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The Kit-Bag

2024/12/25
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Scared To Death

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C
Cody
专注于焦虑和惊恐障碍的临床心理学家和行为科学家,提供实用建议和治疗服务。
D
Dan
专注于加密货币和股票市场分析的金融专家,The Chart Guys 团队成员。
G
Genevieve
J
Juju
L
Lindsay
创立并主持《All Ears English》播客,帮助全球英语学习者通过自然和实用的方式提高英语水平。
Topics
Lindsay: 本期节目分享三个故事,第一个是超自然现象相关的疑问,第二个是圣诞节主题的恐怖故事,第三个是关于"鹿人"的恐怖故事。 第二个故事讲述一个与圣诞节相关的恐怖礼物,这个礼物非常令人不安。 第三个故事讲述的是关于"鹿人"的故事,带有美国原住民色彩,是一个非常恐怖的故事。 Dan: 第一个故事发生在2002年的巴西,讲述的是在巴西版《老大哥》节目中捕捉到的疑似超自然现象的片段。 第二个故事将延续节目以往的传统,讲述一个维多利亚时代英国的恐怖故事,故事名为《旅行包》,讲述了律师Johnson借用上司Wilbraham的旅行包后,经历的一系列超自然事件。 现实电视节目中捕捉到的超自然现象可能比我们想象的更真实,因为参与者通常没有表演经验,很难伪造情绪。巴西版《老大哥》节目中出现的超自然现象片段,很可能是真实的超自然事件。 Genevieve: Genevieve从小就对黑暗感到恐惧,并经历过一些超自然现象,她认为这些现象可能与她女儿Anya有关。 Genevieve的女儿Anya也经历过类似的超自然现象,例如灯光损坏、路灯熄灭等。Genevieve认为这些现象可能是遗传的,也可能是Anya的某种超自然能力。 Juju: Juju讲述了她小时候收到一个与自己相似的瓷娃娃作为圣诞礼物,以及之后发生的一系列怪事。 Juju怀疑这个瓷娃娃可能拥有某种超自然力量,影响了她的母亲,导致她的母亲不愿丢弃这个娃娃。 Cody: Cody讲述了他祖父在暴风雪夜里搭载一位女子,之后发生车祸,以及祖父后来生病并被治愈的故事。 Cody的祖父在车祸后生病,后来通过部落的传统疗法,从祖父的体内取出一根鹿毛,之后祖父的病情好转。这个故事讲述了"鹿人"的传说,以及他们对人类的潜在威胁。

Deep Dive

Key Insights

What is the significance of the Victorian era in the history of ghost stories?

The Victorian era, spanning from 1837 to 1901, marked a transition in the tradition of ghost stories from oral storytelling to written literature. This shift was facilitated by the advent of the steam-powered printing press, which made written stories more accessible and affordable. Ghost stories became a popular form of entertainment during the Christmas season, transcending socioeconomic classes. Authors like Charles Dickens played a significant role in popularizing the genre, with works such as 'A Christmas Carol' and other ghostly novellas.

What paranormal event was captured on reality TV in Brazil in 2002?

During the second season of Big Brother Brazil in 2002, a housemate named Sita Moraes experienced a paranormal event caught on camera. While lounging in the backyard, she suddenly heard her name being called, though no one was present. She frantically searched for the source, later claiming it sounded like her sister's voice. Shortly after, producers informed her that her sister had passed away. Many consider this footage one of the most compelling pieces of paranormal evidence ever recorded on reality TV.

What is the story 'The Kit Bag' by Algernon Blackwood about?

'The Kit Bag' is a ghost story by Algernon Blackwood, first published in 1908. It follows a young man named Johnson who borrows a kit bag from his employer, a barrister who recently defended a murderer named John Turk. As Johnson packs for a holiday, he begins to experience strange occurrences, including hearing footsteps and seeing the kit bag move on its own. The story culminates in a terrifying encounter with the ghost of John Turk, who claims the bag as his own. The tale is considered one of Blackwood's best and a classic in the horror genre.

What is the Deer People story shared by Cody?

Cody, a Native American from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, shared a story about his grandfather encountering the Deer People. During a snowstorm, his grandfather picked up an old woman who appeared to be in distress. As they drove, he noticed her legs were deer legs and her purse was filled with deer poop. She attacked him, causing a car accident. Later, his grandfather fell mysteriously ill, and traditional healers removed a deer hair from his chest, believed to be a mark from the Deer People. After this, his health improved, and he lived to an old age.

What is the significance of the Webkinz doll story shared by Juju?

Juju shared a story about receiving a creepy porcelain doll instead of the Webkinz she asked for from Santa. The doll, which resembled her, became a source of nightmares, including a dream where the doll tried to stab her. Despite her pleas, her mother refused to get rid of the doll, claiming it was beautiful and should stay with her forever. Years later, Juju found the doll hidden in her closet, leading her to question her mother's attachment to it and whether the doll had some kind of hold over her.

What is the connection between Algernon Blackwood and H.P. Lovecraft?

Algernon Blackwood was a significant influence on H.P. Lovecraft, who cited him as one of his favorite authors. Blackwood, known as a master of the supernatural, wrote numerous ghost stories and horror tales that inspired Lovecraft's own work. Blackwood's ability to create atmospheric and psychologically unsettling stories left a lasting impact on the horror genre, influencing many writers who came after him.

Shownotes Transcript

Translations:
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Whether thou art a ghost that hath come from the earth, or a phantom of night that hath no hollow, or one that lieth dead in the desert, or a ghost unburied, or a demon, or a ghoul, whatever thou be until thou art removed, thou shalt find here no water to drink. Thou shalt not stretch forth thy hand to our own. Into our house enter thou not. Through our fence break through thou not.

We are protected, though we may be frightened. Our life you may not steal, though we may be scared to death. Welcome to Scared to Death. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Holidays, Kreefs, Peepers, Roberts, and Annabelles. Hello, hello, hello. The Christmas Elf is here. I'm Dan. This is Lindsay. The Christmas Elf. The Christmas Elf.

The Christmas elf. And thanks for making us part of your holidays this year. Yeah. Hope you guys are holding on. Yeah. And if you're not able to celebrate with friends and family, hop into the scared to death creeps and peepers, private Facebook group. You will find some holiday friends and fellow horror lovers in there. Yes. And, uh, yeah, we have a big show for you today. My only real announcement is we have no announcements. Wow. Wow. Wow. Uh,

What fan-submitted horror do you have for us this Christmas Eve, Lindsay Lou? I have three tales for us this week. Okay. My first is more of a paranormal question. You'll want to stay to the very end to weigh in on said question. Then my second story is very holiday-themed with a creepy gift given at Christmas. It is so disturbing to me. Okay. And then my third and final tale...

Well, Dan, it's about something I don't think I really know. It's about deer people.

Huh. Okay. It's Native American, American Indian in nature. Sounds skinwalker adjacent since deer is a common animal that they skinwalker allegedly morphs in and out of. Yeah. It's a creepy ass story. I will say that. Okay. I have my two stories. You don't. And the second continues our annual scared to death holiday horror tradition. But before I share details for that story, my first story takes us to Brazil in 2002, December.

What? What?

It's not a scary story, but it is a very, very wild, cool, and interesting example of what seems to be a very intense paranormal moment caught on film. No way? Yeah, I've been thinking about this one a lot. Oh, I can't wait to ask old Rick Dog, because she loves Big Brother. I bet she's seen this. Oh, funny. Well, I mean, maybe. I don't know that she's watching international versions of the show. Well, if it's...

If it's dubbed into English, she probably is. She's a huge fan. Then for my second story, I'll read an early example of British horror fiction, as I've done here each and every holiday season. Again, for those who haven't heard, or it's been a while, it's been since last year, we owe much of our modern fascination here in the West with ghost stories and horror stories, just in general, to shortly before, during, and shortly after the UK's Victorian era,

which lasted from 1837 to 1901, back when the primary season for telling ghost stories was not Halloween, but was instead Christmas. It was in Victorian England, and just during the holidays in general, in Victorian England that telling supernatural tales at the end of the year, specifically during the Christmas season, transitioned from an oral tradition of telling whatever spooky stories you had memorized to a written tradition of reciting some author's tale of spooks and scares.

And the holiday horror tradition transitioned from whatever your grandpa could remember to whatever he could read, in large part due to the development of the steam-powered printing press that made the written word much more widely available. More stories were being printed than ever before, and they were more affordable than ever before. The popularity of Victorian Christmas ghost stories transcended socioeconomic status. They were available to read everywhere, from cheap publications to expensive Christmas annuals that middle-class ladies could show off on their coffee tables online.

Famed British author Charles Dickens, who wrote A Christmas Carol in 1843, featuring Jacob Marley's Visit to Scrooge, also played a huge part in popularizing the genre of horror fiction in England. England's most popular author of the 19th century wrote numerous Christmas novellas, several of which involved ghosts. He also started editing more and more Christmas ghost stories written by other people and working them into various magazines he was printing, and those stories became wildly popular, or a number of them did.

Back in the days when these stories were being cheaply printed, but before the advent of radio and TV, the first radio station began broadcasting in the UK in 1922.

families would gather around the fireplace on cold, dark, dreary British winter days, and with frankly, or I guess nights, and with frankly not nearly as many entertainment options at their disposal compared to today, they shared horror stories. And many of the stories they went on to share in the early 20th century were written by the prolific author of dozens and dozens of short supernatural tales, Algernon Blackwood, cited by one source as being among the most prolific ghost story writers in the history of the genre.

And today, for our tradition, I will be sharing a spooky story considered by many to be one of Algernon's best.

A story called The Kit Bag, think a large suitcase with sides that fasten at the top or open to the full width of the bag, that was first published in the December 1908 issue of Paul Mall Magazine, a monthly British literary magazine published between 1893 and 1914. Like the cigarettes? Like Paul Mall cigarettes? I don't know if there's an association there. Okay. I didn't look, but I was like, I also thought, huh, that's an interesting name. Yeah.

This story was recommended by a scared to death fan, Beth Way. So thank you, Beth. Thanks, Beth. And with that explanation of our holiday tradition out of the way, I'm ready to tell my first story as soon as you're ready to show me your spoopy socks. Look at these nutcrackers. These are fluffy little nutcrackers. Those are very holiday socks. I know. They're the most holiday. The most holiday that can be fit into a sock is in those socks. So no setup for my first very odd story.

Haunting in not necessarily a scary way, little story. And so I'm just going to tell it. Time now for the tale of It Happened on TV. The funny thing about reality TV is the way we all pretend it's real. But that's part of the fun, right? The suspension of disbelief, the unspoken agreement collectively made amongst fans to regard the footage as raw.

like it's unfiltered and authentic as much as the kind you see in a nature documentary. You can't watch The Bachelor and think, what I'm seeing is a systematic, soulless corporate reproduction of human connection, meticulously orchestrated by production and marketing execs, hell-bent on record-breaking audience ratings so they can get a big fat Christmas bonus. You can't think like that while you're watching. That would suck all the fun out of your viewing experience. It would also make you a not-very-fun person to watch The Bachelor with.

Instead, while your eyes are glued to the screen, you have to maintain this mentality of willing ignorance. You have to turn a blind eye to the unreality of it, the uncanniness of it, in order to feel something when you watch it, to feel happy when your favorite girl gets a rose, sad when she gets kicked off. Then when the episode is over, you can drop the act. You can admit to yourself, you know it's all rehearsed, it's all edited, it's all a sham. But I digress. The point I'm trying to make here is we all know reality TV is bullshit, even though we pretend it's not.

We have this collective understanding of the fact that it's fake, but we choose to ignore it for the sake of being entertained. But at the end of the day, at the end of the episode, we know the truth. It's all a lie. But what happens if something very real is captured on camera, but because it's reality TV, everyone thinks it's bullshit. And I don't mean something real as in a real connection or real love captured on some dating show, but something far stranger, something caught by accident, something that shouldn't be real, something terrifying.

How do we deal with an impossible real thing when it's presented to us through a medium we know is fake? Okay, I'll quit with the hypotheticals and get to the point. In 2002, the first season of Big Brother Brazil premiered on Globe TV, and it was an instant success.

The show is centered around the same concept as all the other iterations of the reality TV franchise. A group of strangers, referred to as housemates, live together in complete isolation from the outside world in the Big Brother house. Cameras scattered around the house monitor every minute of every day. The group spends in close quarters with each other. There is no privacy. They are being watched 24 hours, seven days a week. The cameras are there to capture all the drama, but in season two of the show, they happen to capture something else.

Something that many refer to as the most compelling piece of paranormal footage to ever be caught on camera. It was a boiling hot, cloudless summer afternoon in Rio de Janeiro. Sita Moraes, a 39-year-old flight attendant, was lounging in the backyard of the Big Brother house. The rest of the housemates were inside trying to escape the relentless heat.

But Siddha, I should have said Siddha earlier, Siddha more eyes, Siddha didn't mind the sun, so she donned her black and white striped bikini and stretched out on the grass, soaking in the warmth. In the footage, which I watched myself numerous times on YouTube, she's seen laying on her back, absently chewing on her fingers, looking distracted and far away, almost like she's about to fall asleep.

Then suddenly she bolts up, looking frantically from left to right, scanning her surroundings. She looks very displaced, disoriented, like someone just yanked her out of a dream, even though she definitely had not been just sleeping. The video pans to a wider shot of the entire yard. There's no one outside in the yard but her. The pool area is empty. The doors to the house are closed. She looks completely alone. There's no overlay of music in the video, no voiceover from the host, just a dull, persistent drone of static from an old VHS recording.

In Portuguese, Sita mutters, I heard my name, but the audience hears nothing. We just watch as Sita continues desperately, wildly searching for the origin of the sound. She cranes her eyes towards the sky, examines the ground beneath her, stares dumbfounded at the abandoned chairs laid across the porch, and she finds nothing. Again, she speaks to the emptiness. Where? Where? Where? Who is calling?

The audience feels secondhand embarrassment for her. She looks bizarre, disturbed even. The way she's searching all around for something that isn't there, responding to a voice that speaks only to her. Abruptly, she pulls herself to her feet. She starts walking in circles, proclaiming to the emptiness around her, where? Who is calling? It's coming from the house?

Her movements are disconcerting. The erratic jerking of her head like it's being wrenched from side to side, the way it swivels on her neck like it's being dislodged from her spine, the features of her face and how they contort and twist with unadulterated confusion. Siddha's ominous display comes to an abrupt end when a fellow housemate named Taish appears on the porch and shouts her name. Was it you who was calling me? Asks Siddha anxiously. Yeah, responds Taish.

Sita breathes a sigh of relief and makes her way over to the porch. How strange, she explains. I mistook you for my sister's voice. It sounded exactly like my sister calling me. Later, the cameras catch Thais telling another housemate that she believes Sita is unwell. She explains that she had witnessed Sita earlier that afternoon when out of nowhere, the woman started acting crazy, screaming that someone was calling her name, but no one was. So Thais just said that she wasn't actually calling her name. Later that day, Sita is pulled aside by producers and they tell her some horrible news.

So what happened here? Was this all bullshit like so much of the rest of reality TV? Just an elaborate scheme orchestrated by producers to drive up ratings?

Or is this incredible evidence of the paranormal undeniably captured on reality TV film footage of otherworldly phenomena of a woman calling out to her sister from beyond the grave shortly after she's died?

I don't know why, but that gives me chills all over. When you watch the footage, it will give you chills again. Because I've, I mean, obviously I worked in reality TV for a while and worked with a lot of people who worked in the early, like, you know, first days of reality TV when the format was very different, when you would just record everything. You'd have cameras running for months and months, like the OC and like Big Brother. And then these editors would build these narratives, you know,

after everything had been recorded, they build the episodes as they call it in post and put it together and everything.

And, you know, one, one of like a big rule in reality TV when you're producing is remember that these people can't act to save their lives. So when you are coming up, you know, things changed after the early days of just recording everything. And then it became, okay, let's give a, an outline essentially for the producers to go out in the field and be like, Hey, you're going to be at this carwash. Uh, your car is going to be messed up. You're gonna be real mad about it. And they might have some things they wouldn't tell them. They'd honestly surprise them and capture the reactions on film. Um,

But it was all preplanned by producers. And you knew, don't create a situation where to make the scene work, they have to cry. They have to genuinely be upset. It has to be really light. They can maybe act surprised in a fake way, but they can't do much more than that because they are not actors. Like they're always telling you, every showrunner I work for, they're not actors. Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't try and write your novel. Yeah, yeah, yeah. All that, you know, keep it simple.

And I say all that because when you watch this footage and you see her in other clips, if you watched, you know, like just look at other clips of the show and you see her doing interviews about it. Sita, I mean, yeah, she was a flight attendant. She's not an actress. Yeah. She never went on to do anything after this in the acting world. That scene stands out as being unlike any other situation she was ever in. Unlike...

It reads to me extremely genuine because she looks fucking nuts. Yeah. She's laying there out in the yard sunbathing and she clearly hears something that like upsets her, disturbs her, like what the fuck? And, you know, she thinks it's her sister's voice very clearly and she's

There was interviews later where she thought maybe her sister had come to the house as a surprise. Like, the producers would do that, and so she's excited to go see her. Yeah. And then after she found out, obviously she breaks down and sobs. She's consoled. I mean, she's still in the house when she hears this. And then these shows, they'll do interviews after the whole show is over, these post-show interviews. And she's doing one, and you don't get the feeling that she...

wants any attention about this. It's like she seems upset to talk about it still. And she doesn't say like, oh my God, she doesn't go on to have a career in the paranormal. Yeah. Not like that. She just like, she's like, I don't know what it means. She's like, read it however you want. But you know what she said actually later, she goes, my sister and I were extremely close. And I think sometimes when some people share a bond as strong as we did, that sometimes

When one of the people dies, you know. Yeah. Like, you feel it. And she's like, I don't know what it means, but I heard her. I heard her after she died. Are there pictures to go along with this? Yeah. So there's just pictures. I mean... You're so impassioned about this. I can tell that it really...

really got to you. Let me just, what is it doing here? Okay. Every once in a while, every once in a while, it's so funny. The way we, I just slide the show lens in my pictures. It's a little track pad. And one out of like 10, 15 weeks, it'll just be like, nope, not moving to the next picture. So that's just her, just a photo. And then here, I just did some screenshots of the video. Okay. And that's just like her face. That's right after she pops up and she's like, what is happening? She's looking all over the place.

And, you know, there's just a series of this sequence here. She just like frantically whipping her head around like as you would if you heard somebody, you know, in a place you didn't expect to hear them. Yeah. And you're trying to find them. And it goes on for probably, I don't know, 30, 45 seconds of her frantically looking around for her sister. Uh-huh.

And then there's, I mean, there's not really like photos or just like videos. I could have taken more things of what I'm talking about here, like more screenshots. And then, you know, the producers come and tell her and then she breaks down. Yeah.

And where can you find this video? And you can just find it on YouTube. Because you said you couldn't include it here because it was... I didn't include it here because it's in Portuguese. Uh-huh. And it takes a long time to unfold. Uh-huh. So it's pointless to show this video. Gotcha. Yeah. And even if you... I mean, I'd have to provide so much context. Right. As I'm doing now in a post, it would be a novel.

followed by video that you could just easily just go find on YouTube. Okay. All right. Well, off you guys go. I also have not seen it. So I'm a little bit in the dark about how creepy this is. Yeah. And I mean, it's, it's, you're not going to see anything that I didn't tell you. I just think it's fucking incredible. Yeah. Where it's like the way these shows work,

The cameras are everywhere in this type of reality show. She clearly, clearly, it adds nothing to the show. And like, it didn't even get a lot of buzz, you know, because it's a reality show and stuff. It didn't like,

To me, I don't know. I cannot figure out for the life of me why the producers would ever try to milk the death of her sister. And like basically, hey, your sister just died. Yeah. So go like lay and act natural in the lawn there and just, you know, just be cool. And then all of a sudden be frantic and then cry when you find it. That's so fucked up. I don't buy that for a second. And then I thought like, okay, well, what if one of the producers, they just found out that her sister died.

and then they're a soulless piece of shit. Yeah. And they're like, ooh, I got an idea. Before we tell her that her sister's dead, let's play a joke on her. Let's mimic her sister's voice in the yard and fuck with her. Yeah. Even if they tried to do that, she probably would, like, that's not my sister. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. So I don't know, kind of like the Teresita Bassa, I don't know how you rationalize this other than we just captured a paranormal moment on film. Okay. Well, I'm excited to watch this clip. Yeah.

Okay, you ready to hear my old British ghost story now? I sure am. It's not as long as many I've told in the past. Oh, thank you, Jesus. And spookier than most as well, I feel. Before we move on to more scares, we need to take a quick in-between story sponsor break. If you don't want to hear these ads, please sign up to be a Robert or Annabelle on Patreon to get these episodes ad-free, additional bonus episodes, and more.

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Visit rosettastone.com slash scared for unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your life. Redeem your holiday offer today. rosettastone.com slash scared. Thank you for listening to our sponsor deals, creeps and peepers. Okay, so here is my old story from 1908. One that scared a lot of people back in England shortly after the dawn of the 20th century. Let's see if that horror holds up.

Time now for the tale of The Kit Bag by Algernon Blackwood. When the words not guilty sounded through the crowded courtroom that dark December afternoon, Arthur Wilbraham, the great criminal KC and leader for the triumphant defense, was represented by his junior. But Johnson, his private secretary, carried the verdict across to his chambers like lightning. It's what we expected, I think, said the barrister without emotion. And personally, I'm glad the case is over.

There was no particular sign of pleasure that his defense of John Turk, the murderer on a plea of insanity, had been successful. For no doubt he felt, as everybody who had watched the case felt, that no man had ever better deserved the gallows. I'm glad too, said Johnson. He had sat in the court for ten days watching the face of the man who had carried out with callous detail one of the most brutal and cold-blooded murders of recent years. The barrister glanced up at his secretary.

They were more than employer and employed. For family and other reasons, they were friends. Ah, I remember. Yes, he said with a kind smile. And you want to get away for Christmas. You're going to skate and ski in the Alps, aren't you? If I was your age, I'd come with you. Johnson laughed shortly. He was a young man of 26, with a delicate face like a girl's.

I can match the morning boat now, he said. But that's not the reason I'm glad the trial is over. I'm glad it's over because I've seen the last of that man's dreadful face. It's positively haunted me. That white skin, with the black hair brushed low over the forehead, is a thing I shall never forget. And the description of the way the dismembered body was crammed and packed with lime into that... Don't dwell on it, my dear fellow, interrupted the other, looking at him curiously out of his keen eyes. Don't think about it.

Such pictures have a trick of coming back when one least wants them. He paused a moment. Now go, he added presently, and enjoy your holiday. I shall want all your energy for my parliamentary work when you get back. And don't break your next scheme. Johnson shook hands and took his leave. At the door, he turned suddenly. I knew there was something I wanted to ask you, he said. Would you mind lending me one of your kit bags? It's too late to get one tonight, and I leave in the morning before the shops are open.

"'Of course. I'll send Henry over with it to your rooms. You shall have it the moment I get home. I promise to take great care of it,' said Johnson gratefully, delighted to think that within thirty hours he would be nearing the brilliant sunshine of the high Alps in winter. The thought of that criminal court was like an evil dream in his mind. He dined at his club and went on to Bloomsbury, where he occupied the top floor in one of those old gaunt houses in which the rooms are large and lofty.'

"'The floor below his own was vacant and unfurnished, "'and below that were other lodgers whom he did not know. "'It was cheerless, and he looked forward heartily to a change.'

The night was even more cheerless, it was miserable, and few people were about. A cold, sleety rain was driving down the streets before the keenest east wind he had ever felt. It howled dismally among the big, gloomy houses of the great squares, and when he reached his rooms he heard it whistling and shouting over the world of black roofs beyond his windows. In the hall he met his landlady, shading a candle from the draughts with her thin hand.

"'It's come by a man from Mr. Wilbram, sir,' she pointed to what was evidently the kit-bag, and Johnson thanked her and took it upstairs with him. "'I shall be going abroad in the morning for ten days, Mrs. Monks,' he said. "'I'll leave an address for letters.' "'And I hope you'll have a merry Christmas, sir,' she said in a raucous, wheezy voice that suggested spirits. "'And better weather than this.' "'I hope so, too,' replied her lodger, shuddering a little as the wind went roaring down the street outside.'

When he got upstairs, he heard the sleet volleying against the window panes. He put his kettle on to make a cup of hot coffee and then set about putting a few things in order for his absence. "'And now I must pack, such as my packing is,' he laughed to himself and set to work at once. He liked the packing, for it brought the snow-covered mountains so vividly before him and made him forget the unpleasant scenes of the past ten days.'

Besides, it was not elaborate in nature. His friend had lent him the very thing, a stout canvas kit bag, sack-shaped, with holes round the neck for the brass bar and padlock. It was a bit shapeless, true, and not much to look at, but its capacity was unlimited, and there was no need to pack carefully. He shoved in his waterproof coat, his fur cap and gloves, his skates and climbing boots, his sweaters, snow boots and ear caps, and then on the top of these he piled his woolen shirts and underwear, his thick socks and knickerbockers.

The dress suit came next in case the hotel people dressed for dinner and then thinking of the best way to pack his white shirts, he paused a moment to reflect. That's the worst of these kids' bags, he mused vaguely, standing in the center of the sitting room where he had come to fetch some string.

It was after ten o'clock, a furious gust of wind rattled the windows as though to hurry him up, and he thought with pity of the poor Londoners whose Christmas would be spent in such a climate, whilst he was skimming over snowy slopes in bright sunshine and dancing in the evening with rosy-cheeked girls. Ah, that reminded him. He must put in his dancing pumps and evening socks. He crossed over from his sitting room to the cupboard on the landing where he kept his linen, and as he did so, he heard someone coming softly up the stairs.

He stood still a moment on the landing to listen. It was Mrs. Monk's step, he thought. She must be coming up with the last post. But when the steps ceased suddenly and he heard no more, they were at least two flights down, and he came to the conclusion that they were too heavy to be those of his bilbilious landlady. No doubt they belonged to a late lodger and had mistaken his floor. Who had mistaken his floor? He went into his bedroom and packed his pumps and dress shirts as best he could.

The kit bag by this time was two-thirds full and stood upright on its own base like a sack of flour. For the first time he noticed that it was old and dirty, the canvas faded and worn, and that it had obviously been subjected to rather rough treatment. It was not a very nice bag to have sent him, certainly not a new one or one that his chief valued. He gave the matter a passing thought and went on with his packing.

Once or twice, however, he caught himself wondering who it could have been wandering down below, for Mrs. Monks had not come up with the letters, and the floor was empty and unfurnished. From time to time, moreover, he was almost certain he heard a soft tread of someone padding about over the bare boards, cautiously, stealthily, as silently as possible, and further that the sounds had been lately coming distinctly near. For the first time in his life, he began to feel a little creepy. Then, as though to emphasize this feeling, an odd thing happened.

As he left the bedroom, having just packed his recalcitrant white shirts, he noticed that the top of the kit bag lopped over towards him with an extraordinary resemblance to a human face. The canvas fell into a fold like a nose and forehead, and the brass rings for the padlock just filled the position of the eyes. A shadow, or was it a travel stain? For he could not tell exactly, looked like hair.

It gave him rather a turn, for it was so absurdly, so outrageously, like the face of John Turk, the murderer. He laughed and went into the front room, where the light was stronger. That horrid case has got on my mind, he thought. I shall be glad of a change of scene and air. In the sitting room, however, he was not pleased to hear again that stealthy tread upon the stairs, and to realize that it was much closer than before, as well as unmistakably real.

and this time he got up and went out to see who it could be creeping about on the upper staircase at so late an hour. But the sound ceased. There was no one visible on the stairs. He went to the floor below, not with trepidation, not without trepidation, and turned on the electric light to make sure that no one was hiding in the empty rooms of the unoccupied suite. There was not a stick of furniture large enough to hide a dog.

Then he called over the banisters to Mrs. Monks, but there was no answer, and his voice echoed down into the dark vault of the house and was lost in the roar of the gale that howled outside. Everyone was in bed and asleep, everyone except himself and the owner of the soft and stealthy tread. My absurd imagination, I suppose, he thought. It must have been the wind after all, although it seems so very real and close, he thought. He went back to his packing.

It was by this time getting on towards midnight. He drank his coffee up and lit another pipe, the last before turning in.

It is difficult to say exactly at what point fear begins, when the causes of that fear are not plainly before the eyes. Impressions gather on the surface of the mind, film by film, as ice gathers upon the surface of still water, but often so lightly that they claim no definite recognition from the consciousness. Then a point is reached where the accumulated impressions become a definite emotion and the mind realizes that something has happened.

With something of a start, Johnson suddenly recognized that he felt nervous, oddly nervous. Also, that for some time past, the causes of this feeling had been gathering slowly in his mind, but that he had only just reached the point where he was forced to acknowledge them. It was a singular and curious malaise that had come over him, and he hardly knew what to make of it. He felt as though he were doing something that was strongly objected to by another person, another person, moreover, who had some right to object.

It was a most disturbing and disagreeable feeling, not unlike the persistent promptings of conscience. Almost, in fact, as if he were doing something he knew to be wrong. Yet, though he searched vigorously and honestly in his mind, he could nowhere lay his finger upon the secret of this growing uneasiness. And it perplexed him. More, it distressed and frightened him. "'Pure nerves, I suppose,' he said aloud with a forced laugh. "'Mountain air will cure that.'

"'Ah,' he added, still speaking to himself, "'and that reminds me, my snow glasses.' "'He was standing by the door of the bedroom during this brief soliloquy, "'and as he passed quickly towards the sitting room to fetch them from the cupboard, "'he saw out of the corner of his eye the indistinct outline of a figure "'standing on the stairs, a few feet from the top. "'It was someone in a stooping position, with one hand on the banisters "'and the face peering up towards the landing. "'At that same moment he heard a shuffling footstep,

The person who had been creeping about below all this time had at last come up to his own floor. Who in the world could it be? And what in the name of heaven did he want? Johnson caught his breath sharply and stood stock still. Then after a few seconds hesitation, he found his courage and turned to investigate. The stairs he saw to his utter amazement were empty. There was no one. He felt a series of cold shivers run over him and something about the muscles of his legs gave a little and grew weak.

For the space of several minutes, he peered steadily into the shadows that congregated about the top of the staircase where he had seen the figure, and then he walked fast, almost ran in fact, into the light of the front room. But hardly had he passed inside the doorway when he heard someone come up the stairs behind him with a quick bound and go swiftly into his bedroom. It was a heavy, but at the same time a stealthy footstep, the tread of somebody who did not wish to be seen.

and it was at this precise moment that the nervousness he had hitherto experienced leaped the boundary line and entered the state of fear, almost of acute, unreasoning fear. Before it turned into terror, there was a further boundary to cross, and beyond that again lay the region of pure horror. Johnson's position was an unenviable one. "'By Jove, there was someone on the stairs then,' he muttered, his flesh crawling all over, "'and whoever it was has now gone into my bedroom.'

His delicate pale face turned absolutely white, and for some minutes he hardly knew what to think or do. Then he realized intuitively that delay only set a premium upon fear, and he crossed the landing boldly and went straight into the other room where a few seconds before the steps had disappeared. "'Who's there?'

"'Is that you, Mrs. Monks?' he called aloud as he went, and he heard the first half of his words echo down the empty stairs, while the second half fell dead against the curtains in a room that apparently held no other human figure than his own. "'Who's there?' he called again, in a voice unnecessarily loud, and that only just held firm. "'What do you want here?'

The curtain swayed very slightly, and as he saw it, his heart felt as if it almost missed a beat, yet he dashed forward and drew them aside with a rush. A window, streaming with rain, was all that met his gaze. He continued his search, but in vain. The cupboards held nothing but rows of clothes, hanging motionless, and under the bed there was no sign of anyone hiding. He stepped backwards into the middle of the room, and as he did so, something all but tripped him up. Turning with a sudden spring of alarm, he saw...

The kit bag. Odd, he thought. That's not where I left it. A few moments before, it had surely been on his right, between the bed and the bath. He did not remember having moved it. It was very curious. What in the world was the matter with everything? Were all his senses gone queer? A terrific gust of wind tore at the windows, dashing the sleet against the glass with the force of a small gunshot, and then fled away, howling dismally over the waste of Bloomsbury roofs. There's no one here at any rate. That's quite clear, he exclaimed aloud.

Yet at the time he uttered them, he knew perfectly well that his words were not true and that he did not believe them himself. He felt exactly as though someone was hiding close about him, watching all his movements, trying to hinder his packing in some way. And two of my senses, he added, keeping up the pretense, have played me the most absurd tricks. The steps I heard and the figure I saw were both entirely imaginary. He went back to the front room, poked the fire into a blaze and sat down before it to think.

What impressed him more than anything else was the fact that the kit bag was no longer where he had left it. It had been dragged nearer to the door. What happened afterwards that night happened, of course, to a man already excited by fear and was perceived by a man that had not the full and proper control, therefore, of the senses. Outwardly, Johnson remained calm and master of himself to the end, pretending to the very last that everything he witnessed had a natural explanation.

or was merely delusions of his tired nerves. But inwardly, in his very heart, he knew all along that someone had been hiding downstairs in the empty suite when he came in, that this person had waited for his opportunity and then stealthily made his way up to the bedroom, and that all he saw and heard afterwards, from the moving of the kit bag to, well, to the other things the story has to tell, were caused directly by the presence of this invisible person.

and it was here, just when he most desired to keep his mind and thoughts controlled, that the vivid pictures received day after day upon the mental plates exposed in the old courtroom of the old Bailey came strongly to light and developed themselves in the dark room of his inner vision.

unpleasant, haunting memories have a way of coming to life again just when the mind least desires them. In the silent watches of the night, on sleepless pillows, during the lonely hours spent by sick and dying beds. And so now, in the same way, Johnson saw nothing but the dreadful face of John Turk, the murderer, lowering at him from every corner of his mental field of vision, the white skin, the evil eyes, and the fringe of black hair low over the forehead.

All the pictures of those ten days in court crowded back into his mind, unbidden and very vivid. This is all rubbish and nerves, he exclaimed at length, springing with sudden energy from his chair. I shall finish my packing and go to bed. I'm overwrought, overtired. No doubt at this rate I shall hear steps and things all night. But his face was deadly white all the same. He snatched up his field glasses and walked across to the bedroom, humming a music hall song as he went, a trifle too loud to be natural.

and the instant he crossed the threshold and stood within the room something turned cold about his heart and he felt that every hair on his head stood up the kit bag lay close in front of him several feet nearer to the door than he had left it and just over its crumpled top he saw a head and face slowly sinking down out of sight as though someone were crouching behind it to hide

And at the same moment, a sound like a long-drawn sigh was distinctly audible in the still air about him, between the gusts of the storm outside. Johnson had more courage and willpower than the girlish indecision of his face indicated. But at first such a wave of terror came over him that for some seconds he could do nothing but stand and stare. A violent trembling ran down his back and legs, and he was conscious of a foolish, almost a hysterical impulse to scream aloud.

That sigh seemed in his very ear, and the air still quivered with it. It was unmistakably a human sigh. "'Who's there?' he said at length, finding his voice. But thought he meant to speak with loud decision, the tones came out instead in a faint whisper, for he had partly lost the control of his tongue and lips. He stepped forward so that he could see all round and over the kitbag. Of course there was nothing there, nothing but the faded carpet and the bulging canvas sides.'

He put out his hands and threw open the mouth of the sack where it had fallen over, being only three parts full, and then he saw for the first time that round the inside, some six inches from the top, there ran a broad smear of dull crimson. It was an old and faded bloodstain. He uttered a scream and drew back his hands as if they had been burnt. At the same moment, the kit bag gave a faint but unmistakable lurch forward towards the door.

Johnson collapsed backwards, searching with his hands for the support of something solid, and the door being further behind him than he realized received his weight just in time to prevent his falling, and shut with a resounding BANG! At the same moment, the swinging of his left arm accidentally touched the electric switch, and the light in the room went out.

It was an awkward and disagreeable predicament, and if Johnson had not been possessed of real pluck, he might have done all manner of foolish things. As it was, however, he pulled himself together and groped furiously for the little brass knob to turn the light on again.

But the rapid closing of the door had set the coats hanging on at a swinging, and his fingers became entangled in a confusion of sleeves and pockets so that it was some moments before he found the switch. And in those few moments of bewilderment and terror, two things happened that sent him beyond recall, over the boundary, into the region of genuine horror. He distinctly heard the kit bag shuffling heavily across the floor in jerks, and close in front of his face sounded once again the sigh of a human being.

In his anguished efforts to find the brass button on the wall, he nearly scraped the nails from his fingers. But even then, in those frenzied moments of alarm, so swift and alert are the impressions of a man keyed up by a vivid emotion, he had time to realize that he dreaded the return of the light, and that it might be better for him to stay hidden in the merciful screen of darkness. It was but the impulse of a moment, however, and before he had time to act upon it, he had yielded automatically to the original desire, and the room was flooded again with light. But the second instinct had been right.

"'It would have been better for him "'to have stayed in the shelter of the kind darkness, "'for there close before him, "'bending over the half-packed kit-bag, "'clear as life in the merciless glare of the electric light, "'stood the figure of John Turk, the murderer. "'Not three feet from him the man stood, "'the fringe of black hair marked plainly "'against the pallor of the forehead, "'the whole horrible presentment of the scoundrel, "'as vivid as he had seen him day after day in the old bailey, "'when he stood there in the dock, cynical and callous, "'under the very shadow of the gallows.'

In a flash, Johnson realized what it all meant. The dirty and much-used bag, the smear of crimson within the top, the dreadful stretched condition of the bulging sides. He remembered how the victim's body had been stuffed into a canvas bag for burial. The ghastly dismembered fragments forced with lime into this very bag, and the bag itself produced his evidence. It all came back to him as clear as day.

Very softly and stealthily, his hand groped behind him for the handle of the door. But before he could actually turn it, the very thing that he most of all dreaded came about and John Turk lifted his devil's face and looked at him. At the same moment, that heavy sigh passed through the air of the room, formulated somehow into words, It's my bag and I want it. Johnson just remembered clawing the door open and then falling in a heap upon the floor of the landing as he tried frantically to make his way into the front room.

He remained unconscious for a long time. And it was still dark when he opened his eyes and realized that he was lying, stiff and bruised on the cold boards. Then the memory of what he had seen rushed back into his mind, and he promptly fainted again. When he woke the second time, the wintry dawn was just beginning to peep in at the windows, painting the stairs a cheerless dismal gray. And he managed to crawl into the front room and cover himself with an overcoat in the armchair, where at length he fell asleep.

"'A great clamour woke him. "'He recognised Mrs. Monk's voice, loud and voluble. "'What joint been to bed, sir? "'Are you ill, or has anything happened? "'It is an urgent gentleman to see you, though it ain't seven o'clock yet. "'Who is it?' he stammered. "'I'm all right, thanks. Fell asleep in my chair, I suppose. "'Someone from Mr. Wilbram's. "'He says he ought to see you quick before you go abroad, I told him. "'Show him up, please, at once,' said Johnson, whose head was whirling, "'and his mind was still full of dreadful visions.'

Mr. Wilbraham's man came in with many apologies and explained briefly and quickly that an absurd mistake had been made and that the wrong kid bag had been sent over the night before. Henry somehow got a hold of the one that came over from the courtroom and Mr. Wilbraham only discovered it when he saw his own lying in his room and asked why it had not gone to you, the man said.

"'Oh,' said Johnson stupidly. "'And he must have brought you the one from the murder case instead, sir, I'm afraid,' the man continued, without the ghost of an expression on his face. "'The one John Turk packed the dead body in. Mr. Wilbraham's awful upset about it, sir, and told me to come over first thing this morning with the right one as you were leaving by the boat.' He pointed to a clean-looking kit bag on the floor which he had just brought. "'And I was to bring the other one back, sir,' he added casually. For some minutes Johnson could not find his voice.'

At last he pointed in the direction of his bedroom. "'Perhaps you would kindly unpack it for me. Just empty the things out on the floor,' he said. The man disappeared into the other room and was gone for five minutes. Johnson heard the shifting to and fro of the bag and the rattle of the skates and boots being unpacked. "'Thank you, sir,' the man said, returning with the bag folded over his arm. "'And can I do anything more to help you, sir?' "'What is it?' asked Johnson. Seeing that he still had something he wished to say, the man shuffled and looked mysterious.'

"'Beg pardon, sir, but knowing your interest in the Turk case, I thought you'd maybe like to know what happened.' "'Yes?' "'John Turk killed himself last night with poison immediately on getting his release. And he left a note for Mr. Wilbraham saying as he'd be much obliged if they'd have him put away, same as the woman he murdered, in the old kit bag.' "'What time did he do it?' asked Johnson. "'Ten o'clock last night, sir,' the warder says.'

Oh, man, that was great. Right? For an old story, it's a pretty good one, huh? Yeah. Old stories can be good. Yeah. Yeah. Early one. I think it's, you know, interesting, like, you know, they didn't use misdirection as much then as it has been used since. So a lot of these, like, you know, writing techniques were much more novel. Uh-huh. So I'm sure that, like, at the end of that story, that twist, oh, man, back in the, you know, the early 1900s, people were like, oh, what? Oh, my God. Just, like, so shocked. I love thinking about it.

That was great. That was fun. Yeah, it was a fun one. Here's an early promotional headshot of Algernon Blackwood. Algernon. Do you think they called him Al? I don't know. Maybe. Algy? Algy. Nonners? Oh, nonners. Nondog? Oh my god. Infamous fame. I don't know why I said infamous. Very famous author. H.P. Lovecraft would actually cite Algernon as a huge influence. Okay. One of his favorite authors.

And then this is another photo of him from much later in life. He lived until the age of 82. Oh, man. The New York Book Review, where I believe this photo comes from, an article in that comes from, called him a master of the supernatural. Oh, cool. And then this is an illustration of the haunted kit bag. Oh, okay. That's not what I was thinking. Yeah, it's just what somebody put together. There's some fan fiction from fictionfanblog.wordpress.com.

And finally, an engraving from 1814 called The Ghost, a Christmas frolic, just illustrating this, you know, 19th and early 20th century tradition of trying to scare the hell out of your family with ghost stories over the holidays.

I can't find the name of whoever made this, but I just thought it was a cool old illustration. Yeah, it's great. Yep. Somebody telling that story there. They brought somebody in with a costume probably at a pivotal moment in the story just to scare the hell out of everybody. They're scrambling up the stairs trying to get out the door. Fun. Yeah, fun. We should tell horror stories at Christmas this year. Oh, to my family? Oh, yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. Oh, yeah. I think about the littles. Get Megan's little ones just real amped up and make sure they can't sleep for hours.

you know, peacefully for weeks. Yeah. That'll be our gift to Megan. Ah, yes. Good luck, Megs. Yeah. Her and Louise can really struggle with those kids. Oh my gosh. Can you imagine? That'd be such a fucked up thing to do. Like, like to your nieces or nephews, just tell them that outrageously scary story just to scare the shit out of them. And it just fucks with their sleep for just weeks, if not longer. I mean, it's only fun to do if you don't like your brother or sister. Yeah. If you're cool, just like, you know, really damaging that relationship. Yeah.

Yeah, if you don't like them to begin with, have at it. Yeah.

All right. Well, thank you for carrying on that tradition. Yeah. Yeah. You seem to actually somewhat invested in that story. It was helpful that it wasn't in the stupid voice. I know. I slipped into her accent like once or twice at the end, the lady. It was tough like the way they wrote her like a cockney kind of accent. It's almost hard to read it straight. But other than that, I tried to not get overly theatric. I'm used to the Tiny Tim voice.

Maybe that'll disappoint some people that I didn't. Probably. Maybe for the bonus episode, Christmas Story, I should really ratchet up the theatrics. Oh, no. I didn't fall asleep. I didn't even nod off. No, you didn't. I was invested.

What color Layla do we have this week? Lello. Got a yellow Layla. Lello. Surprise knock. Like a red one. We don't have any green ones. Oh, you know what? That's true. I could do red. I could do red. I'll switch. You're going to switch? You can have them both if you want. You can have ketchup and mustard if you like. I'll do red for the holidays. Okay. All right. Well, just a reminder that I really want you to take this story and- And shove it. Exactly. Mm-hmm.

How did you know that's what I was going to say? I don't know. I want you to really pay attention because at the end, I would like everyone to weigh in on this paranormal question. Okay. Hey, Dan and Lindsay.

Yes. Right.

First off, I'm an atheist skeptic. I believe there are things in this world we don't understand, like multiverse type stuff. So whatever I passed on to my daughter, I may never fully grasp. Now, let's get into it. I'll try not to make this too long, but I do want to give some backstory. As a kid, I was terrified of the dark, and I never knew why, but I always felt watched.

It was an irrational fear, but if I had to turn off the light, I'd stay up all night and drag myself to school the next day just to avoid sleeping in the dark.

My mom used to say I was sensitive to energies and whatever ghosts may be out there. Because of this, I often didn't want to be home alone. When my mom worked, who was an RN, she had night shifts. I'd sometimes go to the hospital with her and sleep in the waiting room just to avoid being home alone. One night, while I was asleep in a very well-lit waiting room, I heard footsteps next to me.

Ha. Ha.

I bolted down the long hallway to the nurse's station where my mom was and told her what I had seen. Concerned, she checked if any patients were missing, but none were unaccounted for. When she came back and I had calmed down a bit, she told me that I drew that kind of stuff to me. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I was hoping she'd tell me that it was just a dream or that I was just crazy. Guess that's what therapy is for as an adult.

But it definitely did reinforce my fear of being alone, especially in the dark. Fast forward to when I was 12. I was coming home from school, and as I walked into the house, I glanced down the long hallway that led to the bedrooms on one end and the living room at the other. I saw the back of a tall man in denim. I had much older brothers, so I figured one of them had stopped by. I ignored it, thinking nothing of it, until I heard my name.

Genevieve, it whispered, and I felt a burning sensation on my lower forearm. When I looked down, there was a huge red man-sized handprint on my arm. I spun around, realizing that my brother wasn't there anymore, and bolted to my mom's bedroom where she was sleeping after her night shift.

I showed her the handprint and told her what had happened. She looked alarmed because no one had come over that afternoon. It took a few days for the red mark to fade. These two incidents are the ones that stuck with me the most. Now, our house wasn't old. It was built in the 1960s, and the creepiest thing about it was the green shag carpet and wood paneling. My family couldn't explain these events, so we just kept living there.

Other weird things happened during my teenage years, like candles flying off my old box TV, lights popping whenever I walked underneath them, and streetlights going out when I passed under them. Eventually, everyone just came to accept that this was normal around me. Fast forward to when I was 18. I stupidly got pregnant and had a weird dream at around 12 weeks.

In the dream, I was bleeding. Lots of blood. I woke up in a cold sweat and even told my mom about it. That night, around 6 p.m., I miscarried. I was in the ER for over 12 hours, and I almost needed a transfusion. I found out later it was a blighted ovum, but still, the experience was heartbreaking. But what does a rebellious 18-year-old do? Oh yeah, I got pregnant again.

Oh.

I did have sleep deprivation, but I knew I had had enough caffeine to stay sane. I started seeing things around her, little orbs of light crawling from her crib and to the door. It almost looked like sparklers tracing along the wall. I saw it happen at least three times. I

I made sure there were no shorted wires or anything, and I found nothing, no burn marks either. CD players would skip songs, light bulbs I just changed would go out. I mostly ignored everything and hoped Anya would stop crying one day.

When Anya was about four months old and her colic had started easing, we decided to take her to a movie. Okay, don't hate me for taking a baby to a movie, you guys. I figured she'd sleep through it since she'd been doing so well. But soon enough, she started crying and the film began skipping. I'm assuming it was digital by then, but I'm not a film person. Eventually, the movie just turned off. I went to the kiosk to ask what was up and they said this was the first time they'd heard of this happening. They reset it and started the movie again.

Anya started crying. And then guess what? The movie went out again. It was the only theater and the only showing that had issues. They gave me a voucher for a free movie, which I used about a month later. But that same thing happened. Anya cried, and the movie skipped. After that, I didn't take her to another movie until she was at least seven.

Fast forward to when she was about 10. She started insisting on sleeping with the lights on, even though by then I was okay with the lights off or at least only a TV on. She told me she saw a lady in her closet and quote gremlins. I did what my mom should have done and told her she was just seeing things. But of course it spooked me too. Since I was desensitized to it by then, we didn't move and dealt with the weird bumps in the night. I probably gaslighted her telling her it was nothing.

Now, Anya is 17, and lights will break when she turns them on. Street lamps go out when she walks underneath them, just like when I was a kid. As for me, I don't get those feelings anymore, and light bulbs are pretty safe around me. I'm not as scared of being alone, and the only residual gift I have now is knowing things. Random facts I shouldn't know just pop into my head.

Maybe it's just my mommy sense. My son, who is 14, never had any weird things happen to him and is relatively normal for being a child of mine anyways. Last year, we had a tarot card reading and the psychic told me Anya was given to this world to help heal it. So is this her inheritance? Did these things happen to me because she was with me all along? Thanks for looking at my story and stay creepy. Thank you, Genevieve. Yeah.

It's odd. Yeah, it is odd where it's like if they're, you know, some people or people of a variety of people have long thought that you can have. Oh, my God. What are they called? Psychic abilities. You know, like telekinesis. You could teleport. That's projection. All of these different things are possible. And they don't necessarily look to like ghosts and notions of God or anything to explain that. They think it might just be science. We don't understand yet. Sure. Like, you know, part of the unused portions of our mind or something.

But it's interesting to hear where it's like, okay, if that stuff, if you could have these gifts, if you could have the gift of, I don't know, premonition or anything like that, if it's connected to your brain somehow, in some way, could you then pass it along to your descendants like any other genetic trait? Sure. And I think, I mean, I think there is some spiritual connection to all of this stuff if it exists, you know, if it's real, not just science-related stuff.

And that's interesting for me to think that you could pass along a spiritual gift of some kind, just like you could pass along eye color or hair color. Yeah, or a talent, right? Yeah, yeah. It's like a... Athletic ability. Yeah, I was just about to say children of musicians. We just assume that they'll be able to sing or play or compose or what have you, right? Yeah, or at least greater odds that they'll be able to, totally. One would think. Yeah, yeah. So maybe if you, yeah, if your mom or your dad...

is extra sensitive to the paranormal they could pass that on to you yeah and not just in like a nurture way but in like a nature way perhaps i agree i agree yeah i just thought it was an interesting kind of kind of story a different kind of gift to give this holiday season and it sounds like genevieve's mom so anya's grandma uh also perhaps was a little spoopy because she was talking about genevieve being uh sensitive to the other side it sounded like she was clearly a believer yeah

Yeah, I would say. So I'm like, oh, did you have that too? Is it just going on down the line? Yeah, at the very least, Anya's grandma would be like supportive and maybe encourage her to explore those abilities. Definitely. Cool to have that Addams Family-esque lineage. Yeah. Okay. Well, are you ready for a actual Christmas story? I am. All right, let's go.

Hi, Dan. Hi, Lindsay. Hello. I want to share a story with you that still leaves me with eerie feelings every time I think about it. Before I get started, I want to give the warning that this is not a child-friendly story. The magic of Christmas is going to be discussed, and the kiddos don't need to know about the inner workings of Santa and his elves. Okay, now that it's just us adults, let's get started.

I grew up in the time of Webkinz, a wonderful time. For those of you that don't know, Webkinz were stuffy animals that came with a tag and a code. With the code, you would log into the Webkinz website and the stuffy you purchased would also be an online animal that you would take care of.

You would take care of the animal, but also decorate a house, play mini games and collect items. This was a huge fad and kids would want to collect as many different Webkinz as they could. I was deep into this trend, collecting as many different ones as I could and adding them to my little online animal family.

One year, as the holidays were approaching, I prepared my list for Santa. It consisted of one thing, Webkinz. My family was not extremely poor, but definitely not wealthy either. I knew that for some families, Santa got them extravagant presents. But I also knew that he tended to go a little on the $25 or less side for my family.

Because of this, I thought that my request for a Webkinz stuffy was definitely going to be fulfilled. It was certainly not an item that was super expensive and Santa could definitely get it to my house. Christmas morning came and I ran downstairs to see the pile of presents around the tree, but I wasn't too interested in them. I wanted what was in the fireplace. After opening the doors, I could see the present in there was quite a bit larger than a Webkinz should be.

Maybe it's a boxed set of Webkinz, I thought. Or maybe one that comes with accessories, like a special edition Santa Webkinz.

But I was sorely mistaken. When I opened the box, it was a doll. But not just a regular baby doll. A one-foot, six-inch tall porcelain doll that looked eerily familiar. My mom was looking at me with the largest smile on her face. Oh, wow! Don't you love it, honey? Santa got you a mini version of yourself! What an amazing present! If I was you, I would dream of having something like this.

I was not happy. A porcelain doll? I didn't want this. I just wanted a Webkinz. Where was the Webkinz? As the good child I was, I tried to seem content, but I couldn't feel anything but disappointment. There was no Webkinz to be found that day, just a silly lookalike doll. As time passed after Christmas, I kept the doll in my room behind all my old Webkinz dolls. After a while, I really started to forget about it until my mom started to ask questions.

Honey, where's your doll? It's so lovely. I'm so sad to see you not playing with it all the time. I would tell her I was busy playing with other things, but she started bringing it up more and more.

One night, a couple months after Christmas, I had a horrible nightmare. In my dream, I was lying in bed, and the doll started to move from behind the stuffies, slowly started making its way towards my bed. I was paralyzed, not able to scream or move. All I could think was that this was it. I was going to be killed by the doll Santa brought me. What an unfortunate way to go. The doll came closer to me, and I saw something shiny in its hand. A knife.

As it got closer, it pulled back its arm and then pulled it forward quickly in a stabbing motion. I woke up. I ran into my parents' bedroom and slept there for the rest of the night. When I woke up in the morning, my mom asked why I had come to sleep with them. I told her about my dream and how real it felt. After explaining everything, I said, please, mom, please, can we get rid of it? I can't sleep in this house anymore knowing it's still here.

My mom was clearly heartbroken. She tried to convince me that it was just a bad dream. It had nothing to do with the doll in any real way, but I wouldn't budge. Eventually, she agreed to bring it to the Salvation Army later that day. I was so relieved.

I still had nightmares about the doll following that day, but I felt much better knowing that the doll was no longer in the house with me. They were just dreams at that point, nothing to fear, but I definitely did continue to sleep with my head under the covers. Years passed and I grew up. I would think back to that Christmas, the sadness I felt for not getting what I asked for, and the very creepy lookalike doll that still occasionally haunted my dreams.

I started getting ready to move out for college. I was going through old boxes and ensuring I was packing everything I would need. As I was looking through the back of my closet, I saw it. The porcelain lookalike doll. I froze. How is it here? How did it continue to be in this house when I was sure it had been given away? Looking into its eyes again so many years later gave me chills. I called out to my mom. Mom! Mom!

I just found that old porcelain doll that looks like me in the back of my closet. Do you know why it would be there? Oh, well, I never got rid of her, darling. How could I do that? She's so beautiful. She looks just like you. She should stay with you forever. Plus, I just, I loved her so much. I think she was my favorite Christmas present you ever received. She picked up the doll and held it like a baby.

I miss when you were small like this, honey, she said, looking into the doll's glass eyes. Did the doll make my mom in love with it so that she wouldn't get rid of it? Did it transfix her when she saw it out shopping and make her change her mind on what to get me? Best, Juju.

That's a weird story. It's so weird and it's so fucking creepy. Like, dolls are just inherently creepy to begin with. I mean, I'm going to say, Juju, if you're listening, one of two things. You either had a really, well...

One of three things. You had a really creepy doll growing up or a really creepy mom or a really creepy doll and a really creepy mom. Oh, no. Oh, no, Juju. What happened to the mom? I want. And where's the doll now? Yeah, where's the doll now? And if I'm like invest. Okay. If I'm like a paranormal investigator and I'm looking into this case.

I have to have a long talk with a mom, a long interview. Yeah. To determine like, is mom just really unwell, unbalanced somehow? But you just never says that. She doesn't indicate that in any way. No, but so it seems like that this purchase was atypical for her mom, not something she would normally do. And that's creepy. That's creepy. It's strange. If her mom was always buying her weird presents or if her mom was always like trying to have like make other things for baby. Yeah. Then clearly it's your mom. Yeah.

Juju, is your mom wishing you were still a baby?

I just picture Juju's mom, you know, just at home with a variety of dolls. Yeah. Just like they're her children now. Oh my God. You know, having like a lunch where she has all the dolls sitting around the table. Stop. There's this really, okay, there's an episode of Sex and the City, which I will just like, Sex and the City is like background noise for me. I'll just like, if you're gone, I can just like throw it out in the background. It doesn't distract me from what I'm doing because I've seen it a thousand times. So it's just like good filler. It's sort of like Golden Girls or like. Sure, sure. Okay.

But one of the characters, he, it's a gay man and he is in a relationship with another man and he finally goes home with the guy and the guy has everything.

So many dolls. Oh my God. So many dolls. They cover the bed and like everywhere. Oh my God. And Stanford, the main character of like, he's like best friends with Carrie. He just, he just is kind of like, fuck it. And starts to like throw the dolls off the bed. Like he just really wants to like have sex with his boyfriend and he breaks one of them. Oh. And does the guy lose it? He loses it. It's such a great scene. It's so funny. Man.

And then of like adding the layers now to my life of being more invested in the paranormal and working on this show. I'm like, oh man, there could be so much going on with those dolls. But he like picks them up and he's like-

This is Miss Annabelle. Like, it's not Annabelle, but you know. But these dolls are so creepy. Man, you'd have to really be into somebody. You'd have to have a lot of other really good qualities for that not to be such an immediate deal breaker. Where you open the door, like you're walking in there. They're covered. Dolls are everywhere. I'd be like, oh my gosh, you know, oh man, my stomach. Something's going on with my stomach. I'm so sorry. I have to get out of here. My stomach's killing me. And then just never respond to their phone calls. Like, just like run away. Oh my gosh, so ridiculous. Scary.

My first job in TV, you know, was on Weeds. Oh, yeah. And I got to work in the prop department. Uh-huh. And so when I see stuff like that, I just think like, oh, God, somebody in props had to go out and buy all those dolls. So many dolls. And then like, okay, just like, what if one was haunted? Uh-huh. Yeah, that story again, just real quick before we move on, that story...

I mean, I did think it was weird when Juju's mom, when she really wanted her Webkinz. Uh-huh. Yeah. Like parents generally. Generally just like, yeah, why would you, like if you're a kid, if all they put on their list is one thing that you can afford. Right. Why would you then get something more expensive? Because it sounds like the porcelain doll probably costs more than the Webkinz. I would think so. Especially if, you know, if it like looked like her, I don't know if it was made to look like her. Who knows? And then I did think it was odd just as you're telling the story before, obviously, I knew the ending. I was like, that's weird that she got so excited about it.

about giving this doll to her kid when her kid clearly didn't want this doll. Yeah. Yeah. That's okay. Very strange. Interesting little story. All right. You ready for one more? Let's do it. All right. Let's go.

Hello. Hello and welcome to AOL Movie Phone. Hello. I enjoy your show. Both of you make it more interesting to listen to. All the events here on in are 100% true. Please keep in mind, I've never shared this story with anyone.

I'm Native American from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. I was born and raised there. I lived there the majority of my life, moving away in 2003 to live with my then-girlfriend, now-wife. My parents both made their journeys home five and six years ago, respectively. My grandfather made his journey 16 years ago. It was the winter of 1992. Early winter, to be exact.

We were preparing for Christmas. My family was really big into the holidays, and we celebrated like no one else. My grandfather, an elder Lakota man, traveled between Pine Ridge and Rapid City frequently as he was the chief of our tribe and the former judicial chief judge within our tribe and reservation. He would frequently travel home late at night. This particular night, Grandpa was coming home around 9 p.m. There was a heavy snow blizzard and very low visibility."

As he was traveling south on the highway towards the reservation, he came upon an older lady walking. Grandpa pulled over and in our sacred tongue told her to get into the vehicle. She got in but didn't say anything. She was wearing an old dress, a light jacket, and a handkerchief. Not dressed for the weather at all. And she was clutching her purse tightly.

As they started driving, my grandpa was speaking our language, trying to see who she was, who her family was, anything at all, so he knew where to drop her off.

They were 13 miles outside of an area called Oglala, South Dakota, when she dropped her purse. She bent down, grabbing for it. Not saying anything, but making a snarling type noise. Grandpa turned on the interior lights to help her see. As he looked over, two things stood out. One, her purse was filled with deer poop. And two, her legs were deer legs and hooves.

Grandpa said he felt his spirit just about leave his body. Filled with fear, he shut the lights off and stared out the window, praying. The woman finally spoke. She told him his prayers wouldn't help him and that she now had to take him with her. She lunged over to the driver's side, jerking the wheel, causing them to hit the ditch hard and roll down the embankment.

Oh, my God.

When the ambulance and police arrived, my grandpa was loaded in and taken to the local hospital while the cops began the accident investigation. Using spotlights, they scanned near the river and saw a woman with huge eyes, but when they physically swept the area, they only found hoof prints, no sign of a woman.

Fast forward a few months, April to be exact. April is my birth month and my grandpa loved making sure I had the best day every year. But he was really sick and he'd been sick and he kept getting sick for no known reason per the lab work and tests that had been done. My mom, dad, and the rest of the family decided they would take him to be healed the traditional way of my people.

After being treated by the way of my people, they notified my family that they had removed a deer hair from my grandpa's chest and thus removed the mark on him made by the woman he had tried to help. He had been targeted by the spirits of the deer people. Immediately after, my grandpa began feeling much better and was back to his normal self. Eventually, he did pass away at a ripe old age, but not a moment sooner. Sincerely, Cody."

Thank you, Cody. That doesn't sound like Skinwalker lore. That sounds like a different thing. I know, and I didn't want to say anything earlier because I didn't want to, you know, derail. But yeah, strange, huh? Yeah, really quick while you have the notes open. Just in case...

Cody said that they scanned the area. Okay, so after his grandpa wrecks the car and the police and everybody get there, they see deer tracks going away from the vehicle. But then also they scan the area. Was it from a helicopter? They scanned it like from the air or something and saw the old woman like down by the river. But then when they physically looked...

They only found deer tracks? Yeah, using spotlights. So, you know, probably just standing from the road with like, you know, huge, powerful spotlights just trying to take it all in. And then when then they decided to sweep the area. So then they physically go down there. Okay, that makes sense. I've seen those police spotlights. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. So they sweep down there. They see like catch the eyes of what they think is an old woman. And then when they don't say old woman, they just say a woman.

Oh, okay, woman. A woman with huge eyes. Huge eyes. And then when they go down there, that's creepy. That's a creepy little detail. Uh-huh. Because otherwise... I guess early on, Cody says that his grandfather says he picked up an old woman. So maybe, yeah. Yeah, that's where I got old in my head. I'm with you. But that's a creepy detail just to have the police part of it there. Because, okay, you take that one detail out and you could think...

okay, his grandpa, this Dakota chief, he's heard these stories. He's familiar with this lore. He gets into a random car accident, maybe like swerves to avoid a deer. Yeah. And then has a head injury and then basically has like a weird dream of

uh, about what happened. But then when you take whatever, all the stuff his grandpa said, and then you add that detail of somebody else seeing this lady at the same area and then deer tracks where the lady was, that really like ramps up the story for me. Yeah. And then for me, I mean the nail in the coffin for me of a bizarre, a

uh-huh, bizarre paranormal experience is the deer hair in his chest. Yeah. Because he's sick, he's sick, he's sick. And she even says, you know, like, I have to take you with me. And she tries to kill him and, you know, by... Fuck. Is that wild? I don't know anything about, uh...

The, the, the lore of the lore. Yeah. O-R-E, the lore of the deer people. I don't know anything. Me either. So if we have, I know that we do have Native American, American Indian listeners. Yeah. Is that a Lakota thing? I don't know. Or other tribes? Yeah. Cause I have not, I have not heard that. And I know they're,

You know, like, there's so many different tribes, and so many of them have such, you know, wildly different lore. Yeah, yeah. It's hard to track it all down. Of course, when it's, like, unique to each tribe. But, yeah, so if any of our listeners are familiar with that and or are Lakota, Cody, if you're—this story, I think this was sent in in, like, 2020 or 2022. Okay. So, Cody, if you're still listening, love to just, like— Yeah. Yeah.

Have a little more insight. And when I, when I learn about something new like this, I actually never look it up because I don't want to ruin the, like when I'm telling it on the show, I don't want to ruin it with too much information in my own head. Like I think it affects the conversation that we have. I could look it up now, but, um,

Well, and what's... Not right this second, but... What's interesting about a lot of, like, American Indian, like, tribal lore is, you know, because the tribes kept most information... Well, before Europeans came over, it was an oral tradition. So they weren't, like, they weren't writing books and tracking the info. Yeah. And then...

A lot of it to this day still hasn't been, from my understanding, still hasn't necessarily been written. Like, not all of the old stories and not all of the ones that have been written down have had those books digitized. So there could be, like, so much horror lore out there that I just wouldn't be able to find, that our researchers wouldn't be able to find on the internet. So, yeah, I definitely, like, if you are...

have that heritage from like any of the tribes. Yeah. And there's like a story that you're, it's okay to share. Yeah. That, you know, you can't find online. We would love to hear it. Absolutely. Absolutely. Yes, yes, yes. Yes. Yeah. And just, yeah. Great stories. Thanks everyone for participating in our show. Thanks for making it a fun holiday episode. Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop. We're a few weeks ahead of Christmas. Are you excited for Christmas?

I am. We were just talking earlier today. You know, just got a lot going on this month. What? Us? A lot going on? So sometimes I feel like a little like, ah, a little overwhelmed. But I know that when I get to Christmas, I know I'll get my stuff done ahead of time. Yeah. I'll get to Christmas and then I'm excited for this year because...

you know, like you and I have talked before, it probably will, there's a very good chance it'll be the last one. Yeah. On my side of the family, you know, because like next year, the kids will go to their moms for Christmas. We have your family to consider in the rotation. And then also, Kyler is getting, you know,

older and in college. Monroe will soon be in college. And then it just gets more complicated where they might meet somebody that might have their own traditions that they want to be a part of. Totally. My grandma's getting older. So, you know, this year we're going to have- Well, she's going to live forever. This year we're going to have my grandma Betty, my mom, my stepdad, my sister. Everyone's healthy and well. We can all be there. Yep. Exactly. My sister and like, you know, her oldest is almost in college. Yeah. It's the same age as Monroe. So when Monroe goes to college, he will go to college. And so-

It's possible. It's going to get all scattered. Yeah. Yeah. I know. It's going to be a special one, I think. I think so. I had my mom make us these hysterical shirts, like most likely to, and they're really funny. Yep. We did a good job. I'm excited for that family photo because I think that it's going to mark a special moment. I do. In my gut, I just feel like it's just going to be a special Christmas. Yeah. One to really kind of savor. Yeah.

You know, when you're younger and a kid, I think it's easy just like, yeah, you probably have this long line of these kind of Christmases ahead of you. Yeah. Like I remember so many of the same kind of Christmas with the same family doing the same thing for so many years. Uh-huh. And then it gets scattered and then you get together sometimes and then, but you still think, well, you know, we'll do it again in three years. Uh-huh. And this one feels like, I think this really might be the end of this kind of Christmas. Yeah, it's entirely plausible. Mm-hmm. Yeah, because the next...

This is what, 24? Yeah. So yeah, like the next Christmas we'll have the kids quote unquote guaranteed. It's 2026 and just who knows? Yeah, we might do something with your family, you know? It's like we got that to consider as well. Yeah, definitely.

Yeah, so many things. So whatever you're doing, however you celebrate the holidays, we hope that you are with people that you enjoy spending time with. You are surrounded by loved ones in a warm, cozy space eating a delicious meal, whatever that looks like for you. We are grateful for you and we hope you have a beautiful holiday season. Yeah. And with that, would you like to thank some Annabelles? Yeah, you want me to go first or you? Sure, go right ahead. I would like to thank the following Annabelles for supporting us here. Tara,

Haley Lopin, Nicholas Hartman, Nikki Young, Cody Plummer, Austin Renicki. I'm guessing this one's a made up one. Hego Waffle. Sure. Yeah. Hego My Waffle. Hego My Waffle. Yeah. It's kind of like a, like an ego, but at an H in the front. Fair enough. Yeah. I would like to thank the following Annabelle's as well for helping to make this holiday season bright. Abby Hart, Haley Box, Shane Thompson, Dylan Betts,

Sean Connery. And obviously it's the Sean Connery. The Sean Connery. Is he knighted or anything? Sir Connery. Sir Connery. Okay. Uh, Cruz Horner and Tony. And Tony. Tony. Beautiful. As you do this booby shout outs, I'm going to look and see if Sean Connery is even alive still.

That's a good question. Just two quick spoopy shout-outs this week. To Jess from Dylan, thank you for being a kick-ass mother to our bundle of joy, Kenny. Being a new parent has shown a host of new struggles, but you are a kick-ass mom. To Ready from Nikki Bear, I cannot wait to marry you, and I am so excited to meet our little sweet pea. Love you to the moon and back. Aww. I know they have a cute story. Nikki moved to Ohio. What's up? What's up?

And met Rhett like the day that she moved there. And then it just all kind of happened smoothly and quickly. But she had two adopted kids that are in their late teens, early 20s, and didn't think that she could have kids. And guess who's mad? Oh, wow. Okay. Big age gap. Yeah. Yeah. So you're going to have a lot of bills of babysitting. You know, I don't even think it's a whoopsie because it's just like, I don't know, one of life's little mysteries.

Sean Connery has been dead for four years. Oh, shit. He's like real dead. Yeah, he's real. So if that is that Sean Connery, how cool is that? It's kind of like my story at the beginning. More proof. Unbelievable. Yep. Sean Connery has reached out from beyond the grave to support this show. Yeah.

his estate is paying his monthly Patreon dues. He wrote it in his will. He's like, it's part of my final wishes. He's listening to bonus content out in the ether. Oh, it's great. Sean, I hope you're enjoying it. Thank you.

That's our show. Thanks for continuing to send in your personal tales of terror. So stupid. To My Story at Sean Connery. Okay. Oh, yes. Let's do the thank yous in that voice. Thank you for continuing to send in your personal tales of terror to My Story at ScaredToDeathPodcast.com. Is that Sean Connery? I don't know. Or is that Ian McKellen? You can email us for everything else at info at ScaredToDeathPodcast.com.

I don't know. He has a kind of a gobbled mouth, perhaps. Thanks to Logan Keith for scoring today's show. Thanks to Heather Rylander organizing my story emails. To book editor Drew Atana, polishing and preparing listeners' stories for book number six. You're so funny. Thank you to Molly Box for finding the first story I told this week. For finding Beth Way, for finding the second. To be clear, I have no idea what Sean Connery sounds like. I can't even conjure his voice in my head right now. We're on Facebook and Instagram where we post pics to the company of Sos and More.

Ask her to this podcast for that. We also have a private Facebook group, Creeps and Peepers, full of fellow horror lovers. Big thank you to the all-seeing eyes, the Creeps and Peepers moderators who have been making that page go all year long, so many years now. Keep keeping it there for the holidays. Enjoy your nightmares, Creeps and Peepers. Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy holidays. I hope you were scared to death. Bye.

Add magic productions.

Maybe for the bonus episode, Christmas Story, I should really ratchet up the theatrics. Oh, no.

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