Hey weirdos, it's Ash here, ready to share a little secret.
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I have been listening to the Martha's Vineyard Beach and Book Club, which actually Elena recommended to me.
She did not listen to it, but she said, girl, this title sounds so you.
And let me tell you, it did. I've been listening to it while I walk, and I am absolutely loving it.
I love all the different narrators. I love Audible.
There's more to imagine when you listen.
Sign up for a free 30-day Audible trial, and your first audiobook is free.
Visit audible.com slash morbid. On November 13th, 2022, four University of Idaho students were murdered.
Today, finally, the true story. Based on over 300 interviews, in their own words, family members talk about their heartbreak and grief.
Students and townspeople describe that terrifying night.
Police detail the dramatic investigation and arrest of Brian Koberger.
You've never read a true crime like James Patterson and Vicki Ward's The Idaho Four.
The true story, it's finally here. Hey weirdos, I'm Elena.
And I am Ash. And this is Your Morbid. 🎵
It's brought to you by you, for you, from you, and all about you, baby!
Woohoo! It's Listener Tales. But first, I'd like to tell a story about me.
Because it's Host Tales. Yeah! This is literally not even a tale.
It's just... It's scary. It's scary. This has never happened to me before.
So we recorded like a bunch of episodes today and then took like a little tiny break and I ran to the gym because, you know, fitness.
Fitness, health, and wellness. Gotta be snatched in that wedding dress, you know?
Yeah. But so I'm coming back from the gym.
And last night, me and Alayna had gone out together because, you know, we go out and party.
We go out, you know, like went to our friend's house.
We went to Mikey's and Dave's. Mikey and Dave's, the stars of the show lately.
It was so much fun. But we were coming down this really windy road and I was like, oh, you know what?
I saw a deer here the other day. Like, let me chill a little bit.
Let me go a little slower. And I literally said that last night.
Yep. I'm leaving the gym. It's like, I don't know, like six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock maybe.
It's dark. It's dark. But it's like busy still.
And I'm on a busy road. And I'm just, you know, cruising along, listening to Megan Thee Stallion.
Like, easy does it. Easy doesn't do it. Because all of a sudden, this fucking baby deer just shoots out in front of me.
This has never happened to me in my life.
But baby. My automatic brakes were like, thank goodness and i was inches i'm telling you inches away from hitting a sweet little it was so scary that is scary it's scary my heart's still my heart's still a beating i came in i mean i hope it's still a beating i mean yeah it's still going though i came in and i was like john oh my god it was actually really cute i was like the scariest thing just happened to me and he was like what He's like, who do I have to kill?
Immediately. It was like that face. I was like, oh, no, no, I'm okay.
I'm all right. It was not a person. It was an animal.
But yeah, that's my tale, y'all. Damn. I'm really glad you didn't hit a baby deer.
Me too. I'm real glad. I would have been so sad.
I texted my friend. I was like, I almost just had an antler through my skull.
That would have sucked. One way to go. You know what?
There's a listener tale for you. You're welcome.
There's a host tale for you. And a host.
There you go. I think that dovetails really nicely into our first thing.
Do you want to read it? Yeah, I'll read the first one.
Let's go. Let's see. It's called Ghost Grandma Gives Snow White Snow White.
It me. Dear, you know. Yep. Ghost Grandma Gives Snow White Attitude in Cinderella's Castle.
A story from a real life Disney princess.
I'm going to Disney soon. I need to hear about this.
I need to know. Okay, so we got anonymous.
Anonymous. No name, and that is okay. Okay.
Let's see. And that is okay. That is okay.
I just want to make sure I don't say your name by accident.
Don't do that. Hello, you beautiful spooky bitches.
I'm attached to Pudipha for you telling one of my many paranormal experiences I've had while working at Disney.
This ghostly grandmother is a face I will never forget.
I love that you work at Disney. I've been holding onto this file for a while, just couldn't gather the courage to send it in.
But when I listened to your terrifying amusement parks episode, that was with Bridget and Holly.
And I was just talking about that today yes go listen to girls next level podcast it's really great and they deserve all the all the greatness ever i felt like this was relevant i do need to remain anonymous unfortunately so i don't lose my job we got you but i'll add any info at the bottom of this in case you ladies want any more info thanks deb deb if you ever if you happen to show the girls this even if it doesn't make it onto the pod it did it did here we are just knowing y'all read even read my story will make me shit my pants anyway love you lots shit Your pants.
Shit, shit. Your pants. And we love you.
Also, the way you said anyway reminded me of Lizzo.
Oh, I love that. Anyway. Dear lovely morbid ladies.
I was like, that's not how it starts. You're like, what?
You're like, that is different. First, I have to start with the same gushing about how amazing you two are that you hear of every listener, Tim.
I love you. Oh my goodness, I'm blushing.
My neurodivergent brain tends to hyperfixate on things regularly.
Oh, hello. Hello. We're friends. But fizzle out almost as quickly, and your pod has lasted longer than any other.
Oh. I feel really special there. That made my heart swell.
Yeah. I joined the Weirdo Coven over a year ago and I quickly got all caught up.
My mom and I live in different states and we love calling each other to talk about cases or recommend episodes to each other.
I love that. Aw. I've even been trying to get my boyfriend to listen as he already hears me compare literally everything to the West Memphis Three Case.
You are me. Yup. So you might as well listen to the episodes and know what I'm talking about.
Your voices help to calm my very chaotic brain at times when nothing else can.
Wow, that makes me feel really good. For that, thank you, because you help me to center myself on my breaks throughout my spare very stressful days.
I sit in cosmetology. Getting ready for work for an hour a day, and you two are always in my ears.
Not to mention, it sometimes feels like I'm getting away with something listening to True Crime at work.
I'm picturing this in my head, and it's making me, like, so happy.
I love it. I would also like to forewarn you that I am currently coming off of a 13-day migraine.
13 days? So my brain feels a bit like Jell-O.
Oh, my God. 13 days? I can't handle a 13-hour migraine.
Never mind a 13-day migraine. I feel like you've had, like, two-day ones.
I've definitely had a couple of days, but 13?
Oh, my God. After the second day, I'm done skiing.
I feel like I would just be, like, sobbing.
I've never, knock on wood, had a migraine.
Oh, that just makes me sad. Well, that being said, please feel free to edit this to make it flow better if you end up reading this on the pod.
No, I read it how you write it because you're beautiful.
Naive. So now on with the story. I almost burped in the microphone.
I'm sorry. Hot. I work for potentially the most successful cult of all time.
That's right. Walt Disney. Walt Disney World.
For this reason, I'll need to remain anonymous as I would like to keep my job and this company loves to terminate for any reason.
And I will not say your name, but I love your name.
Just so you know. Cool name. I'll attach photos from my job for proof because Pixar, it didn't happen.
I love you. Now, I feel I must explain that my family has strong Native American and Celtic Irish roots.
I love that. And we are all very in touch with the supernatural.
I scrolled and you're the most beautiful being.
Oh, my God, you are. Are you joking me? Oh, get the fuck out of here, you.
Oh, wow. You. You get to do it all. Get out of here.
Okay. I can't. We're all very in touch with the supernatural, but myself especially.
I've always had connections to the paranormal and throughout my life I've seen, heard and felt things that, as Elena might put it, science just can't explain.
Yet. Yet. Over the years, though, I've made a conscious effort to block a lot of this out because no one should have to see some of the things that are out there.
And trust me, you never get the image out of your brain.
The day I'm going to tell you about is no exception.
So let's hop in Elena's way back machine and go back to Pre Panini.
Oh, what a time. I was upstairs in the restaurant, Cinderella's Royal Table in the castle.
I'll attach a photo of the restaurant so you can get a feel for the layout of this place as not only is it beautiful, beautiful.
I was like, beautiful. Beautiful. But for some reason, my brain thinks it's important to understanding this story.
Okay. We as characters have what we call a rotation that's predetermined to lead us from table to table, and we try not to divert from it unless we must.
This way, we can keep track of which tables we've met with and avoid the wrath of the angry moms when we accidentally skip their table because, yes, Karen, I absolutely meant to skip your child.
Fuck your kid. I must have a personal vendetta against your four-year-old, and it's totally not because I'm on a 13-day work streak with no day off in sight.
Oh, I digress. Anyway, we try to stick to our set rotation, but if we don't see drinks on the table, we assume you haven't seen your server yet.
And as to be good partners with them, we try to let them see you first so they can turn their tables faster and keep the flow of the restaurant running smoothly.
That's it. That's really kind of you guys.
All of this stresses me out because that's a lot to adhere to.
It is. And I would fuck it up on day one.
I would fuck it up without even walking into the fucking restaurant.
I'd be like, wow, I fucked it up. But also, that's really cool of you guys that you like look out for each other.
I know. Yeah. Self-care and other care. Self-care and friend care.
Yeah, yeah. In this case, we will skip that table for a few minutes and then come back once we know your server has seen you.
On this particular day, I was in the center of the restaurant, and I had skipped a four-top table that had two parents and two children, one of which was a little girl wearing the same dress that I was wearing, so I made a special mental note to get back to her quickly.
I had seen maybe three more tables, but this was one of the odd days where we were bouncing around our rotation a bit more than we'd like to.
All of the princesses had ended up in the same area at once.
We try not to be at tables right next to each other as to avoid guests asking for special photos.
So this clustering puts us in a little more of a chaotic rotation.
It's so wild hearing like the inner workings.
Yeah. And it's like, wow, that's a lot of shit to, like, remember.
And, like, you can't look stressed. No, you have to look like a princess.
Right. So it's like, damn. That's a lot.
That being said, I can understand how it would look like I'd made it further away than I actually had.
At this point, I feel a tap, tap, tap on my shoulder and I turn to see an older woman with short, curly, ashy gray hair.
This woman was kind but very firm when she pointed to the little girl whom I'd seen in the dress and told me I had skipped her granddaughter and needed to return to see her.
I told the woman that I hadn't forgotten her and that I was just waiting for our server friend to meet with them first.
I assured her that I would return to the table as soon as they'd gotten their drinks.
She seemed disappointed in my answer, but I just smiled and turned back to the family that I had been meeting with before she, somewhat rudely, interrupted me.
That's the other thing. I hate when people do that.
It's like, I am with somebody else. I will be right with you.
Don't ruin their experience. Exactly. Like, this is their experience.
Let them have that. It's like, I was at a breakfast place once with your kids and I was like, oh, lady, you're going to catch these hands.
We got our food first because we have kids.
Yeah. And the lady was like, excuse me, why did they get their food and like pointed at us?
I was like, oh, honey. Because you suck.
Exactly. Exactly. I was like, because that.
Because that behavior right there. Yeah, because you are that.
Because karma hates you. Exactly. The universe.
The universe made you wait. This might not seem like much, but as performers at Disney, this is a big pet peeve of ours.
Oh, no, it seems like much. Yeah, no, it's a lot.
We are only allowed a small amount of time to see the entire restaurant, and if it takes a longer time...
Longer than that time, it cuts into our already very short breaks.
That sucks. I'm like, damn, do we get to tip you?
Yeah. We try our best to make sure every child feels seen and loved while also sticking within our time allotted because, well, a girl's got to eat.
Flustered, I tried to remember where I was in my story with the current table and didn't even watch to see if the grandmother had walked away.
After finishing with my table, I turned to see the server leaving the table with the little girl.
I skipped on over and greeted the family with a cheerful hello.
I mentioned that their grandmother was quite worried that I'd forgotten them, but how could I forget that I had such a beautiful little twin waiting for me?
That's really cute. That's adorable. They seemed quite confused at my comment, and I at first wondered if they spoke English, due to the very high number of international guests that we see, or if I had the wrong table.
After scanning the restaurant, I didn't see the woman anywhere, and I knew for a fact that she had pointed at this table because I remembered thinking, where is she even sitting if she's with them?
It's a four-top table, and they already have four people.
I see where this is going. I'm a little scared.
I asked the family what was wrong, and they said their grandmother had passed away the week before and that she was supposed to have come on this vacation with them.
Oh, my God. They had debated on canceling the trip because it wouldn't be the same without her, but decided to come anyway for the little girl.
The fact that this grandma came back from the grave to be like, bitch, my granddaughter wants to see you.
I was mad at her at first, but now I'm like, I respect that.
I respect that heavily. I fucks with that energy.
I fucks with that paranormal experience.
Wow. At this point, I am stunned silent.
It had been probably a decade since I had experienced a full-bodied apparition like this.
I had no idea this was not a living, breathing human when she so forcefully tapped me on my shoulder with her bony-ass old lady finger.
We all know the type. Somehow old ladies just know right where to poke you, so it feels like they're going all the way to the bone.
So true. This was one of those pokes. Even through the thick velvet bodice on my shoulder, it still didn't feel great.
I could not believe this woman was a spirit.
Also, what did the family think, like, that you were talking to when this happened?
Like, I'm like, oh, my God, did they notice?
Were they like, what the fuck? Because you turned around and talked to nothing?
Yeah. Like, jeez, ugh. I did another lap around the restaurant searching for this woman, and she was nowhere to be seen.
I even asked the seaters at the check-in desk if they'd seen her leave, and none of them remembered ever seeing her that day coming or going.
They did, however, tell me that this family had changed their party number from 5 to 4 at check-in because they'd forgotten to update the reservation and they didn't want the extra empty seat to make the children sad.
Oh, my God. I genuinely have no explanation for what happened that day, only that maybe that grandmother really did make it to their family vacation after all.
I think so. Maybe she was making sure her sweet little granddaughter still had a great time and wasn't forgotten by her favorite princess.
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Hey, weirdos, we need to tell you about something that has completely blown our minds collectively.
There's a new show called Lawless Planet that's uncovering true crime stories so massive, they're affecting the entire planet.
Post-Zach Goldbaum is investigating real cases where environmental destruction meets murder, conspiracy, and cover-ups.
We're talking about activists who disappear in the Amazon rainforest, whistleblowers who risk everything to expose deadly corporate secrets, and communities being silently poisoned while powerful people profit.
What makes these stories truly terrifying?
They're happening right now. This isn't history.
It's a massive criminal conspiracy unfolding in real time with consequences that affect us all.
Each episode feels like opening a case file into the darkest corners of corporate and government power.
Trust us. Once you start listening, you will not be able to stop thinking about these stories.
Follow Lawless Planet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts.
You can listen to new episodes of Lawless Planet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+.
This is only one of the ghostly experiences I've had since working for this company.
Children often talk about the man in the curtains in one of our meet and greet locations.
The catch is the grownups never see who the man is that they're talking about.
I've caught glimpses of him a couple of times and I've seen things move with no explanation.
He's truly harmless at the end of the day.
He just likes to cause mischief sometimes.
If I don't see him... Where the fuck is this guy?
If I don't see him, I'm gonna be pissed.
I gotta see him. That whole no one ever dies at Disney thing, I had no idea that that was a thing.
Nor did I. I've never heard that one before.
You know, it's weird. I was talking to someone the other day and they were like, you know the saying, no one ever dies at Disney.
I had no idea. Well, it's only half true, just so you know.
So half of the people die. People die in the parks all the time, usually from unknown pre-existing conditions.
They just aren't pronounced dead until they're off property.
Is that like a rule? Like you cannot be pronounced dead on Disney property?
The darkness of Disney is my favorite shit ever.
Honestly, I feel like we could go so much further into that.
The gem, the gift you have given me. Truly.
Sorry for the length and the rambling. Like I said, jello brain.
But thank you for taking time to read this.
And if you happen to choose to read it on the pod, hi mom!
Mom! Hi there, Mom. Thank you for everything you do and keep it weird.
But not so weird that you are mean to characters at Disney World because they're just severely underpaid humans trying to pay their rent and make your kid's day a bit better.
Definitely keep it so weird, though, that you get some sort of sign that your loved ones are watching over you on your family vacation and making sure everyone is safe and having fun.
All the best, Anonymous. And I love what you just said.
That was so cute. Just don't tell the mouse.
P.S. If you're ever in the Orlando area, I would love to show you around Disney.
And maybe the girls can come get some photos and sweet snuggles with one of their favorite princesses, too.
We'll see you there, sister. Girl, we will be there.
And we will not be square. that is so sweet thank you for sending this you are amazing and your job is amazing and you're also the cutest princess slash character ever yeah i'm obsessed with you there's that there's always that there's always that i'm actually looking at the pictures now because i didn't get to see them you're also like so drop dead yeah you're um you make me sick yeah like get Get out of here.
Essentially, you make me sick. Get out of here with your gorgeousness.
All right. My next one. Wow, thank you for that.
I know. Thank you. My next one is Listener Tale.
How I delivered pizza to a murderer while my douchebag ex-husband sat on the couch.
Okay. Okay. It starts off by saying, hello, beautiful ladies.
Warning, this intro email might be longer than the Listener Tale I've sent, but it all needs to be said.
Okay. I love it. Let me see if I can say your name.
Please hold on. Wait, wait a second. Oh, Angie.
Just checking to see. I think I can. Just checking to see.
Just checking to see. Okay. I think I can.
I think I can. My name is Charlotte, and I listen to your show because of my daughter, Emily.
Emily. You have a podcast. Yeah, there you go.
Daughter and I started a podcast, Surviving on Wine and Cuss Words.
I'm obsessed. It's a podcast about trauma, trigger warning, domestic abuse, mental abuse, sexual abuse, and childhood sexual abuse.
Aww. Aww. When we first started making it, daughter told me I needed to listen to Morbid.
She loves your podcast and the way you guys interact and banter.
Thank you. That's really sweet. She told me that's how she wanted ours to feel.
A lofty goal because you guys do what you do so well.
Oh, thank you. So in my obligatory research, I have also become a super fan of your show.
I don't even listen to music on my long commutes to work anymore.
I simply spend that time catching up on all the morbid pods past that I am just recently getting to hear.
And it just so happens I have a listener tale to share.
It's not spooky or terribly morbid. You might consider it a palate cleanser of sorts.
Just an interesting coincidental story about encountering a murderer.
No big deal. You can definitely use my name.
Okay, good, because I did. Awesome. And read the story as is because I don't even know the real names of the people in the story.
I just refer to them as mom, dad, and son.
And their podcast is called Surviving on Wine and Cuss Words Remember It. surviving on wine and cuss words and what a great fucking i was gonna say that's a great logo and you guys are literal twins oh my god and i love you oh my god your setup you're really that's cool you guys are adorable i love you guys okay i love you guys i just love you guys So let's set a little background.
Around the time of this event, I was working at a local bank as a customer service rep, and my douchebag of an ex-husband was working full-time as an electrical technician and part-time delivering pizza.
Now, these were not high-paying jobs, so the pizza delivery job was out of necessity.
We needed the extra income. I actually talked about delivering pizza as well on the days that he did not...
Yeah, I said that right. Yeah. On the days that he did not work, but we decided against that because our kids were young and, well, I wanted to be with them.
I feel that. I do, too. During this time, my ex experienced some health issues and had to take a little time off work.
It was a struggle, but we did what we had to do to get by.
We cut off cable. We canceled home phone service.
We pinched all the pennies we could possibly pinch to be able to make the bills and eat.
When it got to the point that it was just too hard and there was nothing to cut any longer, I did take a job delivering pizza in the evenings.
This was supposed to be until he was cleared to go back to work.
He was finally cleared, but instead of going back to work, he decided he wanted to continue to stay home and homeschool our kids.
Aw. What a brilliant idea. Not. Not only did he not go back to either job, but he also never started homeschooling.
So basically, he was a piece of shit who continued to watch me work two jobs just to make ends meet.
That's bullshit. Fuck that guy. So that is what gets us to the point where my douchebag ex stayed on the couch while I delivered pizza to a murderer.
Whoa, what a douchebag. It was just a regular Tuesday evening.
I finished my full-time job at the bank and went straight to Domino's for my delivery job.
I snagged a delivery to a pretty affluent neighborhood in town.
Mind you, we knew who tipped well and we knew who didn't.
While I had never delivered a pizza to this particular address, I knew there was a history of decent tips in the area.
It was a potentially good one. Ha ha ha.
Like I said, he was wearing a black hoodie and the hoodie was up on his head.
He didn't really look up at me and I didn't really care.
I wanted that check and to see the tip. Hell yeah.
He had one hand on the doorknob and one hand in the kangaroo pouch on the front of the hoodie.
He pulled his hand out of the kangaroo pouch, check in tow.
Thanks, have a good day, I said as I skipped off the porch back to my car.
No big deal. I was not scheduled to work Wednesday night, but when I went back to deliver Thursday night, boy, what a surprise.
The police had been there asking about the delivery to that address on Tuesday.
Uh-oh. And the story goes like this. Uh-oh.
Uh-oh. But when they didn't show up Tuesday and coworkers were not able to reach them, some people got a little concerned.
One, maybe multiple, I don't really know, coworker, coworkers, ended up calling the police to let them know they were worried.
The police ended up going to the house to try to gain entry or to figure out what was going on.
Oh, my God. Turns out the son murdered both mom and dad.
When the police finally gained entries, they discovered their bodies mid-dismemberment in the garage.
Oh, my God. The son was taken into custody.
So why were the police at the local pizza place asking questions?
Well, they saw the pizza box in the kitchen with Tuesday's date and realized that someone had delivered that pizza, so they wanted to ask questions.
Was there anything out of the ordinary? Did I hear anything, see anything, smell anything, etc.?
I explained to them that nothing was out of the ordinary, except he seemed a little weird answering the door with the hood up on his head and his hand in the kangaroo pouch.
He said nothing. According to their timeline, he was working away in the garage dismembering his recently murdered parents and decided, you know what?
I'm a little hungry. I'm going to take a little break and order a pizza.
What? And this motherfucker, this motherfucker ordered a pizza for delivery and forged his parents' signature on their checking account to pay for it and didn't even leave a tip.
He had just murdered them. He was in the garage cutting them up.
He wrote a check and he couldn't even leave a damn tip.
Wow. It should have been an epic tip. Yeah.
The goddamn check for the $9 pizza should have been made out for $109.
Holy shit. But he couldn't even be bothered to write it for $10 just to leave a dollar tip.
To me, that's the kicker. Judge a person by the way they treat waitstaff and how they tip.
That's very true. And if they murder their parents.
Yeah, there's that too. Rings true. Every time.
It might go without saying, but this incident coupled with the similarly timed kidnapping of the pizza delivery driver up north who had a bomb strapped to his neck that subsequently exploded.
Oh, my God. Remember that? Yes. Oh, what was that Netflix series called?
Oh, shit. fuck. Yeah. I can see her face.
Everybody knows it. You're all yelling it.
You're all screaming it. You know it. I don't need to say it.
You know it. Oh, her face though. I remember I would wake up in the middle of the night and that would flash on the TV and I'd shit.
And I'd shit. Anyways, but that led to this listener's pizza delivery resignation.
I was done. Yeah, I don't blame you. Yeah.
Thank you so much for your time and all the podcasts that kept me entertained on my long commute every day.
And I'll tell you both to keep it weird.
But not so weird that you murder your parents, forge their signature on a check to order a pizza in the middle of dismembering them, and then don't tip.
That's just rude. All of that is rude. Yeah, that's the rudest, one might say.
The rudest. thing I have ever heard. Wow.
Also, who pays for a pizza with a check?
That seems so weird. I know. You know what, though?
When did that pizza delivery explosion thing happen?
It's like the early 2000s, I think. I feel like no, I think it was before that.
Was it the 90s? I think it was the 90s. Because like paying with a check was much more.
Yeah. You know? I know. I remember this woman that we used to live with, she would like take us grocery shopping, like me, and she would pay for the groceries with a check. yeah oh yeah it was like a very typical thing yeah now a lot of places you can't because they bounce because they bounce because they be bouncing they are bouncing all right what should i read next i want to read the one that's next to be honest with you yeah you can okay let's see um yeah you you just pick girly how about pink boots i i was just clicking on that i felt it pink boots whatever at this baby i'm obsessed this baby with their sparkly pink boots is a fucking serve beautiful little baby oh oh it says hi friends can i call you friends yes absolutely i feel like we laugh enough with each other that we can say we're friends we absolutely are if you read this i would literally die of happiness please don't do that please Please don't die.
Please see the attached double space put of my story of one of the scariest events of my life as a mom.
Thank you. Okay. This is going to terrify me.
I know. Also, you have great hair. I love the color.
It says, hello, fellow weirdos. First and foremost.
Oh, I didn't even read the thing. It says, pink boots foil kidnapping.
So that scares me. Wow, you fucked up. I did.
I fucked up really hard. First and foremost, you both are the literal bee's knees, and I'm so thankful I found your podcast.
You're the fucking bee's knees. You're the cat's pajamas.
I was just going to say that. And his meow.
Hell yeah. Boom. My name is Tiffany. Hi, Tiffany.
And you can totally use my name. That's good, because we did.
I did. I pride myself in being an OG listener, if you will, and keep you with me on my long days of visits in the community, seeing my clients as a probation and patrol officer.
You're a badass. Badass. Every time I listen to a listener tale, I always think, hey, I should send in mine.
But then my ADD brain kicks in by the time I get back to the office, and I forget until the next time an episode comes on, and thus the cycle continues.
But not today. But not today. Today the cycle ends.
My tale isn't as crazy or spooky as some of the ones I've heard.
A big yikes to the Ouija board episode. But it was still pretty scary for me, so let me set the scene with a little background information about myself.
Back in 2010, I graduated high school and went to college about four hours away from my hometown and parents.
At the time I had picked that school, I was ready to be far away and doing my own thing.
However, my senior year of high school, I found out I was pregnant.
And due to my stubborn ass self, I was determined to attend that same school and get a college education with my child because fuck you, statistics.
Hell to the fuck. Oh, yeah. Are you superwoman?
I don't know how single moms do the shit they do.
I don't either. Like single young moms especially.
Oh my God. You're fucking warriors. Yeah, truly.
Flash forward to 2013. I had ended up transferring colleges and moving back home to be closer to my support system.
It takes a village. It was a typical October afternoon, and I had been in classes all day and needed to stop at a local grocery store to get a few things for the weekend.
My daughter was not quite three yet, and while I have always had extreme anxiety with my children anyway, I knew then and definitely recognize now that she was a cute-ass toddler with beautiful curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
Oh! Oh, Snuggie. That day, she had on a cute blue sweater with leggings and bright pink sparkly boots.
They were the knockoff Ugg boots you can purchase at Walmart, and she loved them.
But I loathed sticking her into the cart with them on because they would get stuck in the footholds.
Oh, that's the worst. Because of this, I had contemplated taking her inside the store barefoot, but since it was chilly outside and I hate judgy looks from strangers, feel you, I left them on and stuck her in the front of the cart to pick up some groceries.
Everything went smoothly until checkout.
Having kids in any public situation is the most stressful thing.
It truly is. Like having to keep your eyes on them is so fucking stressful.
Because it's really important. I parked my cart near the conveyor belt, moved to the front of the cart, and began unloading the groceries.
As I turned to place Tyson chicken nuggets on the pelt, hell yeah, I felt the cart hit my hip.
Oh my God. I looked up to see a grown-ass man with his hands on my child's.
He was attempting to lift her out of the seat of the cart.
Oh, my God. But her big-ass pink boots were stuck in the footholds.
Who has the fucking audacity? The death that would come to this man.
Straight up. We made eye contact, and all I could say is, what the fuck are you doing?
He said nothing, and we stared at each other for a solid 10 seconds, and I thought my 4'7 self, oh, my God, you're so tiny, is going to have to beat this 5'-something man to death right here in the middle of the story.
That's a model. Hell yeah, Mom. Yeah. Yeah.
Yeah. The cashier did call a manager over who asked me if I wanted to call the police, but young dumbass me said no.
I know. I know. I should have called police and made a report, and I think about that daily whenever I see or hear about kidnapped babies.
I just didn't know how to process what had happened and wanted to get home to my own parents as quickly as I could.
I totally understand that. It's the panic in that moment I can't imagine.
Honestly. I had made a Facebook post about it, but all I got was, honestly, social media is shit.
It's disgusting. You won't get anything from it but bullshit.
But all I got was a lot of messages basically blaming me, being a young, inexperienced mother, for putting my child in that situation and how I should have handled it instead, which made me feel even worse.
Probably from a bunch of people that don't even have children themselves.
Exactly. Well, just a bunch of assholes who get on the internet just to be dicks.
I ended up deleting the post and not speaking about it until much later when I worked as a social worker and realized that it was nothing I did or didn't do.
Exactly. Yeah, exactly. That the man had probably been watching me enter and shop with my child, waiting for an opportunity when I would be distracted to attempt to grab her.
Oh my God. That just like, ugh. What he didn't bank on was a pair of bright sparkly boots spoiling his opportunity.
I kept those boots for a really long time after she had outgrown them, just as a reminder that no matter what, I was meant to be her mother for as long as I was alive, and that it would take an act of God himself to pull her out of my fingers.
Fuck yeah. I ended up graduating with my bachelor's degree in 2015.
And she said, again, you can suck my dick statistics.
Suck it. I'm now married to the love of my life.
Fuck yeah. With a blended family of four amazing children.
Oh, my God. I love your life. I was going to start singing the beginning of the Brady Bunch, but then I forgot it.
I'm so happy for you. So that's my story.
I know it isn't worthy of a 2020 episode.
Yes, it is. Of course it is. Yes, it is.
That's the scariest thing I've ever heard.
Fuck that. So if you don't read it, that's totally okay.
If you do, well, let's just say I'll piss myself with equal parts anxiety and excitement.
You just peed. You just peed. Keep it weird, but not so weird that your toddlish pink sparkly boots foil a kidnapping plot during a routine grocery trip.
Side note, here's a photo of the day that it happened with her in the outfit and pink boots and a photo of us now.
She is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen.
She's fucking adorable. I will murder people for her.
Straight up. Oh my God. And look at you two.
And she's so, she's like an adult. You guys are like little twinnies too.
Everyone looks like their mom today. Oh, you're so beautiful.
I love that. I'm so happy and thankful for those pink sparkly Ugg boots.
Hell yeah. Oh my God. I can't get over how cute she was.
And I fucking, I hope that guy is dead. Retweet.
I hope that guy is the deadest dead that dead can be.
No, I hope that man wakes up every single morning to a UTI, stubs his toe, has a cavity, needs a root canal.
Yeah. Like, so many other things. I hope all that happened and that now he's dead.
Yeah. That's what I hope. You were going to steal that beautiful little two-year-old baby from her mother right there.
In broad daylight? What the fuck were you going to do, you piece of shit?
I can't even. You're dead. I can't even.
You're dead. I know it. Oh, my goodness.
He's dead. My goodness gracious. The guy's dead, so don't worry.
You're crazy. I love you. I fucking hate, like, people with kids, like, who try to hurt kids.
Yeah. Ooh. Yeah. Like, dead. Dead. Dead.
Well, straight to Jill. I feel like this will be a good palate cleanser.
I hope so. And I just wanted to read this because funny.
But now I'm a little bit scared. But like, let's just go, okay?
Oh, let's go. 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.
Listener tale. Help. My vibrator is haunted.
Good copy. Thank you. That's a first. Thank you for this.
It says, disclaimer, last night I accidentally sent you my rough draft and was up all night freaking out about it.
So here's the good copy. Don't you worry.
Yeah, honestly, it's fine. Well, hello, Ash and Alina.
Hi. Hello. I think it's Tanya, right? Yeah.
Okay, cool. Looks like it. It says, please use my name, and I'm gonna.
Please use my name. I was gonna read again.
Please, please use my name. I'm a Canadian gal and a longtime listener and lover of the pod.
We love a Canadian. We do, we do. I tell all my clients to listen to you, ladies.
You have the best banter, thank you, and most interesting stories that you share in such an engaging way.
There's nothing I love more than sitting at my work alone in the morning, sipping on my tea.
Oh, I want to be there. That sounds very cozy.
And listening to tales of dismembered bodies or creepy shadow people.
Yes. As usual, feel free to edit my story.
No. Never. It's needed. I've also included a double-spaced putt-a-fuff for your reading pleasure.
Let me go ahead and open that. Here's a little bit about me.
Since as early as I can remember, I've had weird shit happen to me.
I've had spirit encounters, out-of-body experiences, almost died a couple times, and I've even experienced miracles.
All stories for another day. No, they're for today, Tanya.
Right now. Right now. I hope you're typing them, okay?
Because that's your assignment. I'm just kidding.
You were like, I'm scared. I need to leave.
Goodbye. I also grew up in a dysfunctional family.
So that just heightened my empathetic. Empathic.
Thank you. Empathic tendencies. M from and that's why we drink was just like, yes.
Or it was like, did you ever get that TikTok that was like, M to the Z, M to the Z. Oh, yes, I did.
All right. Anyways. All of that. This story begins in January 2020.
That was the year I opened my own salon.
Hell yeah. Great year to open a business, right?
What a year. I was just going to say. Well, I was at the salon with my youngest daughter.
Let's call her Gigi. Gigi would have been three at the time.
I had just signed my lease and was wandering the place when Gigi came running and saying, Mommy, I saw a scary man.
Uh-oh. Great. I honestly didn't think much of it at the time.
She was always saying things like this to me.
Gigi led me to the closet in one of the empty rooms and said, He's there.
I don't like that. I opened the door and just told the man to stop being scary and that it's not nice to scare Gigi.
That's pretty much what I do. Icon. We left, and honestly, I didn't think about that exchange again.
Well, for a few weeks at least. It was now February, and I was working late just blow-drying my client and pretending I could hear what they were saying, relatable, when I saw the reflection of somebody pass by me in the mirror.
I turned around, but no one was there. Weird, but I kept drying.
A few minutes later, it happened again. A black shadow in the shape of a man walking into the washroom behind me.
This time I turned off the dryer and shouted, hello?
Nothing. Okay, I must be losing it, I thought.
When I work late at night, I often lock the door to the salon just so nobody wanders in.
Like I said, long time listener. Hell yeah.
Good job. Well, this shadow man would come and go back and forth to the bathroom right up until our first COVID lockdown.
It was a good three months we were locked down.
I would come to the salon just to dust and water the plants.
It was on one of these trips that I noticed a cigarette smell in the bathroom.
Ooh. It was faint, but got more intense each time I showed up to check on the place.
It got so strong that I finally had to say something.
After all, I don't need no secondhand ghost cancer.
No, you don't. I stood in the bathroom and just asked whoever it was not to smoke in there or even come in here when there was people in the salon.
That's when the dimes started showing up.
I'm talking everywhere. I would find dimes on the stairs of my back entrance, my front entrance, the salon floor, my desk.
One even rolled from the retail area down a short hall and landed at my feet.
What? I don't share a lot of supernatural stuff with my clients, but when I do, there's another dime somewhere.
I think the afterlife has taken it upon itself to fund my early retirement through dimes.
I was going to say, collect them all. If I had a dime.
The creepiest experience I've had was seeing my shadow man again through the mirror, then having product fall off the shelf and crash to the ground.
This made me and my client jump as we had just been discussing my ghost man.
What? What? He still smokes on occasion and now likes to turn up my music every now and then, especially 70s rock.
Usually if he starts, I just have to tell him no, and he stops and we'll turn it down.
So pretty decent relationship thus far. That is, until this past Halloween.
As we all know, Halloween this year fell on a fucking Monday.
Bullshit. It really was. That meant getting up extra early to prepare four of my five kids for the Halloween festivities at school.
That sounds like a goddamn nightmare. My husband was up helping as I was curling Gigi's hair to look like Mirabelle.
Oh, my God. I love it. I fucking love Mirabelle.
And doing my 10-year-old steampunk makeup.
Wicked cool. Badass kids. All while yelling at the two teens to get their shit together and not miss the bus.
Oh, my God. Those were the days. Well, they didn't make it.
My husband offered to drive the kids to school, and I was more than happy to take him up on that.
They left, and the house was silent. Well, except for my snoring English bulldog, Mac.
What a great name. I got into bed, pulled the covers over from my husband's side of the bed.
Sitting there was a pile of not one, not two, but seven dimes.
What? All shiny and new. I honestly didn't take too much stock in them.
I just thought, what the fuck, grabbed them, put them in I was like, oh, well.
Well, the day continued as usual. Kids got home, stuffed some dinner in their faces.
We all went trick-or-treating. By the time we went home, we had to carry the two littlest in as they were suffering from a Halloween sugar coma.
Hell yeah. The older two were watching a scary movie.
As Hubby and I climbed into bed, I remembered the stack of dimes from that morning.
Did you leave a stack of dimes on the bed, I asked.
Hubby looked at me confused. Nope. Well, did they fall out of your PJ bottoms?
Uh, my PJs don't have pockets, he replied.
Oh shit, did Shadow Man follow me home? Yeah.
I was too tired to think about that, so I just rolled over and I put my sleeping mask on and I fell asleep. a few silent hours pass then all of a sudden this very loud banging sound broke that silence what the fuck i'm screaming hubby and i both jumped up taste and confused we listened i love this we listened for a few seconds and then hubby was like i know that sound like an audio wizard he opens up his drawer and pulls out my pocket vibrator screaming whizzing around at mock chicken speed Now, this vibrator is a full-on click-button top.
You have to press down and click it with your thumb.
Not only that, but it hadn't been used in so long, we both forgot it was there.
Right then and there, I knew it was my smoking salon friend.
Is Shadow Man trying to get with me? I swear if I wake up and that vibrator is anywhere near me, I'm going to exercise his ass.
Yeah, that's the time. Yeah, I'd be like, you gotta go.
That's time when he's taking it too far.
When I got into work the next day, we had a little chat about personal space and how I'd have to sage his ass if he showed up anywhere but the salon from now on.
I love it. He still plays with my music, leaves me dimes.
One was in my bra last week. Oh, he likes you.
And yes, he's still trying to quit smoking.
The vibrator is safely tucked away and battery free just in case.
Well, ladies, I hope you enjoyed my haunted tale.
Please keep doing what you do. I wish you both so much love, health, and happiness.
Thank you and back at you. Yeah. I also hope you find a dime in the near future and think of me in Shadow Man.
Oh, my God. I don't want to find a dime now, miss.
Oh, my God. Your family is so adorable. Oh, and I hope that you keep it weird, but not so weird that... Take it away, Ash.
That's where you open up a hair salon in the year of 2020 and you're like, wow, this will go well.
And then like lockdown, but then like ghosts and they're smoking and then they vibrate your vibrator.
Well, you want to hear something great? First of all, you're beautiful.
You're... Fucking family is beautiful. I know.
Now I need to look. All your animals are beautiful.
You have a pig. Oh, your little kids are so freaking cute.
And also, I looked it up, and dimes are a good thing.
I was going to say, that's what I thought.
Yeah, there's a few different ways to look at it, but it's a message to pay attention and trust your instincts and intuition.
Okay. It also means it's a symbol that good things and opportunities are coming your way that you once thought were lost.
Hot. And it means like ancestor spirits or deceased loved ones are looking out for you.
Maybe. Do you think the shadow man could be a deceased loved one of yours?
Maybe. It says that it's like sending encouragement and peace.
All right. So I love that. Yeah, that's great.
I hope that is the truth for you. I thought dimes were a good omen.
I feel like I heard a story recently where like somebody's loved one would leave them dimes.
I feel like I heard that too. Maybe it was a listener too.
Yeah. This was just sent in November, I think.
So you know what, Tanya, I hope that those dimes have sent you something great.
Or maybe he's just saying you're a dime piece.
You're a dime. I think he might be saying that. i love that your husband was like i know that i know that that's hilarious that's my favorite All right, where should we end?
We should end on the time my brain needed, noped, control-alt-deleted, the gory visual of a tragic murder smoothed out of my memory bank because clearly a bitch couldn't handle that shit.
Yeah, that's how we should end it. I agree.
I'm obsessed. It says, hey, weirdos, I'm Jordan, a she.
You can use my name. I have attached two 14.2.0 spaced...
Yes. 2.0 space butterflies because I know y'all can't see.
I sure can't. One is in Times New Roman and one is in Ariel.
Just in case sans serif font is better for your eyes.
Okay, do you know what? That's wild that you just said that because I was thinking the pink boot's tail.
I don't know what font that was written in, but it was very pleasing.
It was pleasing to the eye. Yeah, wow, Jordan.
I love this. It says, look at your girl showing her ass on this podcast.
Oh, my God. Am I on the fucking podcast?
Yeah, you are, Jordan. You are, Jordan. Oh, by the way, Ash, not sure if you've already gotten your answer, but I am not an ophthalmologist or whatever the people are who are called an ophthalmologist or whatever the people are. the people are called who can stomach doing eye stuff for a living.
But I happen to have astigmatism in both my goddamn eyes.
And below is a pic displaying one difference between astigmatism and just poor blurry vision.
I think I have just poor or blurry vision.
So look at that. Thank you for showing me that.
I got a new eye doctor and he seems good.
He seems good. He took a picture of the inside of my eye and showed it to me.
I know, that was pretty sick. I was like, well, shit.
He also complimented my eyelashes and I was like, sir, these are not real.
I love him. So it says, as you will soon discover, I have ADHD.
Not the TikTok kind, unfortunately. But the real kind that was determined as the result of three different therapists randomly and unprompted asking if I'd ever been evaluated for ADHD and then two subsequent evaluations.
Yeah, you have that shit. I should be managing my condition with therapy and meds and a life coach for the rest of my life because executive dysfunction, but I ain't.
Finding good mental health help is like online dating.
So this is kind of all over the place. It's fucking long.
But if you're here, that means you signed up for this.
So just ride with me, okay? It'll be fine.
I'll be your ride or die for this. I'm literally obsessed with you, Jordan.
Same. Of course, please feel free to cut this for the sake of time, but please know I'm kind of saying that in the same way that a person getting a ride from a friend offers up gas money.
Even though you know good and well, even though you know good and well, don't have a damn, don't have any damn money because they know the friend will say no.
It's just a formality, you know? Mm-hmm.
Oh, I know. Do you remember the people that used to charge you gas money in high school?
Yes. Did you ever have those friends? Oh, yeah.
Absolutely. Are you friends with them anymore?
No. Exactly. That is the truth. Oh, I love it.
All right. It says, first off, I'm a huge fan of the podcast, of course, and of both of you gals.
We're a fan of you, Jordan. Yeah, I'm a fan of you, Jordan.
Big time. It's really fun to listen to two people who are really close and who have things in common but have very different personalities.
Both hilarious, discussing some of the most heinous of acts by the most disgusting, yet strangely fascinating of humanoids.
If you're wondering, my quote-unquote favorite cases are the Ed Kemper and Do Not Judge Me, Dorothea Puente.
That's bad, I know, and I don't know why.
My middle name is Ash. Is it Ashley? I think, yeah.
Long for ash. And you can't fucking spell trash without ash.
Hey, yo. I'm dancing. I'm dancing for you.
I'm doing my mean mug. It's true. I saw it.
Also, I'm an OG morbid listener. Oh, we got two in the batch.
Hell yeah. I've been around since the underwater days, which really were not that bad.
Everyone always says that, and I love you guys for that.
They were fucking terrible. This collective lie that you have given to us that it wasn't that bad, I do appreciate it.
Since before Spotify got their shiznit together, since you borrowed your cousin or somebody's mic and were like, oh, yeah, I like this.
We're getting one of these. Oh, my God. I forgot about that.
Wow, you are an OG. Yeah, day one. Well, maybe like day 20 or something like that.
Anyway, you are the podcast I will sometimes intentionally skip for a couple of weeks just so I can binge.
Oh, I love that. I started skipping listener tales back in the teens so I could eventually binge them, which is what I was doing when I decided to submit this listener tale that I promise we will get to.
Second, I would like to suggest a theme for Listener Tales.
Ooh. I found this TikTok Stitch video thingy, whatever the kids are doing, about a time when you think you might have slipped into an alternate dimension.
The stories were so intriguing. One girl was stuck in a lucid dream.
I was just talking about this today. Yeah, weird.
Jordan. What is going on? Are we friends?
Yes. Stuck in a lucid dream that lasted months or years.
The dream, not the actual sleep, which is how we know time is a fucking scam.
Time is a fucking scam. She had a boyfriend and a job and was in therapy in the dream because people thought she was nuts for thinking her life was actually a dream.
Whoa. Wait, what? That's like Severance, that show.
You should watch it. It's crazy. I'm fascinated with the idea of time travel, alternate dimensions and realities and stuff.
So I would love to hear if listeners have stories like that.
That's a really good idea. That's a good idea.
Send those in. Send that shit in. And write like alternate dimension listener tale.
There you go. And finally, if you're reading this on the podcast, I'm going to shit my fucking dick because I can't believe it.
Well, shit your dick. In fact, if you read this, I'm going to shit my dick and your dick.
Shit our dicks. Wait, I don't really know what that means.
I just think it's funny when you two say it.
Is shitting somebody else's dick something I should be asking consent for?
Let me know. Tale begins. now. I love you.
I love you. Your brain works like my brain works, and I love that for us.
You're the best. I'm going to do my best to recall this accurately, but this was literally 25 years ago, so I might be remembering some things wrong.
So it was spring 1997 in Baltimore, 10th grade year.
I was 15 at the time, and my friend Tiffany, RIP friend, was 16.
Aww. We were going downtown to pick up a pair of sheer gold stockings with her name in glitter on the ankle for her to wear with her dress to her boyfriend's junior prom.
The 90s, am I right? You could get tights with your name on it?
Apparently. Wow. We would get on the subway there and usually ended up walking around, stopping in Lexington Market, a mini mall for all intents and purposes, for some chicken wings and moseying home just as it was getting darker.
Sidebar, I'm a mom now. I don't know if things are worse because they really are worse.
I don't know if things are worse because they really are worse or if they seem worse because we have so much access to everyone and everything.
The latter. But I have no idea how my mother let me have so much freedom.
All I had was a pager. And if she was wondering where I was or wanted me to check in, I had to wait until I got to a pay phone to call her.
My daughter is 21 and my son is 16 and I'm ready to microchip both their asses.
But I do digress. I feel you. I'm ready to microchip my children.
Oh, I'm going to microchip my kids the second.
Like, I'm going to do it while they're in utero.
Or you know what? Maybe I have. We got off the subway and walked by what could best be described as a mini version of a town square in an open area in the middle of Lexington Market and three main streets with shops, one of which we were going to be to go get those damn stockings.
Hell yeah. As we were walking, we saw a little crowd just standing in the center.
There were four or five girls and one really tall guy.
Why the hell are they all standing there?
Both of us were nosy as hell and figured there was a reason for the gathering.
But the store closed at five. We rarely left school as soon as it was over.
And after the first wave of buses is gone, you're waiting with the regular commuters.
So by the time we caught a bus from east to west, then the train, it was around 4.30 when we got downtown and we still had to walk a few blocks.
So we just kept it moving, making it to the place.
I think it was called Hosiery World. Obsessed.
It's time to get our stuff before they closed.
Hosiery World. Hosiery World. Stockings in tow.
I'm glad you guys got those. We headed back towards the subway and the crowd was still gathered.
But this time you could tell there was some spice in the air.
There was no yelling, no aggressive gestures, nothing obvious to indicate that there was about to be an altercation.
You could just tell. I know it sounds bad, but as a teenager, I like to catch a good fight.
Fights in the lunchroom were always exciting.
I'm just going to say it. And I love this.
Nothing too vicious or crazy. Just a good, clean scrap.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. So me and Tiffany and our nosy asses were slow strolling by to get the tea without being too obvious.
I'll identify the girls involved by their ages.
One was 13 and the other was 12. They were beefing over a boy.
No, a man. The tall guy in the mix was the subject of the dispute and his trifling ass was 18.
Ew. Way too old to be dealing with either of these girls and finding no issue with letting these two little girls fight over him.
Get fucked, dude. Anyway, we could tell they were having words, but we couldn't hear.
Or maybe I just don't remember. I can just remember them in each other's faces.
The guy was kind of pacing around. If this was happening in the era of the smartphone, I would imagine him scrolling or texting some other girl, bored with whatever these two were talking about.
Maybe waiting on some action and losing hope that he was going to get it.
Since it was the 90s and there was no magic handheld computers to occupy idle time with, I supposed he was just milling about, not wanting to stand still, but not wanting to go too far.
After all, this bullshit was about him. Obviously, I'm now speaking from the perspective of an adult with children of my own, but 15-year-old Jordan wanted them to get on with it, too.
I didn't want to miss the action, but it was starting to get dark, and I was not trying to hear my mother's mouth about me coming in too long after dark."
The other three or so girls were standing behind the 13-year-old.
At some point, the 12-year-old walked away towards the subway.
The 12-year-old was left with the dude and her homegirls.
No, the 13-year-old. Oh, excuse me. The 13-year-old was left.
They convinced her to go after the girl and fight her.
I don't remember the exact words, but I know that was when me and Tiffany were certain there was going to be a fight.
Remember, we're standing there watching them have what looks like a tense but civil conversation.
We didn't know exactly what was going on until the friends got a little louder and told the 13-year-old to follow the 12-year-old.
You could tell she didn't want to by the way she just walk-jogged behind the 12-year-olds, by the very weak punch she gave to the back of the 12-year-old's head.
You could tell she only did it because she didn't want to look like a punk in front of her friends.
You look like a punk anyway. You look like a punk now.
The two opponents were a good distance away, closer to the train entrance than to the little square we were all standing and watching and waiting.
We could see that the 13-year-old hit the 12-year-old in the back of the head.
The 12-year-old turned around quickly, swinging her arm and said, leave me the fuck alone, then turned and continued walking towards the train.
The 13-year-old turned and came back towards her crowd of friends, which were all in the spot she left them in, in the same direction me and Tiffany were standing watching the show.
I remember being disappointed that there wasn't more.
Like, I know we missed the train, and at the time of evening, we thought we would have to wait at least an hour, half hour for the next one, sorry.
I remember thinking if the 12-year-old didn't want to fight, it was whack for the 13-year-old to go after her and try to sneak her.
That's true. And she didn't even hit her hard.
I just remember thinking, this shit is so dumb.
Author's note. Have you ever been around a really animated person who laughs with their whole body, like claps, throws their head back, stomps their feet?
Black people do that. It's not a race color thing.
More like a cultural thing, I suppose. If something is really funny, black people will push you, roll you on the floor, run down the street, fall all over you.
I can't really explain it. She's like, I can't really.
You just have to be there. She said, I can't really explain it.
You would have to see it, I guess. Search black people laughing on TikTok.
Obviously, some of them are meant to be parodies, but you'll get what I'm getting at.
I'm trying to explain it in order for the next part to make sense as far as my interpretation at the time.
Why is that so funny? Also, have you ever had a moment that you thought that was one thing, and once you realize it's a completely different thing, it's almost like a shock to your system?
Like, you already processed this information, and now that something has come to your attention that completely changes what you thought you knew, you have to reprocess the information again?
It's very jarring. I'm so scared. All right.
Trigger warning. It's about to get heavy.
Gnarly, if you will. So when the 13-year-old was headed back in our direction where her friends and this piece of shit statutory rapist were all waiting for her, she was bent forward, kind of jogging, and it looked like she was holding her chest.
I thought she was laughing. Oh, no. Like she just did what she did.
Like she just thought what she did or how the girl reacted to being hit in the back of the head was funny. that she was trotting over, bent over in laughter.
But then she stood up straight. I can kind of remember thinking, not in a sentence in my mind, but just acknowledging the shift and understanding, she's not laughing.
Then she fell on her back and was holding her neck with both hands.
Oh my God, no. Real quick, I have never cried about this before.
Not once, not even when it happened. I've told this story so many times to so many people over the years.
I have no idea why I'm crying now, but back to it.
Sometimes writing will bring that out. Yeah.
The 12-year-old had a knife. I guess she had it just in case.
Baltimore is one of those cities. It's beautiful and unique and full of culture, a melting pot in every sense of the word on the one hand, and it's dirty, grimy, and scary as fuck on the other.
I was blessed enough not to have been exposed to much of the grime.
The girls who believed they had to carry knives for such a time as this just in case were not so fortunate, unfortunately.
Maybe she overheard the plan for the 13-year-old to come after her.
Even though she was walking away, she had her knife at the ready, a kitchen knife.
Holy shit. You could tell after she got hit that she just swung.
It was just one swing. She got hit in the back of the head.
She turned, arms swinging with the momentum from the rest of her body, and yelled, leave me the fuck alone.
Oh, my God. Oh, my God. My mother was watching the news when we walked in.
I said, Mommy, we were just down there. I saw that girl get cut.
She looked mad, but not mad at me. I feel like she was mad at the fact that I had witnessed that.
I don't really remember her saying anything about it after that.
I'm sure she did, but I have no memory. So the part related to the title of this long ass tale that I really didn't think was going to be that long.
Y'all still with me? Here we are. I am with you, Jordan.
I will always be with you, Jordan. I don't know when I realized it, but at some point years later, I realized when I look back on that incident, I do not see the blood.
I see everything I described to you, but the blood part, I just know.
I remember what I saw, but the blood is just gone from my memory.
Wow. Whoa. I was talking to Tiffany about it at whatever point I realized it, and she was like, what?
How could you forget all that blood? We were talking about how much blood there was on the way home.
It was all over her neck. It was all over the street.
It was a lot. I do not see the blood at all.
At all. Maybe it's like your brain like saving you.
Yeah. Like some kind of defense mechanism.
Just totally took that part out. The girl bled to death from being stabbed in the neck.
Oh my God. Obviously there was blood. And yet even thinking about it and visualizing it right now while I'm typing, there is no blood, none.
She stands up straight, no blood, just a normal neck.
She bends over, no blood dripping. She holds her neck, nothing spurting out.
It's literally like my brain was like, okay, girl, that's a bit much.
Let's just erase that little tidbit. We don't need it.
Probably. I think that's literally what your brain did.
Yeah. That's pretty much that. That's pretty much that on that.
Keep it fucking weird, y'all. But not so weird that, you know what?
Do keep it so weird that your brain knows what you can handle and deletes gory scenes from your mind from some shit that should not have happened, that you should not have witnessed at 15 or at any age in order not to go fucking more cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs than you already are.
Keep it that fucking weird. Weird. Take care, ladies.
Jordan. Oh, my God, Jordan. Jordan, you are hilarious.
And also, I am so glad that your brain did that for you.
I know. Because holy shit. Me, oh, my. Like, holy shit.
Damn. I could see that entire thing. Me, too.
Me, too. Like, you really painted that picture.
I know. Now I can't get it out of my head.
Like, truly. And I see your little picture with your name there, and you are so pretty.
Oh, I didn't even see. I just see the little email picture.
Oh, you are so pretty. And you're just fucking funny, Jordan.
You're hilarious. We are best friends with all of you at this point.
But my God, I'm so sorry you had to see that.
And that poor girl, both of those poor girls.
It's like you're so young and you argue over like a boy and then that happens.
A man that should never have been in your life at all.
It's like, Jesus Christ. It's like, why didn't that man get down and like tie his shirt around that girl's neck?
Yeah, like why didn't she do something? Where were her friends?
Like, what the fuck? But damn, that was quite a batch.
Yeah. Boys aren't worth it, y'all. They're not.
Nobody's worth it. No, nobody is. Boys aren't worth it.
Girls aren't worth it. No. No one's worth it.
No way. No one's worth that. Wow. All right.
Well, those delivered per usual. Yeah, they did.
You always do. We love you. We love you so much.
And if you have a listener tale, just for those that are on like social media or don't know where the show notes are.
Yeah. If you have a listener tale, go ahead and send it on into our Gmail.
It's morbidpodcast at gmail.com and just throw listener tale somewhere in the subject line for us.
And Jordan, great suggestion if you have one about like – alternate realities yeah lucid dreaming like any kind of dream ones make sure you like say that in the subject line and we'll make a little themey one deb deb will do it deb deb will do it because deb deb's the fucking greatest deb deb she's a goat she is a goat Oh, happy Hanukkah, Deb Deb.
Oh yeah, happy Hanukkah, everybody. And happy Hanukkah to all our Jewish listeners.
Happy Hanukkah. All right, well, we hope you keep listening.
And we hope you keep it weird. But not so weird that you don't send us in your own tale.
Hell yeah. Did you like that jingle? I did.
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