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I'm Dan Tabersky. In 2011, something strange began to happen at a high school in upstate New York. A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms, and spreading fast. What's the answer? And what do you do if they tell you it's all in your head? Hysterical.

A new podcast from WNDYRI and Pineapple Street studios.

Binge all episodes of Hysterical early and ad-free on WNDRI+. Hey, weirdos. I'm Elaina. I'm Ash. And this is Morbid.

And it's Listener tales, which means that it's brought to you by you, for you, from you, and all about you, baby.

Whoa. I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know.

Large shrug. I don't know.

Shrug, shrug, shruggy shrug.

We love a Listener tales moment. I do. You know this. We know this. Everybody knows this. Everybody knows this.

Listener tales 5, fucking ever.

It always feels like we have not done a Listener tales episode in 46 years. I know. Every time. It's so weird. Yeah. And it's like, nah, it's only been a couple of weeks, a few weeks, a couple of weeks, a few weeks.

Yeah, like a few. Yeah. Because a few is like three or more.

In case you didn't know. Yeah. So it really hasn't been that long. But every time I'm like, we haven't done this in three years. Isn't that weird? It is weird.

I think that's the only thing I've said in response to. I'm sorry.

I'm just like, how weird is it, though? She was just picking at her nails being like, that's so weird.

But no, I was listening. That was just my genuine response. I was like, I did have a little bit of pizza sauce under my nail, which is really gross.

Which you did not need to share, but you did. Yeah. I'm an open book. And for that, we are appreciative and also horrified.

Also, I just ate pizza for lunch. That's not old. Yeah.

Last night, she just had pizza. No.

For lunch. It's right there. I can still see it. It's not all these wear. No. I wash my hands. That's a problem. I know. I actually did wash my hands. Damn.

That's even worse.

I know. Yikes. Didn't do a good job. Well, guys, Guys, less about me, more about you.

Less about my hygiene. More about your tails.

I'm going to kick you. I'm going to kick you in the shin. Would you like to go first?

Sure, I'll go first. Why don't I start this out with a bang? Oh. A listener tale of the time I babysat for a cold-blooded killer.

That'll do it.

That will do it. Let's see. We have a putipha. Hi, Ash and Elaina. This is Ali, which is my real name. Use it all you want. Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali.

It just makes me think of James Kennedy going, Ali, Bale. There you go.

And this is a listener tale for you.

Good. Because it's a listener tale episode.

There you go. Like most things in my life, I'm going into this email with no preparations beforehand, so I apologize. I'm just typing things up as they come to me, but I'll try to keep it as straightforward as I can. First of all, can I just say that I love you, ladies? You can because I love you too, Allie.

I also love you too, Allie Bally.

I'm just going to fan girl for a minute, if you don't mind. To be honest, I've never been much of a podcast person, but I came across Morbid when I was on maternity leave at the beginning of last year. I had a baby girl on December 28th of 2021. And she shares your birthday, Elaina. No big deal. No big deal. She's a Cappie.

We love it. In real talk.

We named her Fiona. I love that name.

And that was also on your list.

That was on my list. I love that name.

That's a really good name.

That's weird. Yeah. She She was actually born one day after my own birthday. Oh, my gosh. We're all Cappies together. So you and I almost share a birthday. No big deal. No big deal. Capricorn's forever. Hell, yeah.

I got it. Imagine being in labor on your birthday, though. I hope you weren't. If you were what? If she was in labor on her birthday, that's not a great birthday.

But you're getting a baby out of it.

That's the greatest part.

So that's good. Yeah. You got a birthday present after your birthday. There you go. Look at it that way. Anyway, while on maternity leave, I spent the first month or so of sleepless nights binging a lot of television. Eventually, I started to go a little stir-crazy sitting on the couch all the time and decided to try to find a podcast I could carry around with me as I did House George, took the Baby on walks, etc. I had just finished rewatching a ton of old X-Files episodes. Love that so much. My favorite television show in all of history ever, and was still feeling that spooky vibe. I had never heard of Morbid or you guys. Tragic, I know. So when I searched True Crime podcast and saw Morbid pop up, I randomly clicked on a recent episode. Where is Brandon Swanson? Oh, that's a chilling case. You know what's really weird? Why do these things happen? I was just looking through our suggested cases to just compile a few of what you guys want to hear. And I just opened an email Where someone said they just listened to the Brandon Swanson episode.

That's weird.

And that they wanted a different one cover. And I was like, whoa, that was a random episode. And then you just mentioned it again. Like, what a random fucking episode.

Also, I was looking for cases last weekend, and I was just reading a bunch of different countdown things online. And Brandon Swanson was one of the ones featured.

What's going on with that? That's weird. Of all the cases we've done, we've done almost How many episodes? We're in 500 and something at this point. I don't even know.

I think we're close to 600. Yeah.

That many episodes, and you mentioned the one episode I just opened a random suggestion that also mentioned that episode. That's bizarre. Sorry. That's weird.

Sorry.

I hope something comes out of that. I don't know. No, maybe it will. That's very strange.

Stranger things have happened. It's true.

Well, you clicked on Where's Brandon Swanson, and you never looked back. So that's amazing. I love that. And now I just hang out with you all week, every week. Because my daughter was the equivalent of a sack of beans back then. The sack of beans time goes by really fast. She couldn't understand a word either of you were saying. I was free to listen to as many tales of ghosts and decapitations and murdering assholes as I wanted without fear of traumatizing her. My daughter had a lot of issues eating and sleeping during her first few months. We later found out she had some undiagnosed food allergies. So postpartum was rough on all of us. Your podcast became a space for me to just escape a little bit. Thank you so much for hanging out with me then and now. You bet you. I love that. Okay, so my tale. Kind of forgot that's why I started this whole thing. Here we go. I'm going to change the names of the people involved because you could actually look up the case I'm going to talk about, and I want to maintain a little privacy for one person in particular.

I'll put a footnote at the end with the real names in case you two want to look it up. This is the story about how I babysat for a cold-blooded killer. When I was in middle school, a family moved into the house next door to ours, a married couple and their young son. I'll call the married couple John and Tracy Carter, and I'll call their son Ben. Tracy was actually a radio personality at the time and was fairly well known in the area. John was incredibly outgoing, charming guy. I don't remember what he did for a living. It's not important. They were actually an odd couple, at least from an outsider's perspective. We lived on a very small and isolated street, seven houses with a cul-de-sac at the end. Our little street had a lot of block parties at the time, so everyone knew each other very well. John and Tracy were at a lot of these get-togethers. To be fair, I was about 13 during this time, so I was more interested in teenage girl drama than anything adults were ever talking about. I do remember Tracy was being pretty reserved, a little standoffish, maybe.

John, on the other hand, was always boisterous, cracking jokes, and talking to anyone and everyone with ease. Now that I'm an adult myself, I recognize that I am the Tracy in this situation. I hate mingling and forcing small talk at block parties. It's literally the worst.

Said a Capricorn. Sister?

Yeah, I was going to say, That's your Capricorn in there.

Said like a true Cathy.

John and Tracy's son, Ben, was about four-ish years old when we first met the Carters. He was the most adorable kid with a mop of blonde hair and a whip smart personality. A couple of years passed, and the Carters had become friends with my parents. To be more specific, John Carter had become friends with my parents. Tracy was a rare sighting in the neighborhood at that point. She worked a lot and also attended various functions and events outside of her job. I want to say John was unemployed for stretches of time, but I could be making that up. Like I said, my memory of what he did for a living is hazy. In any case, John would come over to sit on the back deck and chit chat while Ben showed off a new toy or ran around in the backyard. Eventually, in the summer of 2002, I started babysitting for John and Tracy. I would watch Ben a handful of nights a month. It was an easy gig because Ben was an easy kid. I would see and speak with Tracy occasionally, mostly business, dinner's in the fridge, Ben's bedtime is this, could you feed the hamster stuff.

Mostly, it was John that would greet me when I arrived, ask questions about how school was going and walk me the 10 steps home at the end of the night. I always felt very comfortable around John. He was a very harmless, fatherly vibe. He wasn't scary at all. False, untrue, incorrect. Oh. One night in early 2003, I was babysitting Ben. We had fallen into a routine. We were in the middle of looking through his dinosaur trading cards when John came home early. He seemed a little off, I guess. Kind of hurried and frazzled, like he was surprised to find himself at home as well. My 15-year-old self didn't make much of it, but I remembered I was supposed to be there a couple more hours. He didn't say much, which was unusual, and he didn't walk me home. Before I left, he asked if I could babysit the next night. It was a school night and I had something going on, a test to study for or a project I had to finish. I can't remember. So I said I couldn't. That was the end of our conversation and the last conversation I ever had with him.

It was also the last time I ever stepped foot into that house. Oh, that's chilling. The next night, I was at home with my family. It was about seven-ish. I remembered American Idol was on that night. At some point, our dog started barking hysterically. Our dog was a Maltese terrier named Dart, and his piercing squack was not my favorite sound. So I was yelling at him, Shut up. Sorry, Dart. I was also not studying or working on a project. Sorry, John, but actually not because fuck you for what's about to happen. No. No one bothered to investigate why Dart was barking because like most dogs, he barked at innocuous shit all the time. About an hour later, American Idol was coming to an end and Dart was barking again. However, when I glanced out the front windows, I saw a massive amount of flashing lights outside. There were police cars and emergency vehicles packing the street and parking in the grass. This was not common on our street, so a lot of gawking ensued by the surrounding neighbors. A police officer knocked on our door and asked if we had seen or heard anything unusual that evening.

We had not. We later learned that John had shot Tracy in their master bedroom multiple times while Ben sat at the table downstairs wearing headphones and playing video games. Oh, my God. According to rumors we heard later, Ben heard the shots and asked what had happened. John told him they had dropped something upstairs. He told Ben that Tracy was going to stay home to clean up the mess while he and Ben visited relatives. John took Ben to his relatives, left, and called the police to turn himself in. What? Not a super thrilling end to the whole thing, but I'm glad he didn't try to flee with Ben or do something else horrible. Here's the thing. Whenever I think about that story, I can't help zooming in on the fact that I was alone in that house with that man. He asked me to babysit Ben the night of the murder, and I'm always torn on what that could have meant for his story. Would I have been there when he killed Tracey Tracy? Would he have asked if Ben could stay at our house so he wasn't home during the event? Would he have not killed Tracy because I was there watching Ben?

Or did he honestly just think he needed a babysitter? And this whole thing transpired after that conversation.

I don't blame you for having so many fucking questions. What? A horrible. I hope you have no guilt over this because- No.

Because that's a mindfuck. You were a 15-year-old kid and you couldn't babysit. But holy shit, I don't blame you for thinking through every single outcome that could have happened. That's crazy. I also wonder if Dart heard those gunshots because according to the loose timeline they put together, John would have shot Tracy near the time Dart started going off like an ill-tuned bugle. Well, dogs know, man. Yeah, they do. It breaks my heart that Ben was home when his mother was taken from him. I'm so glad he didn't witness the killing, and I'm so glad it didn't turn into some crazier murder the whole family then commit suicide type of thing.

I was so worried for that. Me too. Where this was going.

I was, too. I changed their names in the story for Ben's sake. He's out there somewhere trying to live his life after losing both of his parents to this horrible tragedy. He'd be in his mid 20s by now, which is bonkers to me. I don't know why John killed Tracy. Articles about the case say that the two had marital problems and that John was struggling with suicidal ideation and mental illness. Either way, he's still a murdering asshole, and I'm not going to try and throw logic at any of his actions. So that's the story of how I babysat for a cold-blooded killer. As you can imagine, I didn't take a lot of babysitting gigs after that. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and the Carter's house has gained a reputation for being cursed. To add to the weirdness, about a month after Tracy's murder, an older woman showed up on our street. She was standing in the road staring up at the Carter's house. I had just gotten home from school and was taking Dart out to pee. The woman called out to me and asked if I knew the woman who had been killed.

I figured she was just a nosy broad and told her that, yes, I knew Tracy. She told me she was gathering flowers from Tracy's yard to add to the memorial wreath her church group was making. It was February, and there were definitely no flowers growing at the time, so okay. She stared quietly at me and Dart for an uncomfortable amount of time before asking if I wanted to pray with her. I told her, No, thank you. And she said in a deadpan voice, She said you wouldn't want to. Bye. What the fuck? And she says, Bye. I dragged Dart back inside and watched as she wandered around our street for a few more minutes before getting in her car, sans flowers and driving off. And that officially concludes the weird.

That is fucking creepy.

She said you wouldn't want to. I'd be like, Get the fuck out of here. Yeah, you got to go, girl. That's weird. I hope you ladies have a spookalicious day. And of course, I hope you keep keeping it weird, but not so weird that you socialize all easy-breezy at block parties. Who does that? Okay. Actually, plenty of people. Just not me. Not us either. Or me. That was Ali. I mean, that was a wild, wild tale. Seriously. And I truly cannot believe that you have to think of the fact that you were babysitting at this house with that man alone. I know. That he would walk you home.

That is... Just to have memories of him at block parties, just shooting the shit, coming to your house and sitting on your back deck. To know somebody that intimately. And then to know what they did is so scary. And especially to have seen him the night before.

Like, such a different human.

And for Ali to see the state that he was in the night before. Clearly, something was way off.

I wonder what the hell was going on there. That's a lot. Yeah. Jeez. Wow. That was quite a tale, Ali. So thank you for sharing that with us. I'm glad you're okay.

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Tickets on sale August ninth, so get your truest true crime fans together and get tickets before they sell out. All right, my next one is Listener Tale, The Ghost of Very Much Alive me, a growl, broken mirrors, etc. Hello, you fantastic weirdos. My name is not Ralph, but that's the name we'll go with. I also change the names of everybody in this story for their privacy. It's nice to finally be sending this listener tale to my best friends. But I must say, for being my best friends, you sure never respond to my awesome commentary as I'm driving, cleaning, cooking, etc. And you usually interrupt my astute observations. What's that about?

I'm so sorry.

I feel bad, Ralph. Like every other listener, I must say, you two bring me so much joy in entertainment, the latter of which is not easy to do as I'm a psychologist in a prison, hence the fake name. So I hear some wild shit on a daily basis. I bet. I'd love to regale you with more stories, but we haven't the time right now. I'm not going to apologize for the nor encourage you to edit as you see fit because you've made it abundantly clear time and time again, you will do no such thing and apologies are not needed. Hell no. Never. And let's be real, this story is perfection just the way it is. However, I will say there are a lot of commas in here, as I am not really sure how to use commas versus semicolons. Really? Who understands grammar?

Here's a little secret. No one. No one does.

I thought you were going to really drop some hot grammar news on us.

No one understands grammar.

The only The thing that I remember about a semicolon is you use it if you're going to list. That's the only thing I remember.

But other than that, I'm just really glad that I have an editor.

Yeah, there you go. I put a lot of commas everywhere whenever I write something.

I also love the confidence here Like the, that they feel like they're like, this is perfection. So don't change it. So it's fine. So I know you won't. Like, I know you won't and that's okay because this is perfection. Good for you.

I love that. I like that. I am a man of science, like a nerd who loves to hit up journal repositories and go down the research rabbit hole. Same. With that said, I have so much weird shit happened to me over most of my life that I am here to say, with certainty, there might be ghosts.

I love this already.

I love the way this person writes. I have no idea what's going on out there.

Same.

This story involved my boyfriend and I, we will call him Bob, and two roommates who we will call Karen and Frank. Bob and I moved into Karen and Frank's 100 plus year old home in a semi- rough neighborhood of a large city. Rough as in, I heard gunshots all the time and some literal drug users well under the influence, walked into our yard, passed a fence, picked apples off a tree more than once.

I'm glad that's all they did.

I mean, yeah.

Let there be apples. At the time, I worked in an inpatient psychiatry unit at the Safety Net Hospital for the Metro area.

Basically, I worked with the most mentally ill patients possible, like other hospitals could not handle them, so they sent the patients to us. Oh, wow. One patient painted their children purple. Not sure why, but she did.

Oh, man. That's sad. That's really sad. I know.

As I said, I currently work in a prison, so I have seen enough shit, literally, to know what is and is not bonkers. And my haunted ghosty house was bonkers. Side note, while walking through the partially lit supply closet on an overnight shift at the hospital, I felt a full hand, fingers and all, press up against my upper back and shoulder area as if to signal, Hey, wait. My first thought was, What the fuck is a patient doing in here? I'm not in the mood. It's 4:00 AM. I'm tired. But I turn around and no one was there. I'm pretty sure he humans cannot fly, but I flew out of that closet and never went back during a shift again.

I believe you.

Oh my God. And never went back in during a night shift. I don't know why. He's like, I quit.

I don't work there anymore.

Back to the house. In the attic, there was this wooden box that was affixed randomly to the floor at the place where the floor and steeped ceiling met. I bet there's a much better way to describe that or some architectural term, but the latter probably would not help many. It opened on the front as if it were to be a little playhouse. Some might say a doll house. What was inside this random box, you ask? A fucking doll. Why? Why? That's what I asked. That's what I asked. A single man leave nothing in the entire house except a doll in the attic box from hell.

My question, exactly.

No one knows. Oh, no. Also in the attic, a small portion was walled off with a door. Inside the room/caffen were claw marks, deep claw marks, near the door jamb. That's not okay. Again, why? Not sure. Maybe they were dog claw marks, as some suggested. But if there was a dog locked in the attic in that small room, that's extra fucked up.

Okay, thank you. I was like, even someone suggests, you're like, That makes it worse. What do you mean? For the dog just locked in a room in a attic?

That's also bad.

Yeah, it's so hot in addicts.

I hate this.

I hate it.

I wondered if in the early 1900s, there could have been a mentally ill family member locked up there, hidden away from the world because at the time, it was unfortunately a thing.

That's the thing that I was thinking of, to be honest.

It makes you think of- It's very much a thing. American Horror Story.

Yeah, it's very much a thing. Oh, that's so sad. That they would... You'll find those rooms in a lot of old houses, and that was what the purpose was a lot of the time. That's what they were for. I did not know that. It's really sad.

Oh, that's horrific.

There was a... Which one of those ghost shows was it? The Atlantic Paranormal Society, I think it is. They...

Ghost Hunters.

Yeah, Ghost Hunters. I love that That's a great show. And those guys are awesome. And I love that they're from Rhode Island. Like, New England. Let's go. But they had a couple of episodes where they went into these old houses and they found rooms like that and they were talking and they would find scratch marks and shit. The fuck?

Yeah.

I remember it vividly because I immediately started looking it up. Oh my God.

That makes my heart very sad. I know.

It's horrible. Yeah.

Well, every time I was up there, I felt like I was being watched. Karen's friend was known to be a psychic, and one day she came over and she felt the presence of a man in overalls. Fun fact. As she walked up these... She walked up the stairs to the attic. I love that. That's a fun fact. Like, fun fact, overalls.

Well, I just love, imagine being so in tune with the other side that you're like, I sense a man. And you're like, oh, you can sense that it's a man. And you're like, he's wearing overalls. It's just like, how do you feel the overalls? How is that part of the sensation?

I love that. Do you feel it or do you see it?

I hope she feels the overalls.

It does say she felt the presence of a man in overalls.

Exactly. She's feeling the overalls.

Maybe she feels the rough denim.

What her overalls feel, overalls feel like?

Rough.

Yeah.

Scratching. Rustic. Rustic. Is rusty a feeling? Yeah.

Yeah, sure. Why not? You can feel rustic, right?

Sometimes. I don't know. I guess. The overalls made me laugh. Now, strangely, when I felt like I was being watched, I always joked it was a man. Well, not a funny joke after the psychic said that. But in fairness, it's a 50/50 chance. Well, In the US, it's more like a 49, 51 chance favoring women. Yeah, pretty much.

So close.

One day, Bob was playing piano on the main level. It's a large open space, a living room to his right, the dining room behind him and windows along the entire wall. Through the windows, we could see a neighbor's house. No one else was home, and it was mid-afternoon, so not a scary time of day. Wrong. He heard a crystal clear, a loud, wait for it, growl right next to his ear. We don't have a dog, nor a lion, a cougar, nor anything else that could make that sound. I was going to ask. I love that you were like, We don't have a dog. And before you ask, We also don't have a lion. And, No, don't even. We don't have a cougar.

But do you have a panther? You didn't answer that.

No, nothing else that could make that sound. He looked outside to see if there was a dog near the window despite hearing it directly next to his ear, and he saw nothing. The windows were also not open. It feels like a Damon. Yeah, that's a demon. Speaking of piano, sometime later, my sister slept over, and in the middle of the night, she heard the piano playing downstairs. But everyone was asleep upstairs. Who was playing the piano? Crying distressed face. I love how this is written.

That's like Hell House. I'll see the little do, do, do, do, do.

That movie fucked me up for like two weeks.

I'll forever sing the praises of Hell House LLLC. As you should. And never will I stop.

It's a great movie.

It's great.

And it's horrifying. Yeah.

It's scary. It's a horrifying season is upon us, everybody.

It's He scared Drew, too. It scared Drew, too. Yeah. And he thinks movies like that are dumb.

John got vertigo from all the movement, but it would have scared him.

Which is also scary. Vertigo is a scary thing to deal with.

It made him sick. That's how scary it was.

Well, a few weeks or even months later, Bob and I were home alone watching TV one night. From the living room, no one can see the dining room as the two are attached. And off the... No, I said no one can see the dining room, but one can see the dining room. Not a one person can see it. One can.

You're like, It's attached, but no one can see it.

It's like a pigment of your imagination.

We don't let anyone see the dining room.

No, it's okay. You can see the dining room as the two are attached. And off the dining room is a large archway into the office. This would be to the right of the piano. For my position on the couch, I could not see the office as Bob could. As we innocently watched TV, he suddenly jolted his body back into the couch while he gasped and looked directly at the archway with wide, unblinking eyes. Remember, we live in a roughish neighborhood, so I immediately thought that somebody came in one of the windows and I needed to get a knife and stab, stab, stab away. But you can not knife a ghost. You can. Though, Ash says you can catch one in a jar. Have I said that? I probably have said some shit like that. Wait, when was I going to catch a ghost in a jar?

I'm positive you said that.

Oh, I'm positive, too. There was only... There was minimal doubt. When did I want to catch a jar, a ghost? I love it.

He's like, You can't knife a ghost. But Ash did say you can catch one in a jar.

I'm trying to think about when I wanted to do that.

I'm sure it was one of our spooky episodes. You were like, Did you know? Fun fact. You probably can. Or you were probably like, I wonder.

Yeah.

You probably stated it as fact.

I just bought a bunch of Mason jars the other day. So.

Maybe you're saying... Because there are... Isn't there a place where you can buy a Ghost or Adopt a Ghost in London or something. It's in Europe. That's really gambling. I think there's a place where you can... I'm going to look it up because I'm sure people over there are like, You dumb ass. This is what it's called.

How do you pay for that?

Hold on. Here they are. It's the, let's see, Matlock Ghost Emporium.

Yeah? What does a ghost cost you?

Let's look at about. Because I think it's supposed to be the like, each ghost It has a real ghost. Oh, my God. They're so cute. I want them.

Don't. Don't.

I think we have one. I don't know if they're the same.

That's what these are.

This one behind you, too. I don't know if they're those.

Also, is that what the fuck is happening in this room?

No. Those have been a while. We got those a while ago.

Yeah, and we've been haunted for a while. And one time the TV fell on my head. Elaina, you never told... Is that what that is?

I think I read the thing. And this person- Elaina.

Elaina. Elaina. Elaina. Elaina.

I'm going to call your Mom. I'm going to call her Mom.

Are you joking me? Is there one behind me? I don't fuck with that.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that's not what it is.

I'll backtrack now. You allowed spirits into this room that we don't even know.

Look at this little mechanical maiden one.

No. No. This is everything I stand against. Inviting unknown spirits into your space? No. No wonder the sage goes out around you. You allowed it. Yeah.

I think it's... I'm pretty sure it's like a... A thing. You know.

Well, Elaina just informed me that you can buy ghosts and that we actually might have some in this room. So that's good. Really excited about that. Can you hear how thrilled I am in my voice? You son of a bitch.

These might just be different ones.

How are we to know?

I don't know. Mine's cute, though. I like him.

I'm not saying I dislike them. I like him. You're a friend. Oh, God. I'm going to sage this place after this. Anyway, let me find my place again now that I've been demonically possessed. So I said one time that you can catch a ghost in a jar. What he actually saw was not an intruder, thankfully, but the upper half of a man floating across the archway.

Oh.

Yeah, just that. Oh, okay. If he had legs, Bob would have been able to see them. I will never forget the fear in his eyes that night. I should also note, he was super, uber, ultra-adimate. Ghosts did not exist prior to moving into that house. To make matters even more fucked up, on two other occasions, Karen and Frank separately saw the same thing. The upper half of a man float past the same archway. This might be messed up to say, but you two, especially Elaina, will get it. I was pissed. I was the only one who did not see anything. I would be so mad. I would be upset, too. A growling diamond and a fucking legless floating ghost. Time to yeet, right? Wrong. I was working nearly full-time, and I was in grad school, so I likely did not have the will to care. So we stayed. You were like, Fuck it. Sometime later, Bob, who's getting the brunt of this ghostly shit, likely because they were pissed that he did not believe they were real, awoke in the middle of the night to see me standing in the window, rocking back and forth.

He was confused by the fuck I was doing that creepy weirdness, but 'twasn't me.

'twasn't me.

'twasn't me. He looked over and I was laying in bed next to him, sound asleep. He then panicked thinking I was dead, and he was seeing my ghost, so he slapped my back and I groaned and rolled over. I'm alive. When he looked to the window, my question mark ghost was gone. My. To be fair, this could have been a hypnopompic hallucination, which is blurring of dreams and reality or straight-up hallucination in the weird time of waking, but still being a bit asleep. They're not uncommon, but not as common as hypnogogic hallucination.

I was just going to ask if you meant hypnagogic.

I think it's- Hypnagogic?

Hypnagogic? I don't remember how you say it, but it's like G-O-G instead of P-O-P. Yes, yes. I was going to ask if that's what you meant, I think he must be talking about something different.

Oh, well, he says, Those occur when you're falling asleep. Think hypnago, gig or gic. Yeah. Going to bed. You're welcome. Is this the last creepy story? Nope. Most Americans think they spend about $62 per month on subscriptions. The real number is closer to $300. That's literally thousands of dollars a year, you guys. Half of which you've probably forgotten about. I know I did, but thankfully, I started using Rocket Money. They found a bunch of subscriptions that I had completely forgotten about. Sometimes I had a duplicate subscription because I was like, Oh, I don't have an account there, and I just made another one. Are you joking me? They have helped me cancel the ones that I didn't want anymore. I literally had two Netflix accounts. How is that even possible? But Rocket Money is a personal finance app that finds and cancels your unwanted subscriptions, monitors your spending, and helps lower your bills so that you can grow your savings. I love how the dashboard shows me this month's spending also compared to last month. I can clearly see my spending habits, and I've been getting better because they create a custom budget that keeps my spending on track.

Rocket Money has over 5 million users and has saved a total of $500 million in canceled subscriptions, saving members up to $740 a year when using all the apps features. Stop wasting money on things you don't use. Cancel your unwanted subscriptions by going to rocketmoney. Com/morbid. That's rocketmoney. Com/morbid. Rocketmoney. Com/morbid. Scammers are best known for living the high life until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagui. We're the host of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from WNDRI that takes you along the twists and turns of some of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. We've covered stories like a Sharktank certified entrepreneur who left the show with an investment but soon faced mounting bills, an active lawsuit filed by Larry King, and no real product to push. He then began to prey on vulnerable women instead, selling the idea of a future together while stealing from them behind their backs. To the infamous scams of Real Housewives stars like Theresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives Hall of Fame.

Follow scam influencers on the WNDY app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers early and ad-free right now on WNDYR Plus. Good. One drunk night, a bunch of friends were over and we were playing games in the living room. Upstairs, the friend's children were sleeping. As we innocently play games, laugh, and have some of this world fun, some ghost twat was like, Nah, no more fun. I assume this is what they said because we heard a very loud chatter upstairs. As there were literal children up there, we all ran up the stairs to check on them. Their door was closed, and upon opening it, they were undisturbed. Odd because that chatter was very loud, though children can sleep through a tornado.

Lucky. Yeah, it's true.

Down the hall in another room was a shattered mirror. Haters be like, Oh, it just fell off the wall. But guess what? It fucking did not just fall off the wall.

I love haters be like, and I love, It fucking did not.

The mirror was hanging by a wire on a screw. The screw was unmoved, nor was it slanted downward. So the mirror did not and could not slide off. The wire was also unbroken, so the mirror needed to be lifted off the screw. It's fucked up. That twat ghost lifted the mirror off the screw and threw it on the floor. That's bitchy. Karen put a new mirror in the same place, a full body mirror, which was leaned up against the wall. What happened to that mirror? I'm glad you asked. It, too, broke mere days later. But did it simply slide down the wall and break when landing on its back? No. Nope. It fell forward and shattered. I knew it. And shattered. So there's no way it slid down the wall. No. Now, if a mirror is leaning against a wall, it takes effort/force to flip it forward. So that twotty ghost clearly had a problem with mirrors. As I type this, I feel bad because what if the ghost has body image issues? I was thinking that, too. If you're listening Ghost, I'm sorry. I love you so much, Ralph.

If you're listening ghost, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Finally, one last story. Karen was home alone in the upstairs bathroom, alone. When she... Alone. When she heard footsteps slowly come the stairs while home alone. The house is over 100 years old, so you can hear someone come up those stairs. They creaked like my knees after a mid-afternoon nap. Jk, I can't nap.

I can't either.

I'm not so great at napping anymore either. Once it ascended that final stare, she heard footsteps slowly come down the hall and stop directly outside the bathroom door. No noise, no breath, no voice. Just silent, pants-pooping panic.

Pants-pooping panic.

She finally gathered the badass bitch courage to open the door, and no one was there. Did she then promptly burn that bitch to the ground? Nope. She is tough, and no ghost will ever scare her out. Bob and I finally moved out due to ghost panic? Nope. It was simply time for a new home due to other circumstances, not ghostly related. But don't worry, there is some other weirdness occurring in our new home as well. Like hearing whispers when we dropped in with Alexa twice or loud bangs on the wall with absolutely no apparent cause, like loud ass banks. I thought a tree branch hit the house. It has happened at least three times now. Another time, I was in my happy place vacuuming, and suddenly I felt something/ someone forcibly stopped my vacuum as I was minding my own GD business. It was as if I backed the vacuum into a wall. Real unnerving. I hope you enjoyed this banana story, which actually was quite long, I have to say. I have a lot to say. I kept my prison potty mouth at bay. Kudos to me. I also...

Kudos to me.

You're hilarious. I also saw Ghost Jesus in the middle of the woods overlooking a lake from a small hill. My sober friend saw it/ him too. So no, to the skeptics out there, I did not see things because I was drunk. How many times have you hallucinated due to alcohol? Don't while they're answering. I know the answer is zero times. Ps, imagination is an active process. So when people say, It was just your imagination. That's crap. How many times have you imagined a ghost? If that... I'm just like, cry laughing. I love how you are just like, roasting everyone. It's awesome. If that was the power of my imagination, I would be imagining Zac Efron all the time. Ps, again, I cannot stop myself. I wonder if I'm more attuned to the otherworldly things because I'm a psychologist and, listen pretty well. You can throw some empathy in there, too. I sweat being gay.

I sweat being gay.

I think it's supposed to say, I swear. I I swear being gay plays a role also. It makes me less threatening to men and women. To men and women. To men and women, dead to alive. Women do not need to worry I will creep on them or worse. And men don't have to worry about me getting into some Neanderthal dick-swinging contest. That sounds like... I said, That bit sounds like fun. That bit sounds like fun. Bullshit fighting over a female mate to bop over the head and dragged to a cave. Ook. Note, I do not believe all straight men are like that. I should be done now. Ps, again, I'm the worst. On my drive home, I noticed on a small, on a small silver box on the edge of a bridge overhanging the highway. Morbid, spray-painted in green letters. My immediate thought, my soon-to-be ax murderer knows I take this highway and knows I listen to Morbid. They are sending me a message. I saw that message like a year ago. Still hearing kicking. I cannot go. I cannot go on. I am certain anyone who knows me and is listening knows this is my tale.

There is literally no one like me, whispers. Gay prison psychologist who worked in an inpatient psych and has a ghost tale or two. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you live in a house with a doll in an attic hell box. Claw marks a torso ghost, a growl. The ghost When you are actually alive, broken mirrors and creepy footsteps. Bye.

I am literally obsessed with you.

Oh my God. This is absolutely the best. That was everything.

That was really funny.

I love you so much, Ralph.

Ralph, you rule. Ralph forever. Let's be friends, Ralph.

We already are. We already are. We need to start answering Ralph's mid-commentary.

I realized, by the way, that these are from the York Ghost merchants. And? They're like a very renowned merchant of ghosts. They do not specifically say that they're a ghost trapped in there. It's heavily implied, but it's not said.

I can't even express my overwhelming urge to I'm going to throw my Stanley at you just now.

No, I really meant. They're just specifically, they're a very renowned place to get ghosts. This one says, Listener Tale. This is a good one, I swear.

Sorry, I just bonkers my Stanley on my computer instead of throwing it across the room.

I immediately got attached to this one. I'm glad. I'm old, and I don't know if I did this correctly, but here's my Listener Tale.

I thought you were still talking for a second. I mean, me too.

Me too. They wanted Ghost Whisper, and I gave Courage the Cowardly Dog. It's about my ex who was dating me but was involved with four other people at the same time, except they were dead. So, wow. Wow.

All right. Both of us just go, wow, wow.

Let's go. So, Listener Tale. They wanted Ghost Whisper, but got Courage the Cowardly Dog instead. Yeep.

That show used to scare the shit out of me when I was little.

Yeah.

Ghost Whisper or Courage the Cowardly Dog? Courage the Cowardly Dog. Actually, I used to love Ghost Whisper. Oh, damn. It used to be on at like six o'clock after all my other programs.

I never watched it. That's Jennifer Love Pewer, right? It is.

Yeah. It's a girl. It was like a drama because there was always a sad reason why they couldn't cross over. Oh, yeah, of course. There's one specific episode that I will never forget where this guy died. It was like a football player, and he died because another football player collided in just the right spot of his chest.

To make his heart go poof.

And it's called a certain thing, and it's real, and it's one of my biggest fears.

Yeah, I mean, don't play football.

I mean, you never have to tell me that. Don't do that. Even when I played in high school on the powder puff thing, I just walked the sidelines, really. No one wanted me to be there.

It's fine. Well, this says, Hi, you Coolish Gals. I am Kaylyn. You can wholeheartedly use my name because anyone who knows me knows that I am a creepy freak, and I'm more than okay with that. I love your vibe.

That's great.

I wanted to start off with you two are insanely amazing in what you do not only many people's days, but opens a lot of hearts and eyes to horrible and morbid cases that need to be spoken of more. Thank you. I would spend more time loving on you, but sadly, I have some trauma, and that stops me from being all mushy-gooshy. And instead, I show my love by being a total smart ass with sartastic comments. Are you from New England? I was going to say that's great. I spend my days listening to you. I'm a mail carrier, so all I do is hand out bills and gruesome facts all day long. You're welcome, folks who have come in contact with me. I would listen to you guys when I am home, but my husband says I watch and listen to too many, How to kill your husband and get away with it podcast and shows. I like to keep them on his toes. Also, I frequently say fresh air is for dead people because it makes it a good reason as to why my hermida stays inside every chance I can. But I digress. Anywho, this tale is about how I dated an ass juice of a human who brought more people into our relationship than just us, and all of them were dead.

Yep, hold on to all your cheeks. It gets creepy, chaotic, and it's just an all-around horror story from beginning to end. Okay. I will state that I am very, very in touch with the spiritual side. Since I was young, I was able to speak to and see people who are not alive anymore. I also knew things about people without realizing I should not. I told my uncle that his girlfriend was going to try and kill him. I was five. And yes, she, in fact, did try to kill him. So he thought maybe that was a good time to call it quits. Probably. I guess having a shit picker runs in our family or something. I told my mom things about her past I shouldn't have never known. And I told my dad about the woman who was going to die by suicide below his apartment. And she did as well five days after I left for Christmas break. So, yeah, damn. The thing is, the older I got, the more I cut myself off from it because I am a total and utter wuss. You're not a wuss. No. That's just like very overwhelming and very intense.

I don't even like talking to people who are alive. Why would I want to socialize with dead ones? The thing is, when I drink, there's no cutting off, and that is a huge part of this story.

That makes sense.

Because you're just uninhibited. Yeah. So I started dating this dumpster fire of a man when my life was at an all-time low because that's what you do when you have abandonment issues, parent issues. Surprise, I have mommy and daddy issues, so you can call me an all-around winner because I got the two-for-one deal on shitty sperm and egg donors.

Girl, I got the same one. Except my dad's not for it.

I'm so sorry about those deals. And you know what? You are a winner because that was not your fault. Yeah, exactly. That you got dealt some shit cards.

You just had to be here.

Yeah. You're the winner here, okay?

Winner winner. It's you.

Chicken dinner. Chicken dinner. We will call this guy X. It's funny because it goes off of his name, and he's my ex. Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Yeah.

We saw each other twice before he asked me to move States away with him. Of course, because I do everything I shouldn't. I have to do it just to make sure I shouldn't. I told you, drama. So I gather a suitcase of my things and move across States with this guy. Things seemed off from the very beginning. He was in the military and lived off base. The day we got to his house, he left to go in the field. The house was nice, but I just couldn't shake the feeling of it having a really dark presence to it. At night, lights would go on and off. The TV would blare at three o'clock, almost every single night. He had this huge mirror that sat across from the bed, and it gave me the chills every time I looked at it. I hated being alone there.

Not supposed to have a mirror at the foot of your bed.

Oh, yeah, you always tell me that.

Actually, there's It's a mirror at the foot of your bed, isn't there?

It's off to the side.

It's still at the foot of your bed. You should actually move that.

Why? What is the whole thing on that?

It's like a whole portal.

But isn't it a portal no matter where it is in the room?

If it's... There's some reason why if it's at the end, it's like... I don't know if it's like a feng shui thing or something like that.

I think it's feng shui more than a portal.

But that's spiritual, too. Is it? Yeah. All I know is I don't like it.

I don't know where else to put it.

I mean, it looks good where it is, but...

I'm like, I don't know. It looks good.

Maybe that's why there's a second you, bitch.

Maybe. I've created a portal with my...

Put it back where it was before. It looked fine there.

But that's also right to the side of the end of the bed.

Way less close, though. I don't know.

This feels nitpicky of the spiritual realm. I bet they would be nitpicky, though. If I'm 5 centimeters to the right, then it's okay. But if I'm facing it.

Laught now. Look, I don't know. I won't be laughing when you get dragged off to a weird portal in the middle of nowhere.

Damn.

Do you see? I said I wouldn't be laughing.

But damn. I'd be upset. What the fuck? I didn't know that was supposed to happen. I don't know what happens. I'll move it slightly to the side. You should. To make you feel better. Thanks.

I'll do that for you. You should put Like, we can talk about your mirror later.

No, let's talk about it now.

No, I wanted to where should I put my mirror?

Guys, where do I put my motherfucking mirror?

She'll take Instagram votes later.

Yeah, tell me. Send me DM's. Where do I put my here. Blanchard's ideas. I comment on this episode post. Yeah, there you go. My dogs are speaking about it right now.

I think you should get rid of it and move. Treats there.

They're like, I don't know. I like looking at myself. So I hated being alone there, but I also know he would be home soon. So yay, he comes back home three days later and surprises me with a bottle of tequila. I was like, Oh, sir, don't temp me with a good time. We started taking that bottle down like it was the last bottle of water we had dying in the desert. I mean, it's unhealthy, but your girl could throw it back then. Now, I just throw up. I got drunk, and then I started to sense there was more to this apartment than just being dark. He was dark. He had this horrible thing that was attached to him, and I could feel it. I could feel her. That night, I felt and saw a gray, thin woman watching us from the hallway. A gray, thin woman watching you from the hallway, you say?

That sounds like it follows.

I I hate that. That's exactly what that sounds. I hate that. Watching us from the ceiling?

So first the hallway? So, first the hallway? So, watching him mostly.

My, my like, from the ceiling. She would be up. I'd be like, You get your eyes somewhere else, bitch.

I would say, You can have him. Goodbye. I'm leaving.

Drew, she doesn't mean it.

No, this man's just dark. Throw this man to the curb dark. If it was Drew, I would... Oh, I'd square up an old gray. That's what I'm saying. I'm in the house. One, two.

I'm like, Let's go, bitch.

I was thinking of past shitty people. Oh, yeah. Take them.

You can take my ex. Go right ahead. Take him. Take him into the shadow realm with you. I don't give a shit. I'm Dan Tabersky. In 2011, something strange began to happen at the high school in Leroy, New York.

I was at my locker and she came up to me and she was stuttering super bad.

I'm like, Stop running around.

She's like, I can't. A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms, and spreading fast. It's doubling and tripling, and it's all these girls. With a diagnosis, the state tried to keep on the down low. Everybody thought I was holding something back.

Well, you were holding something back intentionally. Yeah. It's hysteria. It's all in your head. It's not physical. Oh, my gosh. You're exaggerating. Is this the largest mass hysteria since the witches of Salem?

Or is it something else entirely? Something's wrong here.

Something's not right.

Leroy was the new dateland, and everyone was trying to solve the murder.

A new limited series from Wundery and Pineable Street studios, Hysterical. Follow Hysterical on the Wundery app or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can binge all episodes of Hysterical early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus.

All right. So, yeah, a thin, gray woman watching from the hallway, watching from the ceiling, watching him mostly, but she knew I could feel her around us.

Why do you... How do you know? What?

She knows this. The best visual I can give is if the grudge girl was in all black and white.

Oh my God. I hate it.

When you said the best visual, that's the worst visual, actually. I told him what I was feeling and that she had made her presence known to me, and he stopped and just stared at me. I thought he thought I was crazy, but instead, he told me since he was a little boy, he had an attachment. His family who practices Santa Maria, tried to do everything they could to protect him from it, but this succubus wouldn't let him go. Everyone, go Google what a succubus is.

That's the ghost That fucks you right now. Googles. The way you just said. It's a sex one. The way you just said.

She looks so serious. That made you like, I'm correct, right?

Leave it in. Oh, man. That's that ghost.

That's that ghost. And now that I was there, she was angrier than ever.

Again, I would say you could have him.

I got to go. We went to bed that night and I was awoken to death-curdling screams in my ears. It was as if my brain was screaming, whoa. When I shot up out of bed, he was sitting up just looking at me. I asked him, Ex, did you hear that? Nothing. I asked again. He just kept staring at me and didn't even blink once. I had chills all over my body. I looked at him and realized it was as if he had turned a stone. No movement. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. So I started shaking him, pleading with him to wake up and acknowledge what the fuck just happened. He never did. He sat there for two hours and never moved.

Plenty of time for you to book a plane ticket and get the fuck out of there.

I am not making this up. I wish I was, but that will live with me till I die. It was the first time I ever felt truly helpless and fearful of what the paranormal world could do. Yeah, I bet. I stayed there with him till he laid down and went back to his normal sleep. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even put together what the actual fuck was happening. Did I dream this? Was I that drunk? No. It just got worse. When he would leave for the field, I would be awoken to the same scream. I hate the scream. I hate a scream. And one night, while I laid there, I saw in that stupid, hauntingly creepy but beautiful mirror, a shadow crossed behind me. Mind you, the bed was against the wall. There was nowhere for someone to cross behind me. I jumped out of bed and told whoever was there to leave. They were not welcome. I cried. I straight up cried for hours. Trying to turn on the TV never helped. They would just turn it back off. That would piss me off. Yeah. I love the office. It's like what calms me.

I have to have the TV on at night.

I'd be really irritated if I was trying to get in my cozy mood. Me too. And they were like, no, silence it is.

That sounds like the... I'll let you read the rest of it because it sounds like Poltergeist.

Yeah, because it says they would just turn it back off. They would blast the volume. They would shake the bed, shake the sofa. Every time he came back home, he was different, more angry at me for things. I wasn't allowed to use certain cups or plates. What the fuck? He told me what I could and couldn't eat. He told me how to wear my hair and how to dress. It became a nightmare all around me. I'm so sorry. I know. He'd leave, and though it sucked to be alone, I almost felt like I had some time to breathe till the ghost stuck back into play. And yes, multiple. The more sad I became, the more I would drink. I know, I know. I'm a healthy cop. I'm a healthy copper. Zero out of ten would recommend. I think Cooper. Cooper, probably. But sometimes you do what you think you got to do. While one night of drinking myself to sleep, I got a text from or wasted space, and he tells me I need to be out the next day. That his leader found out he was dating someone and living with them while he was still married.

Oh, your girl lost it. After going on a full-blown hunt to find his said wife, I messaged I told her I had no idea and that I was heartbroken for her more than anyone. After us girls banding together because that's what the fuck you do. Hell, yeah. Good for you. I kept drinking that night because that's not what you do. And I let every single wall down. I started writing everything I felt and everyone who came to me. The succubus stayed back but let herself be known. Then an older woman came forward, long black hair and definitely not a fan of mine. She told me she was his grandmother and did not approve of me being with him. Another stepped forward, a soldier. He was young and extremely protective over me. He told me I was safe, but I needed to leave immediately. And then another man, mid-forties maybe, and had drowned in a lake nearby. He told me he had two children and a wife not even five miles away from where I was. Oh my God. I was writing scribbles everywhere, trying to coheretly take in all their stories. Ten pages of stuff.

Definitely looked like a doctor wrote it because it was my Lucy Goosy writing stage of half cursive and half who knows what the fuck it is. These spirits came to me looking for the Ghost Whisperer, and I straight up gave them drunk encourage the Cowardly Dog. Not my best moment, but definitely not my worst. The next day, I gathered my things and left the Hell house. I will say, while moving my things out, I took every fork but one and also took the microwave plate.

The microwave plate. That's fucking genius. That is amazing. To take the microwave plate as a power move, I have never known.

The power moves, the power moves. Like, that is the microwave plate because that's going to hit. And that's going to hit in a moment.

Just like, oh, I wanted those ramen noodles so bad.

The worst moment. I'm not a petty person, usually, but I was horrifically hung over and feeling a little spicy that day. No, good for you. Also, the dick shit deserved it. And those forks belonged to his wife to begin with, so whatever. Fuck that. I left my chicken scratch notes right on top of the kitchen counter that I took down the night before. And without skipping a beat, he called me that night when he came back to house. He said, What was his name? The soldier, what was his name? I told him it was John. The man started to cry. I mean, could barely speak. I soon figured out a lot that night. The succubus that had followed him around was due to him playing with a Ouija board when he was very young. He had become possessed. His family members had cast spells of protection on him, and it seemed to help until his grandmother had passed away. His grandmother was the older woman I spoke to that night. When she passed, he said the succubus clung to him and never let go of him after that. The soldier I spoke to was a guy he was in the military with.

One day, they had switched places on a Humvee, and it sadly hit an IED. The side my ex was supposed to be on got hit the hardest and ended up with John losing his life that day. Ex always blamed himself. With that feeding at him, it only ever fueled his succubus more. He told me he never had dreams, only nightmares, and always felt like his mind and body were at two different places at night. He was happy to hear John was still there and making sure everyone was safe. That's all he ever did for X when they were serving together. Wow. Now the mid-forties man he had no idea about, didn't know him, but did hear about an accidental drowning the year he moved there. The wife and two children were begging to help find him. They did shortly after when his body was recovered two miles away from our house. With all that being said, I did get my shit together and ended up marrying my best friend three years later. We have two beautiful children, and I couldn't ask for a better husband and father. Oh, that makes me really happy. That's incredible.

I sometimes wish I never had to go through that. But man, am I glad to be married to a preacher's son who never once been possessed? Yay for me. To add my three-year-old son is just like I am. Poor guy. He tells me about the man in our house. He has woken me up to point at the wall and asked, who's that? I debated on selling him on Etsy because he's homemade and you'll never get more money that way. And you'll get more money that way. But he also started talking about my grandmother. I debate in selling him on Etsy because he's Homemade. That's incredible. And you'll get more money that way. But he also started talking about my grandmother a day after she passed. He tells me how she sits on the sofa with us and watches TV. So I guess I'll just keep my little Ghostbusters. Thank you, ladies, and congratulations on all you two have done and will continue to accomplish. Keep it weird, but don't keep it this weird. Take it away, Ash.

Keep it so weird, but not so weird that you sell your son on that, even if he is homemade.

Even if he is homemade.

Wow. I love. Oh, my God. That was great.

Amazing. All right.

We have one last Listener tale for you today. It's Listener tales regarding episode 424, Ancaster, Nannies and Kids Who Talk to Ghost. Hi, screams Canada, like France. Like France. Like France. My name is... Let me see. Caitlin. I think, right? Yeah, Caitlin. You can say it, but you already did. So you're welcome.

I love that, but you already did.

All right, let me go to the potafour.

The potafour.

No, it's the same thing. And it says, But you already did. So you're welcome. For a weird and brief period of my life, I lived in Hamilton, the waterfall capital of the world, and went to college with Tim Bosma's niece a few years after the evil onion events took place. Bam. Safe to say, the community will never recover. I was driving when I heard this episode, and it was 10:58 when I stopped it to listen when I had computer access. You pronounced Kajiji and a Tobiko, I think it is, correctly. Hell, yeah. Something About a Truck is a country song by Kip Moore, and you were so close on the words, but it's farmer's field, not tan. Close. Oh, so close. Fill in many various compliments. I love yous, and I'm grateful for yous here.

I love you, and I'm grateful for you.

I love you, and I'm grateful for you, too. On to the story. When I was eight, my nanny, my maternal grandmother, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. She was so funny. She taught me how to craft and sow. She played a mean game of and made a magical root beer float. I want a root beer float so badly now.

Oh, they're so good.

She loved angels, apples, and having her face tickled to sleep by her granddaught. Oh my god, what a grandma. I know. At Christmas time, she filled five foot tall stockings for the grandkid. Kids. That's amazing. And would let us stay up late long as she got a foot massage out of the deal.

That's a boss bitch right there.

Yeah, it is. Losing her was tough for all of us. I'm sorry. 23 years later, my mom still thinks about picking up the phone to call her, and I never take for granted being able to call my mom. I had the odd, spooky dream about her when I was young, but never encountered her spirit until after she passed. My nephew, H, who was born 11 years after she was already gone, however, got to meet his great nan through ghost tea parties.

Oh my God.

I love this. For a few days, I know this is great. For a few days, he was sitting or standing near a corner of my sister's living room and babbling away. My sister asked who he was speaking to, and he would always say, Nanny Buckley. Nobody in our family ever really called her that because she was just nanny to us. But had she been with us to see great grandchildren come into the world, that's what she would have been called. My mom was very excited to be nanny to her own grandkids. It freaked my sister out, but she let it go because it didn't make any sense. My poppy, Roy, was having some health issues, and my sister was spending her time with him. On a particularly hard day, H said to my sister, Nanny Buckley says hi back. Here's where my sister started to pay attention because she talks a lot to my nanny when she's in her car alone. So hearing her three-year-old say, your dead grandma says hi back, was slightly alarming. A little bit. He continued to have tea parties with her and would occasionally pass on a hello. H and I hung out one day while my sister took my poppy to the hospital for test results.

The diagnosis was cancer and the prognosis was not good. They returned home and my sister happily chatted away with my nephew, pretending her world hadn't just been shattered by a guy with a clipboard. Our badass mom was a single, hardworking mom to four kids. Our nanny and poppy helped raise us and lived with us for most of our lives. So he was a best friend, a rock, and a glue to all of us. She asked H if he had tea with his nanny, and very knowingly, without knowing anything at all because my sister was holding it so together, and I didn't even know the news yet, said, No, she was with poppy today. He really needed her.

Oh my God, stop.

He had the odd encounter with her after that, but it didn't last too long. The bond he had with my poppy was unbreakable. In the few short years they had together, they created a true lifetime of memories of going for coffee.

Oh my God, stop.

Coffee for pop, watered down hot chocolate, and a Timbit for the kid. A Timbit is a tiny donut hole, but way better from Tim Hortons. Fishing in every season, watching old Western movies, and playing with the Tickle Monster. Poppy's Hand, of course. This was a favorite of ours when we were little, too.

Oh my God, I love your Nanny and Poppy.

I know. Eight months after his diagnosis, H came to visit him at my mom's house where he was being taken care of. They had their mostly silent visit and left. A minute later, H busted back through my parents' door, threw his his little arms around Poppy and told him he loved him. Within a few hours, my Nanny and Poppy were finally reunited after too many years of him being so lost without her. Our world will never feel like home without them, but I hope they're happy wherever they are. They deserve it. My nephew is twelve now, doesn't see ghosts, and doesn't think I'm cool anymore. Damn kids. Anyways, keep it weird, but not so weird that you let your nephew have tea parties with ghosts. Or maybe do. Definitely do. Caitlin from Screams Canada. From Canada. Attached to her photos of my papi and my nephew, my poppy and I, my nanny with my siblings and I. I had to crop it because it was the '90s and nobody was wearing a shirt. My now husband. Just a bunch of pictures. I love that. Oh my God. Let me see.

Your poppy is exactly what I thought he would be.

Oh, I see them now. I couldn't see them at first. Oh my God, he's so sweet.

What a cutie patootie. Oh, I love these pictures. Oh my God, I love them. Oh, your puppy is just so... Such a grandpa. Such a puppy. Like, he's such a poppy. I just love it.

Wow. That was a great story. That was a perfect one to end on.

Oh, man. Thank you for that, Kaitlyn.

You guys are the best.

You guys rule.

Better than the rest.

That was a great batch.

I liked that one.

What a fascinating batch.

I know.

What was the common scene? We had some spookies. There really wasn't.

There wasn't. I like that when that happens. Yeah. Well, we hope you keep listening.

And we hope you...

Keep it weird. But not so weird that somebody sees a ghost version of you in your house because you're still alive and that would be so scary. Definitely don't keep it so weird that you babysit for a cold-button killer, even if you don't know, because oh my God, scary, scary, Scary. Do keep it so weird that you have a kid who has ghosty parties because I love that one. And honestly, maybe keep it so weird that you steal somebody's microwave plate because I love that.

That's the best petty. Bye.

Bye. If you like Morbid, you can listen early and odd for you right now by joining WNDRI Plus in the WNDRI app or on Apple podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wndyri. Com/survey.

She struck him with her motor vehicle. She had been under the influence that she left him there.

In January 2022, local woman Karen Reid was implicated in the mysterious death of her boyfriend, Boston Police Officer John O'Keefe. It was alleged that after an innocent night out for drinks with friends, Karen and John got into a lovers' quarrel en route to the next location. What happens next depends on who you ask. Was it a crime of passion?

If you believe the prosecution, it's because the evidence was so compelling. This was clearly an intentional act.

And his cause of death was blunt force trauma with hypothermia. Or a corrupt police cover-up. If you believe the defense theory, however, this was all a cover-up to prevent one of their own from going down. Everyone had an opinion. After the 10-week trial, the jury could not come to a unanimous decision. To end in a mistrial, it's just a confirmation of just how complicated this case is. Law and crime presents the most in-depth analysis to date of the sensational case in Karen. You can listen to Karen exclusively with WNDYRI Plus. Join WNDYRI Plus in the WNDYRI app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.