Morbid - Episode 472: Listener Tales 75

Episode Date: June 29, 2023

Listener Tales 75!!! This installment features a CRAY-CRAY reincarnation story, a husband turned Scooby-Doo villain and ghost turned grandma! If you have a listener tale you’d like to send in please send it to [e-mail] Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hey, Prime members, you can listen to morbid, early, and ad-free on Amazon music. Download the app today. You're listening to a morbid network podcast. If you love True Crime, the Generation Y podcast is essential listening. Hosts Aaron and Justin started this podcast over 10 years ago to dissect together some of the craziest and most notable murders, crimes, and conspiracy theories. And with over 450 episodes, there's a little something for every true crime lover. Follow the Generation Y Podcasts, wherever you listen to podcasts.

Hey weirdos, I'm Melina, I'm Ash, and this is Morbid. Well, it's a listener tale. I fucking love listener tales and for some reason I feel like we haven't done a listener tale in so long. Thank you. When we said it was listener tale week, I was like, haven't done a listener tale in so long. Thank you. When we said it was listener tale week, I was like, wait a second, it's been four and a half years, though. Truly. Since the last one. I don't even use with John Lee Brody.

Yeah, and I think the one before that was with Bailey Sarian. Yeah. Because we had guests on them for a little bit. It felt different. Like, not in a bad way. But it felt like we didn't do them forever. Yeah, I didn't feel that way. Very strange. Very, I didn't feel that way. Very strange

Very, very strange. We are back in action. Just ash in a lane. Just ash in a lane. I've never called you a lane in my life. No one has. Because a lane is a entirely different lane. And it's just taking away that uh Yeah, I'm like, I'm not afraid of anything I just, I usually call you linging if I do. That's true. But you can't say that. But we, you can't do it. Listener, no. But, uh, Dev, Dev put together a good group and a little listener

tails here. Does then she always pour one out for Deborah, Deborah always pour one out for Dev, Deb, Deb, Debora for Deb Dem. DeBora, DeBora. And I think you're gonna start, right? No. No, well shit, we're just gonna sit here and silence from. Yeah. No, we agree before that.

I would start. We did. We always discussion. Want to start with the best. So of course, here I am versus the worst. Second is the best. Just saying. Mikey is the one with the hair, my chest. Mikey chest was just so immersed in work and he's like,

what? He had his headphones on, he's like, excuse me. I'm the worst, Elena's the best, and you're the one with the hair, your chest. Yeah. You're great. You're great. All right.

Well, the first listener tale is called Listener Tale, Mediocre Medium, the true tale of a second-rate psychic and the uncle who haunted her for years before eating himself into Generation Z by sheer will and determination. Wow. I would say one more time for the people in the back, but it's a hard no for me.

That's a great title. Fan fucking task. I love the me zoom into this because now that I'm 27, I am Jen, re-atric. Oh my god. What does that mean? Hey, weirdo's, I'll shorten. I'll shorten. I am Jen, re-atric. Oh my God. What does that mean? Hey, weirdos, I'll shorten. I'll shorten.

I'm already off to a good start. I'll shorten this diet, try with the assurance that I have written before. So I know you are already aware of how much I worship at the feet of my podcast princesses every underfilled moment of my life. Damn, but for the sake of the people involved in this tale, I would ask that you omit my real name and refer instead to my alter ego who rarely makes appearances unless

she's drunk. So welcome to the inner sanctum. Affectionately known as Esmeralda Taufelmeier. Esmeralda Taufelmeier. Obviously. Hell yeah. Distant cousin of the Alistairist, Alistair,rious, thank you, illustrious, Anastasia, Beverhausen. Beverhausen.

Insert Willing Grace reference here. Did you watch Willing Grace reference here? I did, I wasn't like, I didn't stay forever, but I like Willing Grace. I never watched it. It was a great show. Yeah, I should try. And the North Woods, New Jersey,

which with too many kids and too few fucks left to give. Hell yeah. Hell yeah. While my home altar may be dedicated to Salatia, Goddess of Seawater. That's beautiful. I'm obsessed with you. I am too, you have good vibes. Rest assured that my brain altar is completely dedicated to you more with the mystical

mavens. I had to swallow a burp. And your supernatural abilities to keep my life on track. I'm glad we're keeping your life on track. Because mine is a rye. As you can tell with me, swallowing a burp in the middle of my job, anyways, as a purposefully, yes, purposefully.

You got this. God, I'm ready for you to get this. Under medicated practitioner of the art of ADHD, even come crunch time. I know it can accomplish anything I put my distracted mind to. If I just tune into the podcast and pour another espresso shot into the oversized mug of coffee, I've already reheated 32 times today

because working parents. Wow, never related to something more, man. Alina, relate to that so heavily because you constantly forget where your coffee is. And it's always in the microwave. Lays in the microwave. Yesterday she's looking for it and then come lunchtime. I go to heat up my lunch and I'm like, oh, here it is.

There it is. And then she wrote, or this, excuse me, they wrote, look at that. You know exactly what I'm talking about. But any who, please don't get bored and not open this double-spaced 14-point font-attached puttafa. I promise it's not a continuance of this word super-served you so far. I love it. Okay, promise may be too strong a word, but I digress. I'd say feel free to edit for brevity, but let's face it. If you've already read through the appetizer, I highly doubt you'll shorten the dessert. The tale is a lengthy one coming in at around 16 minutes. Yes, I timed it.

But I am a fast readerreener and talker, so maybe more like 16? No, I'm not, because never be sorry. Because he's a sorry. Yeah, did I skip over the story? Yeah, you just said no. It's been a while since we did a listener tail. Maybe 16?

No, I'm not, because. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Oh, it's silly goofy mood time. Oh, it's silly time time. Okay, everybody, I'm putting my hair up. So a little backstory, when I was little, I used to hear my name being called sometimes faintly, sometimes right in my ear, but no one was ever there. I had a not-so-imaginary friend named Bobby until my mother, destroyer of dreams, decided to evict him. My mother is also a Destroyer of Dream's

Imagine Not. Are they friends? Do they know each other? No, my mom doesn't have friends. But next, Franch was Laura, but I was sharp enough not to give my mother those deeps. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, I may end up on a date one special, and Orange is not my color. I knew Bobby and Laura were as real as you and I as real as the man who used to walk past my room every night as real as the Indigenous teen who stared at the sky for my backyard. That sounds like beautiful. I know. But as far as mommy dearest was concerned if she couldn't see it it did not exist. My little sister on the other hand was less six cents and more nostridomas. Wow.

She had an uncanny knack for pulling information out of thin air. She could call out the lottery picks five minutes before Yolanda Vega called them. She knew what hands other people had when we played Gin Rummy and her to Vegas for real. She once stated she was thirsty while we were visiting an old Spanish fort and just wandered off. When we found her, she was staring into a boarded up well saying she didn't understand who could have moved all the water. What? What? Yeah, we are freaks, but we've made peace with our demons and sometimes snuggle with them. I'm literally obsessed with you. I am too. Because I was the decidedly awkward child, both socially and physically.

I didn't really have many real- life friends. Kids in school called me and I would all, I was, hello, and diagnosed ASD and ADHD. I also hear that, so don't worry. Oh, no, I've never said that to you. And a bitch. Yeah, I'll let you say that before. I was in. I just didn't understand social nuances and masking. I also feel that. I was very short, and my slight frame was also rudely referenced by children and adults alike. Pull it together, society. You said I was too thin when I was little,

and now you say I'm too fat as an adult. Pick one. Yeah. That is literally so valuable. So my schedule was always wide open, making me readily available for chores and peer tutoring and being my mother's favorite victim of opportunity. Oh.

Which brings me to my story. I'm sorry. My tale begins in May of 1989. I was 11 years old, and my parents said they were going to the movies. They couldn't find a babysitter. And my friendless ass was just disappointing my social climbing mother by lying on the grass with a book instead of a boyfriend. So I guess she figured I was the next best thing. This would be my first time being home alone with my six-year-old sister. I'm sorry, but 11 years old, babysitting a six-year-old is way too young.

That feels young. That feels way too young to be home by yourself. I only had to watch her till we went to bed, about three hours, and it was still daylight when they left. So I was reasonably confident that everything would be a-okay. Oh. At the time, my uncle, my mother's brother, often couched surfed at her house. A street soldier for the mob, he had a bitokay. At the time, my uncle, my mother's brother, often couched surfed at our house.

A street soldier for the mob, he had a bit of a checkered past, and was frequent, and a frequent guest of the state. If you know who you know. Since my sister and I were so young, if Popo came looking for a wife, I thought you called him Popo. People have different names for their family, I don't know.

Popo, Popo came. And it's ironic. If the Popo came looking for him, my mom would say they were special security escorting him to some government and that. Wow. If he was sentenced to time, my mom would call these stays off at college.

Wow. Much to my mother, Shagrin, the nerdy bookroom that I was, felt so impressed with my uncle's dedication dire learning. I would often brag about his staunch commitment to hack a TV app. Friends of the family would ask my mom, how's your brother holding up?

And I would happily cheer about how smart he was. I'm obsessed with this. My parents would roll their eyes and reply as well as can be expected. Secretly, I knew they were probably just jealous of his interaction. His intellectual prowess. Fucking amateurs, am I right?

You are right. But anyway, back to the Nightingust, and I love you. You're so much fun. Hey there, listeners, Aaron here. One of the co-hosts of the True Crime Show, the Generation Y podcast. We started this podcast 10 years ago to dissect and chat through some of the craziest and most notable murders, crimes, and conspiracy theories together, and we'd love for you to join us.

We break down infamous cases like the pizza delivery man that robbed a bank with a bomb around his neck and a cane shotgun in the episode Evil Genius. And try to figure out if the case of Pimberley Rico is simply coincidence, or did she kill her husband right after they took part in a murder mystery play on a vacation to save their marriage. Whether you want to channel your inner detective on some of the most famous crime cases in modern history or just sit back and enjoy. We invite you to join us while we review the tedious details and the evidence of these heinous cases. Follow the Generation Y Podcasts on Amazon Music or wherever you listen to podcasts or you can listen ad-free by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app.

I was about three quarters of the way through my stint as honorary member of the Bay Deicitters Club and was doing quite well if you asked me. My sister and I had already eaten about half the contents of the snack cabinet, and brilliant as we were carefully hidden all the evidence and wrappers behind the healthy cereal boxes that my mom insisted on buying and that no one in our house ever touched. My sister was safely tucked away in bed and I was in my bedroom with the lights out, brave bitch, and the TV on. Back then there was actual music on MTV.

So I was quite contendably eating candy and watching Madonna Warship, a crucified man while until eating black plates on my screen. I was obsessed with that music video. I don't think I've ever seen that music video. Well, we're going to show it to you after this. I love that. I can't wait. It's iconic. You know, totally appropriate viewing for an 11-year-old in the 80s. As one does, I reached over to my dresser and grabbed my heavy silver plate brush. The one that everyone's nan about them in the 80s. Yep. Moss still has hers. Yep.

And I started using it as a microphone and dancing around on my bed to make my two by four of a pre-pubescent body create the moves I was watching match after listening to form, whilst probably actually looking like I was having a seizure. Of course, as we all know, it is only when we are dancing like nobody is watching that someone will inevitably be me perwatching through. Spinning madly, I shot my best

sultry look over my birdbone of a shoulder. Just as my bedroom door was opening and my uncle peeked his head into the room. To his credit, he didn't laugh at me. He just waved and mocked back out into the hallway, presumably to lay on the couch and watch him inappropriate programming of his own. Knowing he was probably tired from all his studying, I turned down the volume and tuned in whatever mundane and disgustingly family-friendly TV show. That would have been popular in that era and waited for my parents to come home and hopefully pay me for my superior babysitting skills. About an hour later, my mom came into my bedroom where I was now dutifully in my PJs, brushing my knee-length stick straight hair

that I would give almost anything to have back. My third pregnancy fucked me up y'all. One day I had luscious cascade of sleep hair and by the end of those nine months, I had a curly mess reminiscent of Deborah Messing in the unflattering college floss back scenes of Will and Grace. I feel that's so hard.

Mm-hmm. Your hair looks great though. I gave my hair to my kids. I know, I'm glad that they at least have it. That's funny. I literally told them that today. I was like, enjoy it. I was like, you guys have beautiful hair. You stole it from my mom.

My mom was not pleased that the TV was still on. And Sam, I loudly adonished me for not being in bed yet. I apologized and silently ceded that this would definitely dash my dreams of being financially compensated for my efforts and warned her not to talk too loudly because my uncle was sleeping on the couch. Ladies, when I say I should have just yes-mammed my way under the covers and shut the fuck up, I mean I should have yes-mammed my way under the covers and shut the fuck up. My mother stood stock still,

a look of absolute rage on her face. Oh no, I don't like this at all. My mom exists in a world where there are only two occasions worth moving at the speed of light. One is trigger warning. The rope drop it doesn't even work. That is a trigger warning. Sorry, Alina.

And I must shamefully confess that trait. Has some how been passed down to me. Thankfully, being a Disney adult is the only toxic trait I have inherited from my egg donor, though. And the other is disciplining her children. Oh, no. Oh, I'm really upset about this. No matter how prepared you may think you are for this woman, woman's outburst of fury,

you're wrong. We're talking break next speed here. One minute, minute, you're standing at the top of the stairs, talking on the phone, and the next minute, you're dangling above the staircase, suspended by your little house on the prairie braids. Oh my God! On this particular occasion, she employed the old swipen strike, and one deft maneuver, she thwopped me on the head with my own brush. Oh my God! Before I even had the good sense to duck. Assuming my error had been telling her to lower her voice, I hastily apologized and assured her.

I was just trying to be helpful, but she wasn't having it. This is really terrible. She leaned over the bed and coldly informed me that she did not know how I had found out where she had really gone that evening, but that joking about her brother being in the house during her brother's funeral wake was neither amusing nor acceptable.

Oh, wow. Okay, that's horrifying in every way that I can be horrifying. All the ways. I'm really sorry. That like broke my heart to think of you like apologizing for just saying a sentence. Mm hmm.

Like, ugh. And it's just like so sad to like think of you one second dancing to Madonna in the next second. Like being delacked in the face with a brush because you spoke to your mother. Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm fucked up. But yep, I saw my uncle in my room. the same night he was having his visitation at the

funeral home. Wow. I know he wasn't trying to start shit, but damn, if he needed to say goodbye, he could have at least waited until I knew he was gone. Am I right? I know he wasn't trying to start shit. I tried to explain it to my mom that I did not know how I had seen him or how to make it happen again to which my mom remarked that she guessed I was a mediocre medium my mom that I did not know how I had seen him or how to make it happen again to which my mom

remarked that she guessed I was a mediocre medium wasn't I? No, you're a great medium. Yeah, she's being a cunt. Having no idea what a medium was I gave up and went to bed. Oh, and then you just went to bed. It just like breaks my heart. Yeah, and what a way to tell you that your uncle's had passed. Yeah. What did size have to do with seeing people? Nobody else could see. It's true. So yeah, I now knew for sure I could see dead people, especially that particular dead person. Over the next 10 years, he would turn up in my living room, my hallway, my bathroom mirror, which TbH scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

We had a little chat after that. We're in, I heartily encouraged him to move along. And don't show up in mirrors, man. But overall, I accepted it. I ch't show up in meersman. No. But overall, I accepted it. I chatted out loud while doing dishes and vacuuming. And one day, he just seemed to have taken my advice and left, as one does when one is deceased or so I thought.

Fast forward a few months, and I was working through a mind numbing divorce. Oh my God. I'm sorry. I moved with my children into a 200 year old farmhouse surrounded by corn fields. The more fucking dream. Yeah, yeah, I know. Today me is smarter, but yesterday,

decade me was young and dumb and full of romantic ideas. I get it. I get it. And don't call yourself an idiot. No, you're not. You're not. You're very smart. Excuse me, that was really a funny clearing of the throat.

That was funny. Excuse me. Well, I'm funny. That was beautiful. And I'm so happy. I me, well, I'm funny. So funny. That was was beautiful. And thankfully, so were its ghosts.

My older daughter would often tell me about the woman who would sing to them, and she would play endless games in her room with her imaginary friend Teddy. I'd like to think I'm a good mother. I know you are. I definitely know you are. But I'm pretty sure a good mother would have called a priest or an exorcist at that point, but nope, not me. Someone wants to be a nice. Yeah, exactly.

And they're making your kids happy, who cares? Someone wants to keep my kids out of my hair so I can have some me time. Fuck yeah, I'm in. Even if they happen to be on a live. Like just stay away from the light, Carolyn. Other than that, have at it. I love you so much.

So one day my mother calls me and it might just have to dinner. Oh, no. Don't go there. Don't go there. Reluctantly, I agreed. My mom was not the best company, but back then, she liked people to believe

that she was a great cook. So she'd order for... What an asshole. She'd order for Bougias restaurants and replayed everything. And I'm always... That sounds like something she'd do. It does. I know her now. Yeah, I got her. And I'm always down for some free fancy pants cuisine.

So we went upon entering the dining room. I noticed that she'd hung a photo of my late uncle up on the wall. Before I could even explain who it was, my older daughter exclaimed, it's Teddy. Oh my goodness! I'm sorry, what? No darling. It is most assured it's Teddy. Oh my goodness! I'm sorry, what? No darling, it is most assuredly not Teddy. But there it was, the sudden realization

that his name was something similar enough to that. A small child could have misunderstood or mispronounced it to be Teddy. Wow. My uncle had not moved on, he had moved in. I kind of love this. I do too. I hope you do too.

Yeah, because it sounds like he knew that you needed protection or like something to make you happy. You know, let me hang out with your kids just being a nice uncle. And like giving you time for yourself. I love your uncle. Shortly after this enlightening occasion, I moved again this time to a late community. My Nana passed away and sightings of my uncle became rarer. Satisfied that he had gone on with his mama,

I looked forward to occupying a space where I knew everyone I lived with and everyone had a pulse until I realized that I may have jumped to the gut. Oh, no. One day, I emptied my kitchen counter in order to deep clean the formica. Formica. Formica.

Yes, Formica. We're just classy like that. What is it Formica? I don't know how classy like that. What is it for Micah? I don't know how to describe it. How would you describe for Micah? It's kind of like... Linole. Yeah. Linoleomy? A little bit. Yeah. Oh, okay. So to clean that. Oh, it's a clean that. Oh, it's like what the kitchen counter is made of, I see. Okay, okay. So yeah, placing the last item on the kitchen table, I grabbed a rag and some bleach and turned back

to the just cleaned off countertop to find it no longer cleared. In a straight line from one end of the counter to the other, was a series of dimes. They say that dimes are used by like the dead to communicate. It was still early days for the interwebs, so I asked Jeaves if you know. Oh my God.

Also, if you've listened to that Megan the Stallion song, love that. What that could mean and was relieved to find out that it was a good omen, a message of love from the other side. Satisfied, I was not living in the Amityville horror house. I swooped the dimes into my pocket, pocket book, tossed it on the table and cleaned the countertop.

Whap! Something collapsed on the little nollium floor. Startled, I spun around to see what fell. It was my pocketbook. Now this thing wasn't teetering on the edge of the table. It was dead center of it. And none of the other items were on the floor. So even if it had somehow slid across the surface,

it could not have averted all the other items without pushing them down as well. No. This thing was clearly lifted and dropped onto the floor. I hardly collected the dimes back out of my bag and put them in a mason jar on my windowsill where they remained for years without further incident. After that, for the better part of a decade, I experienced nothing out of the ordinary. My older daughter did, but we worked through her fears, and while hers never completely went away, she did learn how

to manage it well. Wow. I joked to myself that while I was maybe a failed medium, she was an accomplished small. Oh, that's really cute. And I kind of love that you took your mom's like insult insult and made it a nice nice like memory. And made it a nice and made it a nice. You made it nice. Over the course of several years, she would tell me about impending storms and natural disasters, people who were who would soon be pregnant. And if she saw anyone we knew who had messages for us,

our Nana, our grandfather, friends who left too soon, et cetera, et cetera. Nothing terribly scary. Just random info. My younger daughter also developed a limited ability to see a deceased friend visited her room, excuse me, to see. A deceased friend visited her in her room, but by the next, sorry, but by the time the next kiddo in line was born, the trait seemed to have died out of the bloodline. Things had so completely settled down that I never even thought to tell my now husband about

any of it until we were pregnant with my youngest child. Shortly after finding out he was a boy, we were trying to, we were trying out different names. For some reason, it was really nagging at me to name this one after my uncle. The poll was so strong I even dreamed about it. One day, my husband suggested my uncle's name out of the blue. I happily agreed and told him the whole story. I thought it would be a nice way to honor the man

who checked up on us so steadily, and for so many years. So when the time came, that's exactly what we did. I love that. I do too, but oh no. Well please, that may have been a dancing mistake. This is a roller coaster. This is.

From the time my youngest would tuck, oh my God. From the time my youngest could talk, he would say the creepiest things. One time he asked if we could take the train trigger warning to Disney World. Like we did before. Oh. I told him we always drove there and that he had never been on that train. He went on to correct me telling me that of course he had been. The interior was blue and the blanket we had on his seat was blue velvet. Wow. Electricity shot through my body. I remembered that ride. It was an extended family vacation.

Everyone had been there. But it happened when I was four years old. Whoa. That's freaky. I steered him away from the train conversation and told him we would most assuredly be going to Disney, but by car. My son agreed that that would be okay, and then asked if he could ride with another family member like he used to

on the ride down. Oh, shit. Again, this child has never ridden with anyone but us, but sure enough, he perfectly described the brand new olds mobile. We'd taken to Florida with that family member when I was around six years old. Wow.

He eventually dropped it, but later on he asked if he could get new Mickey ears with his name stitched onto them like he used to have. Oh God! Now I already warned you that I'm a Disney adult, so yes, my kid already had several sets of Mickey ears, but they were all themed ears, like R2D2 and Toy Story. None were just regular ears.

He had never had a pair with his name on them because the 21st century is scary as fuck and there are too many weirdos who could use that in photoharm him. I'm not stupid. I listened to more of a podcast y'all. I told him he could get new ears, but that he had never had ones like he had described, and the new ones probably wouldn't be like that either. He rolled his eyes at me and said that he did too, in fact, have a pair with his name on them, and then calmly pointed to a photograph of my Nana and said, back when she was my mom, remember? Whoa!

He said, you were a baby and we all went to Disney World and she said, we should all get ears with our names on them. No, like these. I have no personal knowledge of these ears. However, I do have personal knowledge of photographs of a family vacation to Disney when I was a baby. A vacation, my uncle attended. A vacation where in my Nana bought everyone ears with their names on them so we could take a family portrait with them. I have to assume that this was what my son was referring to. Again, I'm sorry, what? This is wild. That's, it's wild, but it's also so fucking cool.

Oh, it's so cool. Like, I can't imagine that being in that moment, because you're like, oh my god, you are actually reincarnated. You are my child, but like, uncle. You're my child, but my uncle. Other strange things have been my sensibility to identify photos of people who passed long before he was born, random memories that he could not have, and knowledge of events that predate his birth. When my grandfather passed away a few years ago, my son told me not to worry because Pop Pop was hanging out with Joe full-on last name now.

Come again? Joe was my grandfather's best friend. Joe died long before my son was born. I have no photos of Jo, and since I no longer had any relationship with my mother anymore, he would not have seen a picture or heard his name either. My son could not have known about Jo, and yet here we sat in stun silence,

my son's pensive and mine apprehensive. Wow. Another time he asked me to make pasta fajoul. You didn't even have to give me that pronunciation because I fucking love pasta fajoul. Oh, I love pasta fajoul as well. And he asked if she could make it like when he was little.

I never made pasta fajoul y'all. I added the olive oil on the fly. No one in the family did aside from my Nana. When I clarified once again, he said, oh yeah, I meant when I used to be little. Oh my god. The other time when she was my Nana. When I clarified once again, he said, oh yeah, I meant what I used to be. Oh my god. The other time when she was my mom. Wow.

I sadly informed him that the recipe was lost when she passed away. And he calmly informed me that it was in the green box. What the fuck? What green box? I was perplexed. Later on, I mentioned it to my husband who suggested he may have been talking about a green box.

We had recently come across when going through some of my grandfather's belongings. Sure enough, I went downstairs, opened the box, and what did I find? Spoiler alert, I make pasta for you now. That's awesome, and I would love so. I love this. Also, fun fact, I also found coupons from the 1970s and a mail order hardcover cookbook offer for $199. Oh my God.

Ha ha ha, wonder if I could still cash that baby in. And try it. And whom do I have to thank for that? These days, my son does not remember as much as he used to about when he was being raised by my Nana. Whether one chooses to believe that it's true or not is completely up to themselves. I for one, am a believer, make me two.

And I think it gives me a unique perspective on life and death, definitely. I don't claim to know where we go, but I know for a fact that one way or the other, we do go on. On the upshot, at least I know to keep an eye on my son, to keep him from repeating his last life's mistakes. But on the other hand, it's more of a smidge and weird to think that I am currently raising someone who knows more about my childhood than I do. That is very strange. And who is known me longer than I have known him? That's wild.

That's wild statement. And that, my morbid mistresses, is my long-ass story of being a mediocre, I just burped through that I'm so sorry. Oh, you are like, burpy-lurpy. I mean, what else is new? It's my long-ass story of being a mediocre medium who was haunted by my own uncle who was so desperate for a doover that he heated himself into my son's body.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, and in case you were wondering, my sister still has mad skills. Her favorite parlor trick to date is waking up to a roulette table, walking up to a roulette table, walking up to a roulette table, laying an obscene amount of money down and calling it accurately, color and number of like, wow, that's crazy. She doesn't do it often. She doesn't need the money. I think it's just a fun little rush for her. I love her too. Maybe she doesn't

for her friends. Maybe she doesn't for the clown. Fuck, I don't know. Maybe she doesn't for the gram as the young people say, but she't know. Maybe she doesn't for the grandma's, the young and say. But she still got it. Love you both so much. And if you happen to read this on the podcast, thank you so much as well. Love and mush as Morel de Tofomire. As Morel de.

Don't forget to keep an open mind and to keep it weird, but not so weird that take it away, Ash. But not so weird that you ever are mean to your kid like that, because I really hated that part where you got hit with a brush and you should have never gotten hit with a pretty brush either, Like that sucks. But do keep it so weird that your uncle reincarnates into one of your kids' bodies because I think that's really fucking cool. And how awesome to have all those memories and find the positive visual

recipe. That is great. All of that. I love US Moralda. I think you are amazing. That was such a story. That was, that was incredible. And I believe you. I believe it. I believe you. And those stories are like some of my favorite kind. All right, so my next one, because as Mery Elda just really laid the groundwork for a great episode here. Truly. My next one is entitled A Forest Full of Bodies. Oh, yeah.

Haley and Anash, I've attached my 14-point font PDF of a listener tale. It's a weird one, and it's long, what? You said PDF. Because it's not, say say put a foe. It says PDF. It always says but saying. But I know that if you read it, you won't cut it down for time because you're great like that.

Thanks for all you do. And horrified. Let's see. You'll get over it. I know it. Oh my god. Do you care? Do you hear her?

Hi, Elena and Ash. I feel very unqualified to write in because the stories you read on the show are always so well written. But this story is so crazy. I've never heard it covered on anything other than local news, and I think it's right up Y'all's alley. Ooh. My name, you can use it, is Aaron.

Hi, Aaron. I like how you spell it. And I grew up in a small town in Northwest Georgia. Just in case you read this on the show, I feel obligated to say that there are some really nice things about growing up and living in a small town, and that the South isn't a monolith. There are so many good people here, and some of us have chosen to stay so that we can bring out the best parts of our communities and squash the Eki parts. I think that. I traded my original small town for another one when I moved to Alabama

for law school, and I love my people here. Sorry for my tangent, but it makes me sad and a little frustrated when people paint the South with a broad brush and assume we're all intolerant backwards assholes. Well, thank you for painting it another way. Yeah. Anyway, my listener tale is about a backwards asshole. Or at least a seriously unwell man

who lived about 15 minutes from my childhood home. The jury is still out on which one he is because he's never given an answer for why he did what he did, but boy, did he do it? Uh-oh. I was about six or seven in 2002 when the news first broke that almost 350 bodies had been discovered in the woods

in a community so small, it doesn't have its own zip code. But I'm getting ahead of myself. What the fuck? I never heard of this. Neither have I. It all started with a concerned propane delivery driver. He called in his concerns to the County Sheriff's Department after making two separate deliveries to a crematorium in northwest Georgia.

Some deputies went out, but apparently didn't find anything weird. It's unclear what he saw that was alarming, but I've always wondered if it was him who called in the anonymous tip to the EPA in Atlanta in early 2012. Either way, someone called in the tip telling the EPA that something was seriously wrong at this crematorium. After receiving it, the agency set officers out to investigate, and they found some skeletal remains. That was just the beginning. Officers returned to the crematorium after that. This time, they discovered much more than a skull and some other bones. What they found would change the lives of thousands and would rock the community forever. What did they find? 339 bodies decomposing in the woods. Holy shit.

39 bodies decomposing in the woods. Holy shit. What? 339 bodies. The scene was so massive that a federal disaster team was called in, and a portable morgue had to be brought down from Maryland. The team began trying to identify the remains, but the task was impossible in many cases

because so many were in such advanced stages of decomposition of the 339 bodies that were found, 226 were identified. It makes me so sad that there were so many left on identified, but that is incredible that they could get that under 26. It turns out that the crematories owner, Brent Marsh, had been essentially hoarding bodies instead of cremating them. Wow. When families would come to retrieve their loved ones' remains, Brent Marsh had been essentially hoarding bodies instead of cremating them. Why?

When families would come to retrieve their loved ones' remains, he would simply give them an earnful of concrete dust. Oh my God. 113 sets of family and friends will never know if they received an earnful of dust. Oh my God. That's fucked up. Marsh was charged by the state of Georgia

with a 787 separate counts, including abuse of a corpse. If the internet is correct, the county DA even created a new law in order to prosecute him. Marsh pleaded guilty but never offered an explanation. When entering his guilty plea, he said to those of you who may have come here today looking for answers, I cannot give you. No, you definitely can.

You need to give people some kind of fucking answer. I do remember one rumor that he wanted to see how bodies decomposed in different conditions and created his own makeshift body farm. There's like real body farms though. Right. Like you can go to people who have volunteered to do that after death. Exactly. And then it down and have given their consent. Wow. But I don't know how true that is. There were lots of rumors about the situation, including one that his father, from whom he inherited the crematorium, and who also installed septic tanks, put bodies underneath those too. Did people investigate that? It's all even more confusing when you consider that

it would have been easier for Marsh to properly cremate the deceased than it was for him to do what he did. Apparently, he claimed at one point that the crematorium wasn't working, but he was, but it was tested and found to be working fine. And even if it wasn't, proper maintenance would have kept it in good shape. About five years later, Marsch's lawyers claimed that Marsch was suffering from mercury toxicity. They said that the ventilation of the crematory was not working properly,

and he received mercury toxicity from cremating those with mercury fillings in their teeth. What? I don't know if mercury toxicity can make you stage 339 people's bodies on your property, but that explanation seems sus to me. Either way, we've never received an answer about why it happened,

and the friends and families of the 113 unidentified people have never found out if their loved ones were properly cremated. That's so sad. And to think that people had their loved ones cremated there, thought they did. And you don't know if what you have is concrete dust or your loved one.

And if your loved one is possibly one of the ones that just decomposed in the woods somewhere. No, that's so horrific. And to think that like every, because every time you pass by an earn of your loved one, like you think like, oh, like how is that? They're so, yeah, like all like, they're not. And then now every time you're walking past that, you're like, are you there? You're like, are you there?

Yeah. Like is that you in there? Like that gives comfort. That's so fucked up. Several civil suits followed as well. And as part of one of the settlements, all of the buildings on the property were torn down a few years later. Good. As for Marsh, he will be released...

He was released from prison in 2016. What? And still lives in the county somewhere. He will be on probation for 75 years. Which should be longer than he's alive. No, he should have been in jail the rest of his life. He was recently denied an early end to his probation, which put him back in the news.

I scrolled through the comments on one of the news stories and saw person after person commenting about how they still lacked closure, because they still didn't know if the earn they were given contained their loved ones' remains or concrete dust. Oh my God. I don't know how you heal from that, but I hope time is making their grief

a little more manageable. That's how I feel. If you've read this far, thank you. And thanks for telling the whole world know how you heal from that, but I hope time is making their grief a little more manageable. That's how I feel. If you've read this far, thank you, and thanks for telling the whole world about the 113 people who will never know. They deserve to have their story told. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you leave 339 people's bodies in the woods instead of treating them with the respect they deserve.

Love and light, Aaron. Like, what the fuck goes on in some people's brains? I...how are you that evil? I...and to do it that many times and forever long, he did it. And then to say you don't have an answer as to why you did that. And no offer of like, I'm so sorry for what I've done, even though that never helps, but it's like, try it, man. Like, seriously, I'm... I wanna look further into that case.

I'm, I wanna talk about that more, because that's a wild one. There's gotta be more, like, I need to know all about this. Seriously, that's just really heartbreaking to think that there's that many people out there second guessing if they had their work on. I have 13 people who have no idea. And then like if you're sitting there wondering if that's concrete dust, I feel like part of

you would want to like get rid of that urn, but then you'd be like, fuck, what if it's not concrete dust? Yeah. Is there any way to have access to it? There must be a way that you could test it, I would assume. Right. But I don't know how to be on either end and imagine having to go through that process. Yeah.

Oh my. Oh man. What a wild story. Thank you for sending that in there. And that's wild. But yeah, I think you should definitely look more into it. Maybe that's an interesting story. Cover the whole story.

A horrifying case. A horrible, yeah. All right. Wow. My next one is, the time my mom made a ghost listen. And it starts off, hello my kindred experience. Oh, I'm a New England transplant by way of KS and Oregon. Say it how your mom taught you because local dialects

and all, okay, so it's orally. And really, we all know what the fuck you're saying either way. I love you. I literally love you. That's what I say. I don't even know why I've never made that point. Like you guys all know what the fuck we're saying. Well, and also my dad, literally the other day,

we were out to lunch with him. And he was talking about something and he said, Oregon, and I was like, Oregon. I was like, there it is. That's where I keep going. I was like, that's where we got it from. I was like, all right. And he was like, that's how I say.

Yeah. I forget. He had an explanation to us to why he said it that way. Yeah, I don't know. Yeah. Anyways, I've lived in the Boston area for almost 23 years now, so this is my home. I found you too in your underwater era. Actually, I found you about five episodes in, Dan.

I've been listening to other True Crime podcasts. And morbid showed up as a you may also like suggestion. Turns out the algorithm was spot-fucking-on, and I've been listening ever since. My middle one, Liberty. Yes, you can use all the names. Mine is Abby. Hi again. Hi.

But Liberty, who was 15 at the time, and I would often listen to you while I was making dinner, and she would just help or just chill with me. Because this was back when we only got one episode a week, no complaints, we all got to start somewhere, and now you spoil us. Aw. And 15-year-old could totally commit to once a week and hang out.

Sorry, and a 15-year-old could totally commit to once a week hang out with mom in the kitchen. You two have banter that is so familiar to us both. As this is how my narrow spicy offspring, my little sister, and little little me, Tenticanverse. Oh, I love that. Any who, you two and all your new buds, Deb Deb, Mikey, and all the new friends to the pod that have popped in have become family to Libby and me and both of us are so happy for your success and continued

growth. Wow, you're wonderful. That was so sweet. Thank you, Abby. Now on to the meat of it. My family is well gifted in the art of healing and intuitive ways. And because of this, I've had many encounters with spupi and unseen. So I'm really disturbing. So I'm just like, oh, sure, Mr. or Miss Ghosty, I hear you. No, really, I hear them, and my sister sees them. And together, we are the super ghost duo. Sorry, I did mention Neuro Spicy. One track mind is not mine. Now, if I can focus for just long enough, I will tell this tale.

I was about a twinkle in the eye of my parents, meaning I was about three twinkle in the eye of my parents, meaning I was about three years away from being born, one of my favorite stories happened to my family. I loved this one when I was growing up. Well, I loved all the ghost stories my fam had, as well as dinner conversations of my dad's day of work. He was a paramedic and would always have some gory tale,

like when he had a trainee, and they showed up to a call, and the guy was just chilling in his armchair, holding his entire guts because his stitches had popped, and well, it all spilled out. Oh my goodness. That's heinous. But now, but that is not the story for today. Thank you, and I'm honestly glad for that,

because we're eating lunch soon. But okay, it was the early 70s, and my mom and dad had just gotten married and found a home they could afford. The house had originally been a home to a loving couple who had a whole last life in that house. The wife had died in the house for sure out of wing, and the husband could no longer live in the house, so rented it out for a while to anyone who wanted to rent, you know, the 70s of it all. No credit check, no references, and no worries.

The last tenants that occupied the house were utter human trash for many reasons, but I just need one, they mistreated their dogs. Oh, yeah, that's it. That's all I need to know. Yep, hate that. One thing they would let, excuse me, one thing they would do with their dogs was

they would let them defecate and urinate just anywhere. And then these absolute good for nothings would just put a wooden board over said bodily functions. That's so gross. That's more work than cleaning it up. That's more work than taking them outside. Yeah. One thing I never thought to ask and now I must, where the hell are they getting all these boys? Really? After seeing this house, my mom and dad decided this was the house for them because they love to restore just about everything. Healers, we love a project.

I love that. And so the house with all its ick, ick, because no one touched the toxic mess that those tenants left was their first home. Side note, as a real estate broker of over 14 years, I cannot believe this was allowed. But again, the 70s of it all. They began immediately to restore the house by first making it safe to live in, by removing all the poop and potty boards

and ripping out carpets to restore the hardwood. Once it was habitable, they moved in. Now to understand the rest of the story, you will need to have a visual of the layout. There was a basement because all spooky stories need one. First floor and second floor. The first floor was sort of split in half with the kitchen on one half

and living room on the other half and dining room on the front of the house. The kitchen and the living room were separated by the stairway that went to the second floor. There was a door at the bottom of the stairs and it opened up to the kitchen. At the top of the stairs was a small hallway with two bedrooms off of them.

The kitchen also had a door that opened to the basement. Well, it was a small hallway with two bedrooms off of them. The kitchen also had a door that opened to the basement. Well, it was a basement, but not like folks think today. It was one of those with a dirt floor and city walls from the heating system, not a welcoming place for that basement. Okay, my parents move in and begin to tear off the wallpaper, put new wallpaper up, paint, put furniture where they want it, you know, make it their own. My mom says it all started with the living room and putting furniture where they wanted it. Turns out, the ghost like to redecorate and move the furniture around at night to where she wanted it. Yes, my parents were sure it was the dead wife. Oh, so in the morning, my mom, who was now preggers with my older sister, would put them move items back and just

go on with her day. I think the ghost did not like her nonchalant attitude of just putting it back over and over again because the ghost turned it out a notch. The next thing to happen was, remember the door at the bottom of the stairway that opened to the kitchen? Well, that door took to opening, then slamming closed over and over and over again every morning. At what time in the morning you ask? Around 3 a.m. of course. With a swoosh open, a pause like the ghost needed to gain enough energy to slam it closed again

and again. It would last a few minutes and then stop. One time my parents had just repainted the kitchen wall white and the morning after another door slamming fest, they found what looks like a hand, like the whole four fingers in the thumb, drug across the wall, insoot from the basement door,

to the second floor, stairway door. I hate that. That's so creepy. Well, that sounds like, you know who's house. Oh, I hate it. I hate it. With the face. Yes.

Mom and dad kept living there and fixing the house, and it was looking damn fine. My sister had been born, and now the door slamming was starting to really upset my mom, because my newborn baby sister was in the room on the other end of that small hallway, and every time that door at the bottom of the stair slammed, my mom, the badass, would rush down the hallway to save the terrified newborn. The whole. The basement, well, that is a place my mom would not go into, but my dad and my mom's

brother had to fix or build something down there, honestly, can't remember. While down there, they discovered a two by four whole dug into the dirt wall of the basement. And they found it because while down there working, they noticed a breeze that came from that direction. Basement should not have breezes, just saying. No, they should not. This is a no pole. That is a no pole. And they should have left it alone, but they didn't.

They opened it because the dirt hole had a cover and my dad owned the house and the cover now. He owned that cover now. Exactly. So yeah, open it. No pole should never be opened. And found what they assumed was the previous owner's son, Shionna.

Military medals. That's really cool. That's wild. Because of the time the conflict or war they were associated with. Well, the moving furniture started to do some new things after this. The kitchen table chairs would be stacked in inhuman ways in the morning. It was now really upsetting my parents and my mom decided it was her house and this needed to stop.

Tell ya. So she had a conversation with the wife that died in the house. She said, look, I know this was your house and you must have loved it. But we are now the owners. We love this house and are just trying to fix it after all the abuse from the previous people that lived here.

You need to understand that the door slamming and the furniture moving are scaring us. We want to stay here and continue to take care of the house, but won't be able to if you do not stop scaring us. What a badass. And that's such a nice way of saying it. I know this was your house, and you loved it too. And we love it too.

And she's probably pissed at the previous owners that completely desecrated that house. So she thinks they're just gonna do the same thing exactly. She's being like we want to fix what they did Like don't want to be like them now This I suppose could have backfired but the ghost listened and my mom said the energy of the house Immediately lifted and it actually looked brighter in the house Wow, did the ghosty stuff stop? No, but it was different. Now my mom would hear my sister wake and cry not because the door was slamming, but just normal baby things.

Just baby. She would get up to comfort her to find the cradle rocking on its own with my sister in it on so many occasions. Oh my goodness. Sometimes she would wake up just as mothers do and go check on my sister to find her sleeping soundly, but the rocking chair in the garden just got chills.

I have chills all over. It would be rhythmically rocking. Like there was someone watching over my sister sleeping. Oh my God. That would scare the shit out of me. I'm not gonna lie. But I love it so much, especially if it's like a good feeling.

But it's beautiful, yeah. My mom always thought that the woman who once lived in the house who raised her family there and had her death there was just trying to protect the house as it had been so disrespected before, definitely. Once my mom told this woman that my parents just wanted the same opportunity for our family in that house and that my mom would love and protect this woman and protect the house. This woman became an ally and appeared to love my family.

Oh my God, I love this. I mean, how many people can say they had a ghost grandma? I love that! But that's what she became to my family. Eventually, my dad had a job opportunity to relocate and so they left the house and my ghost Jima behind all before I was born. Bummer, I know. You're the bummer.

Aw, but thanks for reading my story. And next time I will tell the story about the time I saw what I now think was an angel, but what my six-year-old organized religion saturated brain thought was a fire demon, a diamond in my grandparents' basement. And don't forget to keep it so weird, but, excuse me. And don't forget to keep it so weird, but, uh, excuse me, and don't forget to keep it so weird that you tell the ghost to stop scaring you

and make a new supernatural family member. I love that so much. That's beautiful. Like, I love that so much. That was a delightful tale. It really was. Wow. Dang.

I would almost say leave it on that, but I have one more. And I love the subject line of this one. I was gonna say in the subject line is great. You can't leave this one hanging. Oh, but seriously, thank you for that. That was amazing. I know, I love that. And your mom sounds like a badass.

I know, I love it. And you're so smart. We needed a good mom story after that one. Yeah, right? So this one is entitled, The Night My Husband became a Scooby-Doo villain. Yeah. Which is always a welcome thing.

Hey, weirdos, I've got a tale for you about the night that my husband was possessed by a Scooby-Doo ghoul during an attempted break in. I'll attach the story and also a super creepy photo. Much love to you, ladies. Hope to hear this on the podcast one day. Here it is. Oh, my goodness.

Oh, that's a fucking terrifying photo. Oh, my goodness. What is this? You sounded like a TikTok son. It's like, oh, my goodness. Oh, my damn. Oh, goodness, what is this? You sounded like a TikTok song that's like, oh my goodness, oh my damn. Oh, I hate this, okay. I don't like this at all. Hey weirdos, I'd love nothing more than to hear you guys

say my name, but since I don't actually know where in the world the intruder who stars in the story is, oh my, I hate that. I figured it would probably be best to change mine and my husband's name for the sake of the story. That is smart. Yes. You can call me Michelle.

Michelle. Like, oh. I call my husband Frank because I'm pretty sure he'd hate it and that's hilarious to me. Frank's a tape. I Frank. I found your podcast a couple months ago and now it's my current binge.

I'm one of those crazy people that can only listen to shit in order. So I'm furiously consuming your podcast practically the entire day so that I can catch up. Damn, that's gonna do something to you. I. So I'm furiously consuming your podcast practically the entire day so that I can catch up. Damn. I'm going to do something to you. I know. I'm sorry.

Somehow keeping an earbud in one year all day to listen to you ladies talk about murder and or spoopy shit. Keeps me sane while I'm doing my day to day mom stuff. My husband is terrified of me laughing my ass off. We relate to that sentiment. Let's dive into it. I feel compelled to tell you to feel free to trim down as much as you would like, but I know you ladies prefer to get all the tea.

So I guess just hold on to your butts because I tend to be long-winded. I feel that too. It's a problem that I have absolutely no intention of working on me neither. I'm a stay-at-home mom in Northern Minnesota. My husband is in construction and is often on the road during the week. Boo! I didn't say that she did. However, on the night in question, he and his partner made a last minute change of plans and said, screw hotels, we'll stick, we'll, we're sick of them. Let's drive the three hours home to see our families for even just a little bit. This was obviously a break from their norm. So this person may have been watching your house. The night that we got

the rudest fucking awakening ever was in September of 2021. Being men. Yeah, being Minnesota, there was already a chill in the air, leaves changing and falling. You know, that good shit we were, it was like, hell yeah. This night, however, it was warmer than it had been lately. My ass was helt or sweltering, and it was making me cranky as fuck.

Sorry, my man, I know you just drove all those extra miles to see me tonight, but don't fucking touch me. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. So I got up to open up one of our bedroom windows. No. The one on my husband's side of the bed, and that is perpendicular to our garage door outside. I know, I know, fresh air. Fresh air.

For dead people. Anyway, I only had the window cracked a few inches, but I also had the blinds up a bit too, because although I love my cats down to the very depths of my soul, those dicks will 100% shred the blinds trying to sit in the open window. Wow, yup. And around 4.15 am, I was awoken by a banging sound. I had figured it must have been either the chipmunks that live in our garage,

despite our best live trapping and relocation efforts, or a squirrel. I had been facing away from the window, but I rolled over and amidst my sleepy haze, my brain started ringing all sorts of alarm bells. It took me a hot moment, but suddenly my brain finally snapped to it, and I realized that there was a fucking man at our window.

Oh my God. Arm leaning against the window, just peering in, looking like this is the most normal fucking thing for a person to be doing right before the butt crack of dawn. Oh my God. Man, there's a man, Frank, we're the words that came out of my mouth as I'm staring at the man just chilling, baseball cat backwards and everything.

I start smacking the shit out of my husband to try to wake him up. When he awoke and saw this motherfucker just staring at us, my dear, sweet beloved husband tried to muster up a loud and threatening voice. Oh no. Guys, he really did genuinely try. No. I gotta give him points for the effort. But between the confusion of being woken up

in such a startling manner, brain too sleepy to even fully possess what he's looking at, and his voice catching in his throat, you know, because he's been unconscious for the last eight hours. Oh no. What came out of his mouth was not my husband's voice at all. I swear on my mother's grave, the voice that exited my husband sounded exactly

like an old school scoping to. Oh, no. Specifically, those green ghost bitches with the chains. I know exactly what you're talking about. In the episode, a night of fright is no delight. I feel like we should pause and listen to it because she sent us the ring video and she did not say we could share it.

That's why I'm not gonna play it here. We should listen to it and react. We need to. What is that? Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. He's literally like, who clip of this gleece. The night of friend is no delight.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Hey. Oh man, that was amazing. And you know what? You could tell one, he was woke out of Dead Sea. Two, no one wants to see a person at their window. Of course not.

And he's trying to protect you. So he's just like, oh, God, I'm scared. And this is so scary. You can see the man just leaning up against their window. And when her husband is like, what are you all? He doesn't even move. It's so, I'll show it to you in the front. That's really scary.

So there I am now waking up to be terrified by the man fucking watching us sleep, and I hear, what are you doing? Ha ha ha ha ha. And I, and I about shit my pants because I thought the man was yelling at us. Like what the fuck do you mean, dude? I'm trying to sleep.

So no freak. So no freak is fumbling with the combination to the lock box. He keeps next to his side of the bed that contains his firearm. And I'm immediately dialing 911. Now you'd think this shit stand would try to book it after being called out, right? Wrong.

He didn't even flip. The Nimrod stays at our bedroom window and tries to break into our garage door that is right next to it. He's kicking, pounding, and trying to wrestle the padlock off the door with apparently just his bare hands. He is tapped.

Like, that's something's going on there. It's scary, too, because he looks like a normal dude. That's scary. He has, like, a windbreaker and khakis on anybody Who's doing that after being caught? Yeah, something's wrong and like knowing that you're calling 911 Obviously, he's super brilliant and well-thought-out plan doesn't work I'm on the phone with a 911 operator giving them our address while Frank cannot get the fucking lockbox Combination to work when dude starts to walk back down our driveway

I'm assuming that Einstein here has finally decided to hoof it. So I tell the operator that I'll go peek out our living on Mondo so I can tell them which direction he's headed so they can hopefully nab the bastard. Now I'm always pretty pretty, now I've always been pretty proud of myself for the fact that every time I've ever needed to call 911, I've been super level headed and calm on the outside despite being a, despite being in a panic on the inside. But when I pulled back that curtain to see which way they went down the sidewalk, this absolute, to see which way down the sidewalk,

this absolute chrome one, I all but ship myself because he was standing directly outside the window peering in. Our faces were inches from each other. Oh my god. With only a pane of glass in between. Did you shart? I profusely apologize to that poor 911 operator

before they disconnected, because the scream that exited my body by its own free will will surely must have shattered their eardrum. Whoops. I mean, I would have done the exact same thing, though. Back to my Scooby-Doo ghoul of Ospin. The one I had on.

By the time he has finally gotten that damn lock box open and has his firearm out, he's now rushing out to the living room and Sir Creep's a lot has made his way to the front door. What? I hear the storm door creak as he opens it and then the door handle starts rattling. Q the highest amount of dread I've ever felt yet tonight, because now I am standing in our living room wondering if our old ass door that is difficult to latch, thus easy to open,

was double checked before we went to bed that night. It's part of my bedtime routine to check all doors and windows, so I do it without even thinking about it. However, the flip side of that is now I can't remember whether it was actually done or not. I have done that a million times that I know you have too. Oh, Frank runs to the front door and flips on the entryway light. My mind is thinking, yo, what the fuck, Frank? I don't want him to see us.

But then I see how he's trying to scare away num-nuts. He holds his firearm up to the small window to the front door and aims it directly at the man's face. There is no way he doesn't see what that he is literally staring down the barrel of a gun. My husband was then released by the Scooby Doo spirit that possessed his vocal cords and yelled out in a calm but firm voice,

sir, I will shoot you where you stand if you enter this house. This next part, side note. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Side note. As I'm writing this, I'm realizing what a turn on it is for me to have my husband protect our family. Hot damn.

Hahaha. Anyways, I'm in it. I go, you were like, don't touch me now. You're like, hey, fuck. They're like, well shit, Frank. Hahaha. That was really hot. Anyways, the 9-1-1 operators now yelling in my ear to tell my husband to put the firearm away.

I absolutely do not have any weapons out the police are on their way. I respect you doing your job, 9-1-1 operator, but 1,000% hell nah. We have no idea what this man wants. One type of weapon he might have on him. And what his intentions are for trying to enter our home after watching a sling.

Exactly. And being caught. And as you see him, isn't there like a standard ground law? In certain places, yeah. Damn. Fuck that, fuck him. In that moment,

we didn't give a fuck if Minnesota is not a standard ground state. He was not crossing the threshold into our home where three beautiful babies were sleeping blissfully unaware upstairs. Oh my God. I don't blame you at all. I would 100% kill someone where they're stood.

We just shoot for the kneecap. Yes. So are you there? Despite Frank's serious warning, stupid face here is still rattling the door knob, which means he is off like into outer space. Like something bad is going to happen if he comes in your house. Look at this next part.

Pushing and banging on the door. Frank repeats it. This fucker straight up looks my husband dead ass in the eye and says back, so do it. Nah, you won't. I fucking dare you. Bro, there is a real life literal actual gun in your face. Probs not the best time to go throwing out dares, huh? Thankfully, during this absolutely supercharged intense moment,

multiple police cars arrive coming in hot. The 911 operator gets their wish as soon as we see the lights. And Frank unloads his fire alarm and returns it to his lock box. When our perp notices the lights, he goes flying towards the backyard. Guys, it was straight up like a scene from any cop show ever watching him be taken down. He tried to hop our side fence into the neighbor's yard and this huge officer just grabs him mid-hop and slams him to the ground I call it he got up fighting though and in the end it took about six officers to wrestle him into the cups and drag him kicking and

Screaming into the car. Can you imagine what this man would have done the whole time he was yelling you can't just arrest me I didn't do shit. You can't cuff me man. I'm just standing here. No, you're trying to actively break into my home. Yeah, ring cameras determined that that was a lie, my dude. Right. Once it was a reasonable time of day, I spoke to a detective to get a little more info on what the flying fuck just happened. And Snaggin' Email address to send our ring camera footage to.

Turns out this ass hat lives two blocks from us. Stop. He tested, I'm not shocked. He tested positive for drugs. Although what drugs in particular were not shared with me, he just seemed so unhinged, like, and to fight the officers like that. And the fact that there were six people

who had to hold them down, like, something was off here. Yeah, definitely. Once he came down a bit, he told officers that he was just at the wrong house. No. Okay, sure. I call BS on that, but cool, cool, cool. Makes sense.

I also behave this exact same way when trying to enter my own home. I mean, I guess because of the drugs, it's definitely possible. But I can't shake the fact that my husband was not supposed to be home that night. So scary. I was, it was very out of the norm.

And unfortunately, it wouldn't have been hard to figure that out. I can't let my mind go there too much, though. I don't even want to imagine what could have happened that night had the kids and I been alone. Oh, my God. Since then, I keep my own fire. I'm close to the side of the bed at night.

I do. I very smart. I really mean you at all. He faced gross demeanor, trespassing, and resisting arrest charges and a couple other mistaminers. He was already on probation after causing a car accident, well the influence and he was still let on on bail. I was under the impression that that would have been a go directly to jail do not pass go moment but what else. The county victims advocate we were assigned to was supposed to keep us informed on his legal proceedings but basically

ended up ghosting us. Wow. Wow. I don't know what went on but we were never able to get into contact with anyone, and I could not, for the life of me, find anything online about how all that went down. Love that for me. That's so fucked up that they just really fucked up. Literally no answers. Where's the trauma that you had to deal with? And she's like, does this man still live two blocks from me?

Yeah, where is he? The detective said he was given a strong warning to stay away from us. Oh, that'll do it. Oh, okay. Gee, thanks. But it would have been highly unlikely that he would have been granted a restraining order since we did not actually know him or have any other previous issues with him. Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.

It's wild to me that the kid, it's always the cause of like, well, did they hurt you physically? Like did they break into your house and like try to murder you? Well, sorry, we can't stop him from doing that again until he tries to kill you or get like we can't. Thanks to being raised by a medium key doomsday prepper for a proper father. Although I'd say he's more like the human equivalent of a slimy piece of wilted floppy celery. Oh, no.

I've been described by multiple therapists as very hypervigilant and at times maybe even a little paranoid. Let's just say that this did not aid in trying to overcome and relax a bit. I still can't look out that particular bedroom window after it gets dark and bills be damned we just turn the AC on at night if it's a bit warm. Good. Which makes me sad because if there's one thing I love it's a nice cool fresh breeze. I also love that and it is sad that you don't have that. But yeah, well that more safe. Yeah well that's my story about the night my husband turned into a Scooby-Doo villain.

I'll attach the most bone-chilling photo of this dingleberry looking into our window and a brief clip of Frank's iconic killing. I'm so happy that you at least have that. Thank you. No, yeah. Feel free to play it on the podcast if this story makes the cut. All right. All right.

We will play it. Do we want to play it now? Do you want to finish on the big of that play ahead? I didn't read that play ahead, so I didn't want to do it. I'm considering turning it into his ringtone without telling him, of course. Please do so. I have so many other stories I would love to send in.

Like the ghost I saw in a haunted as fuck Tavern, I once worked in an eerily wholesome message from the grave. I received from a high school boyfriend years after he passed. Oh, super weird glitch in the Matrix, I experienced involving Burke King. Or the ghost light in my house. Let me know if any of those actually sound interesting because I'm sure you get absolutely flooded

with those center tails, send them all in. It's sent all of those in one email. Immediately. Just multiple puttophus. I'll let you take it from here, Ash. Keep it weird, but not so weird that. You travel to somebody's house and you fucking stare at them while they're sleeping

and then you threaten them to shoot you and be like, ah, we should just play the clip. But not so weird that. Hold on, I got a download it again. Keep it weird. But not so weird. But not so weird that. Oh, you want it?

Hey. What do you want? Hey. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. You guys did not disappoint. Thank you so much for sending all of those in Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. We're still gonna do him once a month and they are very beloved for us. They're the most beloved. But yeah guys, we love you. We hope you're listening and we hope you keep it weird. But that's so weird as any of the Craig Cray people in this set of tales. And not so weird, not. Hey! Hey, Prime Members! You can listen to Morvid, Early, and Add Free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today, or you can listen Add Free with Wondery Plus and Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.