Hey weirdos, it's Ash. Before we dive into today's twisted tale, let me tell you about the spooky perks of Wondery Plus.
It's like having a skeleton key that unlocks ad-free listening and early access to new episodes.
So don't wait, try Wondery Plus today. You can join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or in Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
You're listening to a Morbid Network podcast.
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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 Ash.
And I'm Elena. And this is my bed. Wow, that was so breathy.
I know. It got really breathy toward the end.
It got very Marilyn at the end. Oh, my God.
I'm saying. I feel... I don't even know.
I started talking and my brain was like, you don't know how you feel.
I feel like Megan Stallion. I don't even know how I feel.
There you go. I don't even know how I deal.
There you go. Absolutely. I played that song for you before, but... I do not know it.
We're perfect. in different places while you're listening so anyways we definitely are is a listener tales episode brought to you by you for you from you and all about you baby and if you're listening to this i think it comes out after thanksgiving maybe i'm not really sure but I hope you had a happy holiday.
Yeah, it comes out to Wondery Plus people the day after Thanksgiving, I believe.
No, I don't even think it does, actually.
I lied. I do not know when this comes out.
It's all a little confusing these days. You know what we do know?
We're ahead. We know that it's a Friday.
We know that it's a Friday. It's a Fry-yay.
It's a Fry-yizzle. Yep. I knew that you said, we're done.
Or no, no, no. You said, you're done. You're done.
You're done. You're done. All right. Well, with that being said, I think that I'm going to read the first one.
How do you like those apples? Go right ahead.
Do you like those apples? Yeah. I don't know.
I do. I love apples. This is also very funny.
I saw that whoever sent this re-sent it and said, I will not give up on us.
And I love you. That's fucking great. I love you.
I love you a lot. I will not give up on us either.
We never did. Never. Hell yeah. So my previous boss can go fuck himself.
Yeah, he can. Oh, same. Mine too. And my customer service as a server at the alehouse landed me two other jobs unrelated to waitressing.
So fuck you to my old boss who did not see my value.
Hell yeah. Hell yeah. You're a boss ass bitch.
That's right. Right. Anyway, after forwarding you my own email four times, I decided it's time to make it a puttafa for you because I should have done that long ago.
Oh my God. You're so sweet. We still read ones that are not puttafas.
We won't ignore it just because it's not a puttafa.
But the puttafas are so preferred. Simply because I'm blind.
Also, the friend that introduced me to Morbid and a few of our co-workers pre-ordered Alina's book.
Did you pre-order it over at tinyurl.com slash thebutcherintherun?
Thanks for that. And they even established a book club.
I'll be on my honeymoon when it arrives.
Happy wedding. Happy honeymoon. but you bet we'll all be getting together right when i get back i attached a mini listener tale as well because your girl is extra that's right i love it i love it i love it that's still blowing my mind that you guys are buying that book and like telling me that you're buying that book and then like reading that book that book is doing great girlfriend i've seen it flying off the shelves for like months now just know it's never not wild always be wild a sentence i never thought i'd say to you you're so pure but you are when in regards to your book to your book.
In regards to your accomplishments, you're very pure.
Thank you. All right. Dear Ash and Elena, hey, first of all, I love your podcast.
I don't know. I love your podcast. I was just going to say I love you, but don't do that the whole time.
Listen, why don't you like my voices? I love your voices.
I do them for like two seconds. I love your podcast.
I love you. I'm also from the South Shore.
I had to then. Oh, the South Shore. That's why I was doing it again.
Yeah, you gotta do it. And I loved hearing about my hometown in the Bridgewater Triangle episodes.
My friend said I have to listen to your podcast because she knew I would love it.
And then I spread some morbid love to both my mom and fiance.
Hell yeah. yeah my mom was like what the fuck are you listening to then the car ride ended before the episode did and she said wait what happens next oh so we finished the episode in the house it was the one on countess elizabeth boutry oh i love that one now my mom a 60 year old woman is hooked on your podcast and banter as well hi mom i love her so anyway i apologize for the length of my tail but never trust me no no it's worth the read i bet it is let's dive right in.
They even gave you the little, like, weep-a-kee-boos.
I haven't done that in a while. Oh, my God.
I remember when I was going to do that at a live show, and then I chickened out.
Yeah, you did. Too scary. Too scary. Too scary.
I don't know how singers do it. All right.
I wrote an entire email about finding a dime in a diaper, thinking it was the coolest, spoopy thing I would ever experience.
See, attached, butta-fa, we're gonna, if you're interested.
It's like a mini-listener tale, while this is a two-parter.
Wow. It's like me and Elena in the beginning.
But like... It's my real life and it did in fact happen.
I believe you. For context, I started a new job as a server at a breakfast place and long story short, my boss was being a dickwad.
So I walked out of a shift. I had to have two training shifts apparently for dumb ass reasons.
But anyway, had I not walked out on one of those shifts, I wouldn't have been shadowing another server on this day and I wouldn't have met the woman at table nine, which is my lucky number because my birthday is nine nine.
So sure, I was mad at the situation and at my boss, but everything happens for a reason, and oh boy, is this a good reason.
There were three women at the table, and I had four interactions before the final question that shook me to my core.
One. The first thing I said to this table was, I love the energy over here.
They were laughing, and it just felt warm and fuzzy to me, and it felt like wonderful family vibes.
Two. Two, one woman complimented my necklace upon greeting the table.
Let's call her Jane. That was nice of you, Jane.
We love Jane. Three, later, when I was walking around with a coffee pot, another woman at table nine asked a specific question about the necklace.
I told her my mom got it for me in sixth grade and that I've worn it since, amongst other details.
Four, after this, I was checking in on their food when Jane randomly asked me if my mom had passed and if her name was Carla or Carly or Car something, or if I had met somebody with that name in my life.
And what was my response? I straight up just asked her if she was a medium.
Yeah. Amazing. Why? Why did my brain think that this is what I should say back to her?
I genuinely do not know. I get it. Yeah.
I mean, she's asking you all kinds of questions.
She's like, car, Carly. Does it start with a C?
You're Teresa Caputo. Oh, my God. Long Island medium.
Long Island. Long Island. But this is where shit starts to get crazy, crazy, spooky, spooky.
She put her head in her hands, looked down, and said, I don't know yet.
I don't know yet. I don't know. I'll never forget the way this question overwhelmed her.
I'm overwhelmed. I used to be a server, and if I had this experience, I would have hives.
I'd be like, thank you, good night. I'd be like, that's what I would say.
You would say, hi. Yeah. Every time. Every time that I was talking to the table or walking by, Jane had been looking at me funny and I was like, all right, she must be hard of hearing and maybe she's reading my lips.
Nope. She was reading me. Maybe saying something about the energy at the table opened up a portal for Jane to do her thing.
Who fucking knows? But I'm so thankful that she did.
Spoiler alert. After I got lunch with Jane after, oh, excuse me.
Spoiler alert. I got lunch with Jane after this so I can fill in some of those details as we go.
Oh, wow. Interaction number five. She's like, move over, ladies.
Yeah. I almost felt lightheaded. My brakes, in fact, were bad.
So bad that I felt them shuddering all of a sudden the previous night and all my fucking dashboard lights came on at once.
Nope, nope, nope, no thank you. Car stuff is always the worst.
It is. There was no screeching sound to warn me, and I never felt anything concerning before this.
It was just like, bam, like Emeril. Bam.
So I was like, what the fuck? Why would a complete stranger say anything about that?
Sure, plenty of people have bad breaks all the time, but it had just happened to me in a dramatic way with all the dash lights on.
So I was like, what the actual fuck? Whoa.
Yeah. When we got lunch a week later, she told me what she saw slash felt was me trying to stop my car, my brakes failing, me crashing into something and my car on fire.
Holy shit. She said that she was burning up and had to splash water on her face and couldn't even eat her breakfast.
She said she couldn't focus or hear anything else going on in the restaurant.
It was just me. No wonder this weirdo was looking right.
No wonder this weirdo was looking at me that way.
I was legit the only thing she could focus on.
And this is from a woman who does not call herself a medium and will not call herself a medium because she doesn't know what to do with these feelings.
Oh. That must be so overwhelming. I know.
I can't even imagine. So anyway, this changed my headspace and I could not recover.
I tried to make coffee, but it overflowed.
I couldn't move to clean it up or stop the machine.
I just stared blankly while everybody moved around me.
I sobbed in the parking lot because I was overwhelmed.
Like a complete stranger just told me not to drive my car.
Like how the fuck else do I react to that?
I called my mom to tell her I can't drive my car and I need her to come get me ASAP.
Like, mom, come pick me up. I'm scared. Times a million.
I love you. I left work early because the boss could go fuck himself anyway.
Hell yeah. holy shit, your brakes were on the floor.
How'd you get them that low? I know he sounded just like that.
Oh, man, that's exactly what he sounded like.
He was referring to my back brakes, which is the fuckery that I felt the day before.
I told him I had only felt it less than 24 hours before I towed it to him, and it happened suddenly, that I just needed to get to work that day, Sunday, and planned to drop it off to him on Monday.
He then added, Jillian, you also had no front brakes at all.
They had factory clips on them. They'd never been done.
They never been done. They never been done.
Never. I'm basically just like impersonating my mechanic.
Yeah, pretty much. What do you mean I had no front brakes?
Let me fucking know how this car passed inspections for 10 years.
What? I had it less than a year, so I wouldn't have ever known.
He was shocked at the status of my brakes.
I literally laughed out loud after I hung up the phone.
I could not believe it. Stranger weirdo was right.
Side note, my mom was like, don't you go telling your mechanic why you're getting it towed because not everybody is receptive to this.
When I picked it up, I asked if he was into the spooky spooky, and he laughed and said, I live in a 200-year-old house by myself.
I absolutely am. I love this guy. So I told him the story and he got the chills because this was so cool and spooky.
We're both thankful for and amazed by Stranger Lady Jane.
I love Jane. Me too. And I love your mechanic.
And I love that you got lunch with Jane.
And I love your mom. She's like, don't go telling people about this.
It's fucking crazy. I love it. When Jane and I got lunch, I told her what my mechanic said.
Then she said that it was extremely validating for her and she won't hold back when she feels something like this about a stranger.
Get ready for more chills. She told me that she's felt that feeling only three times in her life and that mine was the worst.
I repeat, the worst one. What an honor. I know.
What an onyx head. She told me that she usually holds back, but that's how bad her feelings were, how bad her feelings about me were.
She could not leave without saying something.
She gave me a memorial bracelet of someone in her life who had passed.
She predicted his death for 15 years, and exactly what she said was going to happen, happened.
Whoa. But somehow, mine was the worst feeling she's had.
That's fucking bonkers and terrifying. She said it would keep me safe, and I wear it every day.
Oh, I love that. This is a beautiful friendship that developed over breakfast.
She thanked me for believing in her. Then, get ready for it.
She told me they weren't even planning on getting food that morning.
She said she randomly pulled in the parking lot because she felt like she had to.
The other two women were like, what are you doing?
Because they were on their way to do something else.
She told them, we're going here and I don't know why yet.
Okay. I 100% absolutely genuinely believe that I am alive today because of her decision to go to that breakfast place.
I believe it. Wow. Yeah. I definitely have a new outlook on life.
Whenever I have a bad day or I'm stressed and overwhelmed or whatever else, I try to remind myself that I'm alive when I shouldn't be.
Wow. I hope you enjoyed my story. I'm so sorry it took so long.
Stop. And thank you for taking the time to read it.
Don't worry. I will keep it weird for sure.
Peace, love, morbid, Jillian. Holy shit, Jillian.
That's fucking Blancas. Holy shit. Do you want to read the little mini one?
Oh, sure. A mini, mini, mini, mini, mini listener tale.
I love it. You literally wrote that. Also, oh my God, I'm so glad that you're alive.
Just want to put that out there. All right.
So this is called a title, A Diamond, A Diaper.
So we're going to dive right in. My mom and my sister went to see a local medium in a large group setting, but I did not go with them on this day.
The medium looked at my sister for a long time and pointed to my mom and said something along the lines of, there's another one.
And my sister said, yes, I have an older sister.
The medium told them that my uncle wanted to say that he's watching over us and loves us very much.
That's adorable. I know. The uncle she was referring to was killed in a hit and run.
Oh, I'm sorry. But before he passed, he would always call to say, Uncle E loves you very much.
Oh, I love Uncle E. I do too. She also said that he leaves us messages when he can.
My sister believes that these messages are dimes because she gets them randomly everywhere in places that it's extremely odd to find a single dime.
And because her friend also receives dimes as messages from her deceased parents.
That's so cool. I love that. My mom was beside herself that he came through and my sister told me all about it when she got home.
So the next day I was at work as a nanny for this sweet little girl.
When she woke up in the morning, I changed her diaper as one does.
And what's in her diaper? A fucking dime.
What? Perfectly placed flat on her little tummy.
In my six years of childcare, I had never experienced something like this.
Weird ass things in pockets? Sure. I've pulled whole ass pine cones out of a three-year-old's pocket.
That was way too small to be holding a fucking pine cone and yet somehow did.
But a dime and a diaper? Come on. She wasn't yet big enough to be finding things and stuffing things in her own diaper.
So there was for sure some spooky things happening.
Since I'm the one that would always wake her up in the morning, I completely believe my uncle put it in there to make sure I got his message, since I wasn't there to hear it for myself the night before.
Oh. I paused in disbelief, chuckled, teared up, and was like, wow, that's so fucking cool.
He wanted to let me know he's looking out for me too.
But wait, it gets more spooky spooky. I checked the year on the dime.
It's the fucking year my uncle died. Dude.
So of course I kept the dime. I need to add that in that I completely cleaned and touched no part of the wet diaper.
And it's chilling in a safe spot on my dresser.
This is the original tale I wanted to share with you ladies and all the weirdos because it's really spoopy and silly.
But then I had a literal life-changing moment and that story is too good not to share in detail.
Hope you enjoyed them both. We did. We really did.
We totally did. Holy shit. We did. We did, Jillian.
No, those are fucking rad. And you know what?
I'm glad you didn't give up on us because we're here.
I know. I'm not giving up on us. We will never be away.
That was hilarious. Oh, man, Jillian, I'm really glad you're alive.
And I'm really glad that that was a clean dime.
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Why are there ridges on Reese's peanut butter cups?
Probably so they never slip from her hands.
Could you imagine? I'd lose it. Luckily, Reese's thought about that.
Wonder what else they think about. Probably chocolate and peanut butter.
Do you want to read the full next one? Yeah, I'll read the next one.
It's my listener tale somewhere in the subject line.
Hi, ladies. I'm going to keep my email short and sweet because my story is hella long and a PDF.
The names have been changed so you can call me Biff or Jethro or whatever you care to because it's a made up name anyway.
My story is in the attached PDF, 14 point and double spaced.
And fair warning, it's a lengthy one. I'm sending it in at the urging of my kids.
And whether you read it on the pod or not, I hope you enjoy it.
Love the show and take care. You too, Biff.
And they signed it Biff. I like Biff. I love it.
All right, Biff, let's see what you got.
So this says to the tune of Hard Knock Life.
It's a haunted house for us. It's a haunted house for us.
I am obsessed with you. That's the second time that we've harmonized today.
Yeah, we've been harmonizing all over the place today.
We're like Destiny's Child up in here. Exactly.
You're the Beyonce. My thoughts exactly.
I'm absolutely not. You don't want to we share the the title of beyonce are we both queen bee every every queen bee fan is like no the fuck you're not i'm not getting into that we're not no way no way the queen can keep her crown yeah we love absolutely we stand uh i do stand biff i stand biff the most so it says hey ladies long time listener first time caller here and i've got a story and i've got a story about my young at the time family living in a house that was well and truly haunted yes The happenings occurred over several months, so unfortunately, I'm going to have to ask you to set aside several minutes to read this story.
What's unfortunate about that, Biff? Nothing.
I kept the geographical details vague and changed any names used, or did I?
Yeah, no, I totally did. Because frankly, I've only shared this story maybe a half a dozen times since it happened, and I really just want some degree of plausible deniability due to my career path.
All right. Having said all that, buckle up, because it's about to go down.
Timber. Timber. As a relatively newly married couple with two kids, both under the age of two, we hadn't gotten to the point of being able to purchase a house and moved into a rental.
It was a great house built in the early 70s in an older part of an older town in an area absolutely thick with Civil War history.
I know what you're thinking, but I was like, whoa, I know what you're thinking.
But as far as I know, the Civil War angle played no part in our story.
Okay. Wiping the sweat from my brow. When we moved in, the owner of the house had only owned it for a few years, having purchased it from the estate of the previous owners, and we were only the second tenants to live in the house since he'd purchased it.
It was a great split level with a two-car garage, four bedrooms, a giant living room on each level, big yard, etc.
Awesome. We actually met the previous tenants before they moved out, and they were a nice middle-aged couple who had just relocated to the area and took a short-term lease while they looked for a home to purchase.
When we moved in, we basically took over the bottom level of the house because at the time, I was a rookie cop working third shift, and being on the lower level, there was less light to bother me when I would sleep during the day.
Generally speaking, I'd get home and have about an hour with the fam before my then wife, now ex-wife, would head off to work and drop the babies at their daycare.
Then we'd have a few hours in the evening after she got home before I headed to work.
Oh, that's tough. Yeah, that is tough. We hadn't been in the house for more than a month or so before weird things started to happen.
Occasionally during the day, I'd get woken up by somebody ringing the doorbell, only to find that when I opened the door, no one was there.
Thought they were just playing a little ding-dong ditch on you.
That's what I was thinking. Other times, I'd be woken up by the sound of the garage door opening and would think, till I checked my watch, that the wife had gotten home from work.
After waiting a few minutes for her to come in, I'd finally get up and open the door to the garage and find it empty.
After I'd mentioned it to my wife a few times, she actually called the previous tenants and asked them if they'd ever had any electrical issues with the doorbell or the garage door.
And they told her that they had. And that the landlord had sent electricians out multiple times and that none of the electricians had ever been able to find an issue with either device.
The previous tenant said that they ended up just making a joke out of it.
And whenever the doorbell would ring, they'd say, hello, Mrs. Murphy.
And when the garage would open, they'd yell back.
They'd say, welcome back, Mrs. Murphy. What?
Who is this Mrs. Murphy, you ask? I was just about to ask.
I was like, that's weird. Did they just name this ghost Mrs. Murphy?
I know you're asking because we sure as shit asked.
We were informed that the Murphys were the original owners of the home and that they had been an elderly couple who both passed away in the home, though several years apart.
Mrs. Murphy had lived by her house itself in the home for several years before passing, and the previous tenants had just made a sort of joke about the quote-unquote electrical faults in the house.
Oh, okay. Yeah. Fast forward a month, a couple of months to the Christmas season and the happenings are continuing and we've gotten used to them, sort of.
Still weird, but nothing we can't manage.
A member of my ex's family, we'll call him Tim, who had some pretty significant health issues had moved into one of our extra bedrooms so that we could keep an eye on him and do the little stuff like getting him his appointments, picking up prescriptions for him, all that good stuff.
You're good people. Whoa. I mean, it's the truth.
We didn't tell Tim anything about the doorbell or garage door when he moved in other than they go off sometimes because we weren't trying to talk about ghosts, especially not to somebody who's already not in the best shape physically.
And whenever he'd hear the doorbell or garage, he'd mumble and mutter about how it had to be some asshole kids or how the wind needed to knock it off, things like that.
Unfortunately, Tim wasn't with us for too long before his already poor health took a pretty significant turn for the worst, and he passed away in his sleep.
Being young and dumb at the time, my ex and I didn't really pay attention to the things he said in the days leading up to his passing.
I don't mean we ignored his medical concerns.
I mean, the other stuff that I've since learned is pretty common among people who are in the process of moving on.
I mean, how would you know? Yeah, that's actually something I also learned about recently.
Absolutely. Tim talked about seeing shadows and shadow people in his room a lot.
Mostly he would see them walking in and out of his room like they were checking on him.
But sometimes he'd see them standing around his bed almost as if they were waiting for him to finally pass.
We finally had an oh shit moment when Tim asked my ex, who is she?
And when my ex asked, who's who? He pointed to his recliner and said, that old woman using my chair.
Newsflash, there was no old woman using his chair.
Yes, there was. My ex played it off like he was just imagining things.
But since he ended up passing just a few hours after talking about the old lady in his chair, we were sure it was Mrs. Murphy appearing to help him move on as he passed.
I'm obsessed with Mrs. Murphy. Right? We were about to find out how wrong we were.
Never mind. Shortly after Tim's funeral, things began to get wild for us.
First, the babies began to have night terrors.
Oh, that's terrible. I started to get texts while I was working about how one or the other of the babies had woken up screaming bloody murder and nothing seemed to be able to calm them down for quite some time.
Weirdly, it was never both of them at once, and when my wife would go into the room they shared to soothe the screamer, the other one was sound asleep, despite being only a few feet away from the racket.
It got so bad that when my oldest was the one experiencing the terrors, he'd also knock on their bedroom door as if begging to be let out.
Oh, I don't like that. The doorbell and garage door began to do their thing more frequently, as in multiple times a day rather than a few times a week.
And then shit got really, really real. The daycare we'd been using had to close temporarily because the providers got sick.
It was a small little place, so it didn't take much for them to not have enough staff to meet the state requirements for staff-to-child ratio.
And I had to keep the babies home with me for a bit while we waited for daycare to start back up.
This meant I'd go home and go right to bed for an hour or two, then get up and hang out with my babies all day and hopefully get both of them down for a nap at the same time so I could catch a little bit of a nap.
And then once my ex got home from work, I'd go back to bed for a few hours before work.
You are a parent. It wasn't an ideal rest schedule for me, but hey, it's my babies.
And any parent knows sometimes you just got to suck it up and get through it.
You're a good parent. During this time frame, I noticed that our cat would, a few times a day, get up from wherever he happened to be laying and sit down in the middle of the hallway, staring down the hall towards the room that Tim had lived in prior to passing away.
No. Cool. I'm sure that doesn't mean anything at all.
Shit began to get moved around and knocked over, too.
Wait, I just mentioned the cat, so it's probably the cat, right?
Nah. The most memorable occasion was one morning I was sitting on my couch and heard a crash from the kitchen, which was behind the couch.
Cool. Cat must have knocked something over in there since he likes to run around on the counter.
The cat? Oh, the cat that's lying right next to me and has his head looking up back towards the kitchen with his ears perked up?
Guess it's not him after all. Nope. So I get up to go check out the kitchen and at first don't see anything because I'm looking at the countertops.
Then I realized that a small box full of little carvings that Tim had done in his healthier years is in the middle of the kitchen floor instead of being on the counter where it had been.
Ooh. Ooh. Around the same time that happened, my ex was going into Tim's room to clean and noticed that his computer was awake, despite nobody using the room for anything much less using his computer.
We were both gamers and had our own setups and had no need to use his.
Yet here was his computer, not only awake, but the screen showed the computer's notepad was open with a bunch of random letters typed on it.
It's probably the cat, right? I don't know.
At this point, the cat won't even go down the hallway anymore, let alone enter Tim's room.
He won't go past where the stairs come up.
He simply sits down and stares down the hall.
Oh, and you know when animals are not going somewhere, it's not good.
Yep. Don't worry, we're almost done. Oh, I'm worried, but not about being almost done.
Yeah, Matt. There's only two more events of note that happened before we had enough and broke our lease.
The first, the babies and I were all down for a nap and I was woken up by the sound of our doorbell being rung over and over and over again.
Oh my God, you must have been not only scared, but so pissed off.
Oh yeah. And it says, it sounded like somebody pushed the button, waited for the chime, then pushed the button immediately again, over and over.
I sleepily assumed that meant it was an actual person instead of Mrs. Murphy, but you guessed it.
Nobody was there when I opened the door.
Oh, wait a second. My oldest, still under the age of two, wasn't in bed with me when I woke up, was he?
What? Well, shit. After a few moments of looking in the usual places for him that he'd typically wander off to post-nap, the panic set in.
Oh, my God, no. Where the actual fuck is my kid?
I began tearing the house apart as I called my ex and then my mom, practically ordering them to get in their cars and get the fuck to our house because we had a missing baby.
Oh. About the time my mom was pulling onto our road, she lived only a few minutes away, I was on the phone with 911.
The dispatcher calmly informed me that they had just received a call from our neighbor directly across the street saying that she'd seen my baby in our driveway in his pajamas and had taken him in to get him out of the cold.
Oh my God. Sprinting across the street, I thanked our neighbor profusely as she told me she'd given him some juice and cookies.
I apologized for not having answered the door for her and explained that I must have been napping pretty hard on account of working nights.
She gave me one of the most baffled looks I'd ever seen in my life and informed me that given the steepness of our driveway and her age, she hadn't made any effort whatsoever to knock on our door or ring our doorbell and had just picked up our baby at the bottom of the driveway and taken him into our house.
Oh, cool. So the CliffsNotes of that little episode are that my not-even-two-year-old kid somehow managed to open a locked door, walk outside, close and re-lock the door behind him, make it to the end of the driveway where he got picked up by a neighbor, all while our doorbell was rung over and over again by somebody who was definitely not our neighbor.
That's great. Also, thank goodness... Seriously.
That somebody saw your baby out there. And the fact that he got out of a locked door.
Like, what? And then it locked behind him.
That's terrifying. Shortly after that incident, we had our last experience, following which we moved out.
At this point, those night terrors I mentioned a little while back, yeah, they'd gotten so bad that we were all sharing one bedroom most nights.
This particular night, we were trying to have a little adult-oriented fun.
Yeah. And had put the babies in their room for a bit.
All was quiet, so we left them in their room as we settled to watch a movie.
But watch a movie. Quote, unquote. Quote, unquote.
I see what you're saying. Watch a movie.
But before too long, the yelling started up.
They were Netflix intruders. They were. By this point, we'd learned to give it a few minutes because once in a blue moon, the terrors would stop after a few minutes and peace would be restored.
We parents understand that. Mm-hmm. Not this time, though.
The screaming got progressively louder and more insistent, along with the knocking.
The knocking actually got so bad that it sounded more like a full-grown adult hammering on the door rather than a toddler tapping on it.
And that's when we got up to get our babies.
As we made it down the hall, I was in the lead with my ex close on my heels.
And all of a sudden, I got a feeling of dread that I hadn't ever had before and haven't felt since."
Oh, my God. Ooh. I realized I had an overwhelming sense of dread with no obvious reason for it.
And I realized that whatever the hell was going on, we had no answer for it.
All of these thoughts seemed to happen in far less time than it took to write them down.
In the instant my hand touched the doorknob, I recognized that I wasn't able to turn the knob.
Like it had been locked and I simultaneously registered that the banging had ceased at the time my hand made contact with the knob.
My body is warming. I threw my shoulder into the door and cranked on the knob hard enough that I noticed the muscle and sinew of my forearm standing out like I was trying to open a jar of pickles or something.
And then out of the blue, the door popped open and I lurched into the room.
The first thing I realized was that the room was absolutely freezing.
I could see my breath. That's how cold it was.
That's a different kind of cold. Yeah, it is.
We found that out recently. We definitely did.
There was an electric feel to the air despite how cold it was.
Wow, this is like very real. Yeah. And finally, I realized that my oldest was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall and his blanket over his head.
What? A good 12 or so feet away from the door.
There's no possible way on God's green earth that that kid would have been able to go from beating on the door like a full grown adult to sitting with his back against a wall 12 feet away with a blanket over his head and sitting completely still.
No. It's just not possible. Sure isn't. I sprinted across the room and snatched him off his bed while my ex pulled the other baby from his crib.
Slamming the door shut behind me, we fled down the hall and back to the couch, where my ex informed me that she would go to her grave remembering the image of me stopping in the doorway of the room as she watched all the hair on the back of my neck stand up and a cloud of my breath appear in front of my face.
Oh my god, my whole fucking arms, my legs.
Full chills. Chills. Jesus Christ. Okay.
I do not blame you. Okay. While my ex and I split up, obviously, I'm happy to report that neither of my boys seem to have any memory at all of the events.
That's good. And while driving one of them to a friend's house recently and listening to your podcast, yeah, they're that old now, he asked if I'd ever experienced anything paranormal.
Hell yeah. Yay! Woo woo! Woo woo! I just hope that you enjoyed our tale and maybe, just maybe, experienced a bit of hair raising of your own.
Oh, yeah. Goosebumps on goosebumps on goosebumps, as you ladies sometimes say.
That's what I'm saying. I'd love to sign off with a keep it weird but not so weird that line, but I honestly can't even begin to come up with something and we'll leave it to the professionals.
Love the show and hope you ladies keep on keeping on.
So keep it weird but not so weird that. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you move into this random house and you think that, oh, wow, it's just like this lovely old house where Mrs. and Mr. Murphy passed away and that's okay because they're friendly ghosts, but really they're not.
And then the doorbell and the kid in the driveway and the fucking breath and the air and the no.
Don't keep it that weird. The doorbell and the kid and the breath and the air and the no.
And the no. Wow. Biff. Biff. Biff Jethro.
Our pal. That was amazing. Holy shit. My, oh my.
My, oh my is right. Goodness gracious. I felt all of the hair stand up on my entire body.
I felt goosebumps. Tweet. I'm not going to say that anymore, though.
Repost. Repost. There you go. Resend a snail mail letter.
Full. Forward that email. Forward that email.
My goodness. And you know what? That breath, like seeing the breath.
That happened to us recently. It did. I don't know if the episode.
God damn it. Yeah, I think that episode came up before this one.
When we were on the USS Salem. Yeah. We were in the mess hall, which you heard about.
And all of a sudden, I got, I like jumped a little bit.
Because I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and then I realized it was my own breath.
And you said it, too. She was like, oh, my God.
Yeah. And I don't think I really said it on the collab with Sam and Colby, but my legs on that ship were a cold that I have never experienced.
And you did say it on the video we did. Yeah.
So hopefully you'll be able to see that later in December, I think, at some point.
Yes. Yep. But yeah, that's a different kind of cold and you can feel it.
And you don't know it until you salt it.
It's a totally different temperature change.
Yeah, it's wild. And you're right, it does feel somewhat electric.
Yeah, it does. That was a really good way to explain it.
Yeah, like it doesn't feel like shocked.
It just feels like charged. Yeah, exactly.
Crazy. Ooh, Biff. That was a good one. That was a good one.
It's a haunted house for us. I love that you began that.
That's really good. My voice cracked there, lol.
Beautiful. 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-Zack 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+.
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.
Next one is Listener Tale Hit and Run and What?
Oh, no. I'm scared. And I see the pictures attached.
Oh, my goodness. And I hope that you are writing this tale to us.
My goodness. Also, I love your little thumbs up there.
Wowie kazowie. Oh, and jibbebe. All right.
Hey there, ladies. Please find attached a double-spaced putt-a-fuh along with the original Word document just in case there's any issue with formatting once it gets to you.
An icon. A straight-up icon. A king. If this makes the podcast, you may be responsible for making a grown man shit himself.
Wow, I've always wanted to be responsible for that.
If I am so lucky to have it read on an episode, here are a few things to know.
Firstly, you can use my name and all names that are mentioned in the tale.
Thank you. I didn't include anything that should be hidden or withheld.
Secondly, I named the files of the picture so that you get the good ones last and don't end on the messed up stuff.
Hopefully they get to you as intended. That was nice of you.
That was so nice of you. Allow me to state for the record that this story was not 11 pages until I double-spaced it and pumped up the font.
I initially felt bad about the length, but I'm sure you'd call me crazy for apologizing.
We sure would. You're crazy. You're crazy.
So here we go. Let's see. Hey, weirdos. Sorry, I had to.
My name is Thomas. Hi, Thomas. That's my dad's name.
And my nephew's. There you go. Yes, you can use my name.
I'm 25 years old, and I am from lovely Stockton, California.
A city name you have spoken before on the pod.
Go figure. Yep. We just had an arrest made in a serial killer case and are close neighbors to the horrors of the nationally known speed freak killers.
But believe it or not, neither of those are what I'm writing for.
The story I'm writing about is definitely not one I've heard you talk about.
Hell, my side of it was all but ignored by the local PD, but we'll get to that later.
Jeez. I hate that. First, as everybody does, I must ramble a bit about how goddamn great you ladies are.
Aw, man. Thank you. That's really nice. I listen every day while I'm at work.
It makes my day go by so much smoother than the times before Morbid was part of my day.
I've listened so much that Morbid, Ash, and Elena are three very commonly spoken words around my house.
I love that. My brother and I found the show around the same time and became obsessed.
The only time I don't listen is when I've caught up on all the new episodes and it isn't a release day, which I know may not be healthy given the content...
But I could easily be spending that time on some kind of something else or something.
So I guess I'm sort of doing all right. You are.
You're doing great. Alayna, give yourself a damn round of applause and a shameless plug for The Butcher and the Wren.
Thank you. You can buy it at the tinyurl.com slash The Butcher and the Wren.
Shameless plug. You never have to give yourself one because I will.
Always. I haven't read a book for pleasure in well over a decade.
And I just finished your book in about two and a half days.
Oh, that's amazing. My mom is reading it now and I can't wait to be able to talk to her about it.
Oh, I love this so much. I do too. This is so sweet.
Yeah, this just like made my whole month.
Thank you. This is like one of the best compliments you've gotten on the book.
It was really great. She's not quite the true crime addict that my brother and I are, but she has taken quite to the liking of you ladies.
Oh my God. She often walks around the house singing, many, many, many, many, many more beds.
I think that's pretty cool. I also do. Ash, congrats on yours and Drew's engagement.
It feels like a celebrity wedding, except I actually care about it.
Oh my god, thank you so much. I love it.
And before you negate that comment, shut up.
You are made to be friends with us. I know, you seriously were.
Just the way you speak. You're bigger now.
You're bigger than you know, whether you like it or not.
Therefore, it's a celebrity wedding. Oh my God, thank you.
I love you. I don't make the rules. Call TMZ, folks.
No, seriously, though. I hope you do have the wedding of your dreams.
And I certainly hope that Drew gets his way and you play Welcome to the Black Parade.
I will try to push that for Drew. You've heard it here first.
I signed off on it. Yes. Simply because that would be fucking epic.
The sing-along factor is phenomenal. Yes.
I was able to see MCR, My Chemical Romance, at Aftershock Festival, and that's got to be one of the largest sing-alongs I've ever witnessed.
Oh, that's so fun. Proof of an epic and totally wedding-worthy song.
Hell yeah. I know. Drew and his friends always said that they were going to play that.
Like, all of them would play it at their weddings.
Oh, yeah. And Drew's the first person to get married, so we get to start the kickoff.
I love that. All right. One more thing before I get on with the tale.
Fucking ghosts! Yes! After the episode with Tobias, I told myself that I needed to revisit ghosts after not having listened to them since, I don't know, freshman year, 2011, 2012.
Yeah. And we're like the same age. I don't know what idiotic brain cells just decided to reject ghosts back then, but those fuckers are certainly dead and not missed.
Hell yeah. The day of the Tobias episode, I listened to everything from Opus Epon... You take that over.
It's hard to say those words. They're Latin.
Opus Eponymous and Infestissumana. Infestissuman.
Infestiss... I'm stroking out. Infestissumum.
Is that what it is? Help. She's just lolling.
Ma'am. You did great. Okay. I don't know about that.
You did great. No, listen to those albums that I've just done a great job of selling.
Hardcore Ash, rock on. The next day, the rest of their discography. discography jesus christ is all i listen to and i've listened to them excessively ever since we are one i'm so glad i'm so glad i brought you back in hell yeah they're my go-to band at the moment an added bonus is that the guitar is that as a guitarist i get to learn these sick riffs as i familiarize myself with these songs that's wicked awesome i want to learn some sick riffs by an Exactly.
Yes. And I think that helps me grow as a musician, of course.
So I owe you both a huge thank you for not shutting up about Ghost.
Honestly, that thank you's got to go all the way to Elena.
I'll take it. That's Elena's favorite thing ever.
I'll take it. And subsequently giving me another incredible band to listen to.
I'm hoping their next tour brings them to Northern California so I can catch them in a concert.
Best concert I've ever been to and ever will be to.
I have to tell you that I was absolutely terrified to go to that concert because I'm not a hardcore girly.
But I had fun. I had a lot of fun. It's a blast.
They put on a fucking awesome show. And show.
And like even if like one of your friends is like a hardcore girly and you're not or hardcore guy-y.
Guy-y. And they want you to go with them, you should go because you'll have fun.
And during mummy dust, Tobias gets spicy.
Yes. And that does different things for different people.
It does. It sure does. Maybe if I'm nice enough, y'all will pull some strings for your boy and put North Cal in your best bud Tobias's ear, LOL.
I'll chat it up. Yeah, we'll do our best.
I'll chat with him. Anyway, on the table of time, I was moaned out.
On to the table of time, I was moaned. On the table of time.
You keep saying table. Why am I saying table?
On to the table of time. You know what it is?
There's a B underneath there, and my brain does that.
That's okay. Anyway, on to the tale, not the table, of the time that I was mown down in a vehicle versus pedestrian hit and run.
Oh, damn. There's a big twist, though. Two can play at that game, Alina.
So strap in. I love you. I will give a trigger warning.
I'll briefly touch on a rape and elder abuse.
Fucked up people out there. Truly. While it is a quick mention, it's there, and the words alone can bother some.
So if that's a group you've fallen, skip ahead to the next tale.
No judgment ever. I literally love you. You are the sweetest human.
Seriously. I literally want to be Oh my god, seriously.
My sophomore year of high school, February 20th, 2013.
It's a cold morning, and I've just begun my walk to school.
It's a two-mile walk, and I'm punctual, nearly to a fault.
What's that feel like? So I'm leaving a full hour before school starts.
So it's about 6.20 a.m. Keep that time in mind.
6.20 a.m. Okay. It's a cold morning, so I'm bundled in my new Minnesota Viking sweatshirt with my hood up, breaking the chilling wind that otherwise would leave my cheeks rosy and chapped.
I've rounded the corner of my street. and Golden Gate Ave.
I pass the neighborhood park, which is a bit run down and more so a homeless camp.
I approach the factory that's just across the street from the park and glance over into their lot to admire the large crane trucks and boom lift that they have on their yard, as I usually do.
Of course. I'm a nerd for machinery. So is my youngest.
I was just going to say, I'm giggling a little bit because it makes me think of my three-year-old daughter.
Exactly. She's a nerd for machinery as well.
She'll be like, Titi, does that excavator.
That's a front end loader. She knows all of them.
I'll be like, is that a back loader? And she's like, no.
Like that's an excavator. She's like, that's a crane truck.
Crazy woman. I'm taking a bit longer to look today since there's not a soul in sight.
No traffic to be of any concern or so I thought.
Oh no. In the blink of an eye and without hearing anything, I am struck, oh, struck from behind in the left leg and hip.
Eek. Oh. Oh. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. As I dust myself off and rub my forehead discovering the abrasion from a very unwelcome smooch from the pavement, I don't know what I should do.
But I do know that I'm not showing up to school a bloody mess with a nice tear in my otherwise brand new jacket.
Oh my god. So what do I do? Call an ambulance?
Probably a smart idea. Call the police to report a hit and run?
They've got the same number. Haha. That's two smart tasks in one call.
They've got the same number. What did I actually do?
I called my mom. I get that. I mean, that's what I would do.
I get that. Well, I wouldn't call my mom.
I would have called my mom. Honestly, I probably would have called you.
Now, mind you, just as any kid my age was, I had a knack for playing hooky.
Chronic stomach aches earned me plenty of days off at home.
Quote, unquote, Yeah, quote-unquote. Those were the days.
Oh, yeah. I'm sure she did. She was like, you know what?
I got to work. She's like, I knew exactly what you were up to.
So of course, when she picks up the phone, she's going to think I'm lying and tell me to go to school, right?
Not this time. This time I tell her I'm going home.
I just got hit by a fucking car. I'm all bloody and torn up.
I'm going home. Oh my God. I would have lost my mind.
I love that you're just like, I'm on my way home.
I just literally got lurched from a fucking car.
So I'm going to go home. I just got hit by a fucking car.
She flipped. Yeah. She panicked, knowing that in my voice she heard the truth.
I'm hazy, but conscious. Nevertheless, my mom is worried sick that I'm concussed and might wander off thinking that I'm headed home.
Your mom is a mom. Your poor mom. She hangs up and calls it in.
She can't give them my exact location since I wasn't very clear about that.
So she calls me back and tells me to call an ambulance myself so they can ping my phone and to be sure to tell them to take me to St.
Joseph's Medical Center. I finally do that and I take a leisurely seat on the curb at the intersection nearest my date with a bumper.
My irrationally logical ass figured they needed an intersection as though there would be another bloody teenager roadside at 6.30 in the morning.
You never know. Yeah, they sure did. Remember that part about my mom working two towns over?
Well, it's about a 20-ish minute drive on the highway, factoring in the commuter traffic to and from the Bay Area.
The intersection I was picked up at was about a 5 to 10 minute drive from the hospital that we were going to.
My mom managed to pull into the ambulance entrance to the ER right behind the ambulance that took me there.
That's some real mama bear turned Dale Earnhardt shit.
Do you know who is that? He's a race car driver.
Oh, fuck. Race chaser. That's where I'm at.
I get checked in, go through all the good stuff, all the routine scans and vital checks, etc.
After being told I could get up, I sat up after lying down for several hours and barfed up some nice bloody material.
Luckily, it was just ingested blood from my sinuses running down my throat.
Happens when your nose partially breaks your fall when your hands aren't there for you.
Ouch, my nose hurts. Had a great time in the trauma center.
10 out of 10 would not recommend having gravel.
Oh, having a gravel-packed wound. Oh, debrided on your forehead.
Eek. That shit sucked. A gravel-packed wound.
I can feel that. Oh, I know. I'd rather just...
Eek. I'd rather shit in my hand and collapse than go through that again.
I'm going to use that. You're my favorite.
The good part. Seriously, you are the best.
The good part is that aside from the hematoma and abrasions on my forehead and left leg, the impact that left my roughly 200-pound ass flying through the air with the seam of my pants blown apart left me virtually unscathed.
Oh, good. No internal injuries miraculously.
Wow. Doctor told me that my size was my friend that day.
Oof. He said that if I weren't as stout as I was, I'd likely be dead or seriously injured.
Jeez. Big reason I always say that body standards are horseshit.
I've never had a normal BMI, and I've never been unhealthy because of my weight.
And in this case, my stature is what saved my life.
Hell yeah, my friend. And that happened in our last case, too.
Yep. Boom. Or not our last case, but our last batch of listener tales.
Yeah. Ready for that twist? Yeah. Yeah.
Ooh. Ooh. The police I made my report with said that cameras on the factory I got hit in front of were decoys and that with no description, I was basically asked out on catching the guy.
What the hell? On paper, that's where things end, but I can assure you there's more.
Ooh. Reminder of that trigger warning. On February 20th, 2013, at approximately 6.10 a.m., not 6.20.
Ten minutes before. Familiar. A call was made to the police reporting a large commotion, including screaming from an elderly neighbor's home, you guessed it, Golden Gate Ave.
It would turn out that a man in the neighborhood had just raped and murdered his elderly grandmother.
Oh, my God. What a Fucking asshole. That's a sick individual.
Oh, man. Stop. Stop. South of the grandmother's house.
Holy shit. Since I couldn't give a description, I wasn't able to ID anybody.
But do the math, ladies. Yes. I know without a doubt that I was the second victim of the day.
Absolutely you were. Local PD and sheriffs wouldn't do the same two plus two on that one.
Are you kidding me? That's ridiculous. But I sure did.
And I find peace in knowing that whether my name is on his list of victims or not, that bastard that hit me is rotting in a prison cell.
Good. I often think about how cold you have to be to do that to a family member.
And then, what goes through your head after that that makes you steal a car and go on a spree running people over?
Jesus. So yeah, that's the story about how I was mown down by a rapist and murderer on the way to school.
If this makes the podcast, then just know that I am freaking out, likely at my desk when it drops.
Oh my god, I love that. And if it did, then there's only one way to go out.
Yes. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories, lady, and here's your friendly reminder to keep it weird.
But not somewhere that you rape and murder your grandmother, leave her in a wheelbarrow, and steal her car to go run over a bunch of innocent people minding their own business.
Definitely do not keep it that weird. P.S.
I've included some photos of me the day it happened.
Yeah, you did. As well as some current photos of my mom, brother, and I. I named the files to ensure you get the good ones last.
The best picture is a bonus picture of my adorable nephew Weston.
Wes, for short. Named after the late, great horror icon Wes Craven.
Shut up. Shut up. That's an icon. That's fucking awesome.
That's an icon. And an awesome fun fact about Wes is that his mom's first room in the maternity ward was room 1428, which is the address of the house on Elm Street, which was home to Wes Craven's beloved Freddy Krueger and later Nancy Thompson.
What? Why are you and your family so iconic?
The coolest. That's fucking rad. Holy shit.
If that wasn't meant to be, I don't know what is.
No. It also just so happens that the first major horror release after he was born was the newest Scream movie.
Oh my god, stop. The latest installment in the franchise which Wes Craven created.
You mean the Radio Silence one? that oh my god your baby nephew is so what a story what photos what a family seriously i'm just screaming my god i cannot believe that you got yeeted by a car and just were like yeah i'm gonna go home Yeah.
My God. And look at this picture of you just standing on the road.
And just with a thumbs up. Just like, ouch.
Oh, my God. Your mom is adorable. Oh, my God.
Your poor face. I love your family. I love your baby nephew.
And I'm obsessed with everything. And we love you.
And we love you. I know. Oh, my goodness.
Thomas, I'm really glad that all you got was a scrape.
Seriously. I'm very happy about that. My goodness gracious.
I've been saying that so much this episode.
You guys are... I don't even know. I don't even know.
I don't even know. All right. Wow. Okay.
You're the best. You are. Holy shit. Why don't we read one more?
Yeah. Which one should I do? Maybe The Time I Survived Being Pulled Over by a Police Impersonator.
Yeah. Yeah. I think that's a good one. Yeah.
All right. Let's see. Hi, Ash and Elena.
Hi. Here is my listener tale. I attached it to this email as a double-spaced PDF.
Hope to hear it on the pod. And if not, that's okay, too.
It's on the pod. Whatever you want. You guys are like, it's okay if you don't.
I'm like, you're so sweet. You guys are the best.
Just wanted to say thank you, ladies, for the awesome advice and research done on these true crime tales.
Because I used your advice to save myself from a sticky and scary situation with a fake cop.
Oh my gosh. I'm so glad you got out of that.
So am I. Thanks. Thank you for listening.
Keep it weird. It says, Dear Ash and Elena, my name is Tori.
And you can use my name because it is morbid.
Because it is morbid. I cannot read today.
Me either. Please excuse me. We're always here to help each other out, though.
Because of Morbid, I'm safe in writing this listener tale to you weirdos today.
No, I just want to say, because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does.
Listen to the Wizard of Oz episode. It's a good one.
Shameless plug. Shameless plug of our episodes.
That is a great episode. I'm like, it is.
I know. It was fun to do. Last September, I went on a whim to the second day of my favorite musical festival in Oakland, California.
Ooh, California-themed. There you go. I went with a girl I had met the day before and was practically riding solo the entire event.
The festival was magical, and my new friend and I were on cloud nine when we left somewhere after 10 p.m., She was going to either take BART, Bay Area Rapid Transit, or a rideshare back to her place in Dublin, California, and I offered to give her a ride home since I had my car.
We chatted up a storm and shared stories about our day.
The ride went smooth and we were having such a great time that when we arrived at her gated community, we sat outside in my old black Jeep Compass, talking each other's ears off.
Eventually, I glanced at the time and realized it was close to midnight and I still had just over an hour to drive home.
We said our goodbyes and I watched her walk up to her condo and close the door behind her.
With her safely inside, I texted my roommate, letting him know that I was on my way home and set off on my drive.
Wow, you're a good person. You're making sure she's in there.
Minutes after leaving the Stepford-esque community, I saw bright headlights behind my car.
Odd. I thought since it was close to midnight on a Sunday and I was in a sleepy neighborhood where no other cars or people were present.
The car was riding on my bumper and I couldn't make out the type.
I kept my eyes on the bright headlights through my rearview mirror because I'm a true crime nut and my spidey senses were on edge as I waited at a solo red light.
Oh, the worst. The light turned green and my urge to put my foot on the gas and hightail it out of the street was immense.
I didn't act on it. Play it cool, play it cool, I thought to myself over and over again, still keeping a watchful eye on the car behind me.
Moments later, the white light was flooded with blues and red, but there was no sound accompanying it.
It appeared that I was getting pulled over by a cop.
Even though I was a little irritated, I pulled up to the curb right on my right and put the car in park.
This cop had no reason to pull me over. My tags were up to date, and I hadn't sped through the light.
I made no turns, so this cop couldn't be pulling me over for a mundane reason, such as not using my blinker while turning.
Suddenly, another bright white light assaulted my eyes, and a male voice said, "'How are you doing this evening, miss?'
I shielded my eyes from the light with my left hand and used the other to crack open the window slightly.
"'Miss, do you know why I pulled you over this evening?
Can you please step out of the car?' The male voice, presumably a cop, asked.
The hair on the back of my neck was standing up on edge, and a cold chill ran over my body.
I still couldn't see this man's face, and when I glanced up in my rearview mirror, the car was still obscured by the headlights.
Let me pause here to say that I am a true crime nut.
Seriously. Seriously. And that he immediately asked you to step out of the vehicle.
Get out of the car. Without thinking, I responded, no, sir.
Why am I being pulled over? Can I see some ID?
I'm fist pumping. Hell yeah. I'm fist pumping for you right now.
Yep, she is. There was a moment of pause and with his black mag light, he tapped on my window.
I could see that his hand was white, but that was all I could make out.
He ignored my request to see his badge and spoke again.
Miss, roll this window down and show me your license and registration.
Then please get out of the car. You are driving erratically and I need you to take a field sobriety check.
No. He demanded. I swear I could hear the agitation and impatience in his voice.
"'Miss, I can smell the alcohol on your breath.
Get out of the vehicle now.'" No, no, no, no.
"'His voice was now a growl. Everything this man was saying was a lie.
I hadn't had anything to drink besides soda and water at the festival, and there were no drugs or weed in my system.
The only smell in my car was the remains of sweet berry nicotine vape smoke.'"
My body tensed and a flood of morbid memories came rushing into my mind.
The hillside stranglers pretended to be police.
Ted Bundy did too. And I'm sure you ladies know countless other scumbags have all pretended to be police.
It was easy enough to get a mag light off Amazon and probably just as easy to get some sort of police light attachment for a car.
Which it shouldn't be. Like why should it be that easy to get a police light for your car?
Exactly. Nope. Cops don't do that, and on the off chance he was an actual cop, it still wasn't good that he wasn't letting me see what he looked like or what his badge number was.
"'No, let me see your badge. I'm not getting out of the car,' I said back.
I was trying my best to keep my voice hard, but not hysterically.
I wasn't going to give this guy any ammunition to use against me to try to force his way into my car.
All of a sudden the light started to pull away.
"'Miss, you're forcing me to call this into the station.'
When officers arrive, you will be removed from the vehicle and taken in for insubordination and DUI.
He threatened. Okay. I said nothing back, although the slurs and angry speech in my head were swirling.
The dark shape of his body was swallowed by the lights of his headlights, and I couldn't see anything.
I was frozen and kept my eyes glued to those headlights.
Then, the vehicle behind me reversed away suddenly and peeled out down the street.
What? Good. Good. She told me that there were no officers on duty in that area and that she was going to send two officers to my location to take my statement and do a wellness check on me.
Oh, God. We stayed on the phone until the officers came and I was able to corroborate that these were the ones the dispatcher had sent and not some goons.
I know, that's the other thing. You must have been terrified.
The verified police officers escorted me to the entrance of the freeway, and I took off like a bat out of hell and didn't look back.
I immediately called my roommate, who was irritated that I wasn't home yet.
He immediately softened when he heard my sobs as I spewed out the story of what just happened.
I got home without another incident, but I'm sure I was speeding the entire drive home.
Nothing ever came from that night, and I received no follow-up from the Dublin police on the matter either way.
Jesus. What the fuck? Non-true crime fans say that I'm morbid and weird for having such dark and seemingly useless information in my head.
That's not useless. But I'm here to say that because I listen to you and others like you, I'm pretty sure I survived a run-in with somebody pretending to be a police.
Yep. I agree. Thanks for being my favorite podcast and giving me the information I needed to get out of there as safely as possible.
Keep up the fantastic work and always keep it weird.
You too, Tori, because it saved your life.
Holy shit, Tori. I'm really glad that you are that smart.
Me too. And that's the thing. Everybody always jokes that everybody has a true crime podcast, but look at it out here saving people's lives.
Saving lives. Saving lives, okay? Making people paranoid.
That's what we do. Yeah, we keep it that weird, baby.
We do. But guys, holy shit. Yeah, this was a good batch of tales.
It always is. This was wild. Like, my goodness.
These were like... Yeah. We have an endless batch of outrageous tales.
I want like an endless batch of cookies.
Right? And tales, obviously. And tales. But you said batch and then I thought cookies.
Cookies to eat. While reading the tales.
Yeah. Yeah. I like it. I like that. Well, as always, guys, we love you so much and thanks for listening to our rambles.
And thanks for listening. And we hope you keep it weird.
As weird as all the people in these tales because they were great and I love them.
I love them too. Awesome. You guys rule.
You never troll. We can't reach the thing to turn off the recording.
But now I reached it, so bye. 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.
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