Hey weirdos, Elena here. If you're looking to kick back and relax with Morbid, Wondery Plus is the way to go. it's like having a cozy seat in our haunted mansion no ads just you and early access to new episodes You can join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or in Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
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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.
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Hey, weirdos. I'm Elena. I'm Ash. And this is Morbid, the listener episode.
Thank you. Brought to you by you, for you, from you, with you and about you.
It's all about you guys. Let's do this. But before we.
Do this. It is Thanksgiving, so happy Thanksgiving.
Whoop whoop. It's actually not even Thanksgiving anymore because it's 1230 midnight.
But that's okay. And if you guys are looking to start your holiday shopping early, which I'm sure you are because it's Black Friday technically. go on our website morbidpodcast.com and in our merch store there are two existing shirts that have been there. and two new designs that are 20% off if you use the special Black Friday. promo code morbid and that is going to be good through cyber monday so go on there and check it out And after this, there's going to be a ton more new designs and styles in the store.
So keep looking out for that. These four shirts are on sale right now, 20% off.
So go check that out. And the new design was actually done by one of our very own weirdos. the wonderful, insanely talented Miranda.
You can find her on Instagram at moxnoxmoon.
That's M-O-X-N-O-X-M-O-O-N-E. She's so talented and we love her.
We love her design and we hope you love it too.
So go check it out. One more little order of business.
If you have not already, go get your tickets to our Gramercy show on January 30th, 2020.
In New York City, there are only a handful of tickets left, guys, which is insane.
But go get them. It's going to be littier than a tidier.
It sure is. So go get them. Do it. Do it.
You won't, but I hope you do. You're totally going to.
And now, without further ado, let's get into listener stories, shall we?
I think we shall. Let's do it. Okay, I'm going to start because I have a really long one in front of me right now.
And we fought to the death and I died. But she's still here.
Don't worry about it. So mine is called, I think I was almost murdered by a bald-headed phantom man.
LOL. LOL. What a great one to start with.
He's just really setting us up here. This is from M. So hey, M.
Hey weirdos, before we start, please may you call me Mthroat because I'm a paranoid bitch.
So no spooky phantom man who may or may not have existed can hunt me down and finish what he may or may not have intended.
I'm still unsure if he was a real person.
Hold on to your arseholes. Shit's about to come loose.
You sorry. That's amazing. That was kind of gross, but thank you.
I love you guys. You're genuine and hilarious and I really appreciated how detailed yet respectful you are of every case you share.
Thank you so much. Keep up the good work, ladies.
And if you decide to share my story, thank you muchly.
You're so welcome. Thank you, Muchly. You're welcome, Muchly.
Kids need to know that they should never walk home from anywhere alone after dark.
I agree with that. Hopefully other weirdos listen to my story and say, yeah, what the fuck, mate?
You're a dumbass. I love it. Okay, this bit will be a bit of background about me, but this is likely to be a long one, so feel free to skip over this part.
I won't do it. We could never. Never ever.
I'm 22 years old and from the middle of fucking nowhere in the depths of the British countryside.
That's awesome. Yes, I have an accent like the one you hear on Downton Abbey.
That's literally exactly what I was wondering.
Me too. and from the twats that run the UK.
Our countries both have shitty leaders. Ain't that nice?
Anyways, I digress. Basically, I'm young, dumb, and British.
Also a journalist. Not the fun kind that cracks the code and leaks official documents incriminating arseholes everywhere.
But the talking about stocks and shares and finance things, it pays the bills.
I love it. I get it. I moved to study at a university in a big city for three years, and boy, did it open my eyes to the world.
For example, it was the first time I could take order takeaway takeout for the Americans. and have it delivered because I legitimately lived on a farm with nothing else in a three-mile radius.
So dominoes wouldn't deliver, insert crying face emoji.
That's tragic. I've never felt anything more in my life.
On to the spook spook things. universe yeah i just felt really excited i was like that was like with You just did a full body roll and went, ooh.
Sure did. I'm real excited, Em. So university is expensive as fuck and debt is the spookiest thing of all.
Sure is. I feel you so hard on that. and go to gigs.
I don't know if Americans call them that, but concerts?
Yeah, sure. We know what gigs are. For free, and then write reviews.
That sounds like an awesome job. Basically, I got to see all my favorites and get super good seats.
Ideal, right? Yeah. I had been working for this online mag for a few months when I landed my first arena tour ticket.
Depeche Mode. Holy shit. Shut the fuck up.
I'm so jealous right now. I'm a huge 1980s music fan, so it was... Oh, so I was...
I thought it was like, so I was amazing.
So I was buzzing. My mom was so jealous.
Oh my god, that's adorable. Love it. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I traveled to the arena and went straight to the front of the line because journalist privileges.
The reviewers and photographers were all seated on one of the side banks right up close to the stage.
The general audience milled around in the center in the most polite mosh pit I had ever seen.
I've never seen a polite mosh pit. Gently bumping into each other in time with Darude Sandstorm. which, by the way, played upwards of 20 times on a loop as everyone just filtered in to find their seats.
Oh my god, that sounds like a nightmare. yeah i don't like when songs play more than once i'm just picturing it It's just a bunch of people doing those fake like light balls with their hands.
That sounds like everything I ever went to.
I hate that. So the arena probably fits around 15,000 people.
So that was a lot of sandstorming. I agree too much.
My row is completely empty and only a few reviewers slash photographers were scattered in the seats around me.
I thought it would fill up more, but this was the third night in a row for Depeche Mode that had played this venue, so I figured most reviewers had seen the show already.
The concert started and I sat back and enjoyed.
Everything was fine apart from the two older women sat behind me who were bitching about their co-worker Susan, who had gotten pregnant by Darren, the editor.
Fucking Darren, am I right? It's always Darren.
As much as I love a tea sipping session, same.
It's not the time, Karen. It was an annoying backdrop to an otherwise great performance.
I eventually noticed there was a guy sat in the aisle seat on my row, which put him about 10 or 12 seats away from me.
He was on my left and the stage was to my right.
Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Halfway through the show, when the two gossiping women had thankfully left to go top up their vino and pop to the loos.
I love this person right now with their British way of speaking.
I love it. What is vino? Vino is wine. Wow.
Wow. I actually knew that. You just asked just cause.
No, I'm really tired. No, it's real late guys.
But I love how you say lose because that's not an American thing and I love it.
I was scrolling on my phone looking at cute puppy videos as per usual.
When I saw the flash of a camera going off in my peripheral vision, I looked over to my left and saw the guy holding up his camera.
As it was the interval, Depeche Mode wasn't on stage, and I'm pretty sure it's common courtesy not to have Flash on at events, question mark.
So it was obvious straight away he was taking a photo with me in frame.
I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but let me tell you, I judged the fuck out of him. because ew, I could instinctually tell he was a pervert.
Ew, I hate this. I hate when you have a feeling about someone and you just know that you're right.
Oh, I'm not into this at all. he was over six feet in height and skinny as a french fry his skin was pale enough that it could be lit up in technicolor by the lights from the staging area He was bald and his eyes were dark and sunken into his face.
He looked ill or dead. Ugh. I just got full bod chills.
I don't like this. This sounds like Slenderman. he was dressed nondescriptly but the dark clothes definitely accentuated how pale he was i actually feel him on that I was going to say I feel personally attacked because when I go to shows, I definitely light up with the colors that are there.
I feel personally victimized by this description.
He was the kind of man you'd think was creepy if he came up to you and started chatting, but otherwise you probably wouldn't notice he was there.
I'd have given him the benefit of the doubt if I didn't notice his camera.
That I understand. I assumed he was a photographer because he had no notepad and obviously he was holding that pesky camera of his.
But rather than one of those professional spaceship-esque kind of cameras with a really wide lens...
He was using one of those three megapixel ones grandma would use back in 2005 when you went on a seaside holiday and every photo would come out blurry.
Definitely not a camera for a professional.
But what was weirder was that his camera hadn't been pointed at the stage.
It had been pointing at me. Nope. Don't love this.
I'd be like, turn your motherfucking camera away from my motherfucking mug.
I would literally walk up to him, take the camera and just smash it on the ground and be like, no pictures.
No pictures, please. He noticed me looking at him and smiled.
All his teeth were gold, like the robber guy from Home Alone, but every single tooth, hello?
Sir, get out of my presence. I hate this so much.
I hate this man. He took another photo of me actually taking the time to zoom in and focus it.
The audacity. They wrote that and I agree.
I'm dead serious. He looked me dead in the eye, still smiling with his gold ass teeth.
They did not write that, but I said that.
And I looked back at him with a gormless expression because I wasn't fucking processing.
Then I said, can I help you? Because I'm British and politeness is all I have in stressful and or creepy situations. i'm screaming em i fucking love you he took another picture and replied you'll do No, I'm leaving.
I'm out. I'll do. I'll do you the fuck out of here, bro.
I'll do you one. I'll fucking kill you, bro.
Try me. Try me, bro. There was something about his voice.
It was really raspy, like he was a heavy smoker.
But he said it with a leering tone. Like one of those shitty guys who approaches you in a bar and gets mad when you reject him.
You know the type. Yes. His name is Chad.
Always. But excuse me, sir, I'll do for what?
I had no fucking idea what that meant and was understandably freaked out.
Instead of climbing over to the row behind me and getting the fuck out of there, I stayed where I was because Karen and her friend were back and the guy sat back down in his seat at the end of the aisle.
Don't do it, boys. I agree the second half of the gig started and I definitely wasn't enjoying myself anymore understandable I was intensely aware of him and my whole body was one big goose bump at this point.
But it gets worse because this psycho dude starts edging closer.
Nope. No. Every time I looked over, he was another seat closer and the closer he got, the more I could smell him.
I've smelt a few dead animals in my time.
Duh, I grew up on a farm. So I recognize the scent of decay, and that's what he smelt like.
Why? Why? This bro is dead. Oh, because you can't get rid of the dead ones.
There's nothing you can do. Shit is straight up decomposing next to her right now.
But if you're a ghost, why do you still smell?
I don't know. If you're from Africa, why are you white?
Not always a mean girl connection somewhere.
Let's see. Maybe he had an intense case of case of halitosis.
I don't know. But my true crime and paranormal obsessed brain started screaming.
Dead demon men. Honestly, that's what I think.
I'm going to be honest. The worst thing, no one around me seemed to notice he was being a total creep.
In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all.
I don't think he existed. I'm fucked up.
The two ladies behind me had been close enough that they should have noticed his creepy behavior or smelled his stench.
But they were still completely engrossed in their theories about whether Susan's husband would find out her baby wasn't his.
And I refuse to believe anyone could be so self-absorbed not to notice this was happening.
Maybe they were. I don't know. You'd be surprised.
By this time, Depeche Mode was singing Personal Jesus' great song.
Oh my god. Love it. I was praying and I'm not even religious.
Thou father who art in heaven, get me the fuck out of here, please.
I love you. I love you so much. He settled in the seat next to mine and turned the camera as if he wanted to take a selfie with me.
I was beyond done with this shit before he could put his arm around my shoulders.
I said, excuse the fuck out of you. Yeah, you did.
You did it. And jumped up from my seat. I basically hurtled over it and into the laps of Karen and her friend who stared at me like I was insane. again no mention of the guy next to me I then proceeded to rush along the aisle and out of the arena as fast as my short ass legs could carry me I was freaking out.
Unfortunately though, I needed to get the train home and the train station was a 15 minute walk away.
It was almost 11 p.m. and the arena was slap bang in the middle of a more residential part of the city.
So it was quiet. And as it wasn't quite the end of the show, taxis hadn't pulled up at the taxi rank.
I should have waited. I would have only had to hang around out there for 10 minutes.
The area was well lit, and there would have undoubtedly been security cameras so close to such a massive venue.
But like the dumbass I am, I started jogging down the road, figuring that staying in one place for too long was risky.
I'm not fit enough to maintain that pace for more than 30 seconds same.
So this slowed to a speed as to a speed walk as I headed down dim streets and began my panic trek to the train station.
I'm like getting anxiety for her. I know I hate when I can like picture them in my head and I'm like, I know I'm like, oh man, I want to help you.
I was constantly looking over my shoulder and I was shaking so badly I couldn't hold my phone still enough to scroll through and pull up my boyfriend at the time's number to call him.
And then I heard footsteps. Everyone take a deep breath.
Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Big old nope.
I had just cut through a deserted alleyway.
I know, so dumb. She wrote it, I didn't say it.
And was walking through the city square, which was deserted apart from the bronzy statue of the late Queen Victoria. who I thought was 100% about to watch my death or something.
I was crying at this point, and my heart felt like it was crawling its way up my throat.
Oh my God. Also, you're painting a very vivid, wonderful picture here.
I looked over my shoulder and saw there was a tall, shadowed figure just 10 feet behind me.
Slenderman? Oh, hey, I thought he looked like Slenderman.
Foreshadowing. Great minds. Slenderman? Hello?
No, for real. I just knew it was the creepy guy from the gig.
Yeah. Yeah. but he was following me i could hear him chuckling oh i hate it hate it i never want anything like this to happen to anyone No, I'm really upset for you.
I turned the fuck around and lungs be damned started sprinting.
Yes. I could hear booted feet pounding against the cobbled road behind me now.
And I screamed. loud smart girl but there was no one around to hear me i didn't know what else to do so i just kept running Phone in hand, it felt like one of those nightmares where you try and outrun the monster but you're just moving in place.
Oh, I have those all the time. I feel like it was getting closer and closer any second and he would be grabbing my shoulder.
Hey Siri, call insert ex-boyfriend's name here.
I screamed because bitch, I didn't have time to die.
Oh fuck. I should have called the police, obviously, because my ex lived 40 minutes out of the city and what could he do against my attacker?
I guess I just reasoned I could let him know I was about to be murdered and the police could use the call in some way.
I don't know. It was dumb. The phone was on loudspeaker, but boy didn't even pick up the phone, arsehole.
True arsehole. Straight up arsehole. I rounded a corner and ahead I could finally make out the lights of the train station.
Oh my God. I'm just like, go girl, go. I could no longer hear footsteps.
I dared to slow down and look over my shoulder.
The dude was standing at the top of the high street. about 50 feet away now, swathed in shadows.
His head was tilted at an unnatural right angle, like he had just snapped his own fucking neck.
Oh, nope. Nope. What the fuck? I am spooked.
No, I'm not okay with this at all. I blinked several times and shook my head because I had to be imagining this shit.
I started backing away again, facing him so I'd know if he came for me.
I knew it was the same guy from B... Because in his hand was a camera.
He lifted it up and there was a flash in the dark as he took one more photo.
This is a fucking movie. I have like a score playing in my head.
Like this is very intense and very vivid.
Some other dude in an anorak which was tightly drawn around his face walked past me and A can of beer in his hand as he staggered along.
He looked at me like I was insane. I guess I did look crazy.
I was walking backwards, crying, panting and babbling to Siri in a messy panic.
At this point, I definitely thought I'd lost my mind and was seeing things.
The train spotter and Iraq man gave me a whole wide berth as he walked past and muttered something like crazy bitch rather than stopping to ask if I was okay.
Fuck that guy. Fuck all these guys. Seriously, what the fuck?
I wanted to warn him about the crazy dude ahead, but when I looked back at the top of the high street, there was no one there.
I knew he was real because my vision was still weird from the last flash of the camera.
I couldn't have imagined it. I haven't experienced anything like that before or after this.
Hella spook. I made it to this train station and got home safely.
My ex finally called me back. He had been watching TV and didn't think picking up the phone to his girlfriend was worth pausing Rick and Morty.
Um. Fuck that. I mean Rick and Morty is a great show.
Fuck that. believe me when I told him that what had happened and was generally unsympathetic.
I'm glad he's an ex. I stayed with him for another few months before realizing I was worth more and dumped his ass.
Yes. Listen ladies, you're always worth more.
You're a queen. To this day I have kept the full story of what happened that night to myself, mainly because I didn't understand it.
I thought I was crazy and convinced myself I was overreacting.
Written down, it sounds completely unbelievable.
We believe you. I did call the venue to report the creepy guy and told them the row that we were sat on when everything went down.
Get this, they told me no one else had been logged in the system to sit in that row.
Either he had seen me and decided to sit in an unassigned seat on the same row or no one else had known he was there at all.
I don't know which theory is creepier. Honestly both of those are really fucking scary.
Either way I'm fucking terrified. After that I went to the concert alone.
After that, I never went to a concert alone.
I still have nightmares where I can smell decay and see the silhouette of a tall, skinny French fry demon. man following me silently like a phantom the flash from cameras in the dark still creeps me out And that, my friends, is my long-ass story.
Thank you for your patience and I hope it was worth the read.
Thank you so much for providing hours of entertainment to the thousands just by being your kick-ass selves.
All the best, M. Holy shit, M. I want to make this a full-length feature film.
It needs to be a full-ass feature film. Like, I was just on the edge of my seat floor.
Like... Wes Craven is rolling over in his grave right now because he didn't get a chance to turn this into a fucking thriller.
Thriller. Thrilla. Thank you, Em. Because this is Thrilla.
I thought you were going to do it, so I had to because you didn't.
I love that. I love you. All right. So mine is called Listener Tale, A Near-Death Experience and the Little Boy. hate this already i love it hey ash hey alina Hi.
I've debated for a while whether or not to share my story because, frankly, it is not as spook spook as some of the other stories you read.
But the narcissist in me has won out. I love her already.
Let me start by saying I am a huge skeptic.
I'm not religious. I believe when you die, you die, and that's the end.
Whoa. that's deep that is bleak and also another mean girls reference I don't really buy into ghost mediums, etc.
However, I do believe that if there is something to see, people who have... been near death would be most likely to tap into that that being said just before my third birthday i almost died Oh, no.
All right. So here we go. Our house caught on fire.
Oh, I mean, buried the lead on that one.
Shit. No, this is not a true crime story.
Sorry. It was just some hungry mice trying to get a snack out of the coffee maker cord.
We lived in a small trailer which I don't know if you know but those things go up in smoke.
It was just me and my two older brothers home at the time very very early in the morning.
My mom had to drive my dad to work and my sister was at a friend's house.
My oldest brother was able to get my other brother out, by the way.
He was just a scrawny kid and he had to shove my parents' bed out of out from in front of a window because it was the safest route out.
He came back for me, but I was terrified, a terrified, almost three-year-old.
Also, I was a chunk, same. And probably weighed the same as my then 12-year-old brother.
Whoa. Honestly, same. So he told me to stay in my room, not to move while he ran to the neighbors to get help.
When the neighbors came to get me, he found me in the hallway between my room and my parents' room, apparently having had tried to follow my brother after realizing I sure as hell was more than...
Oh, my God. Oh, wow. plot twists you fucking lived the gal who lived i spent a month in the hospital being treated oh my god sweet baby we lost everything oh my god This is really sad.
It's horrible. And by the way, yes, my big brother is still my absolute hero.
Without his quick thinking and adrenaline-fueled strength, I do not think I would be here today.
You are touching all my heartstrings right now.
Shout out to your bro, Nameth. You're a bro-tato.
Fast forward a few years. I want to say I was maybe six or seven.
We had a new house and my sister and I shared a room.
Duh. Yup. I'd beg my mom to let me keep the hallway light on with the door ajar, but my sister is mean and would tell my mom I was too old to have a nightlight.
Well, fuck her. Consequently for her I would wake up frequently at night crying and begging her to turn the light on.
Then one night I woke up screaming crying, begging my sister, please, please turn the light on.
After several minutes of ignoring me crying and yelling, My mom whips open the door.
As told by her, I opened the door and said, what the hell is going on in here?
And you pointed toward the dresser across the room and said, tell him to go away.
And all the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
What had me in such a state of horror of terror. was that I woke up to see a young boy, maybe around 8 or 9, in full 1920s getup, knee socks. button-up shirt with suspenders, and page boy hat chilling in my goddamn room.
The roaring fucking 20s just appeared in your room in the middle of the night.
Okay, but does that not sound fucking familiar?
Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I'm cutting into your story as fuck right now, but at one point, me and my mom lived at my grandparents' house with... elena and we all shared a room me and my mom and elena because the room was fucking huge we did trust me we did it was unfortunate But one night I woke up and I was like, I woke my mom up and I was like, mom, there's a little boy reading your book.
And she wanted to neglect me. So she was like, go back to sleep.
And I was neglected. And then I woke up the next morning and everyone was all fucking freaked out because I was talking about this ghost ass boy.
Literally just like the boy you described, 1920s, page boy hat, knee socks and all.
Like I can still see him in my mind. And he was reading my mom's book and my mom's book that she had left on the dresser was wedged in between the closet where I said the boy was.
I think it's the same boy, guys. I'm spooked as fuck.
But back to this story. She says, my mom is a big believer in ghosts.
Hell yeah, she is. She loves that shit. You have to.
Seems like a normal thing, but with four kids, pop was for my parents to drink, not us.
I spooked the hell out of her with that one.
Yeah. And still to this day, whenever anything weird happens around the house, we blame the little boy.
The weird thing is, even being a skeptic, I was six or seven.
How the hell could I have dreamt up that outfit?
Fast forward again to about four years ago.
My boyfriend and his buddy were renting this house, as in the one we later purchased and live in currently, from his grandpa.
My boyfriend's mom stepped on. who grew up in said house and whose mother had just passed away the previous fall.
Sorry if that's confusing. It's the shortest way I could think to explain it.
No, I think I'm on the same page. I got you.
I got you. I saw a shadowy figure standing in front of the small opening of the bedroom door.
I was mostly asleep but I could still kind of make out some details of the form before fully falling asleep.
Now, this didn't scare me because remember, I'm a skeptic.
I must have already started dreaming or maybe it was his buddy walking by the door.
Whatever. But the next day, as I started thinking about it, it couldn't have been his buddy.
He worked midnights and had long since left for work and doesn't return home until about 7 in the morning.
Still, I wasn't scared. I must have been dreaming.
Maybe a year after that, I was helping my boyfriend's mom clear out some stuff from the house.
His grandpa, her stepdad, was getting ready to sell it.
She was describing to me how she didn't really like being alone in the house.
It kind of creeped her out ever since his ever since her grandma passed away i laughed and told her how there was nothing to be scared of that stuff's not real She asked me if I had ever seen anything weird in the house while her son was living in it.
I told her about my vague experience falling asleep and seeing a figure She asked me what details did I notice and I mentioned that it looked kind of like a tall man, thin, wearing a fedora style hat.
And I was laughing the whole time because she looked so spooked, but I knew it was nothing.
But then she gets on the phone and calls her cousin.
Her cousin proceeds to tell me that before passing away a decade ago from cancer, her grandpa was a tall, thin man who often wore a fedora.
Again, I may be a skeptic, but what are the fucking odds?
On a true crime note, the house I lived in for the rest of my childhood, the one I saw the little boy in...
And where my parents still live to this day is about five miles from the Nichols farm as in Terry Nichols and Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma city bombers.
Oh shit. Oh shit, you just brought it right back around.
Full motherfucking circle. this isn't too long i get a kick out of telling my stories and i hope if you read this you get a kick out of it too best wishes best wishes and keep it motherfucking weird candace P.S.
My brother-in-law has a sister named Ashley and we lovingly call her Trashly.
Please feel free to adopt the name. Oh, girl.
My drunk alter ego is always Trashly. It's true.
We've called her trashly before. And also, we didn't just get a kick out of this.
We got a full motherfucking roundhouse kick out of this story.
Jackie Chan style. Like the fact that we have the same exact experience really spooks me.
And like the trashily thing is in there.
So I feel like you have some kind of weird connection.
I mean, the other day I tweeted that I was kindred spirit with Dolly Parton, but Candace, I might have been wrong.
It might be you. I think it is. I think it's true.
Love you, Candice. Thank you for that. So my next story was is called my husband was going to let ghosts slash demons. have my soul wow that's rude of him are you sure he's not your ex-husband um this is from amanda It says, hey, guys, I fucking love your podcast.
I listened to it on my way to events. I don't know. be banned i love that for you i love that for you also my niece and i are the same ages as you guys which is kind of cool Except that we are both seniors in nursing school because my dumb ass was more worried about drinking and being stupid than it was going to school when I was supposed to.
You are definitely the ash of the relationship.
I was just about to say that. Side note.
My favorite part of nursing school so far has been autopsies.
We were supposed to go to see one each...
See one each our junior year. I saw three.
I would go every day if they would let me.
I'm pretty sure they're all scared of me now.
You know what, Amanda? I love you and I feel you.
Anyway, I live in Indiana, which is really nothing but cornfields and meth heads, at least in my area.
When my husband and I first moved in together I was working nights in a group home for mentally handicapped adults.
You know what? You're a goddamn hero. You're a straight up gem.
Good for you, man. And he worked days as a roofer.
We moved into a two-story house in a shady part of town because we were broke AF.
We all feel that. This house was 100% haunted.
I also feel that. My husband used to say that he would hear my voice screaming his name when he was alone in the house.
I don't like that they got to use your voice.
That's fucked up. Yeah, I don't love that.
I used to hear running feet up and down the stairs and above our head where his son slept on the second floor.
Oh, my God. And you never went back to sleep after that, right?
Never. My husband woke up screaming once saying I'd smacked him across the face when I was most definitely in the living room watching The Office.
Girl, you are us. You are us. One time that my husband convinced me was a dream, I felt like someone was laying on top of me. and I felt hot breath as my own name was being whispered into my ear.
How fucking long did you live there, sis?
Get me out of there immediately. He convinced me it was a dream until this happened.
My husband was at work and I was in bed since I work nights and I heard what sounded like a bunch of second rate musicians drumming out a beat on my pipes in the basement.
Actually, my house always sounds like that.
Sure does. I called my husband and this dickhole tells me I'm crazy.
Yeah. It's just the old ass pipes clanging around and to just go back to sleep.
For someone who is such a pussy about his experiences, he sure didn't have much concern for mine.
I love you. I laid there awake until the pressure of my bladder had built up so much that I couldn't possibly hold it in.
I grabbed the shank I kept by the bed. An old pocket knife.
I keep them hidden everywhere always. Smart.
And make my way to the restroom. In this house, the bathroom was actually in the second downstairs bedroom and you had to walk through the kitchen and pass the basement door to get there.
Wow, that sucks. Fuck that. As I passed through the kitchen, I noticed all the fucking cabinet doors were open.
All of them. That is my nightmare. Yes, that is my nightmare.
I stood there frozen. She froze. I am froze right now.
That's when you're real scared. You don't just freeze, you freeze.
It's very chic. Very chic. A very chic way to paralyze yourself with fear.
No, she stood there frozen and dishes started to fall out of the fucking cabinets.
And then you ran out the fucking front door.
Right. Right. I hauled my fat ass straight the fuck out of there good girl yeah you did grabbed my keys, got in my car and drove straight to my husband's job site to tell him how terribly fucking wrong he was.
That it was not just the old pipes clanging, it was fucking ghosts or demons who obviously had no respect for people who work nights.
I'm alive. We lived in the house for another year and there were more incidents, but nothing that shook me like the damn thing rooting through my kitchen cabinets and banging on my pipes.
Thanks for reading. Maybe next time I will tell you about the crazy meth head in-laws.
One wrapped a dead body up like a fucking gordita.
Like a gordita? How dare you do Taco Bell wrong like that?
Holy shit. And another murdered his girlfriend.
Oh my god, we need to hear these. i really should have screened my husband's family before we got together keep it weird amanda Oh my God, Amanda, girl.
Amanda, you just gave me life. I love you so much.
But honestly, the whole cabinets being open thing, no.
Most of your cabinets don't have doors. I am that I picked this house specifically because of that.
I'm alive. Thanks, Amanda. This one is called The Time I Was Killed, a listener tale.
Whoa. And the time I was killed is all in capital letters.
And then listener tail is in small letters.
It says, hey, guys, you guys make my shit life interesting in the good way, and I will forever love you guys for that.
I'll save the rest of my gushing till the end.
Oh, my God, I love you. So I was going to bed a couple of months ago.
It was a no shit night, but I woke up at like 3 a.m.
And I have never been shit faced, but this is how I imagine it would be.
I woke up slowly but I couldn't move. I had a huge headache.
When my eyes finally adjusted I could see another person in my room.
I shit you not I pooped out all of my internal organs because I didn't know if it was my parents at the time but that shit is still scary I still couldn't scream and I still couldn't move The person looked like a shadow.
My brain just mentally saying, what kind of fuckery is this? what kind of fuckery is this what kind of fuckery be this I couldn't ask it anything or do anything for a while, and I kind of just stared at it.
But after a while, it started to move slowly towards me.
And then the spoopy-ish... Okay, all the time, I think that people are making a typo when they say spoopy.
But I guess it's a real ass thing. I love the word spoopy.
Alina's crying right now. Guys, I shit you not, every time, the whole entire Ted Bundy episode, when the girl wrote to you about Ted Bundy, I was like...
Why is she saying spoopy? It's because it's the best word ever.
Guys. I don't cry on the real-ass stories of murder, mayhem, and tragedy, but your listener tales get me crying all the fucking time.
I know it's funny. Okay, so and then the spoopy as shit.
It's hard to say spoopy, spoopy as shit happened when it began to whisper.
No, no, no, no, no. I hate that. I hate that.
Like that last girl said, supremely fuck that.
It said something along the lines of, hello, sweet girl.
Goodbye, sweet Lily. Oh, at least he's charming.
No, he said hello, goodbye. Yeah, that's charming.
That's my name. You can use it. Thank you.
I couldn't move, but at this point I was positive that there was a serial killer in my room.
And I was going to die. I saw that person raised an arm and I felt something hard hit my head.
And then I woke up. I thought it had to be a dream.
I thought I was safe. But when I got to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror to see a giant goose egg and bruise on the side of my head where the person would have hit me.
It was a real mom pick me up. I'm scared moment.
Yes, Mean Girls reference. I love you. I have no idea what happened that night, but I thought you would enjoy it.
Anyways, I live in... In an unimportant part of the U.S. between the Midwest and the West Coast, Utah.
We have nothing to do here except for drive around counting churches or gossiping about all the weird shit that goes down in school from the wrong side of the tracks aka my school.
But don't worry, there is enough bored people and fans that you could totally sell out a show here.
Seriously, I'll set up a show here for you if that's what it takes to get you here.
Oh, I love you guys so much. And you guys are an inspiration.
Best wishes. Lily. Lily, you're a fucking inspiration.
Thanks, Lily. I'm glad you didn't die. I'm really glad you didn't die because I need more stories from you, Lily.
I love that I just get to say spoopy because it's a real word.
Lily, you're the spoopiest and I love you.
It just sounds like poopy. It does. It's like...
It's poopy and spooky all rolled up in one.
Everything I love. Poops and spooks. Good band name, I'll call it.
Why didn't we name the podcast Poops and Spooks?
Because our band name is going to be that.
Can we put poops and spooks on a shirt? Hell yeah, we can.
Raise your hand if you want that. Raise his hand.
All right. So mine is called Hamster Resurrection Using Boobs?
Okay. I read this and I was holding your baby and I took everything in me not to drop your baby because I was laughing so hard.
Shit, I'm glad you did, but this is awesome.
So this is from Isabel. Hey guys, first off, let's get one thing straight.
Y'all are maze balls. Thanks. I love how aggressive that one.
Let's get one thing motherfucking straight.
You guys rock ass. You guys actually make me feel a lot better about myself because I've realized I'm not the only morbid freak show out there that finds death fascinating and these stories crazy interesting.
Welcome. Welcome to the spoopy poopy show.
It's spoops and poops. So thanks for making me feel normal.
You're welcome. Keep being weird, please.
Will do. Don't have a choice. Alright, so on to the story.
When I was about 10-ish, I had a hamster named Bailey.
That's my, that's my Bubba Bailey's name.
That's my Puggles name. Yep. Who is a fucking fat ass?
So is my bubba. That's my Bailey too. I tried to buy her all of those sweet tubes that you can attach to their cages, but she kept getting stuck in them and I was pissed.
But at the same time, she was hella cute, so I couldn't be too mad.
Oh my god, I love this already. Anyways, at the time of this story...
She was nearing the end of her life, about three years old.
I was staying over at a friend's house and it was just my mom home.
Yeah. My mom has always claimed she has a sixth sense or something because she'll have dreams and shit or get these feelings.
And then whatever she felt or dreamed will happen very soon after or a very similar situation will happen.
It honestly freaks me the fuck out sometimes.
So I'm guessing this weirdo, love you, mom. just had a feeling that she needed to go check on the fat hamster.
So she went into the room, all done up in Spanx and a bra, and opens the cage to find Bailey just laying there.
This was strange because she would usually wake up if the cage got opened.
My mom picked her up, and even though she was still floppy, she was ice cold and unconscious.
She couldn't see her breathing and she couldn't feel any movement or pulse at all.
My poor mother just burst into tears and held her. thinking about how the heck she was going to tell me that my precious fat ball of fur had died.
So there's my mother sitting on my bed, holding Bailey, bawling her eyes out.
She sat there for a few minutes holding her to her face until the hamster obviously got a little heavy.
And my mom moved her down onto her chest into her goddamn cleavage pretty much, that poor, poor baby, and just held her and stroked the hell out of her while she bawled.
She sat like this on my bed in her Spanx with a hamster between her boobs for like 15...
For like 15 minutes, suddenly this quote unquote dead thing moved.
My mom shot the fuck up and that hamster almost flew across the room.
I'm like a freaking Superman. My mom said she sat there sobbing while repeatedly, what the hell is happening?
Oh, my God. fit into her big ass cheek pouches because she was wonky as me after eating a three grilled cheeses because grilled cheese is so good it makes me feel high.
Me fucking too. And guess what? I make a gnarly grilled cheese with garlic butter.
So you'd be stoned. My mom immediately took her to the vet and explained to these poor doctors that her magical boobs brought this hamster back to life.
Even though my mother still claims that her boobs are magical and that they can resurrect hamsters.
Turns out this bitch went into hibernation mode because she got a little too chilly.
Isn't this so funny? I was dying. This is everything.
She in fact did have a pulse, but it was so incredibly weak that my mom couldn't feel or hear it.
Basically, Bailey got a little cold and assumed it was wintertime because apparently she thought she was wild and free out in the forest or some shit.
So her body went into hibernation mode. She would have died very soon after if my mom and her awesome life-saving boobs hadn't come to the rescue.
Bailey lived a happy few more months and died her second death peacefully in her sleep.
Thanks for reading. Can't wait to hear more listener tales.
They're seriously awesome and I love them.
And I love you guys. Come to Portland, Oregon soon for a live show.
I'd kill to meet you guys. Not literally, I swear.
Isa. I don't mind names being used if you guys decide to read this one on your podcast.
Thanks so much. And I'm literally shitting my pants laughing.
I'm laughing so hard, too. But this is my thought.
What's your thought? All right. People are going to be like, wow, Ash, you're really fucking dumb.
Oh, no. And I know it's a dumb thing to say.
Uh-oh. But, like... Where do fucking pet stores get hamsters?
Because when have you ever seen a hamster in the wild?
When? I'm pretty sure they're just bred for like domesticity.
But where did the first hamster come from?
I mean, I don't know. Like I've never seen a hamster in the wild.
I seen a chipmunk. I seen a fox. I've seen a squirrel.
I've seen many squirrels, but I've seen a lot of animals in the wild and hamsters are not one of them.
You know what? Same. I have yet to see a hamster just roaming in the wild.
My hamster's name was Jessica Elephant. That's all.
So my next one is called Kyle Can Go Fuck Himself.
Before she reads that. Her hamster's name was Jessica elephant.
I just want that to sink in real quick. Okay, go ahead.
You know who lost my hamster? My shitbag mom.
Anyways, Kyle can go fuck himself and so can my mom.
My dearest Ashley and Elena, ready for some traumatizing shit?
Yeah, neither am I. But I recently replayed your Salem Witch Trials episode.
And I was flung back into a memory. I legit had a flashback.
I think I might need to look into that anyways.
It's crazy. So let me take y'all on a journey to somewhere I won't name for obvious reasons, Wisconsin.
I was in the second grade, so the year would probably be 2005.
So it was a regular week in school, right?
Wrong. Because my teacher was a psycho and decided to make us do a play about the Salem witch trials.
In the second grade? Sounds awesome. I mean, it sounds great, but like that's a little young.
You're like, what, eight in the second grade?
I don't know. I have no fucking idea. Some of the girls were cast as the witches and others were the little assholes that cursed the others of witchcraft.
I'm still salty about that, by the way. They're all little devils and they deserve hell.
Wow. So me and I mean, you're not wrong.
I agree. So me and my best friend, who I'll change her name to Marina for this, we're cast as witches.
And honestly, Mrs. Keir couldn't have chosen two better candidates.
The two of us ran a literal witch coven.
Yes. At recess. Me too. And would sacrifice ants all the time.
And wish a well passing on any dead birds we found.
We were young and we were thriving. So, of course, because boys are idiots, they thought the play was in real life or some shit.
Get it, girl. The day of the play, we had all dressed up before recess for our parts.
So, of course, everyone in our little coven, including me and Marina, We're all dressed up and ready to go.
Mind you, there are about 11 people in this coven of ours.
Like I said, we were thriving. You were thriving.
I think I only had like three people on my coven.
Anyways, there we were minding our own business.
Minding our own damn business and sacrificing ants when a dude, whose name I've changed to Kyle for this, came over with a bunch of his friends and they circled us.
Thank you for watching! They yelled at us for being witches because we were seven.
We played along because we thought it was a game.
Yes, the one with plastic beads on them or some weird shit.
And then they proceeded to tie us to the tree.
They yelled at us that we were going to hang for our sins.
And we badasses slash dumbasses yelled at them. that we'd see them in hell then.
I love your reaction. Hate that they tied you to a tree.
What the fuck? Seven-year-olds are fucked.
Then Marina, goddess of just not giving a fuck.
Oh, my God. I want to be that goddess. I was just going to say, can I please take over that?
Elena and Ash, goddess of not giving a fuck, spit at them.
Yes, she did. Then Kyle went ahead and said the most chilling words I've ever heard from somebody or from anyone.
Want a little sample before getting there?
Then let's burn you and your witchy friends.
Okay, Kyle, what's going on at home? Have you ever seen that video where it's like, what the f?
Fuck is up, Kyle? That's what everybody was thinking right now.
What the fuck is up, Kyle? Woof. Looking back, I'm terrified of this dude, but my second grade ass literally started laughing in his face, making him laugh at my cluelessness.
Like I said, we should have ran right the fuck out of there.
Marina actually spit at him and this is why I'm still friends with her.
She's honestly the biggest badass I've ever had the honor of meeting.
Anyways, we started to realize that it wasn't a game when Kyle literally pulled a lighter out of his pants.
Kyle, what's going on at home? And again I say, what the fuck is up, Kyle?
I don't know how the hell he got that thing, but as soon as we saw it, we started thrashing wildly against the ropes as our captors laughed at us.
He was about to set the tree on fire when a teacher finally fucking saw the whole ordeal and rushed over to stop Kyle.
In doing so, knocking the lit lighter out of his hands and making the grass around the tree catch on fire.
Stupid, but somewhat helpful teacher. Thankfully, another teacher had the right mind to actually throw her jacket over the fire so it would die out.
This teacher, aka the only fucking person with common sense at this dumbass private school, probably saved my life right then and there.
Anyways, the aftermath of all this was that my parents tried to sue Kyle's parents.
The school paid my parents to keep quiet about the whole thing.
And we still did the damn play. On a much happier note, Kyle got some counseling and is doing much better now.
And me and Marina are still really good friends.
And we all lived. So yeah, that's my story.
I have another event in my life that's a lot more intense, but I don't know if I should even send this one in.
If you receive this, that probably means the friend whose email I'm currently using has forced me to send it.
She says that I did not steal her phone for an entire two hours typing this all out.
So I'm pretty sure it'll get to you. Anyways, I just wanted to let you guys know that I live for your podcast and that you guys are hilarious.
Caitlyn. Caitlyn. One, I agree with everything you just said.
And two, Marina is truly the goddess of not giving a fuck.
And three... Real glad that Kyle got some therapy.
Good for them. And four, you're a fucking badass.
That story really threw me for a loop because I had a coven in third grade, sis, and nobody ever tried to set me on fire.
Yeah, I'm really glad no one tried to set you on fire.
And holy shit, can you imagine if that had actually happened?
Like... It could have happened to me, but Mrs. Gavin put an end to my coven like a biatch.
And the part about your parents trying to sue his parents, first of all, good parents.
And second of all... My parents tried to sue another people's parents for bullying me in school, so same girl.
Ma called somebody's mom and thanked them for hanging out with me.
And I was like, you can't do that or I'm not going to make many more friends, Ma.
Mom and Papa are adorable. I love them. They're the best.
And you guys are the best. And these listener tales are the best.
And they're so fun to do. Guys, I wish we could do these like five days a week because they're so much fun.
Create spinoff podcast of Listener Tales.
I literally want to. Well, we did this because it was Thanksgiving and we wanted to give you something and we know how much you love Listener Tales.
And later this week, we're going to have a mini episode coming out.
So keep your eyes peeled for that. Also, you got to keep an eye on morbidpodcast.com.
Because we're having a merch sale like we said in the beginning.
But keep your eyes on it still because new designs and new styles are going to be coming.
Men out. Thanks to John. John is the best.
While you're keeping an eye on our website, you can also keep an eye on our Instagram because it's so hot right now at Morbid Podcast.
Keep an eye on our Twitter because we love it.
A morbid podcast. Dude, join that Facebook group because it keeps me living.
I love it so much. Morbid colon a true crime podcast.
And we have new mods. Hey, Corey. Hey, Madeline.
I think you mean Madeline. Welcome to the modern family.
We love you guys. Thank you so much for all your help and all that you do.
Also, you can send us a listener story to our Gmail at morbidpodcast at gmail.com.
If you'd like to, you could donate to our Patreon.
It's going to be so lichual. Morbid podcast.
Nope. wrong patreon.com slash morbid podcast you just spit all over my face all over it So we hope you keep listening.
And we hope you keep it weird. But not to worry that you read his listener story and it's awesome.
Yeah. Bye. Happy Thanksgiving. Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Bye. Thank you. 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.
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Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.
The town of Agde in France is famous for sun, sand, sea and sex.
But lately, life on the coast has taken a strange turn.
The town's mayor, a respected pillar of the community, has been arrested for corruption.
His wife claims he's been bewitched by a beautiful clairvoyant.
Then there's the mysterious phone calls that local people have been getting.
I am the Archangel Michael. The whole town has been thrown into chaos.
As the mayor is unable to carry out his duties, I would like to address you all.
Legal proceedings have been initiated. Join me, Anna Richardson, and journalist Leo Schick for The Mystic and the Mayor as we investigate a story of power, corruption, and magic.
Binge all episodes of The Mystic and the Mayor exclusively and ad-free right now on Wondery Plus.
Start your free trial in Apple Podcasts, Spotify or the Wondery app.
