What's Your Emergency?
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Life can throw a lot your way in the morning. You might be battling drop-off times while your kids are battling imaginary monsters or their shoelaces. But no matter what life brings, Life Cereal puts a smile on everyone's face. With 24 grams of whole grains and unexpected sweetness in every serving, it's sure to please even the pickiest eaters. Help start your mornings with Life Cereal.

Whether thou art a ghost that hath come from the earth, or a phantom of night that hath come, 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, creepspeepers, Roberts and Annabelles. I'm Dan. Hello, Dan. I'm Lindsay. Hello, Lindsay. Hello. Two quick things, and then we're off into horror land. First thing, talk about winners. A big congrats to Crystal G. Williams for winning this year's Bad Magic Street Team Sticker Contest. Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!

I am guessing she probably won because she has a great first name of things that I love. Yeah, it didn't hurt. No favoritism, none whatsoever. Yeah, Crystal put a bunch of stickers on a bunch of different creative places advertising both Scared to Death and Time Suck, and we are very grateful for her efforts to bring us some extra exposure and hope she had fun doing that.

She won a $200 merch credit to the Bad Magic store and our gratitude. Big thanks as well to longtime Bad Magic fan Austin Andrade. Oh, my God. He's been here since like day one. I know. He has. He has been very involved. I feel like I know him even though I don't know him. Uh-huh. He took second. Won a $50 merch credit as did at Mythical Huh Man who took third. Mythical Human? No, it's not. It looks like that. It's kind of a – it's at.

It's at mythical, and his name is not attached to his social profile. Yeah. And then H-U-H, and then M-A-N-N. Funny. It's a huh man. Huh man. Instead of human. I still think it's human. Yeah, we plan on doing the sticker contest again this next year, so thanks for making it fun. And then a quick merch announcement. The 2024 Holiday Collection Part 1, now live in the store at badmagicproductions.com, and there's a new collection for Nightmare Fuel. You can take a good look at fan favorite Ezra Calhoun from The Beast of Bodhi, grab

Grab your duffel bag for a stay at the 1987 Shiloh Bible Camp from The Devil's Butcher. Spend an evening in the 1780 Hotel from Vacancy. Maybe you'd rather spend a night in Jura's Historic Villa from The Villa of Moonlight.

Uh, support your local doll maker with the Sam's custom doll company tea from sometimes the darkness wins and it's sequel. And we have a fun new illustration featuring moth man sitting, uh, in comfort by the fire and join a nice holiday break. You can also catch some classic holiday favorites like the ugly Layla winter Wendigo, uh,

STD stockings and neckties and more. So lots of stuff. And then part two coming up soon with a challenge coin and more. Woohoo. Yeah. And if you want those items by Christmas, get it by December 10th. That's the cutoff for getting your orders in on time. Okay. December 10th. You guys heard it. You better just get over there, get it done, knock it out, cross it off your list. And thanks to everyone who's done so. It's really cool. When I was traveling around more during standup,

up or doing stand up. Sometimes I would just be out at lunch and see somebody wearing like a scared to death tee or whatever. Just, you know, just is very cool and still see that just people around town wearing stuff or online. Very fun.

And now horror time. Okay. I really enjoyed my stories this week. How about you? Yeah. Yeah. Could you imagine? I know. I'm like, wow. You know, honestly, guys, just turn it off. That would be insane. I have, believe it or not, two stories again this week for y'all. Yeah. My first story takes us to a haunted apartment. That's all I'm going to say. It's interesting. And I'm curious to hear what you guys think.

And then my second story involves something that I think is a doppelganger. Okay. Or a mimic, both of which we have not seen the likes of on the fan side, I feel like, in quite some time. Yeah, those ones are always creepy. Yeah, I think this one's really going to get you. I have two as well. My second story creeped me out more, which is usually you feel like the first one does. The first one made me think more.

The first story, it is a long one and it is weird, even for here. Not like crazy long, but longer than the second. Me getting my pillow out. No, no. Stop. I had a hard time tracking this story the first time I read it and just understanding it. So if you have trouble too, don't worry. We'll talk afterwards. I think I'll be able to clear up any confusion and I can't give away more than that without risking spoiling it. Second story, more straightforward and so creepy.

For the second story, we'll visit what sure seems to be a powerfully and malevolently haunted former seminary room in Maynooth in County Kildare, Ireland. A haunting that reads like the basis for a very good horror movie. Okay. So once you got your spoopy socks on, you keep that streak going. I've got these cozy turquoise, heathered turquoise nummies. Nice. Those look very comfortable. They really are. They're so warm.

Okay, so here we go. The following story was allegedly found in a document that someone found on an old computer at a pawn shop. It was written in convoluted fragments, but the poster did their best to recreate the narrative and put it in a format that was at least somewhat understandable. The poster hoped it was just a piece of creative writing, someone unleashing their imagination on the page, and not an example of what could maybe happen to any of us. Time now for the tale of What's Your Emergency?

911, what's the address of your emergency? Most people thought that he just asked what the emergency was, like Ellen's brother Ron, who loved to answer his sister's infrequent phone calls with that line. But Ellen knew that the script backwards and forwards asked on the location, the phone number, a description of what happened and any relevant descriptions of people.

It was when people were injured that it got complicated. Ellen trying to visualize them as she instructed to check their pulse, whether or not their eyes responded to light, to apply pressure to their wounds, or to not move them at all. It didn't often get to that last part, though. For the most part, Ellen's small town of Durango, Colorado was, well, small. Sleepy. A couple of friends who had once come home from college with her to ski had laughed about Durango's police blotter, which featured incidents like...

Monday, 2.08 a.m. A drunken man lay on the sidewalk in the West 100 block of 8th Street. Friday, 9.32 a.m. A traffic light was failing to turn green at the intersection at 32nd Street and Main Avenue. Saturday, 11.56 a.m. A man tried to steal tinfoil and rubbing alcohol at the North Durango Walgreens. Still, Ellen sometimes thought it wasn't all small Main Avenue storefronts and cheerful murals of cowboys from days gone by.

If you drove just a little bit outside of town, deeper into the mountains, or up onto the mesa on your way to New Mexico, it was surprising how quickly things turned from condos and roadside businesses to miles and miles of vast farmland and wide open sky. Go far enough and you might find yourself near an abandoned log cabin, ash-colored wood bleached by the sun and the elements, the frames of old structures collapsing into the hardened earth, or any of the many, many mines that were created and abandoned in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

dark holes boring who knows how far into the earth little buildings an old general store a barn hollowed out like skeletons but ellen didn't think about them too much they were far away from her normal life her day in day out of dispatching police officers to restaurants where customers had dined and dashed or mothers whose children had slipped away as they walked down main avenue but then something happened that ellen would never forget 9-1-1 what's the address of your emergency

There was a muffled sound from the other end of the line, and Ellen leaned in, trying to figure out if it was a pocket dial. It was normally pretty easy to tell, bright voices carrying on a conversation, oblivious and cheerful. It was Tuesday, 5 o'clock. Whoever it was was maybe getting off of work, heading to the grocery store, fumbling with lots of bags. It had happened before. But after waiting several more moments, Ellen still heard nothing. "'9-1-1, hello? What's the address of your emergency?'

"'Mama? Mama, wake up!' It was the smallest voice, a child's. Ellen's heart sank. "'Sweetie, hello? Do you need fire, police, or medical?' "'It's Mama,' the trembling voice said. "'She won't get up. We're not supposed to take naps outside. Where are you, sweetie? Can you describe it for me? Are you by a house? Is there a number?' "'We're on the street by the Big Bear.'

Ellen paused for a few seconds to conjure up the correct image. The big wooden bear next to the liquor store on Florida Road. Okay, honey, I'm going to get EMS on the line with us, okay? Ellen said, her heart pounding. Okay, said the little girl. I'm cold. Can I go across the street? Okay, Ellen said. Just describe where you're going for me and be sure to look both ways. She'd heard enough of these calls to know that sometimes terrible, awful things happen to people who didn't deserve it.

But it was still hard to hear it happening in real time, to hear the squeak of the little voice on the other end of the line. Ellen took a deep breath as EMS took over. It always felt weird, hanging up and having to stay in her little desk instead of jumping to the rescue. But that was her job. All she could do was try to put it out of her mind. "'Hey, honey. How was your day?' Ellen listened to her mom's voice over the phone as she unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, setting a bag of groceries on the table. "'It was good,' she said before pausing, blinking hard and trying to remember everything that had happened."

Sometimes she got so in the zone, it was almost like she blacked out. And then her shift was over and everything she did during her shift had already melted from her mind. Finally, she added, or, well, it was fine. Any interesting calls? Her mom asked next. Hmm. Ellen put the phone on speaker, sat down and eased off her boots. There was one, this little girl up on Florida. Her mom fainted or something. I hope it wasn't an overdose. When her mom didn't respond to that, Ellen frowned. Mom, you there?

Sorry, sorry, her mom's distracted voice came in short bursts. Just trying to get something in the oven. Coco Vaughn, let me guess, Ellen said with a smile. Steve's coming over. Maybe, her mom said coyly in the voice she always used when referring to her new friend. Ellen's parents had gotten divorced when she was in elementary school and her mom had been so focused on raising Ellen and Ron that she'd never went out and dated again, not until they were both grown.

Now she was seeing Steve, a lovely rancher from nearby Ignacio, and Ellen always found it charming how hard her mom worked to impress him. From the way Steve looked at her, Ellen figured her mom could serve a Big Mac on a styrofoam plate, and he'd still tell her it was the best thing he'd ever eaten. "'I'll let you go,' Ellen said. "'I should probably get dinner on, too.'"

That night, Ellen made a new recipe with chicken thighs and orzo that she'd been meaning to try for a while, put on The Bachelor, and ate half of an edible that she'd gotten from one of Durango's many dispensaries. Not enough to get blazed, just enough to let the day soften a little bit. Let all of the voices pleading for help blur into the background and help wind down and get some decent sleep. Tonight, there was one voice that refused to go away, though. That little girl's. Mama, mama, wake up.

As she lay in bed that night, the call kept playing in her head over and over. There was something off about it. She didn't know exactly what it was until it hit her at almost four in the morning. The silence. Florida Road was one of those two-lane country roads where people drove faster than they probably should, trucks and cars whipping around the bends. Next to the liquor store was a skating rink and a bar a little down the road from there. People going to the bar often parked in the liquor store's lot. So why hadn't she heard the sound of anyone else or of cars in the background on the phone?

Why had she just heard nothing? No background noise, like the little girl was speaking in a void. Eventually, Helen drifted into an uneasy sleep. She knew she couldn't fix the entire world. She was just doing her little part. She would have to keep working on making her peace with that. It was the only way to keep from crashing and burning out in her line of work.

Two days later, Ellen sat at her dining room table on her day off. She planned to take the morning slow, some tea and reading, then maybe a small hike or swim some laps at the rec center. It was important her mom always reminded her to take care of herself. And Ellen was debating making an appointment for a manicure or when something in the police blotter caught her eye. Wednesday, 5.02 p.m., a woman collapsed in front of a liquor store on Florida Road, pronounced dead at the scene. Ellen looked at it again, not believing what she was reading. She had to check the date.

She had gotten the call on Tuesday. The police blotter listed Wednesday, 5 p.m., a full day after she'd gotten the call. And where was the little girl who had called her? Why was there no mention of her? What the heck? She whispered, her eyes roaming the small printed letters again and again. Maybe there was a mistake, a misprint. Maybe the police blotter had accidentally reported the wrong date. She got out her phone and Googled the block that the liquor store was on, and she came across a report from the website of the local TV station.

A woman, identified as Inez Ramirez, 34, of Hespers, Colorado, passed away on Wednesday. She has left behind a husband, Julio Ramirez, and a daughter, Lila. She was going to get something to celebrate with. She'd just gotten a promotion at the bank, said Julio. Lila wanted to go with her, but I told Inez I'd take Lila to the park instead. I'm glad Lila didn't have to see it. Police presume natural causes were responsible. Ellen scanned the article again and again. The little girl hadn't been with her mom when she died?

She'd been so sure that it was a little girl who had called her to report that her mother had collapsed. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a little boy? Someone else with a young kid who'd collapsed the day before? Just a really, really weird coincidence? Just under 20,000 people lived in Durango. That was enough for a weird coincidence from time to time, right? But that was the least satisfying explanation Ellen had ever heard for anything. And she'd heard plenty of unsatisfying explanations. If her call was a different one, why didn't that call also show up in the blotter?

When she was little, her mom used to call her either a steel trap or a bulldog when Ellen wouldn't let go of some little line of questioning, drilling down until she understood exactly what was going on. Why did Uncle Jeffrey come to the Christmas party with a blonde lady? Where was Aunt Karen? Where were Aunt Karen and Uncle Jeffrey's kids? Why did Uncle Jeffrey have a new red sports car and not a minivan?

And eventually, Ellen's mom would give up and tell her the truth. That Uncle Jeffrey had had an affair. That he and Aunt Karen were getting a divorce. And please don't tell anyone, Ellen, because it's really none of our business. And maybe that wasn't Ellen's business. Definitely not, actually, as a nine-year-old. But Ellen was a grown-up now. A 911 operator. And this was definitely her business. Almost a week passed with Ellen not getting any answers. She eventually forced herself to act like nothing strange had happened. After all, nothing had happened? Nothing?

and she didn't want to risk making a big stink about it at work. She'd watched a couple of operators burn out over the years, getting too involved in one situation or another, taking things into their own hands. She was determined not to let that happen to her. Still, she kept checking the police blotter. How could she not? Sunday, 1.29 a.m. A man was seen going through a trash can at La Hacienda Mexican restaurant. Monday, 10.54 a.m. A vehicle ran over someone's foot, and the person was unable to walk.

Wednesday, 3.44 p.m. Someone called 911, but dispatchers could only hear an open line. When dispatchers called back the number, they were directed to a voicemail purported to belong to pop star Taylor Swift. The Taylor Swift incident actually put Helen in a pretty good mood. She'd never admitted to anyone. After all, you weren't supposed to be happy about pranks. But those were always the kinds of things that made her feel like she lived in an idyllic small town, like something out of a sitcom.

She was wrapping up on a Saturday night, a day of calls about traffic accidents as people came back down from the mountain after skiing and skidded around and sometimes off of the road due to black ice. When another strange call came in, 911, what's the address of your emergency? A gruff voice answered, hey, I'm driving on North Main. There's this guy walking down the sidewalk. He seems crazy. He's pointing something looks like a gun at people and he's pulling the trigger or at least making a motion like he's pulling the trigger.

ellen was already looping in the police and ems can you give me an address is anybody injured i can't see a number it's pretty dark but i'm right by that chicken place he's walking past it nobody's injured but i can see him approaching a family he's white in his mid-30s he's wearing jeans and a plaid oh oh my god oh my god bianca bianca get down lay down baby lay down ellen's breath caught on her throat is he shooting sir

Yes, he's shooting, he's shooting. Bianca, get down, honey. Sir, stay in your car, Ellen said, trying not to panic. She'd never gotten a call like this before. She'd hoped she would never get one. Police are going to be with you in just a minute. I have them on the way, she continued. By the time the call ended, Ellen was visibly shaken. But then a couple minutes later, while taking a quick break to go into the bathroom and splash some cold water on her face, she realized she hadn't heard any gunshots on the line. No gunshots. No sounds of other people fleeing in terror. No sounds of pandemonium in general.

What was going on? And then, no one else was talking about a local shooting. They would have definitely been talking about if it had happened. It's like it didn't happen. Had she been pranked? But the caller had sounded so genuine. As soon as her shift ended, Ellen was getting in her car and driving down North Main to see for herself if anything had happened by the chicken place. Half of her expected to see officers putting up yellow tape, to see the familiar flicker of blue and red lights. But as she drove to the snowy night, there was nothing.

Pawn shops were closed for the evening. Kids with wet hair were filtering out of the rec center after going swimming and getting into their mom's SUVs. Through the windows of her favorite chicken place, she saw families ordering at the counter, kids red-faced under wool hats. Nothing had happened, but something was. In the parking lot, Ellen got out of her car and stepped into the snowy night. At first, everything seemed normal.

But there was the hum of something, some energy moving under the asphalt, something vibrating in her feet, her body, some crackle of energy in the air, sharp as ozone. It was going to happen tomorrow, she thought. Maybe it wouldn't happen exactly like the call said, but something bad was going to happen. Thinking about what it might be made her feel uneasy, a mixture of apprehension and fear at her own possible mental instability.

That night, she lay in bed, mostly sleepless, tossing and turning. She moved zombie-like to the next day. She had to do something, but what? At 9 p.m., she clocked out early, saying she had a migraine, couldn't perform her duties, and had to go home. And she drove back to the chicken spot in North Main, where it felt like something was going to happen, and she waited. Soon, she saw him. Blue jeans, plaid shirt, waving some dark, glaring object that flashed in his hands. A gun.

No, Ellen thought.

She couldn't hear the scream through the thick glass, but she saw the chaos of people thronging inside, parents covering their children with their bodies, clerks with their hands up, their faces frozen masks of terror. She watched as the man pulled a pistol out of a holster on the side of his waist and yelled something at the crazy man. And then the crazy man did a slow circle as if he didn't know where he was. And then he stopped and his eyes found Ellen's. And he looked terrified. She watched as the man, still looking at her, still looking scared, raised his gun, no, no, no, no, and put it to his temple.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Deputies escorted people into the parking lot and wrapped them in reflective blankets as EMS checked out everyone. Nobody else had gotten hurt. And the clerks passed out hot cocoa and coffee. Snow fell lightly, dusting everything and everyone, like they were all inside some sort of fucked up snow globe. Ellen stayed in her car, wondering why he had looked at her as he did it. Why that moment of recognition? Why did it pass between them? What was happening to her?

Why was she getting calls that seemed to be little glimpses into the future? Glimpses of tragedies. Why had the man who shot himself looked so terrified when he saw her, like she wasn't a person, but a monster? Over the next few days, Ellen started to remember little incongruities, following her almost her entire life, knowing about Uncle Jeffrey before her mom ever told her the story, before they went to the Christmas party, sensing things about to happen. Her mom always said she had a mind like a steel trap, like she was a bulldog.

But what if it wasn't because she was trying to understand some situation in a very normal, typical way? What if she had been trying to cling to this reality, this present timeline, because she was constantly worried about slipping again into another? What if she wasn't supposed to be here? What if it wasn't about knowing something for certain, but about figuring out how and when she could reasonably know things? What if she was constantly trying to mirror others to look normal, because she was very, very not normal? A few days after the shooting incident, Ellen called her mother.

I'm good, I'm good, she said vaguely when her mom asked. But mom, I wanted to ask you, well, a weird question. It's just something I've been thinking about for, um, therapy, she lied. You remember how you used to call me a bulldog because like when I would latch onto an idea, I would never let it go? Oh yeah, her mom laughed. The sound of her laughter cracking over the phone line. You were such a little dreamer from the time you were born, always off in your own little world, making up stories. And then around eight, it was like, well, like you woke up.

and you started asking all kinds of questions. What was that? Why was it like that? How could you prove it? Love you to death, honey, but it was exhausting. Ellen's mouth went dry. When would you say it started? Like, could you put a date on it? Uh, yeah, I can actually. Her mom laughed again. You were in second grade. I think second or third. And you went on this field trip to a nearby ghost town to learn how the pioneers lived and all that. She sighed fondly.

I guess it really excited you because one of the teachers told me you'd wandered off all by yourself. And when you came back, you'd lost your jacket. And it was like you were a brand new person. Even your voice was different, more mature somehow. I guess that's what happens when kids discover their love of learning. Joanne's kid, Haley, remember her? She was so moody and out of sorts until she started studying painting. And it was like she was a brand new person. As her mother continued to speak, Ellen started to tune her out. She was too busy thinking about that overnight field trip.

She was remembering, as if in a dream, the feeling of the soft fleece of the jacket she'd lost. The wind whipping her hair back as they'd lined up for a photo. The taste of protein bars and cold water. Or, wait, she wasn't actually remembering all that. At least she wasn't remembering the fleece jacket. She was only remembering seeing pictures of herself wearing it. Now that she really thought about it, she couldn't remember ever actually wearing it. She shuddered.

She couldn't remember much of anything before the end of that field trip, or maybe nothing at all. When she truly dug back and tried to access her very first memory, what she saw was the darkness. She felt a sensation of time seeming to stretch out on to eternity. Time that went out in all directions, not just backwards and forwards. And she remembered seeing a little spot of light off in the distance and seeing a little girl in a fuzzy fleece jacket peering down at her from that spot and the girl coming closer and closer and closer.

Ellen then felt sick and almost dizzy when the strangest thought entered her mind, but one that despite how odd and unsettling it was, felt like the truth. That whoever her mom had raised up until that day of the field trip, that girl, that girl who was maybe another Ellen, was gone. She was now in some, I don't know, alternate timeline, parallel dimension, and she had taken her place in this one. And now she wondered would she ever slip back? And who was she in that other timeline or dimension or whatever you want to call it? What had happened to the other Ellen?

And also, why couldn't she remember anything before the field trip? Why couldn't she remember who she'd been originally? And how did switching places with her mother's daughter, her real daughter maybe, explain her still seeming to slip in and out of time?

I had figured it out. Oh, really? To a certain degree, I was like, okay, she's having time slip. I mean, not obviously into that detail of going on the field trip and taking somebody else's place, but I was like, God, is she psychic for a second? And then I was like, no, there's a time slip. Something happened. There's like a, I don't know, a glitch in the matrix, as we say. Yeah. It's a weird story. It took me a little bit to like, what is going on here?

But I like, I included it because that is a really scary thought. Oh, yeah. That you're not you in a sense. You're not the you you thought you were. Yes. And like, like if your memories cut off at a certain point and there was like this weird personality swap and then you just brain started spiraling and you're like, oh my God, what if, what if time slips are real? What if parallel dimensions are real? Yes. And what if like, I'm not supposed to be in this timeline? Right, right. Or a glitch. Right.

Absolutely. And I started thinking about it from like the parental standpoint of like your kid is one way for eight years and then comes home from a field trip and is a completely different kid. Right. And you're like, well, you know, kids change and they're growing up and they have these little pivot moments.

But what if that pivot moment is like something insane? Yeah. What if that pivot moment is like, well, now I'm not the kid that you were raising for the last eight years, you know? So disturbing. So disturbing. It makes me think of like switched at birth kind of stories. Oh, yeah. I haven't read the article, but there is some article going around about like some mom who had twins that maybe

Maybe at a Texas hospital. It doesn't really matter. She brought her twins home and then just like kept looking at one of her kids like something doesn't seem right. And like the headline is like mom brings twins home, discovers horrible truth.

And then like the sub headline is like, always trust your instincts. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I haven't read the article because I'm like, I don't want to know. Yeah, yeah. But these things happen. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Ugh. Yeah. No pics associated with this story, but I Googled slipping in and out of time and it just cracked me up what came up. Just a lady slipping on the ice. Definitely. She's definitely slipping in and out of time. Oh, she's slipping on something. Or on ice. Yeah.

And actually, that is like one of like, I love these stock photo. I've talked about it before. But there's just a whole bunch of photos of whoever that lady is falling in all sorts of places. Like also mind you, she didn't fall. No, no. She's just laying there looking like she had fallen. Yeah. And then... It would be so much funnier if she had fallen and somebody caught that. Yes. True. True. Do you remember last year when I was... Your mom had just had her knee surgery done and I went like met...

the other family to like hand off meals that I'd cooked for her. And on my way back, I stopped in Moscow. And you had a crazy fall that you wanted to see if they had security camera footage up. It was like that, but on my face. Somewhere there's a great stock photo of me. I hope that that bank like printed out that photo. Oh, it had to be so good. I love a good fall. And me too. And then this next one,

I just Googled slipping in and out of parallel dimensions to see what would come up. And a quote came up. It is easy to slip into a parallel universe. There are so many of them, worlds of the insane, the criminal, the crippled, the dying, perhaps of the dead as well. These worlds exist alongside this world and resemble it, but are not in it. I don't think I care for that. That was Susanna Kaysen who wrote Girl Interrupted.

Oh, interesting. Yeah, that book. Yeah, that sounds like her cadence. Okay. Yeah, a memoir about her 18 months spent in a psychiatric facility being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, adapted into a movie in 1999, directed by Angelina Jolie and starring Winona Ryder. It was a crazy movie. Yeah, I'm trying to remember if I've seen it. I don't think I did. Oh. Yeah. You should watch it with Monroe. I feel like she's at a...

Good spot for that. Yeah. Yeah. Um, and then before I say anything further, I just, uh, I just remembered, um, I was just on the lights out podcast with, uh, Austin and Josh down in Denver. And I think when this episode comes out, I'm actually, I'm pretty positive. They said that, uh, the episode I was on will be out. So thank you again to the lights out crew for having me on. It was so fun just to be able to fly down there, hang out, have breakfast, do the show, fly back, uh,

Uh, we talked about this supposed UFO abductee who was just, he's a lunatic. Okay. And not a good person. So it's a more comedic episode. Oh, all right. Just, uh. Really letting your, uh, comedy come through. We had a lot of fun. Are you a funny guy? Sometimes. Oh. We had a lot. We had a lot of laughs at Stan Roman X expense. Are you comic? Are you comic? So, yeah. So again, thanks to those guys. Um, okay. And then for this show, uh, do you feel like you're ready to leave? What, what felt to me like an episode of the twilight zone.

and head to something more traditionally terrifying. Yeah. Yeah. I'm just looking at my notes. I did also think a little bit in this story about how Kyler is like a dog with a bone. Oh, yes. Yes. And then I think that he gets that from you because according to your folks, when you were a kid. What's that? What's that? What's that? What's that? Why? Why? Why? I think my first word might have been why.

But my first phrase definitely was, what's that? What's that? What's that? And I guess I was just relentless with it, pointing all over the place. What's that? What's that? What's that? What's that? Shocking. Still curious. Uh-huh. Still relentless. Yeah, sometimes. Yeah. Yeah, well, you know, in certain situations. Before we head to Ireland for more scares, we need to take a quick in-between story sponsor break.

Nick.

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Ah.

Ah, yes, the forever challenge of soaking up as much vitamin D is upon us. And for me, this time of year is always a bit of a roller coaster. On the one hand, I love to hunker down and stay in. On the other hand, I also need to get out and socialize. If I don't,

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Thanks for listening to our sponsor deals, Creeps and Peepers. All right, here we go. About 30 kilometers outside the hustle and bustle of Dublin lies the little university town of Maynooth in County Kildare.

In addition to the university, the land is covered in rolling hills and spotted with forbidding medieval castles and decadent old world manors and countless church peoples. In addition to its breathtaking views, Maynooth is also home to Ireland's sole Roman Catholic seminary, St. Patrick's College. For almost 230 years now, the seminary has been training priests, housing them, feeding them, teaching them the ways of the Christian God, and preparing them for life in the cloth. By all means, St. Patrick's College is a holy place full of holy people, and yet...

According to the accounts of many, a demonic force persists within. The malevolent entity first manifested at the seminary in 1841. How it got there, no one knows. And no one knows why it's never left either.

The tale I'm about to tell you is one of the most famous amongst the locals of the Emerald Isle, apparently. It has been passed down amongst the paranormally interested, or at least curious, from generation to generation. And although it would be more appropriate if we were sitting in the dark corner of a pub with a pint of Guinness in our hands, that's not really an option. So I'll instead pass it directly into your ears from our studio here in Coeur d'Alene to wherever you happen to be. Time now for the tale of the Ghost Room of Maynooth.

It all began on March 1st, 1841, with Sean O'Grady. Originally hailing from Limerick, the 21-year-old seminarian was a devout young man and believed himself to be destined for a life of ministry. He was also one of the more outspoken and unreserved students who occasionally got himself a talking to from his theological mentors. And then one day, to the great surprise of all of his teachers, Sean didn't show up for his morning lectures.

His absence also alarmed his friends, so they went to go find him before the priest did. And the first place they looked was the most obvious one, Sean's dormitory, located in room two of the residence hall for the priests in training. Nowadays, St. Patrick's College shares a campus with their secular Maynooth University, and the former residence hall that Sean resided in is now called Rhetoric House and has been converted into academic facilities for the university.

When his friends knocked on the door of room number two, Sean didn't answer. However, per school policy at the time, the door was unlocked. So after waiting for a bit, they decided to just head right in. And a worst possible scenario awaited them. In front of a small porcelain washing sink, they found Sean's corpse laying flat on his back, soaking in a pool of his own blood. Across his neck split a cavernous, gaping gash, and held limply in his right hand was a straight razor.

Behind him, strangely, was a sink full of water, as if he were just about to shave. And in the center of the dingy mirror, there was a bloody handprint. Despite the devastating horror of it all, Sean's suicide was kept largely under wraps by the priest running the seminary. There was no funeral, no memorial, not even a proper burial.

This is because, as you know, killing yourself was one of the most heinous sins in the eyes of the Catholic Church. It would have reflected poorly on the seminary if word got out that one of their own committed such an atrocity. So they did everything they could to make sure it didn't. That's why, 18 years later, the next student to move into room number two of the residence hall had no idea what fate Sean O'Grady had met there. His name was Thomas McGinn.

He was born on June 6, 1833, and like so many other of Ireland's sons, he'd felt a call to the priesthood. He joined St. Patrick's Seminary in 1859, and he'd arrived a week early to take his matriculation tests. Prior to Thomas, since Sean's violent end, room number two had been kept intentionally vacant. However, after nearly two decades had gone by, and multiple exorcisms had been performed, the priest decided the dorm could once again be used.

People had long stopped whispering about the strange suicide, and most of those who were around when it happened had gone off to faraway places to spread the word of God. All that remained of the bloody death was a deep red stain in the floorboards in front of the sink, but no one seemed to think much of that. Thomas McGinn supposedly never mentioned it, at least not before he had started having his terrible dreams. Visions of hell, visions of the devil, visions of himself performing unspeakable acts to his fellow men.

For the entire week he stayed in room number two, he was reportedly plagued by an ungodly presence. And when he finally confided in his superiors about the evil that afflicted him, they told him why. As soon as he learned of the suicide, Thomas requested to switch rooms. The priest obliged, and once again, room number two was empty. Or was it?

Less than a month later, on a bright Friday morning after Mass, Thomas McGinn returned to the residence hall, but not to his own dorm. Instead, he walked directly into the abandoned room number two, sliced his throat with a shaving razor, just like Sean O'Grady had before him, and then jumped out of the window.

The sickening thud of his body landing on the cobblestones below alerted the quiet campus that something had gone terribly wrong. His fellow students soon found him there, mutilated by the razor, broken and smashed by the fall, but still alive. Barely, but alive. He was brought to the infirmary, where the vice president of the college, Dr. McCarthy, paid him a visit.

And according to Dr. McCarthy's personal account, as well as university records, on his deathbed, Thomas struggled to tell the administrator what he had seen. He claimed to have witnessed a demon, grotesque and unnaturally tall, staring at him from inside the mirror above the sink in room number two. He said it had urged him in a quiet voice to commit sin and to spite God, to rip his own flesh apart.

He told the doctor that even after he had moved to a different room, the demon had followed. And finally, the demon had brought him back to the cursed room, put the razor in his hand, and forced him out the window. And now, he claimed, the demon was dragging him down to hell. Directly following sharing this harrowing tale, Thomas McGinn died.

That night, Dr. McCarthy himself paid a visit to room number two, determined to stay there until the sunrise to see what devil had dared infiltrate his seminary so he could call upon God to banish it back to hell forever. When he emerged the following morning, it's said that Dr. McCarthy looked as if he had aged 20 years in but 12 hours. He was pale and shaken, and he refused to speak of whatever he had witnessed inside room number two.

All we know is that it had to have been something horrifying, because soon afterwards, the vice president of the college and the board of trustees agreed to convert the dorm into an oratory of St. Joseph, the patron saint of peaceful death. In the years since, although the rest of the building has been converted into classrooms and offices, room number two remains virtually untouched. It is mostly empty now except for the altar by the window and a bloodstain on the floor.

A decade ago, the chemistry department tested the stain, confirmed it was in fact human blood, and despite the university's many efforts to remove it, the stain remains as dark red today as it was the day Sean O'Grady died. If they so choose, students and staff are allowed to enter the oratory and rhetoric house to pray to St. Joseph, but it is strictly forbidden for anyone—students, priests, seminaries, administers, visitors, absolutely anyone—to ever bring a mirror inside.

Wow. That's an intense one, right? Yeah. Just imagine if that would have kept going. Because if the second guy can't remember his name. The second guy, I think Thomas McGinn. Yeah. All very Irish names. Mm-hmm.

If he had not survived the fall to any degree, like if he had not been able to share what had happened, I would bet that it would have happened again. Like at least one more time. At least one more time. Or would have kept happening until somebody was able to say what was going on. That's so creepy about the mirror. You already don't like mirrors. Actually, you like mirrors sometimes when you're like, check out my guns. No, I don't. Ha ha ha ha.

But yeah, this story feels like a setup to like a horror movie. Oh, yes. Oh, I can picture it. Could be really great. Could be a good one, yeah. Okay, go ahead. I have an idea. Let's just stop doing Time Suck and Scare to Death for like six months and you can just bust out that script. Sorry, guys. That's the end of the show. Just kidding.

I have some pictures. This first one is St. Patrick's College. Gorgeous. It really is. God bless America. Wow, yeah. This next one, really cool walkway. Oh my God. Okay, so obviously for those of you, well, I'm saying those of you listening, not watching, duh, we don't have video anymore. Right. For those of you who haven't had a chance to look at the images that were posted on our social media, it looks like Oak Alley from the

uh plantations in the south uh or if you've been to kawaii there's a very famed road but it's just this beautiful these trees growing up together and it's like their fingers are interlacing the the branches are the fingers over this walkway it is stunning and it makes a very

specific sort of triangular shape and it looks like at the end there's some sort of steeple that makes your eye hone in on that triangular shape. It's very beautiful. Yeah, at the end there is the seminary cemetery. Um...

Say that 10 times fast. Yes, seminary, cemetery, seminary, cemetery. Neither of the victims mentioned have actual graves there, but their names are written on a memorial plaque for students that have died. And yeah, just very cool how they prune the trees to have this like triangular, yeah, like steeple-like shape over the road. This next picture is St. Patrick's College slash Maynooth University Rhetoric House.

Cool. Mm-hmm. Yeah, just the old buildings with the ivy up at the walls, all the brick and stuff. It just creates a very warm feeling when I see that. Yeah, and we obviously have very, very little architecture that is quite old in this country. I mean, very minimal. Especially around here. Yeah, especially in the West. Yeah.

But yeah, it does look like it could be also just like Harvard's campus. We could be at Princeton, but it is a really beautiful old building. I love that. This next picture is of an article about the ghost room published in the Irish Independent back in 1948.

Wow. Yeah, room of legends. And then next one, unmarked graves of the two students who killed themselves on the outskirts of the cemetery in the unconsecrated grounds. Which is crazy after figuring out that there's a possession at hand. Yeah, that there's no like loopholes. Can we just bring them into the...

Exactly. And then this final one, Room No. 2 with the altar. This was published in the Irish Independent in 1978. Wow. And I feel like maybe you can see like a little stain on the floor there. I couldn't. I was trying to find a good picture of somebody who had taken a close-up of like the floor with the stain, but it doesn't seem to exist online. And they probably would frown on that coming in there and like really getting down there and taking pictures of the blood. Yeah. Yeah. I think so. Yeah.

I think there would be a big— Might seem disrespectful. There would be a big upside down. No, thank you. Upside down? Yeah. Oh, big frown. Ah, upside down smile. I was like, upside down what? I want you to use your brain.

Okay. Now, before your stories, I think you have some giving tree info real quick, right? Yes. I just wanted to say that, well, we wanted to say, you know, by the time you're hearing this episode, the signups for those seeking help have closed. If you are in a position to

to help. We are still taking assistance there. So if you would like to send a digital Amazon gift card, you can do that by going into your Amazon account, buying a gift card, and then sending it to givingtree2024 at badmagicproductions.com. If you're driving right now and you're like, oh shit, I keep meaning to do that, just make a note to yourself that you can go to badmagicproductions.com

Look for the Giving Tree banner and the information should still be there. And if you can't find it there, you can always email me. I'm always happy to point you in the right direction. And just a huge thanks to everybody who has been able to or has opted to make a sacrifice in their life in order to

This Giving Tree is not possible in the magnitude that we do it without your additional help and support. So we are eternally grateful for your kindness and generosity to your fellow bad magicians. Mm-hmm. Yep.

Well said. And thanks for all the birthday wishes for Lindsay. Her birthday was yesterday as we record this today on November 11th on Veterans Day. Veterans Day, 11-11. Happy Veterans Day. And happy birthday, Lulu, if I haven't said it on the show before. I can't remember. How dare you not say it so many times. Yeah, thank you. Yeah, I have been staying off of social media.

So I very quickly saw your very kind, very sweet post and I saw the comments rolling in and I do appreciate it. I am just abstaining from social media kind of right now. I think sometimes I gotta say it's kind of nice. I'm not reading the news and I'm not in social media. I am happy. Happy, happy, happy. Let that be a

a note to self when you are feeling like everything's so heavy, maybe put your phone down. Yeah, yeah. It's hard. Yeah, exactly. And I would say like, you know, for like long term in life, you know, it's not a good idea to put your head in the sand like the ostrich, but for little breaks, it's absolutely a great idea. You know, we all need breaks. You can't...

You can also get news in places not on social media. Totally, totally, exactly. And actually not on your phone. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Yeah, so you can limit what you're being exposed to, what the algorithm is feeding you because the algorithm is, talk about evil, scary things on this show. Social media algorithms are more destructive and more evil in some ways than the monsters we talk about.

Absolutely. If you're looking for something thought-provoking on that, you can find Jack Conte, founder of Patreon, gave an incredible speech at South by Southwest this year, and I highly recommend that. And also, Jack is an incredible human. He's a special person. My eyes fill with tears when I think about what a unique person.

genuine, brilliant man he is. He is a national treasure. So anyways, all that to say. Yeah. Do you have a Layla over there? I do. I do. I'm going to go yellow today. Oh, Lalo. Brighten things up on this gloomy day. Oh my, it is so gloomy. All right. Well, let's dive into this haunted apartment, Dan. Mm-hmm.

Hey, Dan. Hey, Lindsay. My husband and I are avid fans of Time Suck and Scared to Death. We're big into traveling and road trips, and we always tune into your podcast during our journeys. So thanks for keeping us company. And now for a tale entitled Papa Says We Need to Leave.

I grew up in a very small, rural Vermont town. So small, the nearest grocery store was a 20-minute drive away. In the middle of town was an old, worn building, a blemish in the otherwise picturesque face of what people expect when they think of Vermont scenery. With its peeling red and white paint, a sagging roof, and an overall spooky appearance, the house that looked like something out of a horror film had been converted into apartments.

My parents were teenagers when they had me, and this was all they could afford, so we lived there for a few years.

We had many strange encounters during our stay there. Initially, we lived in the top floor apartment and below us was a family of five. But to us, it felt like living above a circus. They made loud noises at all hours of the night. Their banging around made our own beds shake furiously. I remember my mom saying one night, who does laundry at one in the morning? Assuming the cause of the ruckus was from their seemingly never-ending dryer.

Or so we thought. Until they moved out and those things kept happening every night since the vacancy of the apartment. My little sister and I shared a room and our parents' room was connected to ours by a door they had agreed to keep open after that.

Since the apartment downstairs was now available and had three bedrooms, my parents decided to move there, where all the creepy stuff seemed to be spawning from. They struck a deal with the landlord. He would keep their rent the same if they did some remodeling in the new apartment. Armed with a Home Depot credit card, they quickly got to work pulling up old carpets and stripping paint.

The renovated apartment actually turned out quite nice, and I was thrilled to decorate my own room. As a young girl caught up in the latest trends, I decided I wanted a brown room with pink polka dots. Ha ha.

My room was small, with no window to let in natural light, making it feel like a dark, enclosed space. There was just enough space for my bed and a tiny dresser. I didn't mind, though. I had a space to call all my own. The only unfavorable aspect to me was the closet next to my bed. It was dark and foreboding, and the memories of unsettling experiences we had there still make me shudder at the thought of dark closets.

My sister immediately hated the apartment. She cried continuously, insisting that she did not want to sleep in her room alone. Her cries were desperate and high-pitched, filled with an unshakable dread. She repeatedly said, "'Papa's mad at us!'

Since we didn't have anyone in our family called Papa, it left us all puzzled. Who's Papa? My mom would ask, but we never received a clear answer, just that this Papa was angry with us.

My sister refused to sleep in her own room, so my mom agreed to bring her mattress and let her sleep on the floor of their room until she grew used to the new place. I thought to myself, what a baby. Here I am with a whole room to myself. Besides, nothing really strange was happening here. But then, the furniture started shaking again. We tried to brush it off with excuses like, it's an old building, the house is settling, whatever that meant.

Even if that were true, it did not quite explain the tiny earthquakes that seemed to affect only us. Another disturbing development was that the apartment seemed to be growing darker. Natural light was already scarce, and it felt like the shadows thickened each day, swallowing up whatever feeble light managed to seep through the grimy windows.

We had to keep the lights on throughout the day, casting a harsh, artificial glow that did little to brighten the gloom. To this day, I remember that the darkness seemed to cling to every surface, making the apartment feel like an eternal twilight. And there was this chill from the occasional draft that snaked through the building, adding an eerie atmosphere, giving us goosebumps no matter the season.

One night, while I was sound asleep in my small nook of the apartment, I was abruptly jolted awake. The heavy brown paint on the walls seemed to absorb all the light, deepening the shadows. The only source of light was the eerie red glow of my alarm clock, which blinked 333, casting an unsettling crimson hue across the room. The clock's harsh glow highlighted every crack and imperfection in the walls, making the room feel even more claustrophobic.

As I slowly turned around in my bed, I was met with a chilling sight. Two muddy brown boots standing motionless in my dark closet. The boots were caked with thick dark mud as if someone had dragged them through a swamp. I was paralyzed for a moment, my breath quickening and my pulse pounding in my ears. I've never seen those boots before and they certainly weren't there when I drifted off to sleep.

She screamed, her little voice breaking with panic.

Without another thought, we ran into my parents' room. My parents, already awake and alarmed by our frantic entry, quickly moved my mattress onto the floor next to my sister's, assuming it was just a bad nightmare, though they still took our fear seriously. The room was filled with an uneasy hum of the night, punctuated by the occasional creak, which I prayed was just the building settling.

My dad had always been a big skeptic of the supernatural, but he could not deny there were some odd things happening around us. Out of curiosity, my dad went over to our landlord's house, which was right across the street, to inquire about the previous tenants.

The landlord quickly answered. Before the Loud family that occupied the space, there was an old man on hospice who died there. He actually found an old call bell in the room my sister was now in. That had to be Papa.

My dad went back to our apartment to share the disturbing news. When he stepped into our home, the phone started ringing. The caller ID displayed unknown caller in stark block letters. My dad answered, and at first all he heard was a crackling static, a disorienting white noise that filled the quiet. The static buzzed and popped, creating an unnerving backdrop of interference.

Then, through the static, a faint, raspy voice emerged, barely audible, but unmistakably urgent. "'Dan? Dan, is that you?' The voice sounded distant and strained, as though coming from underwater. The static intensified, and the voice continued, "'Dan, where am I?'

The words were fragmented and haunting, sending a shiver down my dad's spine. He turned pale, his face losing all color as the realization hit him. His grip tightened around the receiver and he whispered in disbelief, ''Is that you, Uncle Mike?'' Before he could get a response, the call abruptly dropped, leaving nothing but a low, humming silence on the line. My dad stood frozen, the receiver still pressed against his ear.

Uncle Mike had passed away years earlier, but my dad was convinced it was his voice he had heard through the static. Since my dad was never one to believe in supernatural things, we took it all very seriously when he told us to pack our bags because we were going to grandma's for a while.

Shortly thereafter this unsettling event, my parents managed to buy a home, allowing us to escape whatever vengeful presence had taken hold in the apartment. To this day, whenever we gather, we still talk about our eerie experiences in that old building. Eee.

That's an interesting one where they live beneath and in it. Uh-huh. I don't think we've come across a story where people have had that perspective before, where you live in an apartment building. We've definitely had stories of people living in an apartment and their unit is haunted. Yeah. I can't recall ever coming across a story where you're living beneath a unit where you're like, what are those noises? And things are weird. And then you go into that unit later. Exactly. Yeah. Yeah.

I like that angle. Uh-huh, uh-huh. I mean, it sucks, you know. It sucks for them. For them, but like... But I understand like the choice of it as well, right? Like you're already in a familiar building. Totally. Changing your address won't even be that big of a deal. You go from apartment one to apartment two or whatever. Yep. You know. Maybe a little more room. Yeah. And we'll talk about an easy move. Yeah, exactly. You just take your hauling boxes upstairs. Yeah, yeah. So, yeah, but interesting to have that.

dual perspective. Uh-huh. You know, living near it and then living through it. Yep. Yep. And then that perspective of hearing the noises when the people were living above them that they thought were just a noisy group of people. Yeah. And then must be the dryer. And then those people move out and like, huh, that's weird. Still kind of hearing those noises. Uh-huh. And then going into that unit and then experiencing all kinds of stuff. Yeah. Yeah. I definitely thought...

When the story submitter, Emily, when she said that her dad went across the street to speak with the landlord, I was fully prepared for the landlord to say no one was ever living in the other apartment before. That was all phantom, which would have been crazy in its own right. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But yeah, no, I mean, and then that phone call, like hearing, can you just imagine? Hearing like your dead brother?

Yeah. Or your grandfather. I'm just thinking about our family members. If I picked up a phone and heard any voice that I was like, oh my God, is that so-and-so? Oh, yeah. I would be...

Uh-huh. Like Papa Ward for me, where it's like very distinct voice, you know, like distinct cadence, like way of talking. Uh-huh. Yeah. I can close my eyes and hear it immediately in my head. Me too. I can just like filter through so many memories of just him talking. Uh-huh. And then to hear that voice over the phone now, that would freak me out so bad. Yeah. I think there'd be this part of me that was like...

I mean, I would want more. Yes. You know? Yeah. And then, like... And I'd worry that I'd be manipulated, though. Oh, well, like, after that moment passed, I'd be like, what is happening? Yeah, I'd be super scared. We've done too many stories where, like, it pretends, things pretend to be somebody, and you pull on your heartstrings. Yes.

and then manipulate and terrify you that I would be freaked out pretty early on. But also, so that mix of like scared, but also like, no, but I do want to talk to you. Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. Well, that is an unintentional, but beautiful segue into my next story. So let's go.

Hello, Queen Crystal and Lorde, somewhat anti-Crystal. Ever since I was a kid, something has mimicked me, my mom, and recently a new member of the family.

When I was younger, I'd sleep in my mom's bed and my older brother would come crashing in, panicked, questioning where I was. My mother would harshly tell him to be quiet as I was sound asleep next to her and she'd question what he was so frantic about. My brother, collecting his breath, would say he'd heard me screaming out in pain. Obviously, as I was completely comatose next to my mom, this wasn't the case.

This went on for some time. Then when I was a bit older, I'd wake up because my brother had come into my room to check on me because he'd heard me screaming yet again. I think the last time this happened, I was about 10 or 11. Another time, my brother and his friend were staying at my mom's house alone. I was at my grandparents. My mom was working nights. Both my brother and his friend heard my mom open the front door, shout both of their names and announce that she was home.

With possibly the promise of sweet treats, they bounded downstairs only to find the house completely empty. My mother wasn't there. Her car was not in the driveway. She hadn't come home yet. They did what any sensible preteen boys would do and they immediately GTFO'd. My mom came home completely puzzled as to why the front door was unlocked with no children inside. It's safe to say he did get in quite a bit of trouble for that one and didn't get any points for blaming the ghost.

Another time, my mom came home and saw me through our front bay window, standing in the dining room, facing away from her. When she came into the house and called for me, I didn't answer because I wasn't home. I was at work. Needless to say, it completely freaked her out. And she actually hid this story from me for several years so as to not freak me out from staying in the house by myself. You may be thinking at this point, is it the house that's haunted? But I don't think so.

My brother has since moved out and started a small family of his own in a city a good 40-minute drive away from where we lived, and the horror continues with him while my mom's house is now quite quiet and peaceful.

What?!

He snapped, looking at me expectantly as any sibling would do in the situation. I matched his tone and replied back, what? To which he replied, you just called me back through. To which I replied, uh, no, I didn't.

Even more miffed, he says, you just said, Aza, and called me through. And of course, I repeated that I had not. I joked that the ghost must have done it. He shut up and went totally white. He pointed out that maybe, this whole time, when I'm mimicked, the ghost takes possession of me for a second, and I'm none the wiser. I did not care for that idea very much.

If I wasn't already a believer, this last encounter would have convinced me otherwise. It makes my skin crawl just to think of it. Before they were put to bed, each of my nieces' wet hair was put up in a different style. The oldest in plaited pigtails, the middle niece with her hair in a singular plait, Laura Croft style, and the baby had her hair put up in a shape that can only be described as resembling a pineapple.

I was staying in the spare room slash man cave on a single bed. Because of everything ghostly that had happened, I'd put a little jacket or something behind the door when I closed it so it would make a noise and wake me up if it were opened. I put on Brooklyn Nine-Nine and went off to Snooze Land. I woke up with a start at some point for some reason and nearly shit my pants. In my sleepy haze, I saw one of my nieces standing in the middle of the room staring down at me.

Through gasps and sleepy confusion, I asked, who are you? I couldn't see her face because the room had blackout curtains and was so, so very dark. I could only see her little silhouette and couldn't fathom which niece it was or why I had just asked her who she was. Ignoring the question, she said, where's daddy? My thoughts were jumbled and I managed to catch my breath. I didn't know what time it was, so I just said, I don't know, at work?

And then I got up to take her back to her room, thinking maybe she was sleepwalking or something. Then this thing slowly and creepily turned around on its heel and stood there facing towards the door, which made me stop in my tracks. I then clocked that it was my middle niece with her hair tied up in that Lara Croft style. In a soothing tone, I asked, Are you okay? Okay?

As I went to put my hand on her little shoulder, before I could make contact, she slowly and methodically walked out of the room in complete silence. I heard her heavy but little footsteps go back to the room next door. I put the coat back behind the door as it had obviously been pushed open and got back to bed. Even though I realized it was my niece, I still felt completely freaked out and couldn't sleep for ages."

The next morning, my brother was getting the kids ready and woke me up. I came out of the man cave and joked that my middle niece gave me quite a fright the night before. She gave me a very puzzled, slightly annoyed look, and then sauntered off downstairs. I explained what had happened to my brother, hoping to joke it all away. But what he said made my blood run cold.

First of all, he pointed out that my middle niece took her hair out of the Lara Croft style when she went to sleep. Lo and behold, her hair was deadpan straight that morning. He then went on to explain that he had slept in their room last night because his partner and baby were in his bed. To give this context, my niece's bed was a bunk bed with a double on the bottom and it's pushed up against the wall, which is where, on that particular night, my middle niece chose to sleep. Closest to the bed.

to the wall, my oldest niece in the middle and my brother on the outside. In order for my niece to have made it to the room I was in, she'd have to have climbed over my oldest niece, over my brother without waking them both up, leave the room, come back, and then climb back over both of them again and get back into her spot in bed. It was virtually impossible for her to have made an appearance in my room without at least waking someone up.

So my question is, what or who is I talking to? Thank you, Abby from Cornwall. Then Abby emails again with an update. Okay. Oh my gosh, I wasn't expecting an update this soon, but I've just had a call with my brother today as we both live at opposite ends of the country and I have to share this with you.

My brother and my eldest niece were in the same room I'd stayed in from the above anecdote when they both saw my middle niece walk in, sit down, and then get back up and leave the room without a word. It turned out my middle niece had been with her mom the entire time.

I don't know why this thing has chosen to mimic my poor middle niece. She's absolutely delightful and I don't want to be afraid of her, but who knows if we're talking to her or her doppelganger. Anyways, I shan't be staying over there anytime soon nonetheless. Stay spoopy, stay spooky, and ciao, Abby.

Before that update, I was wondering if like the, okay, like at first I was like, okay, so it's the brother, the way that Abby had set things up, the mimic followed the brother. And so the mimic must be attached to the brother. But then before that last story, it felt like the only time the mimic showed up was when the brother and Abby were both together in the same place. No, Abby wasn't there the second time.

In that update. Right, right, right. That's what I'm saying. Before the update. Yeah. I thought it was like a connection between the two. Yeah. And then with the update, I'm like, no, Abby doesn't need to be there for this thing to... Yeah. So it is like with the brother somehow or it followed the brother to that new place. Yeah. I get the distinct feeling that this mimic...

I don't even know what to call it because it mimics and doppelgangers multiple people. In his life, it has mimicked his sister, his mom, and his daughter. So interesting, I think, that it only seems to, as it stands now, mimic females in his life. I don't know why, but that just kind of stands out to me.

Um, but he, I, he is the connective tissue. So I'm like, oh, something is messing with you. Yeah. Yeah. And I think he needs some sort of cleansing or, cause I don't think it's

going to go away. And quite frankly, no one else really seems like that bothered by me. And yes, it's freaky. It's weird. But Abby isn't having moments of feeling like possessed or not herself. Right. Other people in Abby's life are never saying like, hey, I saw you here when she wasn't there. Yeah. Their mom's house is completely fine now that the brother has moved out. So it's like something I think he needs to do something to rid himself of whatever

Is messing with him. Attached to him or something, yeah. Because it feels also like it's kind of escalating a bit, you know, with its frequency and I don't know, it's very strange. Yeah, those mimic ones are especially creepy. I mean, it is like, it's like a doppelganger, but traditionally it seems like the doppelganger picks one person and just shows up as that person. It's like they've just, but then like these mimics and we've come across them in other stories and I've read about them or watched them on other shows and stuff.

Where they can just might be a person or might just be a voice. Yeah. Where people are hearing like different voices around the house of like roommates or whatever. And those roommates are like, no, I wasn't home. Totally. And so, yeah, it kind of goes like, yeah, just like mimics different people. Yeah. So weird. So weird. Yeah. I am not totally sure I understand what is happening in this particular situation. I guess also like.

It could be fae folk as well, but that's more of like a common thing over there. I can't remember if they mimic or not. Oh, they do. They do, I think. Whether or not they mimic, I think you're right. I believe they do, but I was just thinking like they're playful and pranksters. So I was thinking about it in terms of that. Because it doesn't feel like aggressive or sad. I mean, again, only scary in the sense of like...

Weird things are happening, but it's not aggressive or malevolent feeling. Totally. Totally. Yeah. I don't know. Interesting. I'm just laughing and looking at my Annabelle's. Are you ready to thank some Annabelle's? I have some really funny ones. Do you want to go first and get them out? No, I can wait. Okay. Well, then I'll go first. I'd like to thank the following Annabelle's for making the December Giving Tree possible.

Katie Moskal and Raj the dog, Lee Mills, Ashley Blackburn, Jess Kay, Jenna Cushion, Elizabeth Kelkis, and Catherine Perez. I have all women. Oh, yeah. Well, thank you, women. Okay, so my first and last name that I'll thank you for, the silly ones, is

The first one, yeah, thank you to the following Annabelle's, Schmitzstain and Bongo Jones. I like Schmitzstain. And then Lindsay Doan-Large, like hyphenated. Veronica Molina, Miranda, but spelled very different than any other Miranda, M-A-R-R-A-N-D-A. Trisha Bertek, Dragonfly363.

And then the last one, dolphin rape survivor support group. Oh dear. And I think that's probably a reference to the time. Sick episode I did on this dolphin experiment where not everyone knows this. If you want to get into a weird wormhole on the web, uh,

Dolphins are not always as nice as they are portrayed. They're a sexually aggressive creature. So weird. Very weird, yeah. And there's all kinds of stories online. I'm not making this up. This isn't some weird prank where they are a very horny mammal and very aggressively will come after people, not just other dolphins, when they seem to get attracted to people. It's something that we'll say like, oh, you know, they're doing it like two rabbits. Man, we should be saying they're doing it like two dolphins. Yeah, dolphins. Horny, horny dolphins. Yeah.

Okay, and then I have a few spoopy shout-outs. To Maggie Lee from Oscar, happy birthday to the love of my life. Thank you for being an amazing wife and mother to our son, Ethan.

This one's really cute. To Cute Boy from Hot Girl. I'm so grateful I have you to spend eternity with. And then on a more somber note, to Hannah from Ray, you were the best mom to the sweetest baby boy, Atlas, whose life was sadly cut too short. Thank you for blessing me with being an aunt. The hurt will never go away, but we will all carry Atlas in our hearts forever. Love you always and forever. Oh, wow. Yeah. You know, life is...

Full of so many hard moments. Mm-hmm. And we hope that you can find some peace and some respite. Mm-hmm.

And that is our show. Thank you for continuing to send in your personal tales of terror to mystoryatscaredtodeathpodcast.com. Lindsay loves reading them. I love hearing them. You can email us for everything else at infoatscaredtodeathpodcast.com. Big thank you to Logan Keith scoring today's show. Per usual, thank you to Heather Rylander organizing the My Story emails to book editor Drew Atana polishing and preparing listener stories for book number six. Thank you to Sophie Evans for finding the first story I shared this week and to Molly Box for finding the second.

We are on Facebook and Instagram where we post pics that accompany episodes and more at Scared to Death Podcast. We have a private Facebook group, Creeps and Peepers, that we love so much. Big thanks to the All Seen Eyes, Creeps and Peepers moderators for doing such a great job there. Enjoy your nightmares, Creeps and Peepers. Hope you were scared to death. Bye. Bye.

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