you owe me a Sprite.

But I already took one from your pantry.

You sure did. All right, I'll shut up now.

So, lolly-na-doo-dum, I was a chubby kid with curling iron burns in her bra.

Why'd you have curling iron burns in your bra?

Should I know that? Should I understand that?

I was a chubby kid with curling iron burns in her bra.

I don't know. Yeah, I don't know about that one.

I have no idea. I keep trying to figure it out and I just don't understand.

It's probably like one of the, like the toilet paper, like don't wipe too long.

Yeah, maybe it is. Anyways. Who spent a lot of time fantasizing about the entire cast of The Outsiders.

I feel you. Same. Honey Boy was my favorite.

Same. But I would have settled for any greaser.

Same. My mom and I never left the grocery store without a copy of Teen Beat magazine.

Same. I loved Teen Beat. Yep. Ah, the 80s.

What a glorious backdrop for puberty. I grew up in the small town of Montana.

My hometown was maybe an eight square block.

Excuse me. My hometown was maybe an eight block square.

That took so much out of me. You did it.

Lots of sweet corn. It has the juice. Sugar Beats, a voice who did not understand my love of The Cure.

I love the fucking Cure. And 10,000 Maniacs.

They were on an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

Boom. The Cure was? No, 10,000 Maniacs. Oh, I was like, what?

No, 10,000 Maniacs. I was like, well, Melissa.

We drink Mad Dog on Saturday night from a Solo Cup and Mad Dog again on Sunday morning from the CommuniCake.

From the Communion Chalice. Amazing. I went to kindergarten with the same 29 kids I graduated high school with.

That sounds like Drewstown, doesn't it? It does.

Drewstown is actually smaller. I'm trying to create a vibe here.

Is it working? It sure is. It is. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm complaining because it was a pretty great place to grow up, even with the story that I'm about to tell.

I believe you. I didn't get the gist that you were complaining at all.

I love you. I'd follow you into the dark.

I'm ready for this. So Death Cab for Judy.

Okay, can't avoid it any longer. Here's the story of how basic boy craziness and a staggering lack of common sense led me to get in a car and buckle up next to a killer.

Let's go. I have attached a newspaper article about the killer who is currently trying to get out of prison.

Uh-oh. Looking at the photo within the article inspires me to sing Jesus Loves Me a little too loud for my family's liking.

Here goes. I love you. During my freshman year of high school, a scheduling snafu put a lot of freshman girls and many of the senior boys in the same home ec class.

That's not good. One of those senior boys lived with his dad, who was a long-haul truck driver.

His house sat on the edge of the eight block square that made host to my youth and was highly unsupervised.

It was in this setting that an unsettling routine started to form.

You see, Capri Suns has finally made it into my hometown quick stop.

Oh, my God. Quick stop. Amazing. So on weeknights, excuse me.

So on weekend nights, my friend, who I'll call Jessica, would meet me in front of her yard and we would walk to the quick stop to buy a Capri Sun.

Fucking Capri Suns. They just hit different, don't they?

They do. We were so cutting edge with our flammable bangs and jeans.

On our return walk along the main drag, we would often be picked up by one of the senior boys and taken to an unsupervised party house.

Damn. Look at you. That's pretty rad. You must have been a cutie little freshman.

So many lovely soirees were hosted there.

No charcuterie or wine spritzers, just Cheeto and Everclear mixed with fruit punch and Kool-Aid.

Many a case of mono was said to have its origin story in this house.

It was a lovely time to be alive and stupid.

Don't you miss those days sometimes? Yes.

One three-day weekend, I was feeling especially pretty.

My mom had given me a home party. She always protected my eyes from the chemicals by sticking maxi pads along my hairline.

That's genius. My mom was always a problem solver.

This paragraph was sponsored by Always Maxi Pads TM.

JK, JK, JK. It was a Sunday, but we didn't have school that Monday.

Jessica and I decided to make a Capri Sun run just in case there were parties afoot.

We walked up and down that drag twice without any of the familiar pickup trucks pulling over to Uber us to Party Town.

A fresh perm wasted. But wait, what's this coming down Main Street?

An unfamiliar car with two unfamiliar faces?

These guys were not in our home ec class.

Uh-oh. Uh-oh is right. The car reminded me of every Pimp Mobile image fund...

Oh, my God. The car reminded me of every pimp mobile image fed to me by the massive TV in our living room.

The boys weren't ugly. My thirst for Capri Sun had been quenched, but my thirst to kiss a rando had not.

When passenger guy, when passenger seat guy said, you want to go drink some beer?

Jessica and I proved our non, I'm just like laughing so hard.

Jessica and I proved our non-Mensam Amber status with an in-stereo.

Sure. Sure. Just writing that makes my menopausal stomach lurch.

I promise I'm older and smarter now. I believe you.

Yeah, we're all dumb when we're young. Through small talk, we learned out that our new cruising buddies were from a town just 18 miles down the road.

I was very familiar with the town. My dad played golf there, and I took swimming lessons there as a child.

We drove around with these guys. We drank some cheap beer.

We made out at the graveyard. Jessica got dibs on the super hot one, and I made out with the blonde one in the camo cargo pants.

Oof. Yeah, that's about it. I did not take heed when Bon Jovi warned me from the radio that this love was like bad medicine.

Eventually, the super hot one took a makeout break to brag about his football rushing stats and his... I hate this so much.

I remember when I thought I was straight and I used to do things like this and it was awful.

And his bench press backs, oh wait, that's a lie.

This douche canoe fucking boasted about shooting his grandpa's racehorse.

What? And burning down that same grandpa's laundromat.

He was so goddamn proud of himself. Oh. Uh, no thank you.

No. Even Grace, the teenage knucklehead, took back you.

Jessica and I suddenly remembered our curfews being earlier than usual that evening.

Yeah, good for you. We broke some Olympic records on the four block walk back to our street.

Our Nike Cortez shoes earned their keep that night.

The only element of either of us that remained untouched by fear was my dope ass purse.

Still flawless. We had a hell of a story for school that Tuesday.

We moved on and the creepy feelings lessened over time.

Flash forward four years. I'm home from college on a weekend, chilling with my parents after church.

While searching the Sunday paper for the Target, Target always and forever, sales wire.

That's right. I notice that the front page of the paper is featuring super hot guy from the graveyard, but it's a mugshot.

Uh-oh. Cue gut ache. He's looking less hot for sure, but it's still him I reluctantly read on.

Here's the thing, to borrow a phrase. You can have it.

You can totally have it. Hot Guy had been shooting at houses from the road for fun.

This was in one of the most beautiful pockets of Montana where celebrities have lush mountain retreats.

Hot Guy would just drive around shooting at these homes from the window of his truck.

Some locals knew that it was him and were ready to report him.

Formerly, Hot Guy heard about these young men who were... sorry, who were about to do the right thing and report him, found them at a party that night, offered them some weed, gets in a truck with them to smoke, shoots them both, and then lights the truck on fire.

What? I was shook, scared, grateful to be alive, and so sad for the families of these young murdered people.

That's horrific. My cowboy turned golfer dad was at the kitchen island with his toast and tea.

I asked if he'd seen the article. He became animated saying that he used to play golf with the formerly hot guy's grandpa.

My dad had known this entire time about this kid and the murdered racehorse and the torch laundromat.

He'd been golfing buddies with the grandpa while all his juvenile crimes had been happening.

Had my dad known I had been in a car with that kid this night, I would have been stuck home with him watching The Love Boat every Saturday night for eternity.

Oh, my God. What was this life I was living?

Also, why am I still calling this fucker hot guy?

It happens. It's okay. You were saying formally.

Yeah. I think I realized then that some part of me thought this guy's boasting in the graveyard was just the monologue of an insecure dick desperately seeking some sort of twisted clout, but it wasn't.

Butt meet floor. Yeah, why would you ever think that that would be that?

No, never in a million years. I returned to college telling my art major friends about this new headline in my life, but they were too busy chain-smoking and reading Ginsberg's poetries to give two fucks.

But I knew that I had dodged a bullet, perhaps literally.

It's one of those things that still brings me out of sleep.

My youngest is 15 now, and every time she leaves the house, I hope she has a better sense than her mama.

My kick-ass dad is now buried within yards of that make-out spot.

Oh my god. My beautiful mom's urn, soon to join him.

Aw, I'm sorry. It's been a dark few years, helped by my morbid podcast as one of my nightlights.

Life is so beautiful, but at times so weird.

I'm here for both. Love you girls with all my heart.

Your work matters. P.S. I would love to hear your take on Joseph Duncan.

His work in Idaho terrified me. I got you.

I'm on it. Oh, okay. I got you. That works out.

Wow. I could like see that entire story play out in my mind and I could like smell it and everything.

You're a brilliant writer. You are wonderful.

And I'm so happy you're okay. What a tale.

For real. What a tale. For real. I am. Wow.

I'm speechless. I'm speechless. Speechless.

Wow. Grace, that was freaking amazing. All right.

Now that Grace has brought us all to our knees here, what is the next one?

Listener tales. A major movie star slash murderer hit on me once.

Guess who? A major movie star and murderer.

Uh-oh. I don't know. SpaghettiOs. Let me put this into a Google Doc because I'm blind.

Me too. And do I have astigmatism? Please continue to write in.

You can. Vamp for me. Because I'm trying to do it by the mold.

We could edit this out, but we're probably not going to because vamping is fun.

And it's in the doc now. And It has the juice.

It has the juice. It has the juice. Can you imagine a more beautiful listener tale?

It's a listener tale. A big PDF. It has the font.

It has the font. Yeah. You know what's fun?

Ash kept going with it even after I had gone to set up the tickle clock. oh were you good are you ready i was just letting you finish i felt like you were on a roll i was on a roll i liked it i was like butter all right let's see let's see who this is hello you two lovely weirdos and all others hello thanks for being so inclusive to everybody around here we're in an empty room with just the two of us but i appreciate it as far as we know as far as we know my my name is first name only because of the story and who is involved julie Hey, Julie.

I'm old and gray now, literally. Same. But was once young, fresh, and I guess beautiful.

Because I worked in Hollywood and was often asked out.

Get it? You still are beautiful. You are.

I didn't have high self-confidence. Ladies, believe in yourself.

Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I have so many stories, but this one takes the cake.

Every time I listen to you, I say to myself, I must get this story to Ash and Elena, but it's a goodie.

But time always evades me. Okay, ready for the semi-short but creepy story?

I'm ready. Let's go. Let's go. My family was a Hollywood family of extras.

It's what we did. Back in the day, you could make a decent living doing this kind of work, and it was fun meeting the rich and famous.

One day, my mom and I got a call on the same job.

Those were the best. We got to keep each other company, especially since it was on location, meaning it was not at a studio, but somewhere out in LA.

Mm. That day, it was at the L.A. Police Department.

It was the first day of filming a new movie of either part two or three of a well-known movie to be announced later in the story.

My memory isn't that great anymore, but I'm fairly sure it was part two.

Anyway, that isn't important. It was a decent day.

The actors were actually pretty friendly.

Sometimes you have actors who are pretty rude to the extras and can either ignore them completely, have rules that we can't even look at them, cough, cough, Jim Belushi.

Oh, yeah. Or some that are incredibly nice to us.

Steve Martin. Oh, I'm so happy. I fucking love Steve Martin.

I'm so happy. I bet Martin Short would have been as equally as nice to you.

I'm so happy. You have no idea how much I love Steve Martin.

We love Steve. We're a Steve Martin Stan house.

You have no idea. That just made me so happy.

Yeah. I got to tell Drew that later. Man, this set of listener tales is really just like pump me up right now.

I think that we were meant to read these today.

The universe brought these listener tales to us because I needed that.

Yes. So Steve Martin's great. I knew it.

Anywho, today was no exception. But today, one of the main actors really took to me.

He was overly friendly. Okay, I thought, since he's the one talking to me, I'm going to ask him for his autograph.

Now, doing this is normally a big no-no.

You can be asked to leave a show slash movie and be blacklisted, not be allowed back.

The AD, assistant director, who works with the extras, could complain to your agent and you would never work again.

Damn. So you never bring a camera or ask for an autograph.

But since he was so friendly to me, I did.

He said, have lunch with me and you can have an autographed picture, both you and your mom.

I was stunned, but said, okay. I don't want to say anything yet because I don't know who it is.

I don't either. I'm nervous. When we broke for lunch, my mom and I waited our turn.

Actors and film crew get first dibs. Extras are always last.

Oh, no, that's not nice. Sorry. He was first.

He was head of the class. He motioned to me and my mom to join him in line.

I said, I can't. I have to wait my turn.

He said, this is my film. You two are my guests.

And with that, the AD told my mom and me to go ahead.

Nice. Look at this luxury. And what a nice... person so far but after we ate i we don't know who this is by the way i'm not reading ahead so this is like it's really it's real nerve-wracking after we ate he said he could not find any pictures could we please have his could he please have my address He promised me he would send me an autographed picture.

I obliged. When we were done for the day, Mom and I were getting our things together to go.

As we were leaving, he motioned for me to come here.

I walked over, and before I knew it, and in front of my mother, this six-foot man pulled me into his arms and shoved his tongue down my throat for what felt like an eternity.

Ew. What? Slap. That's what would happen.

I thought there was a bug. No. Ew. He's the bug.

Ugh. After, and feeling quite embarrassed, he said it was wonderful spending the day with us.

To have that happen anywhere is, like, embarrassing.

Like, you'd feel a sense of embarrassment.

But for that to happen in front of your mother?

Yeah. Like, fuck that. And it's like, who gives you the right to do that?

Yeah, who gave you permission? Not me. Two weeks later, I was at Paramount Studios walking down the empty lot towards the commissary for breakfast.

As I was walking, someone was walking towards me about 100 feet away.

They looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.

I was shaking my finger at him like, I know you, but I can't place you.

And as we neared each other smiling, I said this to him.

He laughed and said, oh, really? As soon as he said this, I realized it was the other movie star from the movie I had worked on two weeks prior.

I was so embarrassed. We laughed and he said, you're the one Blah can't stop talking about.

My dear, do you know he's married? Oh, I said, no, I just wanted an autograph.

He continued. He is bad news. He is not a nice man.

Do me a favor. Forget you ever met him. Oh, shit.

With that, he hugged me and went on his way.

He's a little guardian angel. I know. Can you sigh?

Tell me all this. Well, maybe it was Steve Martin.

Oh, my God. If it was Steve Martin, I'd cry.

Maybe if we can figure out the movie later, we'll figure it out now.

Oh, I see a line ahead of time and I know who the fuck it is.

I just saw one thing that led me to it. Oh, no.

Not to see the same. Yeah, sure. The car.

Yes. Oh, girl. Not too long after this, I left Hollywood and moved far away.

1995, I was working in a diner and we had a small TV in the kitchen.

The news was on. Live TV footage of the chase on the L.A. highway of a white Ford Bronco and a bunch of police cars.

O.J. Simpson accused of murdering his wife and her friend.

I remember Leslie Nielsen crying. I'm not shitting your dick right now.

Elena literally just fell to the ground.

Leslie Nielsen was the actor who warned you?

Ash just mouthed, who's that? And I can't.

I don't know who that is. I cannot. I'm going to Google.

Please Google. Sorry if you can hear myself.

Leslie Nielsen was the one who warned you?

What a life. Wow. OK. Oh, Leslie. I fucking love Leslie.

I remember Leslie Nielsen warning me about him and I just knew in my gut this guy is guilty.

Maybe I'm wrong, but every time I think about him, I feel gross and sad.

The movie we were working on was Naked Gun two and a half.

Never seen it. This is my Hollywood story.

Does it make the morbid cut? Yeah. Yeah, it does.

Yeah, it does. Yeah, hell yeah, brother.

I have other stories, too, but not of the Hollywood kind.

Please send them. Send them. Send any. I grew up with grandparents who talked to the dead.

Send that. True ghost whispers. It was often common for them to announce the spirit was in the room, and I loved hearing the stories of their lives.

I'm such a believer because of them. My grandfather saw the spirit world as clear as this realm.

Crazy. Wow. Anyway, keep it up, weird ladies, but not so weird as having a Hollywood star who is turning into a killer shove his tongue down your throat weird. and it has a like barf face can you imagine having that story locked and loaded oh my goodness what that's wow wild that made the cut certainly did the cut i'm just warning you what a lovely soul you know what it is canada It's Canada.

It's always Canada. That's what it is. And to know Steve Martin is exactly what I knew he was.

I know. There's no way on any green planet that Steve Martin or Martin Short could ever, ever be bad people.

No. Ever. Their light shines through. It does.

It really does. Father of the Bride. That's such a good movie.

That's all you got to say to me. I love that movie.

Me and my mom used to watch that movie all the time.

I love Steve Martin. So that was a wonderful and also terrifying story. i'm i don't even know what to say about that story we have to do one more simply to like round that out because you how do you end on that i can't believe that i'm sorry that that like he like assaulted you essentially that's like really fucked up yeah you don't stick your tongue down anybody's throat what a life you've had for real and you're beautiful You are beautiful.

You were beautiful and you still are. You remain beautiful.

You will remain beautiful forever. You are.

It's true. It's true. Said James Blunt. Is that right?

It is. Yeah. Good job. All right. Well, the next one is simply entitled Listen Hotel Submission.

Oh, I like that. Just burying the lead. And it says Elena and Ashley.

That's my government name. Never use it. my wife and daughter it's okay i forgive you it's okay my wife and what'd you say it's okay it's okay my wife and daughter my wife and daughter my wife and daughter are huge fans of your podcast and i've listened to a bunch of them i think they're interesting and creepy to say the least I was delighted to learn that one of my kids submissions to you was one of the stories you ran earlier this year.

You probably will recall my kid as B and their tale about a malevolent Danish spirit who followed them back from Europe.

I do remember B. Hell yeah, B. Well, I too have a submission that I hope you find interesting.

It's not so much a supernatural one, but more one that fits in the super creepy true crime vein you all seem to love.

Enjoy and just call me Dr. B. Dr. B. I love your entire family.

This is wonderful. I love y'all. The fact that you are writing, that you're like, I think you're pretty interesting.

They love you, but you're pretty interesting.

Like, you're all right. But here's my crazy story.

I love you. I love that writing listener tales is a family affair at this point.

And you keep it real, and I appreciate that about you, Dr. B. Dr. B, go off.

And your kid rules. Your kid does rule. All right.

So it starts off and says, I work as a critical care physician.

If Dr. B couldn't get any cooler. I am often on call during the daytime hours and the nighttime hours.

The ICU I work in can be an eerie and mysterious place at night.

I have long maintained a saying that many of my colleagues are familiar with.

Nothing good happens in an ICU between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m.

Yep. This was certainly the case one night a few years back.

I was covering the night shift. During the day shift, my colleagues had admitted a 60-year-old man with septic shock.

He was a big smoker and had been losing lots of weight and was wasting away.

Imaging of his chest and neck showed a large neck mass that was very worrisome for cancer and several nodules in his lungs that suggested that lung cancer or metastatic disease could be present.

Upon seeing the imaging results, his primary care provider told that he appeared to have metastatic cancer that was non-operative and terminal.

That's horrible. I know. He had been advised to get his things in order and prepare for the worst as he was likely not going to be alive a year from that time.

Just prior to his transfer to the ICU, he had undergone a biopsy of a neck lesion that appeared to be highly suspicious for malignancy.

He had been referred to oncology, the cancer doctors, but had not seen them.

When he came to the ICU, he looked horrible.

He was weak and as thin as a twig. He looked like a living skeleton.

He said he was depressed but wanted to be left alone.

We started him on antibiotics and chemical agents used to keep his blood pressure up.

A large IV line was placed and another line was placed into one of his arteries to monitor his blood pressure around the clock.

It did not take long for him to make quite an impression on the staff taking care of him.

He was not a nice man by any accounts and often dropped F-bombs and insults at the nurses and lashed out at technicians and nursing assistants.

He was really going through a lot. He was going through it.

But, you know, don't do that to people. But they're trying to take care of you.

So midday through the night, we hit a calm in the ICU.

This is a phenomenon that often happens at the deepest and darkest parts of the night.

It's quite spooky at times when the ICU takes on this silence.

Oh, yeah. I can, like, hear it. Mm-hmm. At any rate, I was sitting in my office that rests in the bowels of the ICU where there are no windows.

At times, this office actually feels more like a cell, but it is readily accessible to all of the nurses.

They always know where to find me. That night, one of them came to me distraught and upset.

Dr. K, she began, I don't know what to do.

She was visibly shaking as she said this.

What's the matter? I said. Mr. X, she answered.

The guy they admitted earlier with the cancer just told me something horrible.

He said that he knew he was going to die and wanted to talk to a priest.

No problem, I said, offering to console her.

I suppose he wants last rites. That seems appropriate.

No, she said, now shaking more. He wants to tell a priest about the two women he killed and where he buried the bodies.

What do I do? What do you do? I don't know what you do.

I felt like all the air in the room had instantaneously been sucked out of the area.

I was stunned. I said, let's get him a priest, but I suppose we also need to inform the police of this development.

We brought in a priest and he confessed to having murdered two women who had been sex workers years ago, but he did not say where the bodies were or where the murders had taken place.

The priest advised that we contact the police as such a crime was not protected by confession confidentiality.

We called the police and they said they would send an officer in the following day to try to get more information from him.

Well, in the time between his unsettling conversation with his nurse and the next morning, another major development occurred.

First, the biopsy results of his neck mass came back benign, meaning there was no cancer present.

And second, imaging studies of his lungs from several years prior came back and were identical to the ones that we now had.

Thus, the nodules in his lungs were unchanged, meaning they were not getting any bigger over several years and were not behaving like cancer.

Does he not have cancer? I don't think he has cancer.

He was also visited by an oncologist who told him that he had extensively reviewed all of his biopsy studies, studies and imaging studies, and it appeared...

He did not have cancer. This guy just confessed.

He sailed his ship up the river. He was told that once he got over the infection that had caused his sepsis, he would likely live several more years, though he needed to stop smoking.

Shortly after the oncologist left, a police officer arrived.

At this point, Mr. X was no longer depressed.

Rather, he was jovial, even giddy. When the police officer came to his room, his nurse said that there was a police officer present who was ready to take his confession.

What confession? He asked. His nurse reminded him of the events of the night before and his conversation with the priest.

What priest? He said. I didn't talk to no priest.

He was reminded of how he had said that he had killed two women and buried them somewhere.

He chuckled, you're funny. I didn't kill no woman.

I must have confessed with all that shit you were giving me.

The morphine and sedatives do that to me.

What? They make you confess to murder? Like what?

What? He denied ever saying any of the stuff he had said the night before and remained steadfast in his denial of committing any murders.

Of note, he had not received any morphine or other sedatives the night before.

Oh. And that's it. What? That's the listener tale.

Dr. B. Dr. B. What happened? Dr. B ended and said he did not have any sedatives or morphine.

He killed those women. He did. Oh, my God.

Dr. B. Dr. fucking B. What the fuck? I need to know who's this man's was.

I know you can't tell me because I kept up.

What a story. Holy cannoli. You guys brought those stories to the table.

My goodness. My oh my. That was a banner one.

That was wild. He's like, you have nodules in your neck.

We're biopsying you. You have no long time to live.

You're not going to live a year. Can I get a priest?

Hey, I killed these two ladies. I never killed anyone.

And it's probably the sedatives and morphine.

And then Dr. B's like, boom, we didn't give him any sedatives and no morphine.

That's insane. whoa whoa i love that writing listener tales is like a family thing now i love that that was great to hear wow we started off with the audio and we ended with the with a bang we just that was that gave that gave you guys gave you also made us feel fucking amazing so good i feel like i can just like conquer the world right now you guys have made it amazing i I love.

You've given so many good vibes. All the vibes.

Hopefully we got like some cool stuff cooking and I'm hoping that we can give the vibes back.

We have like a good amount of announcements that we're probably going to be making in the next couple of weeks and shit guys.

Yeah. You guys are going to shit. Yeah. You really are.

Shit. I also might. Alayna is actually schvitzing as we speak because maybe we already know about something that we're waiting to be able to get the green light.

I can't talk ever. Why do I host a podcast?

But yeah, I love you guys and we hope that you keep listening.

And we hope you keep it weird. But not so weird that you're on your way home with your mom and you're like, OMG, this is such a nice little time and we're listening to the music and whoa, whoa, whoa, listen to the music.

And then the guy in the overalls is like, I will listen to the music.

I'm waiting over here. I like it loud. Definitely not. so weird that you have lasagna with John Wayne Gacy I think I can just say that and as what it is definitely keep it so weird that like you uh drop the fucking mans that is hiding in your fucking cab out of the cab by just like a swerve definitely keep it so weird that you're drinking Capri Sun at all times but don't keep it so weird that you hang out with some randos in a cemetery at night because although probably that's what teenage dreams are made of it's not what adult dreams are made of and like you might not live to tell a tale if you do that Um, don't ever keep it so weird that OJ Simpson is anywhere near you ever, ever, ever, ever.

And do keep it so weird that you're Dr. B because like, holy cannoli, but don't keep it so weird that you confess to murder if you haven't done it.

And I don't think that you didn't do it.

I think that you did do it because you didn't even have any sedatives or morphine, sir.

Bye. Bye. If you like Morbid, you can listen early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.

Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music.

Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

The town of Agde in France is famous for sun, sand, sea and sex.

But lately, life on the coast has taken a strange turn.

The town's mayor, a respected pillar of the community, has been arrested for corruption.

His wife claims he's been bewitched by a beautiful clairvoyant.

Then there's the mysterious phone calls that local people have been getting.

I am the Archangel Michael. The whole town has been thrown into chaos.

As the mayor is unable to carry out his duties, I would like to address you all.

Legal proceedings have been initiated. Join me, Anna Richardson, and journalist Leo Schick for The Mystic and the Mayor as we investigate a story of power, corruption and magic.

Binge all episodes of The Mystic and the Mare exclusively and ad-free right now on Wondery+.

Start your free trial in Apple Podcasts, Spotify or the Wondery app.

[Morbid Podcast: Listener Tales and Chilling Encounters]-[Episode 361: Listener Tales 50]

📋 Summary

The Unexplained and the Unsettling: A Morbid Listener Tale Special

Ghostly Encounters and Haunted Farmhouses

True Crime Connections: The Gacy Dinner Party

Survival Instincts: The Stowaway and the Road

The ICU Confession

Conclusion

🎯Key Sentences

📝Key Phrases

📖 Transcript