The Man Outside The Cabin
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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, Creeps, Peepers, Roberts, and Annabelles. I'm Dan. Hello, Dan. I'm Lindsay. Hello. And this week, I'm going to kick off the show with two very quick announcements, followed by an announcement from Dan about some merch. Um,

First of all, we just want to say that we're sending our love and our support to everyone affected by those insane tornadoes and flooding and just, I don't know, this very bizarre once-in-a-lifetime weather hitting the Midwest, the South, and dare we say beyond. We just want to tell you all that we're thinking about you and hoping that you and your loved ones are safe.

And then also, second announcement, don't forget, those of you applying for one of four $5,000 Cummins Family Scholarships, your applications are due April 17th in just a few days, so don't miss your deadline. Yes. All right. And Dan? And a quick little April merch announcement. Introducing the Demon Dog Tee and Jacket. Check out the super cool illustration of a three-eyed, four-horned, snarling demon dog that Logan has created. In addition to that, as a tee, you can also check it out as a jacket, too.

has a black body and hood. The sleeves are white with a large S T D P on one side and a printed patch on the other. The front features a large S and the back features a jumbo size version of the demon dog designed. Very cool. And there's a man on the hill design feature in the depiction of a weathered vampire's face cast in shadow.

And in case you missed it, there's all the other recent drops over at badmagicproductions.com today, including Bad Magic Felt Penance from Oxard and STD Surf Style Hat and more. There's so much good stuff. Enjoy it. Gear up for the summer. Yeah. Yeah. And now what fan-submitted allegedly true horror do you have for us today? Well, Dan, I have two tales. My first tale is...

involves several smaller moments followed by a much bigger experience and it's pretty interesting to see how the paranormal can show up in your life over and over but maybe not really hit you until it's much bigger okay if that makes sense yeah and then my second story is so freaking weird it's very not traditional for my side of the show um it involves a strange

kind of nightmare maybe time lapse or multiverse kind of story I cannot wait to share it with you because I am so curious to see what your brain populates as a solution to what is going on with this person okay I'm looking forward to hearing that no pressure

I have, my first of two stories is composed of what may have been a hermit's final diary entries. A man living alone in a remote cabin writing about something terrorizing him. Okay, that sounds interesting. It's pretty creepy. For my second, I will share the legend of the Dungarvin Whooper. What?

The what? Dungarvin whooper. Whooper? Like, like. Like W-H-O-O-P. Like whooping. Like a whooping noise. Oh, like whoop it up. Yep. Okay. It's some horror folklore coming from an old logging camp in New Brunswick, Canada. It's a very weird story.

So a bit of a remote dwelling way out in the woods double feature today. Okay. Once you're socked up and ready to go, I'll jump into today's tales. Well, I just want to remind our fans that our newest co-host, Sunny Angel Pineapple, is here with us again. He, she is, it doesn't have, well, I guess it does have a little wiener. So he, yeah. I know, but it doesn't feel like it, but attached to my computer forever. Okay.

I love these socks. Adulting. One star. Would not recommend. Thank you so much to fans Cheryl and Justin Fry for the sweet note they sent saying, Dan and Lindsay, we're so glad that both of you and your kids are safe and sound after your horrible accident. Hopefully that was your one bad day for 2025. That's very nice. Yeah, very sweet. So thanks for sending those, Justin and Cheryl. All right.

Okay, so I will jump into this person's telling of this tale. They say, I am not sure what to make of this story, but it stuck with me for years now. And I wanted to post it here and probably a few other places to see what other people think may have happened. My dad bought the property of over 100 acres a few years ago for next to nothing at an auction in Wyoming for a few different homes and acreages that the county had come to possess through tax liens.

Dad's been using it as a family hunting lodge ever since and when we were clearing out the old cabin on the property I came across a diary being nosy like most people I flipped through some of the pages Mostly really boring day-to-day stuff written by an old vietnam vet hermit who didn't care much for people or society But then I came across the last few pages And it looked like he had really lost his mind at the end. At least that's what I thought at first Now, I don't know

The entry stopped in 2007, but I've run into two different neighbors who seem certain they saw him as late as 2010. And that makes me wonder. Curious what you'll think. Time now for the tale of the man outside the cabin. January 5th, 2007. I'm not sure how to begin this or if I should even be writing it down at all. It's late and the wind outside is howling louder than usual. Sometimes I think the trees are talking to me, whispering things I don't understand.

But I know the noise is just a storm, the same one that rattles the bones of this old cabin every winter. Still, something feels off tonight. I'm sitting by the fire now, my fingers shaking as I write. It's been almost two weeks since the first strange occurrence. I didn't want to think much of it at the time, but now I'm not so sure. To remind anyone, if anyone ever thinks this is worth reading, this cabin is tucked away deep in the woods, and it's supposed to be a retreat, a place of peace.

"'My nearest neighbor is miles away, and I've always enjoyed the solitude. "'The only company I need is the rustling of the trees and the occasional visit from the deer. "'But lately that quiet peace has been disturbed. "'I suppose I should explain what happened. "'It was a Tuesday, like any other, when I noticed him for the first time. "'He was standing on the ridge that stands a little over 300 yards north of the front of the cabin. "'I was standing on the porch, scanning the horizon to see if the coyotes "'that had been hanging around all winter were nearby and close enough to shoot.'

I didn't see those coyotes, but I sure saw him, and he was looking at me. I could only make out his silhouette. He looked tall and lean. He was wearing a hat. We stared at each other for a while. A couple of minutes, easy. I thought about waving my arm at him, but something in my gut told me he might not be the kind of company I'd want to invite in, so I just kept an eye on him, and my hand on my rifle. I was waiting for him to either speak or to start making his way towards me, or leave, I guess, but he didn't do any of that.

He just kept standing there, as still as a tree. After a few minutes, I got tired of staring and decided to head inside. When I looked back out towards the ridge a few minutes later, he was gone, but I feel like I'll be seeing him again. January 7th, 2007. I saw him again today. The man. I was out chopping wood when I noticed someone standing in the distance, just at the edge of the tree line, east of the cabin, about 200 yards.

At first I thought it was a neighbor, even though none of them had visited me in years. And whenever someone has visited, they've always driven over, never walked. Like the first time, he was standing there perfectly still, watching me. After a few minutes of this again, I called out. It felt too hostile to just keep silently staring at him again, but he didn't respond, just kept staring. I squinted, trying to make out his features a little better than the time before, but he was still too far away to really get a feel for how he looked.

He was definitely tall, though, taller than most, and he wore a long coat and a wide-brim hat, like someone from another time. I wondered if he was a hunter, and that got my blood going a bit, because he was on my land. And where he was standing, he must have crossed through some of my neighbor's property to reach it. I decided it just wouldn't do to let him think he could walk onto my property and stare me down whenever he pleased, so I set down my axe and grabbed my rifle and headed out to have a word with him. But before I was able to reach the spot where he'd been standing, he was gone.

The area was completely empty. No footprints, no signs of disturbance in the snow. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I can't explain it. I've been living out here long enough to know the woods. I know the way the land feels, the way the snow settles. This wasn't normal. I was approaching him as he continued to stand perfectly still. A large pine blocked my view for him for just a few seconds as I crossed in front of it, and when I had a clear sight line to where he'd been standing again, he wasn't there. I should have gone back inside, but I didn't.

I stayed out there for hours, searching. Even though I knew deep down I wouldn't find anything. I don't know, maybe I'm getting too old. Maybe I've been living by myself for too long and starting to fray around the edges. I might be seeing things, but I don't think so. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. January 9th, 2007. I've been thinking about that man again today. Woke up thinking about him. I don't know why, but I can't seem to get him out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing there, motionless in the snow.

His tall frame, the wide-brimmed hat, and that feeling. I don't think I wrote about it before, but I feel a bit sick in the pit of my stomach every time I see him. There's something about the way he stands and stares, so totally still. It's as if he's waiting for something to happen. Just watching me, maybe even when I'm not looking. Waiting for the time to be right to make his move. I checked my locks tonight. Twice. They were all locked like they should have been. I scanned the horizon for him, but I couldn't find him.

But starting just a bit before I started to write this, I think I began to hear him. Everything was fine until maybe 20 minutes ago, just the usual creaks and groans of an old cabin. But then I started to hear something else, a soft scratching sound, like fingernails on wood. At first I thought it was an animal, maybe a raccoon or something trying to get into the rafters. But it hasn't quit and there's a strange rhythm to it. I don't know, but I think it has something to do with him.

I can't shake the feeling that he's close by and then I'll see him again soon. January 11th 2007. I'm cracking up a bit and losing track of time. My thoughts are muddled. I can barely remember what happened yesterday. Something is happening to me but I don't know exactly what it is or how to stop it. That scratching sound I heard two nights ago or maybe three keeps going away but then it comes back and tonight it turned into a thumping almost like someone knocking at the door.

But whenever I check, there's nothing. No one there. Just a dark, quiet wood stretching out as far as I can see in every direction. There's something else, too. It's subtle at first, just like a little flicker in the corner of my eye. But then when I turn my head, I catch a sight of a figure, a shadow, moving around just beyond the trees. But then every time I step outside to take a better look, it's gone. Whatever I saw or thought I saw, there's nothing there. I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind.

A smarter man might leave this place and head into town, but I don't know who I'd be without this cabin. I've been out here with this cabin, and more importantly, with this pristine land around it so long, it feels like it's a part of me. After all these years and all the memories I've made, I'd rather live scared here than live unafraid somewhere else. January 15th, 2007. Something happened again today. After a few days of things returning back the way they'd always been before, I was starting to think it was all over. But that doesn't seem to be the case. This time I heard him.

I was in the shed, fixing the old tractor when I heard a voice. It wasn't my own voice and it wasn't the wind. It was low, gravelly, like someone was speaking directly into my ear. At first I thought it was just the wind, but the voice was too clear. I couldn't make out what it was saying at first, but then I realized it was calling my name, slow and deliberate. I turned around, but there was no one behind me. I kept looking around, but there was no one near me. The shed was empty, save for the tools and the smell of grease. But when I walked out into the yard, I saw him again.

He was standing between the shed and the edge of the woods, watching me. This time I was close enough to make out his features, though just barely. His face was plain and pale, almost too plain, like he was some sort of doll that the dollmaker never quite finished, if that makes any sense. And his eyes were black, dark as coal, empty and lifeless. I called out to him again, but like before, he didn't respond. I didn't think he would. He just stood there, so perfectly still, with his gaze fixed upon me. I don't know why, but I ran.

I ran back to the cabin, locked the door behind me. But then I saw something worse. There was a figure in the window. At first, I thought I was just a trick of the light, but no. It was him. It was his face. That pale, lifeless, definitely not fully formed face. I'm not afraid to admit it scared the hell out of me. And he had pressed it up against the glass. His eyes, those cold black eyes staring right at me. It was impossible. He'd moved over a hundred yards in an instant. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I just stood there, frozen, staring back at him.

I don't know how long I stood there, but when I finally mustered the strength to look away, he was gone. The window was empty. The storm outside was still howling, but the man was gone. I wanted to convince myself that I had imagined him, but I know he was there. I know what I saw. I just don't know what it means. It's a good thing I stopped drinking a few years ago and poured out all my whiskey. The way I've been feeling lately, if I had enough, I'd probably get drunk and stay drunk the rest of the winter, maybe longer, until either he left or I did.

January 17th, 2007. I woke up in a cold sweat this morning, but it wasn't from the nightmare. It wasn't from the cold or the storm either. It's because I saw him again. This time I was in the cabin sitting by the fire. The wind was howling outside and the crackling flames were the only thing that kept me from feeling the oppressive silence that had settled over the woods. I looked up and there he was, standing at the doorway this time. His tall figure filled the frame, his shadow stretched into the room. He looks like a bad omen come to life.

His eyes, those black eyes, were locked on mine, and for a moment I thought I was going to pass out, but then he spoke. Let me in, he said, his voice a rasp, like something dragging itself across gravel. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare back at him, my heart pounding in my chest. He didn't wait long for me to respond. The door creaked as it opened, though I swear I hadn't touched it. Slowly, he stepped forward into the cabin. I could hear his boots on the old wooden floor. I don't know what happened next. I should have grabbed my rifle and shot him, at least tried to, but I didn't.

I passed out. When I woke up, the cabin was quiet again and the door was closed. I wanted to believe it was just a bad dream. I wanted to think that I'd fallen asleep by the fire, but that's not what happened. I know what I heard and I know what I saw. January 19th, 2007. I'm writing this now because I don't know how much longer I have. The man or whatever he is, he's getting stronger. I hear him outside every night, scraping at the windows, knocking on the door. Sometimes I hear him whispering my name, calling me in that low, cold voice.

I try and shoot him, but I know now that it wouldn't do any good. I guess I've known it for a while, but didn't want to accept it. He's not a natural man. What good would a bullet do? All it might do is anger him. I'd leave, but where am I supposed to go? No, I'm going to see this through to the end, whatever it is. And whatever it is, I'm pretty sure is nothing good. He's starting to look like me. Last night, I saw him again standing between the cabin and the woods. I stepped outside to get a better look. He was only 20 or so yards away this time. And this time I could see his face clearly, more clearly than ever before. I

It wasn't so unfinished. It was mine. Almost, anyway. His features were a little twisted and distorted, but there was no mistaking he was looking a lot like me. And he spoke again. You can't hide from me. He said his voice, a sickening echo of my own now. And then he stood where they were staring at me in that perfectly still way again while I backed up and went back in the cabin. I know what he is now. He's a doppelganger.

I read about them in some book, A Strange Phenomena, years ago when I was a kid. Now I know why he keeps coming around and staring and scaring me. He's not just watching me, he's becoming me. The more I see him, the more I feel myself slipping away. Maybe I was wrong about trying to shoot him. I should. I should at least fire a shot. Maybe it'll make him mad. Maybe he'll attack me, but who cares? Getting him mad enough to come for me quick might be better than him killing me slowly like he's been doing.

If anyone I know ever finds this diary and it looks like I'm still around, ask about my parents. Ask me about the brother I still have. The one I lost long ago. Ask me about Vietnam. When I was there and how it changed me. And if I don't answer right, shoot me. Shoot me because I'm not me anymore. Shoot me before you find somebody else. January 21st, 2007. I can hear him. Tapping on the window right now. He's here. He's come for me. He's come to be me. But he won't get me without a fight.

It's time to take a stand, even if it is my last. So that's it. That's the last entry from January of 2007. But like I said, at least two neighbors swear they saw this guy as late as 2010. So who did they see? To be clear, neither said they spoke with him. They both said they just saw him standing out on their shared property line, standing still as a statue and staring at them.

That's crazy. Uh-huh. Here's the thing. We don't have origin stories about doppelgangers. Uh-huh. So initially when you first started talking, I was like, oh, hat man, right? Oh yeah, uh-huh. What if? What if the hat man's a doppelganger? Kind of. Like somebody who can take your shape? That's right. I wrote like, what did I write down? Assuming someone's identity. Uh-huh. It's like, how fascinating would that be if we can tie the hat man to doppelganger's

In a way where it's like those other neighbors that are seeing this thing out there that might be the guy, might not be. What if they started to interact with it? Would it come and take their identity? And if they kept a journal, would it repeat a similar pattern? Is that how we get doppelgangers? The hat man comes for you? Do we have to be double scared of hat man? I know the whole concept of doppelgangers. And I feel like I've shared a story of one for a while.

It is so unnerving whether like whether the origin is extraterrestrial or paranormal. Just the thought of anything being able to take the identity and form of someone else. Yeah. Is I wonder how long people have been afraid of that possibility, like going back into like ancient times. It's like once your mind goes there. Yeah. It could make you go crazy because then you could wonder it's like, is anyone in my life, anyone in my circle of friends? Are they not who they used to be? Like if there was ever definitive proof that that could definitely be a real thing.

Almost like a virus. There's some thing out there. I think I actually wrote a... I wasn't trying to promote this, but I think I wrote a Nightmare Fuel about this concept a while back. I can't think of the name of it right now. But some little thing that can take your identity or control you like a parasite. Yeah. And you still look like you, but you're not you anymore. Oh my God, that would make the whole world go crazy because we all start to question...

Well, also, would you question yourself? Like, am I myself or am I something else? Would you know the difference?

I mean, I guess if I'm thinking that, I would assume that I was myself. Just the fact that I would be willing to question that would make me think that I was myself. But you couldn't convince anybody else of that. Just wait till you hear my second story today. It's going to feed this like, what is reality kind of vibe. Those are always the stories that best we have to, I think the most, as far as like a lingering effect. Sure. Ones that like, if they were true, it wouldn't just, okay, like it would be different than like an isolated ghost story.

in a cabin or something that was the ghost of someone who died. Because at least there's a logic there that like, okay, when people die, their spirits can come back and they can interact in a limited form with this world. That doesn't make me feel like I'd go crazy. No. It's creepy. Might make me freaked out or anxious, but not... And I already lean towards believing that anyway. Right. It's like Mrs. Whitmore from last week, my first episode. Yeah, yeah, yeah. My first episode, my first story, sorry. But if...

But if there was something where this thing can take you over... Right. That is far, far, far more threatening. And...

Far more like paranoia inducing. Well, and also in this current plane of existence and reality, we do have diseases that can do that to us. Alzheimer's, you know, it's like we lose our faculties. You lose your sense of who you are, what is reality, what is real. And then in a not mental health way, but in a very real way, people get their identity stolen all the time online. Right? So that, okay.

My dad, it has happened to my dad three times now. Same credit card, always when he's in Florida for an extended period of time for like their holiday over the winter. And so now just that alone, he's becoming paranoid. He said to me, he's like, should I just not go to Florida? Like what is happening when I go here? He's waiting for me down there. But honestly, so it's like, the connection I'm trying to make is that there's the paranormal fear of like, what if there was...

Yeah, yeah.

Uh, no pictures with this story, of course, but I, but I searched for images of remote cabins and found some cool stuff. Okay. Yeah. Let's see. And before I share those, I just wanted to, uh, so I don't forget with your dad, has your dad stayed in the same place all three times that placed whatever wifi he's using change the password.

Because if somebody else has that password, and it's like, that's why they're able to, like, every time he uses that Wi-Fi network, they're able to, like, hack in. And I don't know. I think there could be something there. There could be. But what's interesting is it's a timeshare. And it's, quote unquote, timeshare. It's like a friend of theirs owns it. And, like, four or five different couples use it throughout the year. They might all be getting their stuff. I'm going to ask him. Yeah. I'm going to tell him that we discussed him on our show. This first one. Whoa. Where is that? I don't know.

know where i search for images of remote cabins this one comes up on a website called mass and fog.com and it's m-a-s-s maybe massachusetts sure uh when i was younger a place this remote appealed to me a lot more than it does now that's too remote for me i don't want to be like out there in the woods that far away from everybody else okay so it looks like somebody named leo von spander something oh yeah i took the picture leo vander sanden vander sanden yeah uh

Okay, this is appealing to me for like a couple days. Yeah, like a little writer's retreat or something like that. Totally. Or a little vacation. But long term. For those of you who are not listening to this on Patreon or looking at our Instagram as we're sharing this, it's like a red dot in the middle of this huge green forest. Like it's just...

Top of a mountain, middle of nowhere, no signs of life. Yeah, it's like on a saddle. So it's like you go up to it and there's a saddle and then you go, the mountain goes up further behind it. Yeah. God, your understanding of like geography, it's like I would never say that. I'm like, what part is the saddle? I don't even know. I think because I grew up in such city life. Yeah, just growing up around this. Yeah, I'm like, what are you saying right now? And I don't even know. I don't know if that's a colloquial term or what, but that's how people where I grew up would describe it. Yeah. Yeah.

Oh, because it's like at the top, like a horse saddle? I don't know what the etymology of the term is. Yeah, I just know that's what they call it. It's like you just climb up to that saddle and then you... Okay. Yeah, it's like a flat spot halfway up the mountain essentially, like a little... Yeah, okay. I was just trying to visualize. I was trying to see it the way you see it. I'm like, what is he seeing that I don't see? Okay, I get it now. Thank you. Yeah. This next one, this is from a stock photo site just called stockcake.com. It looks so peaceful sitting on the banks of a mountain stream.

But I think with places like this, and I thought this growing up about a lot of places around me, it's like, yeah, but what happens if you get really sick? Sure. If the power goes out, how far is it to go to the nearest hospital if you break a leg or something? And I know that's going to suck wherever you are. Yes. And you can't necessarily – you don't want to base your life on like I have to live within a third of a mile from a hospital. But – But this is just the extreme side of that where it's like –

A lot of things that wouldn't kill somebody living near town are going to kill somebody living here. Absolutely. This looks like a Thomas Kinkade photo or a painting. So pretty, though. So pretty. Again, weekend getaway? A week? Yeah, and I guess something bad could happen over the weekend, but it's like, yeah, I don't want to live my life like paranoid. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Also, it's like signs that we're getting older. No, I've thought about this since I was a kid. Oh, okay. Yeah. And then you said previously that when you were a kid, the idea of living in the middle of nowhere was appealing. Oh, I guess it was more than that. It's true. I did say that more than now, but I would have that concern float up here and there. But yeah, you're right. Yeah. It's gotten less appealing, I guess, in moments.

And then just one more, just because it's so remote. Oh my God, where is this? What is happening? Actually, I have two more. I'll have the second picture closer up. This is great. This is in Washington State. What? It's Washington State's most secluded cabin. It's just under 7,000 feet above sea level on the south peak of Three Fingers Mountain in the Mount Baker Snow Qualmy National Forest. It was constructed back in the 1930s. It's a 14 by 14 foot cabin.

And it's an old lookout structure. Oh, okay. It was used to report forest fires from 1933 to 1942. People can still hike in to this place today, and it is way up there. My stomach hurts looking at that. Yeah, you can see that down below. That's the clouds. Like, you're way up above the clouds in this place. Oh, God. I'm so nervous. Don't fall out the window. I know. Oh, my God.

And look at that little like to get up there. I think you can see some. Oh, you can't. This one. There were some other pictures I found the shows like the ladders and stuff. Oh, there's a lot. I was going to ask, like, do you have to rock climb up there? Like, how do you because you guys it's it's on the OK, the top of this cliff. And there's not like switchbacks. I mean, it is. Oh, I can kind of see it. OK, there it is. It looks just like rocky crag. Like how in God's name are you getting up there? Oh, it's a very dangerous climb to get to the top of this thing.

No, thanks. I was going to say show it to Kyler. Nope. Nope. Don't even want to plant that seed in his head. But he does, very much like us, you know, enjoy the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere. He, for a long time, wanted to move to Svalbard, which is a very tiny, remote island in Norway. Yeah. But that is... It's interesting, even him, just at his young age, he's already like...

Well, maybe after this collapsed lung where it's like that happens when you're someplace like that. It's a very different medical situation. Oh, my. Yeah. Could be a near-death experience. Yeah. Could be, sadly, a death-death experience. I'm not saying that about our kid. He will never die. Are you ready to leave remote? I believe that story was set in Wyoming. Yeah. Yeah. It was in Wyoming. And head to remote eastern Canada in New England. Yeah. Let's go. That was crazy.

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Have you ever heard, and I'm going to say you haven't based on your reaction earlier, of the Dungarvin Wooper? It just sounds so silly. Wooper? Yep, it does. If the name sounds silly to you, like some kind of practical joker and not a paranormal haunting, maybe that's because you're not a logger or because you've never been to or worked in a traditional old logging camp in New Brunswick or Maine before, which would only make sense. There's not many of these places around anymore.

Today, more and more timber is harvested by mechanized harvesters. These huge machines equipped with a harvesting head that can fall a tree, remove the branches, cut the trunk and desired lengths all in one operation. Actually highly recommend checking that out on YouTube just because it's like mind blowing. With trucks to drive and roads to drive them on, most loggers don't typically have to live on site these days, but that was not always true.

In the area of what is now the northeastern U.S. and eastern Canada, logging began when settlers first started arriving in the Jamestown settlement in 1607 and became more and more important as ships became more necessary to transport goods in an increasingly globalized economy. By the 1790s, New England was exporting 36 million feet of pine boards and at least 300 ship mass per year.

By 1830, Bangor, Maine had become the world's largest lumber shipping port and would move over 8.7 billion board feet of timber over the following 60 years. All of this, of course, somewhat exhausted the logging possibilities on the East Coast, given another reason among many for settlers to push further west. And that meant that the Pacific Northwest would soon become the logging hub of the U.S., which is still true today.

And the conditions these loggers logged in was, of course, very different during those days as it is now. Logging is still today a notoriously dangerous and rugged profession, but that was much more true 100 or more years ago. An 1894 feature in Munzee's magazine had this to say about life in the logging camps.

A late captain, who in his younger days spent several years in the woods, one day remarked to the writer that if he had his choice between spending three months in a lumber camp and the same amount of time in jail, he would unhesitantly choose the latter. Before the mid-20th century, loggers lived and worked in these camps to cut down trees in a specific area. Camps were often located in remote, mountainous, rugged, uninhabited areas.

Ideally, they'd be located next to a large river, so the logs could be floated down to a lumber mill or shingle mill downstream. Sometimes oxen and horses would have to haul the logs out of the forest. And if you worked in a logging camp, you could be out there anywhere from only a few months to several years in some cases. Housed among 20 to 40 or so other loggers, plus the camp staff, which included cooks, blacksmiths, filers, and repairmen. You lived in a bunkhouse, ate food made in the cookhouse, and did your business in an outhouse.

All rough, rudimentary structures that were probably very drafty in the best of circumstances. Bugs like lice were a constant problem. And to mitigate their effects, the loggers would typically boil their clothes on Sundays. The clothing was then hung out to dry on tree branches or taken back to the bunkhouse to dry by the wood stove. This, in turn, turned the bunkhouse into a steam bath. Unpleasant for those sleeping in bunks next to the stove.

But if you opened up a panel to let the steam out, someone further away from the stove might get very cold and demand you shut it, and so on and so forth. Arguments, as you might imagine, were very frequent. But if you could withstand the cold and keep morale up, logging operations could net you a decent income, with workers earning about 65 cents to a dollar a day for 10 hours of work, which doesn't sound like much now, but was a desirable wage for many in the late 19th century.

Cooks would generally keep things running smoothly in the camp and provide providing good food was essential to keep the men motivated and happy In the morning cooks at least those in maine and new brunswick would often wake up the men with a loud Whoop a shout to come down to the cookhouse in some cases the loggers weren't allowed to talk during meals Except to ask for more food to be passed to them cooks wanted the men to eat their fill of potatoes biscuits pork beans and canned meat quickly

The less time spent eating, the more time they had to clean the tables, wash the dishes, and prepare the next meal. Loggers needed about 8,000 calories a day to sustain themselves. Very strenuous, very taxing work. Also, if the food wasn't good, loggers would often leave and move to a different camp where the food was better. Conversely, if a logger caused problems with a good cook, that logger faced serious consequences, including potential banishment. Filers and blacksmiths were essential too.

It was of paramount importance to keep the loggers' axis sharpened and the chains that were wrapped around logs for transport in good condition. A snap chain or a saw in disrepair often led to serious injury or death. As one logger commented, "It was too bad we didn't have a capable surgeon in camp. We could have gained an additional logger every month if all the dismembered body parts could have been sewn back together. Even when the day's work was done, it wasn't a guarantee that you'd get out of there safely."

In 1914, a timber slide near Portland, Oregon caused a devastating tragedy. A logging operation on a steep slope resulted in an avalanche of logs and debris that swept through a nearby camp and killed at least a dozen men. But perhaps more than accidents, more than fires or a sharp blade, the most dangerous things at a logging camp were the loggers themselves. After all, can you imagine spending months or years with strangers?

Can you imagine spending all your time with men doing what has been called by many the most dangerous job on the planet, working for what even then was not a giant amount of money? Can you imagine their desperation, how short their fuses must have been, battered by years of having their bodies beat up by grueling work and witnessing or experiencing horrible accidents? And can you imagine being with these men far out in the wilderness with nowhere to seek refuge but the vast dark forest around you? Time now for the tale of the Dungarvan Whooper.

The Dungarvan River flows through central New Brunswick, Canada, east of Maine, meandering down towards the Rainoo River, and then further along into the Miramichi River. The area surrounding the waters is covered in thick, dense forests, perfect for logging, and also terrifying to many at night. Sometime in the 1820s, some sources say 1825, a young Irish cook by the name of Ryan arrived at one such logging camp.

He was said to be a handsome young man with a head of thick, curly, dark hair. Perhaps someone who looked altogether too delicate for the harsh realities of life at camp. And there was something else that set him apart from his fellow loggers besides his good looks. He always carried a money belt tied around his waist. In some ways, this made sense. After all, most men came to logging camps with all their earthly possessions, money included. But Ryan made no secret of the fact that his money belt was full of money. Much more money than any of the other men working with him had.

Still, the loggers are said to have taken a liking to the boy. He served warm and delicious meals, and he had a startling ability to whoop and holler, drawing the men back out of bed to the cookhouse or from deep in the forest back to camp. They would always arrive to find Ryan ladling a hearty stew into tin bowls or setting down a tray of warm biscuits and grinning his big, cheerful smile. One day, just like many others, Ryan let out his customary whoop for breakfast, and the men were then sent out into the woods.

For hours they worked cutting down trees, stripping branches, wiping their faces as sweat and dust in a nearly futile attempt to keep their vision clear. And they waited for Ryan's whoop to call them back. And they waited. And they waited. When they finally gave up and returned, they arrived to see the camp boss, the most senior logger, standing over young Ryan's dead body. His money belt was noticeably nowhere to be seen. The camp boss said only that Ryan had gotten ill and fallen over, dead, before anyone could do anything to save him.

It was a story that immediately read as a lie to anyone with a working mind and ears that could hear. But, fearing what might happen to them if they questioned further, the woodsmen, rather than confront their boss and risk their livelihoods, quietly carried Ryan's body off into the woods to give their friend a proper burial. Then, according to the legend of the story, the wind began to pick up. The leaves and the trees, once rustling softly, now began to move more insistently like a warning. Wind began to race through the treetops, whining as the first needles of a cold rain began to pelt down.

The wind then howled louder, thrashing against the trees as the men ran back to camp over the slick and uneven earth. And all the while, Ryan's body lay atop the ground, forgotten, his eyes open in a silent plea. They'd never managed to bury him. Back in the bunkhouse, the men waited for the inevitable. The first crack of thunder that would make even their experienced hearts shudder in their chests would make them pray to God that they weren't struck down by lightning. But no thunder came. Instead, right as the eye of the storm passed over them, they heard it.

A large whooping sound crashed over them. The same voice as Ryan's, whooping from the cookhouse, but no longer cheery, no longer coming from one location. It was loud and pained and coming from everywhere at once. It sounded like he was screaming. Finally, at dawn, the screaming stopped. When morning came, the loggers packed up and headed out of their camp. On their way, they passed by the spot where they'd left Ryan's body, perhaps hoping they could still bury him, that whatever darkness had emerged that night could somehow be put to rest.

but now his body was gone. Had it been dragged away by animals, somehow swept by the storm into the nearby river? Or had something else happened? Something much more inexplicable. That same night, more whooping screams were heard in the forest, and the next night, and the night after that, and so on. The loggers had to travel far to escape it. Some stories claim that in the years that followed, a priest by the name of Father Murdoch tried to quiet Ryan's spirit by blessing the land where the young man had met his fate. But it didn't work. The nightly screams in the area continued.

And allegedly the screaming whoops are still heard today, usually around sundown, and the sounds seem to be coming from different directions, as if he's everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Some think it's the ghost of Ryan trying to lure his murderer into the woods. Others say it's nothing more than a timber wolf or a coyote. Scary, but hardly supernatural.

But I wouldn't want to spend any time in a place where even the most hardened men, men who had experienced one of the most rugged and dangerous lifestyles in all of history, fled in fright. Would you? That's not what I was expecting. Yeah? Well, I didn't know what a whooper was. I know. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Exactly. What? What the heck? Poor Ryan. Poor Ryan. Poor Ryan. Mm-hmm. But also, Ryan, with your money belt.

Right. I feel like he was inviting danger. Yeah. Yeah. If that story is true, the way it played out, it's like, why would you ever do that? Yeah. Don't draw attention to yourself that way. Literally. In a situation like that. At all. That's like walking into an old like gold rush boom town in the wild west with like a big bag of gold in your hands. Yeah. No shit. No shit.

Honestly, it's no different than walking into a hole-in-the-wall bar right now and flashing around a pocket full of hundreds. True, true. I mean, everybody knows. Don't be a fucking idiot. Yeah, yeah. Don't draw attention to yourself. Somebody once told me when I was much younger that if you're carrying a large amount of cash on you, like in your wallet, and you know you're...

likely going to need to access your wallet while others are around to always put your smallest bills to the outside and your biggest bills to the inside. So like, especially for dudes, you know, the way that like a wallet is, it would appear that you have like a wad of ones as opposed to a wad of hundreds. That's smart. Yeah. Yeah. It's very smart.

I thought it was really funny how they're not allowed to talk at breakfast. Yeah. Yeah. Some of those logging camps. Uh-huh. But I get it. Also 8,000 calories a day. I don't think I could eat 8,000 calories right now if my life depended on it. Yeah. But you know, young men, very, very active, you know, and they're going to be like little, like whatever weight they are, it's going to be all muscle for that kind of work. Yeah. So their metabolisms are going to be pretty fast and they're going to need, yeah, a lot of calories to sustain themselves. I bet everybody in that camp,

cooks and all were male. Oh, yeah. That'd be a nightmare for a woman. Yeah. I mean, at camps, like, sadly, like, you know, in camps of that sort, like, you know, there's a big gold mining, like, rush back in the, you know, the 1800s or whatever, and there's Boomtown. It would be, like, dudes going out there to prospect for the most part. But then the women that would follow a lot of times, it was sex workers who would set up a bordello to...

I was wondering if this story was going to go into Bordello. When you started talking about logging, I was like, oh, I wonder if it's going to be about a Bordello. But no. Yeah, yeah. Probably camp wasn't big enough and they weren't making enough money. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Crazy. I have a few pictures, but I can wait until you're done with you. This is a nonsensical question for our fans. Yeah. I love biscuits. I don't think anybody loves a biscuit as much as I love a biscuit. Yeah, you do love a biscuit. I do love a biscuit. And when we're in New Orleans, which we'll be there soon, um,

I want biscuits every single day, especially from Frenchmen all day. I love those effing biscuits. If anybody has an excellent and not altogether that difficult biscuit recipe, can you please send it to me? Because I am desperate to have biscuits. Perfect biscuit. Oh, I love biscuits so much. I do too. Oh my God. I have a few pictures. This first is of the Dungarbon River from 1988.

I don't know who that family is. Oh, I was like, I thought there was going to be a story behind these three dudes out there. This is the pic that comes up from Wikipedia when you look up this river and I couldn't really find a better pic. It's really pretty. Yeah, you can just see like, yeah, it looks like a place where a bunch of logging was done. Just thick pine all around them now. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm. And then this is kind of cute. What? This is a wood carving of Ryan the Cook from the legend of the Dungarvin Whipper.

I found this at mynewbrunswick.ca. It's located in a little town of Blackville, New Brunswick, near where the supposed cook supposedly died. It's also kind of creepy. If you didn't know what it was. Uh-huh. Yeah, he doesn't really have eyes. And then finally, this is just the plaque beneath that carving with a summary of the Dungarver whooped legend, but with a little different ending than the version of the story I shared. Dungarvin. I thought you were saying Dungarver.

Dungarvin, yeah. Okay. That's how I found it's pronounced. This one says,

So he's actually buried in this one. A series of whoops and screams continued all that night, all the next day, driving the men from camp never to return. And then this one says the whooping was heard in the area for several years until Father Murdoch, a priest from Renoir, blessed the grave for the complete story. And then it has a website, this memoriesofblackville.com.

Okay, so a little bit different than what you found. Yeah, that one, there was like an exorcism. It was snow, not rain. They did bury him, you know. And then that one, like the whooping stopped once the priest blessed the grave. You know who loves the word whoop? Who? Your sister. Does she? She wants to whoop it up. Oh, whoop, whoop. She says whoop. Whoop what up? She's into whooping. She says that quite a bit. That's a Donna Hale, like 1,000%. Funny. Let's whoop it up. Let's whoop it up. She often says it to your mom or your grandma.

Like, okay, ladies, let's whoop it up. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's all right. Prior to Donna, I had never heard that. Okay. Well, Dan, are you ready for my half of the show? I sure am. Okay. Do you have a Layla? I do. Oh, gee, Layla. Oh, gee. And does she smell yummy? She does, actually. She does? She's retained. They retain it for a long time. Well, you know, there's also a basket of them, and they're all scented, so I kind of feel like it's concentrated. Yeah. Yeah.

Okay, let us begin. Hello, Lindsay. Hello, Dan. Hello. My name is Chris and I'm a relatively new fan. Pause. Yeah. This was from 2021. So Chris, hopefully you're still here. But I love the podcast. I have finally caught up on Scared to Death after a few pretty bingey months and now I'm getting started on Time Suck.

Since I'm now out of new scared to death to listen to, it felt like a good time to write in and share some strange things I experienced throughout my childhood.

First, I think I should preface this with a bit about me so the story makes more sense. I'm not very religious, and I currently work in academia doing mental health research. I've always tried to utilize logic and science to make sense of the world, but despite this, I am 100% a creep. It's fair to say my relationship with the paranormal is complicated. I've been an avid fan of all things horror since I was a kid. I just cannot get enough.

There's something about the supernatural that's fascinating to me. And the scientific part of my brain just can't overpower this feeling I have that maybe, just maybe, there are some mysterious things out there that we don't fully understand yet. I grew up in a two-story house in the suburbs with my room at the top of the stairs while my parents were in the master suite downstairs on the opposite end of the house.

I'm an only child, so I essentially had the entire upstairs to myself. During the day, everything was fine. Plenty of sunlight streaming in through the windows, my dad working from the large home office down the hall from my room, the sounds of cars and the occasional person walking outside mixed with the sound of my Nintendo 64.

But the night? The night was different. If I was walking to my room or the restroom upstairs, I could see the blinking lights from my dad's computer in the office. But that room always seemed so much darker than the rest of the house. I could never quite shake the feeling that there must be something in the darkest corners of that room staring back at me. I never felt 100% safe upstairs alone at night unless I was in my room with the door closed.

It was unnerving, but I was a kid and kids have active imaginations, you know? So one night when I was around eight, while I was lying in bed, I started to feel like there was some sort of presence in the room with me. It was, it wasn't a gradual feeling. I felt like I was safe in bed, ready to sleep. And then boom, suddenly I was wide awake as if the vibes in the room had changed and I needed to be alerted.

I knew there wasn't anyone there. I could clearly see that I was alone. But in the back of my mind, I was convinced that something had just entered the room. I stared at the ceiling for a while, waiting for either the feeling to pass or for myself to ignore it long enough to fall asleep.

As I started to drift off, I heard what sounded like incomprehensible whispering, barely audible, from underneath my bed. I froze and tried to listen more closely, but it stopped, as if at that moment it knew it had my undivided attention. I waited in silence for it to start up again, straining my ears to try and make out something, anything, when I heard...

softly whispered from behind me. I distinctly remember thinking that I needed to run downstairs now and get my parents, but that if I got out of bed, then whatever this thing was would grab me. A minute or so later, I heard it again. It said this time in a singy-songy, lilting cadence...

Still frozen. Chris! I felt it come from underneath my bed and my bed frame rattled. The anger in the voice was enough to break me out of my trance as I threw open the door and sprinted down the stairs in tears. My parents both came up, turned on all the lights, and checked out everything in my room, consoling me while I cried.

Of course there was nothing there. I stayed downstairs with them that night and never heard the whisper again. My parents eventually managed to convince me that I must have imagined it. Something I'd seen on TV was probably sitting in the back of my mind and spooked me. There's always a logical explanation for things like this. I didn't quite buy it at the time because what I had experienced was so clear, but I tried my best to believe them and explain it away. And then life goes on.

Later on, in middle school now, I had a friend who was just as interested in the paranormal as I was, and we would spend hours at his house after school either playing Halo 3 or Halo 4.

Or scouring YouTube for those real ghost caught on film videos. This was the early days of YouTube, around 2008-ish. So we most likely ever just found viral screamer videos like the one with the rocking chair where a face would pop up and scare the shit out of you. Or videos of ghost orbs that were honestly probably just dust floating by the camera lens.

It was always fun though, and we would regularly get ourselves so worked up in these spooky moods where every random noise made us jump just a little.

Outside of his room, past a double glass door, was a balcony, on which one of those plastic owls meant to scare away other birds and pests and such was. The head would rotate when there was wind to add to the realism. On more than one occasion, we would leave the room after a YouTube binge in that period right around sunset when light coming in was its grayest and eeriest, and we could see the owl staring directly at us. It was weird.

Sure, but never really bothered us too much. That's what the owl was supposed to do. There must have been a breeze. Then one day we were hanging out per usual and I started heading downstairs for some snacks. As I walked toward the stairs, I heard a tapping sound. I turned around thinking it was my friend trying to get my attention, maybe to make a snack request, but he was still in his room.

It happened again, and I realized it sounded like someone tapping their finger on the glass. I didn't pay much attention to this as I walked out of his room, but I now looked over to the balcony doors and at the owl, and its head had been facing away, was now slowly turning itself around, eventually stopping once it faced me. Freaky, but again, a breeze?

I stared at it for a bit. It wasn't moving anymore, and I didn't think much of it. As I continued walking, the head slowly started to move in the opposite direction now, then spun quickly and stopped dead, staring directly at me in my new position by the stairs. I knew that it wasn't supposed to do that, and I promptly booked it downstairs and took a bit longer than usual to bring the snacks back up.

I explained it away just as some weird wind pattern, and I tried to put it out of my mind without telling my friend, perhaps more so for his benefit than mine, since he still had to live there. And then life goes on.

Now in high school, there was a day where I was sitting in chemistry class, bored out of my mind, idly looking at random things around the room instead of paying attention to the lecture. The way the science classrooms were organized was that two classrooms would share a large storage room in between the two with various assorted chemicals, textbooks, and supplies accessible through a door with a glass window towards the front of each classroom. I

I glanced at the storage window, seeing a few shelves and things inside, when something caught my attention. I looked back towards the storage room and saw a distorted, grayish face looking at me. It was blurry and smeared looking, like I was seeing it through half-closed, watery eyes, even though the window was completely clear.

It stared at me with beady black eyes and a wide, crooked smile. Its smirk grew larger, its eyes rolled back in its head, and I saw a warm puff of condensation appear on the glass. I blinked in shock, and then the figure was gone. This whole interaction was quick, maybe like three seconds in total. I startled upright in my seat, banging my knee on the underside of the desk, and my teacher gave me a sideways glance."

I apologized, she continued the lecture, and I looked back towards the storage room to see nothing other than the shelves I had seen earlier. Thoroughly creeped the fuck out, I just assumed that I had been daydreaming and probably fell asleep or something in class. I was tired and bored, and my brain conjured up some weird face in the window because of a horror movie or a show or something I had seen recently. And then, life goes on.

Now, you've probably noticed a theme here in that there isn't much of a theme connecting any of these things. It's not a cohesive or consistent haunting. I don't think I'm being followed by anything. I just see bizarre, unexplainable things sometimes, but then they never repeat. And it still happens now, but far less frequently than when I was a kid. Over the years, I've become quite good at justifying it in different ways for the sake of my own sanity, I guess.

My imagination was being overactive, or I heard a TV downstairs. The wind, it just does weird things sometimes. I was daydreaming a scene from a horror movie that came out recently. However, there is one experience that no matter how hard I try, I cannot find a way to explain it away.

Also, while in high school, a friend of mine was staying over one weekend. We were watching a movie in the early hours of the morning, me lying on the couch, my friend to my left in the recliner. I was tired and eventually I fell asleep. I woke up to the living room completely dark and now very quiet with the DVD logo bouncing around on the TV screen. My friend must have fallen asleep as well, so I figured I should turn off the TV and go back to sleep myself.

I turned to my left to grab the remote and noticed a figure standing in the kitchen side to me facing the fridge. Still working on being fully conscious, I assumed it was my friend, but then I realized I could see my friend out of the corner of my eye asleep in the chair.

The figure in the kitchen was not moving. Its arms and legs were completely still and there was no movement that would indicate it was even breathing. It was more like a mannequin or a statue than it was a person. Thinking to myself, what the hell is that? I realized the clothes the figure was wearing was weirdly familiar. They were mine. A yellow t-shirt and black sweatpants. I looked down at myself just to make sure. Yup, yellow t-shirt, black sweatpants. I

I looked back to the figure and the head started to slowly turn towards me. I realized it had no hair and no face. Where the face should have been weren't any indentations or features that would suggest a face. It was smooth, blank, flesh-colored nothingness. Even with no eyes to lock onto, I could tell it was looking directly at me.

My breath caught in my throat and the figure turned its head back, slowly walking forward and disappearing into the side of the refrigerator. I didn't even bother to check it out. That's how you get killed in horror movies. I just grabbed a blanket, threw it over my head, and I eventually fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning, safe and with my face still attached, I figured it was just a weird dream or something and tried to put it out of my mind.

My friend was already up eating some cereal and watching TV. Why were you being so weird last night, man? He asked. Uh, what do you mean? I replied. You were standing next to the fridge for like a while. I thought you were getting a snack or whatever, but you just kind of stood there and didn't do anything.

I told him I was probably just really groggy and forgot what I got up to get, not wanting to drag him into this. But the image of that faceless thing kept flashing through my mind. I was always able to find a reasonably satisfactory explanation for my freaky shit. But that wall I'd built up between myself and the supernatural couldn't stand up to this. If I had been dreaming, why was the memory so clear in my mind? And how did he see the same thing I saw?

I knew I was on the couch when I saw it. That was 100% not me in the kitchen. To this day, I still hear and see things every once in a while, but nothing like that since.

Nothing that's ever been corroborated by some other person than myself. An ex-girlfriend and self-proclaimed Wiccan did once tell me that I had a particularly bright aura, but I don't believe in things like that if I'm being honest. Maybe I'm just being stubborn in my beliefs and sort of general perspective on how the world works, but I've never been hurt by anything and have never really felt threatened aside from that voice under my bed as a kid.

Maybe there are some strange energies or things out there that can't yet be explained scientifically, and I'm able to perceive it more than others. Or maybe I just have a brain that likes to concoct elaborate schemes to scare me because of my interest in all things spooky. As long as I'm not being harmed, I guess I can only keep moving forward and deal with things as they come. Life goes on, I suppose. Chris.

That story reminded me... I know you said the second one that you're going to tell might have a doppelganger. But that one, I was like...

When he said he basically saw himself, but like an unfinished version of himself, I'm like, oh my God, that's like so similar to the story I told about the diary of the guy in the Wyoming cabin. Yeah, absolutely. And then that made me think, I'm like, was the voice under his bed when he was in grade school and in junior high when he saw in the science storage room

closet situation, the face in the window. And then that thing he saw when he's in high school, the sleepover, was it all the same thing? And was it some sort of like doppelganger thing? I'm like, I wonder if that voice under his bed was kind of like his voice. Or I wonder if that face that he just offered, I said for a few seconds in the storage room might've been similar to his face. I don't know. It's just weird. Okay. Chris, if you're still listening, please, please, please, please feel free to send us an email at info at scared to death podcast.com.

And let us know if you recall. I mean, obviously so long ago now, but, you know, if you remember, like, God, did that voice under the bed sound like you? Yeah. Did the face in the science room resemble you in any way, shape, or form? Yeah. It's weird that those stories would show up in the same episode. Oh, my gosh. Because, yeah, if you're new or haven't said this in a while, like, Lindsay and I –

we want to get the other person's genuine reaction to the story and have them hear it for the first time. So we don't talk about like what kind of stories we're going to be telling. We thought about trying to do that for a while early on, like, ooh, you know, so we don't like unintentionally like do stories that are similar. But then I don't know. We just like, we're like, doesn't matter. Yeah. And it didn't,

It took away from the authenticity of an initial. I think there are times where we'll discuss like, hey, this story has like a particularly upsetting element or you're probably gonna have a lot of questions about this story. So just hang on till the end. But even when that stuff is shared, it's right before the recording. Exactly. Like minutes before. When we've already said our stories. Right. There's no last minute change or anything. It's just a heads up. Yeah. Okay. Now this next story. Yeah. Just, I just want to, I'm going to try and read it as like,

melodically as possible in that like I'm trying I'm going to try not to go too fast or too slow because it is weird confusing. Okay. Okay. Okay. So really like everybody lock in block out everything else. If you're at work, you're probably going to have to listen to this like a thousand times before it really resonates before I get into my story. I would like to extend my thanks to the entirety of the bad magic team. I won't be getting into it in this message. However, y'all changed my life in a grand way. Oh, I know. It's so sweet.

I debated sending this in for a long time. It doesn't follow along with the many other stories that have been submitted. I'm not haunted by ghosts, nor do shadow people lurk in shadowy corners of my life. I've never had a particularly spooky encounter in the woods, and the only occult exposure I've had are the ones that

that you guys create every week. All in all, I have a pretty spook-free life. I'm an empath, and my sister often comments on that, but I just kind of ignore it. You may be wondering why I'm even writing in. It's because of my nightmares. When I say nightmare, your mind may go to a scary monster with sharp teeth, possibly a doppelganger in a mirror. To me, those things are simply interesting stories, not a real nightmare.

Due to the nature of my nightmares, I can't exactly write out an exact story, as is usually expected, but I hope you'll come to understand my inability as I continue. I often find myself staying up 36 hours at a time, with only a few hours in between waking sessions, simply to avoid sleep. And this is why.

I often toss and turn when I sleep. When I do eventually sleep, oftentimes my dreams are pretty standard. The strange amalgamations that are created from recent memories or buried thoughts and emotions, just like everyone else. That's not always the case, though.

Sometimes, when I fall asleep, I wake up. Sounds normal, and it is. I start my day, I go to school, I come home, I say hi to my dad, and I go about my day. I walk to work, then I come home, and I go to bed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Here's the catch. I'm 23. I graduated six years ago. I live by myself. I drive to work. And worst of all, my dad passed away when I was 17.

At first, this nightmare may seem like a nice little chance to see my dad one more time, and I would agree, except I left out one important detail. I remember everything in the real world while in these nightmares. The issue is that the nightmares are so vivid and convincing that in the dream, I become convinced that real life is actually the dream and that the nightmare is the real world.

The nightmare almost always ends with me going to sleep and then waking up back here in the real world. I understand that this may not sound too scary. You must understand, though, I have these nightmares often and they're always different.

Sometimes I'll wake up to a loving husband sleeping next to me and a snoozing baby in the nearby crib. I'll live this life for a week. My husband going to work every day, my little bundle of joy being the best thing in my life. Then I wake up again, 23, single, childless. I've lived as a budding restaurateur for decades. I've seen my close friends and family grow old and leave behind beautiful families.

I've even been privileged enough to listen to some of Dan's comedy in these nightmares. And when I try to find the album, I realize it was never real. Don't worry though. Alternate reality Dan is still super funny.

I've lived through tragedies and triumphs. In every new nightmare, I always become convinced that this world is the dream. There's always enough evidence within the nightmare that proves that this is all real. I've even been unfortunate to wake up from one nightmare directly into another nightmare full Inception style.

Now, the true nightmarish part, because of the convincing and random nature of these dreams with me, even sometimes waking up in previous nightmares, I have no true way of guaranteeing that this reality is the real one.

I only have a few pieces of evidence that set it apart. The first is that my father is always dead. I've been able to see him grow old and play with his grandkids, but only in the nightmares. The second is that I've never experienced any lost time in my life, while in some nightmares I do. I'll be 18 and then boom, 36, yet I'll have memories to fill that space. It's so hard to explain.

Lastly, this is the reality that I wake up in the most.

People have asked me why I always try to be in a good mood, why I seem so mature and grown up for my age, why I never seem to worry so much. The answer is simple. I'm always cheery and relaxed because I never know when I'm going to wake up in another life for 50 years. I'm so mature because I've married my high school sweetheart and had four kids and lived a happy life. And then I wake up and remember that my high school sweetheart is actually someone who

who can't stand me. But in my nightmare, we made up and we fell in love. And now in this reality, I have to go back to not liking them to forget the loving memories with them. I've lived so many lives and I cannot truly be certain which one is the true one. There is one nightmare,

that has stuck out recently. One time, I was speaking to one of my sisters in a nightmare and she started asking me these odd questions. They were out of character enough that I was able to determine that it actually was a nightmare. As if this nightmare version of my sister could read my thoughts, she abruptly stopped speaking, looked

looked at me with almost a warped expression of frustration and then I woke up immediately as opposed to going to bed in the nightmare and waking up in another reality or the real one. So maybe there's more to those nightmares than I thought. I'd love to know more if anyone who is adept in the world of the spooky has any idea, but at this current moment in time, I have no real options.

But like I said at the beginning, my story is definitely a little different from all the other stories that you've received. And therefore, I do understand it may not be shared. But I figured that you may be interested to hear it nonetheless. Your loving, bad reptilian magician, Allison. That's one of the most upsetting stories you've ever told. I don't know if it's paranormal, but it's just fucked up. I think it's paranormal. It just reminded me. Okay, so many thoughts.

First off, it reminded me for anybody who watches severance. Oh yes. This reminds me of like, it's like severance, but Alison's any is who shows up when she goes to sleep.

And it's like the innie is like having all these different lives and so much and actually lives of such depth that the innie actually lives more than the outie. Yeah. Yeah. And it's just like, and I've had those dreams just rent a few times when I was younger that are very, very vivid. So vivid that when you wake up, you think, wait a minute. No, I'm, I'm the person in the dream. I'm not. And then, and then it takes a second to like, it's like a strong disassociation feeling. And then you become yourself. Um,

also made me think of like a terrible acid trip. Like this is the kind of stuff where my mind would go if I'm having like a bad trip where you're afraid that you're losing money

the understanding of who you are versus who you might think you are in that moment. And it started, and that's very scary. And like, you know, just very concerning. Yeah. Random, uh, just a little funny thing. I, I, I did kind of wonder what material I was writing and performing. I'm like, Oh, that'd be great if I had like a ghost writer and somebody else's dream. Like a literal ghost writer. Yeah. Oh my God. That is so, so wild. That is. And then, and then,

I am definitely not a doctor. I am not even an expert in drugs or whatever. But I do know that there are studies out there about like weed specifically, like edibles and things that will suppress dreams for many people. Like a lot of people, if they go to sleep with like weed edibles, it disrupts their their dreams somehow. I know for myself, if I take a night off of like gummies, holy shit, do I dream?

But if I'm taking gummies, it's like I almost never remember my dreams. And if I am Allison, I am trying to find out how do I not remember my dreams. So you're suggesting that Allison might experiment with some – Look online. Look online. Go into some chat rooms and do some research and find out like is that a common thing. Because I also will say the warning –

is that getting two stoned can cause a psychosis. It's actually more common with weed. A lot of people don't realize this than with something people might expect like acid or DMT or something. It's like having a bit of a psychotic break, uh,

weed is actually the main culprit on that. Also, Allison, if you happen to take melatonin, taking too much melatonin... You should drink more, right? Oh, and like, I mean, can cause... They are some of the strangest dreams of my life. When I was recovering from my hips, the instructions are that you're not allowed to take anything anti-inflammatory, which like CBD, CBN, THC, like, you know, all these...

groupings of things that are often in sleepy gummies. Right. They were like, you cannot take that. I think it was like six or eight weeks. I wasn't allowed to take me. I wasn't allowed to take Advil. Right. They want the inflammation because what you're trying to do is create an inflammation response from your body to heal yourself. So in that time I was taking melatonin and didn't know about this dream situation. And I was like, my God, my brain is on fire. Wow. And then I talked to my sister-in-law, Emily, and she was like, bro,

It messes with your dreams because your body naturally produces melatonin. So it's kind of like a tiny overdose of melatonin is how I understand it. When you have too much of it, it can set off, I guess, dream receptors or like whatever you want to call that and can make you have insane dreams. Yeah.

But it just, I don't know. I imagine, if it sounds like this has been going on with Allison for a long time, I bet she's tried a variety of things. Take this to sleep. Maybe if I sleep through it, it won't happen. You know? Yeah. I would just want her to talk to a sleep specialist specifically about, I do not ever want to remember my dreams again. Like, is there any experimental treatments out there? What has worked for other people that just gets them to stop remembering the dream? Because the problem isn't that she's having dreams. Yeah. The problem is that she is remembering her dreams very,

vividly when she wakes up to the point that is confusing of, is this real life? And is this dream? And I've had that, I think happened once when I was younger, where you literally the dream within a dream where you are having a dream where you're somebody, you're

living your life in this dream state that feels very real. And in this dream state, this dream version of you goes to bed and then has a dream inside. That is such a mind fuck. Yeah, absolutely. Like to wake up from that. So it's like, if that's that kind of stuff's happened on a regular basis, I am just forget like initially looking into like the supernatural paranormal stuff. Right. First off, explore every medical scientific avenue you have to

to just shut your dreams down. It's just so crazy. Shut down memories of dreams. It's crazy how many different lives she's lived in these dreams. And that's wild. So upsetting. Sorry that you are dealing with that, Allison. That was scarier to me than...

99% of the horror stories we've told here. It did make me think like, is, is she living in this timeline? Is she in the right? Like what is going on? Like, is this like a time-lapse, a multiverse kind of thing? Like what is going on? I, I, I'm hoping it's just that her brain, the part of our minds that like maybe doesn't allow us to remember all of our dreams because it would be too uncomfortable to have like very vivid memories of,

of dreams that are very similar to memories you have of just leading your regular life. I'm guessing there was some mechanism in most of our brains that is like, nope, that's not good. That's very confusing and upsetting. We're going to diffuse that. Oh man. And that part of her brain is like, oh no, no, no. We're going to keep all of that. Confusion be damned.

Well, Allison, I know your story is from a couple of years ago. Thanks for sending it in. Hopefully you're still listening. And any fans who are listening, if you have any insight into this, please feel free to email and I will pass along information to Allison. And I suppose, you know, Allison might even be looking for someone to just say like, oh my God, that happens to me too. So maybe she wouldn't feel so alone. And they can compare notes. Have you tried this? Have you tried that?

Yeah, so if anything resonates with any of you fans, please, again, all I can do is forward it to Allison. I can't guarantee a connection, but... Yeah. Wow. Aye, aye, aye. Isn't that wild? So upsetting. I had to read it so many times to even...

truly comprehend what I would be reading out loud because I was like, wait, what is happening? Yeah, I love that she referenced Inception. Yeah. It's like, yeah, if you, Severance and Inception are two good references to like, what the fuck is going on here? I want to watch Inception again. Yeah, me too. Christopher Nolan, man. Okay. Okay.

Do you want to thank some Annabelles or do you want me to start? Oh, no, me and Pineapple Baby are ready to go. Okay, you guys take it away. All right. I'd like to thank the following Annabelles for their endless support on Patreon. Sydney, Harmony Johnson, Kane Porter, Alexander McClellan, Mandy Burrell, Dylan Crane,

Norwegian Shield Maiden. Oh, yeah. Cool. That's great. Amanda Shannon and Will Frost. Nice.

shield made and that makes me think of the uh history channel show vikings and they had rogner lozbrock and it's just like it was just a really cool story like this old saga and the his wife essentially his partner the shield made in that story like the main one oh man she's a badass oh i never watched that show it was really good i'd watch it again actually my dermatologist loves that show yeah i'd watch it again it's a really good one okay uh i think the following annabelle's brumpo tungus holy lucifer

Frankie, Sarah M. Groupie, Tracy, Sam Farnsworth, Lori Grenke, Vicki Renfelt, Cold Springer, and Wade Andrews. Those are some serious names. Uh-huh, yeah. You had quite the batch. I did. You want to do some spoopy shout-outs? We actually don't have any, and this does happen often. As we're getting ahead, don't forget to send in your spoopy shout-outs. I also find that usually April's pretty quiet. Yeah.

Because then we're going into Mother's Day, Father's Day, the summer. So don't forget to send in your spoops. Yeah, this is, it's interesting with horror, kind of like the quiet season. Yes. When you get like the beginning of spring, summer horror movies will start coming out. Yep. Then we're working towards Halloween. Yep.

Then there's the Christmas kind of like Christmas-y or wintertime horror movies. Yeah, like Krampus kind of stuff. Well, and just like a lot of horror movies just tend to get released in like November, December, January. Oh, I see what you mean. And then it slows down until the next summer. Makes sense. Yeah, yeah. We're in the preparing season. Yeah. That is our show. Thank you for continuing to send in your personal tales of terror to mystoryatscaredtodeathpodcast.com.

You can email us for everything else at info at scaredtodeathpodcast.com. Thank you to Logan Keith scoring today's show. Thanks to Heather Rylander organizing the My Story emails and to book editor Drew Atana polishing and preparing listener stories for book number six. Sophie Evans found the second story I shared this week. I was able to find the first. We are on Facebook and Instagram where we post pics that accompany episodes and more at Scared to Death Podcast. We also have a private Facebook group called Creeps and Peepers full of fellow horror lovers.

Big thanks to the All Seen Eyes, the Creeps and Peepers moderators continuing to make that place awesome. Yeah, and also you guys, I do pop in there into the Facebook group here and there. Thanks for being so nice to each other. And also just don't hesitate to email us at info at scaredtodeathpodcast.com if you're having any issues with the episode downloading or just a variety of things that I see come up in there. I love that you all lean on each other for support, but if you feel like you're not getting the answers you need...

don't hesitate to reach out to us. We're here and, you know, we have, well, you have me. I was gonna say we have support, but you have me. I'm your support. Yeah. Enjoy your nightmares, creeps and peepers. Hope you were scared to death. Bye.

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