Morbid - Episode 604: Listener Tales 90

Episode Date: September 26, 2024

Weirdos! Today's episode is brought TO you, BY you, For you, FROM you, and ALLLLL about you! It's Listener Tales 90! Today we have a great batch of tales submitted by YOU! We have ghost cats, we have children dropping in to say 'hieeeeeee' BEFORE their birth, we have ghosty grandfathers playing with the grandson they never met, and we have Kitty's tale which will leave you with tears in your eyes!If you’ve got a listener tale please send it on over to [e-mail] with “Listener Tales” somewhere in the subject line :)See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to Morbid early and ad free. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple podcasts. You're listening to a Morbid Network podcast. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it.

I'm your host, Brandon Jinx Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, weirdos, I'm Ash. And I'm Elena. And this is Morbid! Morbid in the late late morning. It's true and it's a special Morbid because it's listener tale.

Which means it's brought to you by you for you from you and all about you. I noticed a blister on my foot while I said that. And she made a weird face. It's do you see what's going on with my foot right now? Yeah, you've got a lot going on. I could never sell feet pics. Oh my god. Not that I want to.

Not that I will, but. Not that I will. Be careful. Get your minds out of the gutter. Careful of that. I've been doing this for like all day. And you kick it over daily. No, I learned how to do little kicks.

Little kicks. Little footies. It's like when you learn how to swim. We have Ottomans, like we both have the same one, which you never use. You never use the footstool for your foot. No, I use it as a desk. Yeah, fuck that.

I use my footstool for my feetsies. Love to talk about feet today on the podcast. But usually I tip mine over because I rock it around. Yeah, Ash just kicks it over randomly at random times. It's very loud. Whenever I do it, Alina always goes, ah! Because he usually knocks things over. It's a big deal.

There's something on me. But it's listener tale, and Ash is gonna continue picking at her feet. I'm not picking at my feet, there was something on me. But it's Listener Tail and Ash is going to continue picking at her feet. I'm not picking at my feet. There was something on my toe. God. And yeah, it's Listener Tail. I don't think we have a theme for this one.

I think it's just like a mishmash bagash. Like Oshkosh bagash. Exactly. But mishmash bagash. They're overall slayed and so will this Listener Tale. There you go. Let's start it off, brother. Are you ready?

All right. It's Listener Tales. I heard you like cat ghosts. I do. I mean, yeah. I prefer the living cats, but if all I can get is a ghost cat, then yeah. And if I'm going to get a ghost, a cat might be kind of cool. That's very true.

I agree. All right. Let me open this bad Larry up. All right. This is from Chris Chapman and they say, yes, you can use my name or any other names in this story, but especially the pet names because they are asterisk amazing asterisk. Oh, I'm excited to hear your pet names. I'm excited too.

Hey, Ash Elena and the rest of the podcast crew. Obviously I love you guys and your show. I love the way you add levity and humor to each case, the way that you tell us about the victims so that we can almost get to know them, and the way you insult the villains that take them from this world too soon. Thank you for appreciating that.

Thank you. Also, y'all are snarky AF and I'm here for it. Yeah, we are. I'm glad you're here for it. I appreciate you for taking the time to read this, even if it doesn't make it to the show. Well, guess what, Chris? It's on the show. Chris!

Guess what, Auntie Chris? It's me, Todd Cranes, and you're on the show. There you go. I have a lot of stories that I could share, but most of them are fairly traumatic, and I would much rather share one that might bring someone some comfort or make them smile. Although I have some stories about my dog befriending the ghost that lived in our apartment, this one is about a ghost cat. This is a pretty heartwarming story, but I'm getting ahead of myself. We want the other ones too. Yeah. For context, I said context, so weird, didn't I? For context. Context. I am coming from the evangelical to witchcraft pipeline. Hello, religious trauma. What a pipeline. That is a pipeline indeed. And my mother and grandmother on her side have always been abusive.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. And I'm no longer in contact with either of them. Good for you. Good. Their loss. However, this grandmother says she's a witch and has always said that I was as well and that we come from a long line of witches. She would say this with a level of sincerity she rarely ever showed anyone, and I've always taken this to heart.

She's also a pathological liar, so although the words she said and the levity in which she said them were convincing, I always held these statements loosely. I'm obsessed with your realness. I am too. You're just like, let's be honest though, she was a pathological liar. She was a real one, but also a pathological liar. My dad's mother I call Nana, and she is everything that is right in the world.

There are no witches on her side of the family, but Nana and her house were always full of love. Aw, Nana. I love that. Before I was born, she had adopted two kittens. One she named Peggy Sue. Peggy Sue. After a song that was popular when she was young,

and the other, Leeroy. Shut up. Leeroy and Peggy Sue obsessed Peggy Sue was a smart protective and sassy calico who would bite someone if they deserved it such as being racist or homophobic Good for Peggy Sue. Also, I think I know what song you're I think I do too Peggy Sue Peggy Sue Is that the who is it by? I don't know. That's going to bother me.

It's not a Buddy Holly song. Could be. That's ghost. Imagine that. Imagine that ghost was just playing. While we're talking about ghosts, topical. Look at that. Oh, it is Buddy Holly.

What? Look at me, everybody. Check you out. I only remembered that because my youngest for a time when she was little would only be soothed by playing Buddy Holly songs. Especially the, every day. It's getting closer. Oh, she loved that.

That was a banger. So she had great music taste from the start. So Peggy Sue, I love it. Now Leroy was not the brightest cat, but he was big and soft and full of love. And when I was a kid, I would find him where he was napping and lay my head on his big stomach as if he were a pillow. If he minded me, he never let me know. And I'm not sure he would have even known how to bite someone. Leroy was, and his spirit still is, a big softie. I love Leroy. I love him forever. The fact that you could just lay on him like a pillow. You just said, alright.

Oh, that's Leroy. Everybody pour one out for Leroy. Truly. These cats lived happy and charmed lives, having their every need and desire met until they died in their sleep peacefully at a very old age. I was 18 and Leroy was 19 when he died. And Peggy Sue lived to be about 21. Wow.

I was about 20 years old. Their deaths were very hard for me, not only because I loved them so much, but I had never known life without them. I know that always makes me so sad. I know. That's how the girls fought with Bubba. Yeah, exactly. Although I knew it was naive even then, some part of me had always thought that no matter

what, I would always have Leroy and Peggy Sue. Something tells me you always will have Peggy Sue and Leroy. Yeah, and I don't think that's naive. No, not at all. Fast forward about a decade and some change. My husband, our dog, and I buy a house. His full name is Ozzie Pawsborn. Ozzie Pawsborn. You read that right.

This is, I'm not, you guys are doing it right. Your whole family is doing pet names right. Ozzie Pawsborn. Ozzie Pawsborn. Forever. Oh my God, I love it. We named him after the iconic singer because he once snatched a wig right off my husband's grandmother's head and ran around their house with it. And if that's not the crazy train, I don't know what is. Ozzy mopes around the house, presumably missing the apartment ghost and doesn't act in any way

like this new to us and yet very old house is haunted. We take this as a good sign and go on about our lives. Now is a good time to mention that I'm a chronically ill girlie, I'm sorry, and that I live in constant pain, I'm even sorry. I still work and I muddle through okay, but about a year into the house and this pain has increased to nearly unbearable amounts. I feel like my organs are being ripped apart and some days I can barely stand. The pain gets worse and my doctor has no idea what to do with me. That's awful. It's so scary too. I drink more water and some pain relieving

tea and it helps but never for long. I start going to bed the moment I get home from work and feel the familiar weight of my dog snuggling beside me to give me comfort. My husband works nights and soon after he leaves I feel a cat jump on the bed and lay right down next to my dog. Stop. We don't have a cat, but honestly at this point I'm so out of it I don't even question it or open my eyes. But this feeling of love and comfort radiates over me. Oh my god is this Leroy? I think it could be.

I feel like it's Leroy. Don't look a gift horse or a gift cat in the mouth, am I right? This begins to happen every night. Ozzy sometimes shuffles around to accommodate the cat, making room for him. Again, we do not have a cat, as my husband is very allergic. My first thought is that maybe there was a cat that had lived here before, and some part of his energy is still about the house. But that doesn't seem quite right.

I've often heard that it's unusual for animals to leave ghosts behind. Not to mention, this cat feels familiar. I feel like it's Leroy. After a few weeks of this, someone asked me if I had a cat growing up, and immediately I think of my sweet Nana's sweetest cat, Leroy. I tell him thank you for visiting me and he ignores me except for his big Texas cat body next to my legs or my abdomen providing the warmth and comfort that no ordinary ghost can. That's so precious. I love it. It's such a different feeling. I know. Eventually I

find out that I need surgery. All the scar tissue in my abdomen and uterus is causing problems and if left alone could become cancer. This should be terrifying, but at this point I just want to be put out of my misery. I'm sorry. I have the surgery, five scars, and the surgeon notices something else. My bladder is covered in a cyst-like tissue. This is an incredibly painful issue called interstitial cystitis. Alright, I'm going to let Google say it because I am bad at saying it. Interstitial cystitis. I think I might have been right. You were right. Alright, well I'm sorry that you found out you have that.

It's not deadly, but it is a huge pain in the organs is what they wrote. Leroy and Ozzie comfort me every day of the three weeks that it takes me to heal. My husband does not see or sense Leroy at all, even though he's taken off work to baby me while I recover. Once I'm healed up for surgery, I tell Leroy at all, even though he's taken off work to baby me while I recover. Once I'm healed up for surgery, I tell Leroy, thank you again, and I burn some catnip for his spirit to enjoy. My husband, somehow still a skeptic, laughs at me, but then once the catnip is burned, something falls off a shelf in the room I had been in as if a cat had knocked it off. I haven't sensed Leroy again, and Ozzy hasn't made any space for any ghost

cats in a long time, but it's very comforting to know that I was right all those years ago when I thought I would never be without Leroy and Peggy Sue. I'm sure she's been around a time or two giving me strength and sass. Somehow I just know that Leroy will be back should I need that comfort and warmth again. I may not be able to rest my head on his belly now, but should I need him, he will be back snuggling me and napping with me. I'm obsessed with Leroy. I love it. I love him.

Keep it weird and definitely keep it so weird that when your organs hurt, you are haunted by the cat of your childhood. And that reminds you that you are not alone and the spirit of love always continues. My God, the spirit of your cat from your childhood. I love it. That is beautiful. I love it so much. And I hope you're feeling a little bit better after your surgery.

Damn, I seriously, I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, but Leroy knew that you needed like comfort. Yeah. And that time, like he was like, you're not feeling that great. And then when surgery came, he was like, I'll help you through this. And then you thanked him with catnip, which is beautiful. Yeah. And he knocked something off a shelf to show you that he appreciated it. And that's cats. And that's cats. And that's on cats. that's cats. And that's on cats. There's cats in the next Listener Tale too, and they're so cute.

Oh my god, there's more cats. And there's dogs. And there's doges. Oh my god, dogs and cats and babies. Oh my god. I'm obsessed. He gave us the trifecta of cute. Hold on, I'm putting this in a doc so I can read it because old eyes McGee over here.

Old eyes McGee. My name is old eyes McGee. Old eyes McGee over here. All right. So let us see. I'm making sure. Okay. I can use your name.

So this one is called, I was just going to go right in and read it. I'm fucking wreck. Just raw dogging the tail. Just raw dogging the listener tale. This one is my aunt picked up a hitchhiking. Nope. My aunt picked up a hitchhiking murderer and didn't get yeeted a listener tale. That's a survivor story.

I love that. I also love when you guys will put a very dramatic story, like headline, and then you'll say a listener tale. It's always like a novel. I like it. A true story. It makes me laugh. So it says, Hey, weirdos and crew, my name is Sam and just let me give you all your flowers. Thank you for making a safe victim conscious podcast sprinkled with your beautiful voices,

dark humor and spookiness. Thank you. I started listening a few years ago and got my man to start listening. I always love when that happens. I do too. Now we lovingly refer to you as the girls. I love that. I love it. We've bonded over y'all and often find ourselves saying, I think the girls covered this one

when watching or listening to other True Grumps shows. Amazing. I love that we're the girls. Like that's it. I love it. The girls. If we're in the car, y'all are there with us. If I'm making dinner with my son, you're enthralling us both as he jumps along excitingly in his bouncer.

Oh, so thank you for being an unintentional building block in our own spooky households. You betcha. That just made me so happy. Thank you for allowing us to be. Like damn, also your son is so fucking cute. I can't even handle it. As a fellow paranormal magnet, I have many, many ghost stories, but I don't have many true crime stories. That's probably great.

Yeah, that's probably a better thing. I would rather have those stories than true crime stories, like in my personal life. Yeah, same. Then one came to mind. It didn't happen to me, but to my great aunt. I asked her permission to share this, her story, but she requested her name and the name of the city not be mentioned just in case this guy gets out. I'll refer to her as Auntie and the perp as the man. I think that's a safe way to refer to them. This happened in a riverfront desert community on the border of California and Arizona on

the Colorado River. Auntie lived on the California side. Her backyard was literally the Colorado River and Arizona on the other side of the bank. That's wild. Her house was on the California side. Her backyard was literally the Colorado River and Arizona on the other side of the bank. That's wild. That is wild. Her house was on the outside of the town. Normally took about 15 to 20 minutes just to drive back to the main highway that cuts right through the middle of town. Between her house and town, there's nothing but desert, irrigation, canals and farmland.

It's a very long, hot walk back to town from where she's located. I would die in that scenario. Just that. I don't need true crime to happen in that scenario. I would just die from the weather. I just really hate being hot. Me too. I just really don't like it.

First, my aunt. She was in her early sixties when this happened. A short, older, tanned Italian auntie who's always laughing loudly with her sisters and always sporting her gold rings. Oh, queen. Love her already. Italian auntie who's always laughing loudly with her sisters and always sporting her gold rings. Oh, queen. Love her already. Auntie was leaving her house one day and saw a swarm of police cars at the end of her street

at a local campground, but didn't think too much of it. As she headed down towards town, she saw a man walking down the road headed the same way she was driving. Here's our guy. Always the loving, empathetic human being she is, she pulled over, asked the man where he was headed, and he said he was trying to get to the Arizona side so he could hitchhike to another town further north. And since it wasn't that far out of the way, she offered to give him a lift to that side

of the river as she was headed in that direction. And at this point, our Sam has three red flags on either side of ma'am. And I agree, ma'am. Her town was a common stopping place for hitchhikers. So him telling her this wasn't too weird. And he seemed pretty clean and normal. Something in the back of her mind kept telling her it was to get a really good look at the man's face.

So she made sure to memorize it and what he was wearing smart lady. Yeah. Auntie drove with the man and his backpack in the front seat no less and she wrote the chef's face palm emoji over the river to an area hitchhikers frequented so he could keep moving on. He told her his name, quote unquote, they chatted and it was an uneventful ride. She crossed state lines, dropped him off, wished him luck and thought nothing of it. Insert SpongeBob narrator voice. I do know this one. One day later.

Wow. I'm so impressed. Because I love that narrator voice. She's a SpongeBob guirly. Auntie's neighbor called her and told her she had missed all the excitement at the campground the day before. Confused, she asked what happened. Her neighbor told her that someone had murdered an elderly woman and her son who was in his fifties and that the police were looking for a man fitting, you guessed it, the man's description. Damn.

Auntie, in limitless horror, called the police and told them that she had basically just helped this man cross straight lines. Like, damn. I mean, did you just being like, so I'm a nice person and I might have got this person out of dodge and didn't mean to. Hello 911. I fucked up. Oops. She basically helped this man cross state lines and evade capture. She was terrified that she would be arrested for aiding a literal murderer escape custody, but thankfully she was not and gave the police all the information she had. The man was caught shortly after. Yes, she had to testify in court in front of him. Oh, that's scary. I don't like that they made her do that. My uncle, RIP, aw, RIP your uncle, who was a prison guard turned bailiff accompanied her and sat right behind the man in court

just in case he tried to attack my aunt. Wow. That's a real one. He was like, I will fuck you up. He said, try it motherfucker. He didn't. And my uncle also avoided going to jail. Good.

The man was tried, convicted, and will be eligible for parole in 2026. I'll back off my goosebumps. I don't like that at all. ["The Little Mermaid"] How much do you think you're paying in subscriptions every month? The answer is probably more than you think. Over 74% of people have subscriptions that they've forgotten about. Uh, I definitely did.

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and has saved a total of $500 million in cancelled subscriptions, saving members up to $740 a year when using all of the app's features. Stop wasting money on things you don't use. Cancel your unwanted subscriptions by going to rocketmoney.com slash morbid. That's rocketmoney.com slash morbid. rocketmoney.com slash morbid. I don't know about you, but I've got some bad habits I want to shrug off. Heck, we all have bad habits that we're trying to shake off. Even though I'm not doing, you know, any shady stuff like some of the people we talk about on the podcast, it's always good to make a move toward good habits. Let me tell you about this new alternative to smoking and vaping called flavored air. Our sponsor, Fume, has

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and you can be the next success story. For a limited time, use my code morbid to get a free gift with your journey pack. Head to tryfume.com. That's tryfum.com and use code morbid to get a free gift with your order today. He could have easily overtaken my sweet cancer ass kicking motorcycle riding jet ski riding pontoon driving on if he wanted to. She's the bad ass. I'm obsessed. I want to hang out with her.

Same. Like fuck. Let's go on a pontoon boat. Hello? Let's go. He could have stolen her jewelry and hurt or killed her. That is very true. She thanks the angels in her backseat for watching over her and keeping her safe.

Also for the voice in her head telling her to memorize everything about this man so she could help law enforcement. Yeah. Thank goodness she did. Intuition. Yeah. Let's walk through the red flag, shall we? Red flag one, picking up a stranger in the middle of nowhere.

That's it. That's the red flag, the whole flag. We're grateful she came out unscathed and now in Dars eternal, what the fuck were you thinking comments from our family to this day. Bonus story, auntie and I were on the phone one day and she stopped me saying, hold on a second, Sammy. And I could hear her talking to someone in the background about motorcycles and rides she's taken over the years.

She's been all over the US and Canada on her bike with my uncle. She absolutely had her own bike. She was not about to sit bitch to anyone. Obsessed. And she loved every second of it. So I sat and waited, Eve strapping bits and pieces amongst her laughing and asking questions. Almost 10 minutes later, she comes back and says, sorry, babe, I had to talk to this guy at the stop sign.

I asked her why she hadn't learned her lesson from her helping a convict escape. Her response, Sammy, he's riding a beautiful bike and he's got one arm. How could I not talk to him? You know what? Fair enough. Fair, so fair. And that sums up my beautiful aunt in a nutshell. Wilds, big hearted, wants to talk to everyone.

Trait that runs in the family that I did not inherit. I won't apologize for the length. I know you won't let me. I'll attach a news link to the crime for y'all to see. Also including pictures of my fur babies and my actual human baby boy who we tried for for over two years and is the best thing I ever did. Amazing. Hell yeah.

If you like some paranormal stories, I'm happy to oblige. I'm also a tarot reader if y'all ever want a free reading for you and your team. Oh my God. Please don't hesitate to let me know. Thank you. No charge, no strings. I just love to offer my services. You're a beautiful person.

Thanks for all you do and for keeping me company on many drives, being in my ears while cooking dinners and bonding my man and I even more. This like really made my day. Keep it weird, you beautiful audio sirens. That's the first time we've gotten that one and I love that. But not so weird that you pick up a hitchhiking murderer in the middle of the desert, help him evade capture over state lines and then turn yourself in as an unwilling wheel woman. Much love and all the admiration in the world, Sam. Oh my God. I love, oh, I love that one of your,

your fur babies is named Luna Marie Lovegood. Oh, I love that. I also love Cleopatra Celine. Ooh, Bellatrix Laveau. Oh, Bellatrix Laveau. That's sick. Snitchley Cornelius. Wow. And Aria. Aria Maisy. And Aria. Oh my God. And named after Aria on Game of Thrones. That's awesome. Oh, and I'm so, I'm so sad that you lost her. I'm sorry. Oh, but man, thank you for sharing them with us because what beautiful fur babies and real

babies you have. Wow. Your fam is gorge. I was just going to say what a gorgeous fam. Truly. Oh, I love listener tales. Oh, and your little baby. He's so cute. He fam. Truly. I love Listener Tales. Oh, you little baby.

He's so cute. He's so cute. I can't even. He has the cutest little smile. I just want to boop his little nose and squeeze him cheeks. I love Listener Tales. They make me so happy. I know, because I love the pics.

Yeah. All right. The next one is Listener Tale, the story of how I met my children before they were born. I love this already. Let me see. Hold on. I They Were Born. I love this already. Let me see. Hold on. I just got to scroll to open this up.

Hello, weirdos. My name is Amanda. Yes, you can use my name. You can also use the other names used in this story. I learned about morbid through my coworker, Kirsten, who is one of the coolest people I know and has excellent taste in podcasts, as she has suggested a few to me, but morbid is where it's at. Yeah! Thank you.

She suggested I listen to the episode where you talked about lucid dreaming and the girl remembered a clock tower. Yes, I'm obsessed with that. That story is fucking wild. I think Listener Tale 85. Listener Tales are my favorite. Yay! Truth be told, I skip over the other episodes and circle back around to them later.

However, your banter with each other is what keeps me coming back. You two are great. Thanks so much. Thank you for what you do in making my day better. When I need a mood boost, I'll put on an uplifting podcast about murdering gore. All right. We read listener tales to make our day better. Exactly. Okay, let's get into this. It may seem to skip a bit, but it will all make sense in the end. A short story before I get to the meet and put titles. Trust me, it's a WTF story that does connect to the other. I met my husband in Southern California after leaving my first husband in Florida. I moved to be near my dad and stepmom. I was 22 with a 2 year old and quickly making friends along with a social life. He was military as my ex. I had a flavor, what can I say. And so I would go and party with friends on

post. I met this guy and we started talking and hanging out quite often. He left for two weeks to go visit family. It wasn't too serious at that point, so I didn't really question the where. He got back a week later and we were again at a party. It was about 2 a.m. and we were drinking. He looked at me super serious and said, hey, you should call your mom. Whoa. Now I'm thinking, dude, I am not going to marry you. You do not need to talk to my parents. So I said, no, it's 2 a.m. and she's probably sleeping or something. And he said, no, you should call her.

It'll be great. He says this with the most charming smile. Yeah, that worked, fuck. So I call my mom and who knew? She answered, she was out and about partying with her friends. She's loving the single life and she's recently broken up with her boyfriend of two years. Good for her. She asked if I was okay and if something was wrong. My slightly drunk

self said, nah, I'm just here with my friends and this guy wanted me to call you. We chatted for a few minutes catching up and he said, hey, let me talk to your mom. And I'm thinking, no, no, no. Oh, hell no. This is not happening. We'd only been talking for a few months. Hell no, I told him laughing. Oh, come on, it'll be hilarious. Ugh, again, I gave in. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or the charm, but he got on the phone.

Hi Rose, were his first words. Now, I had never told this guy about my family or my mom or even her name. I don't like that. I don't like that either. I quickly fell out of the chair at the table, backed into a quarter and yelled, who the fuck are you? What the fuck is going on?

Yeah, that's what I would do. He's laughing and talking to my mom like they were old great friends. I was so lost. He eventually gave the phone back to me laughing. Mom, what the fuck is going on? She's cracking up on the other end of the phone and said, I'll talk to you in the morning, honey. Have a fun night. I'd be like, no, no, no, no, someone's going to tell me what's going on.

You need to tell me. So turns out when he went to visit his family in Northern Nevada, he was showing his dad some of the people he was meeting in Southern California. And his dad said, hold on, go back to that one. It was a picture of me. He got up, went to his room, got into his closet and pulled out a large picture and brought it back with him. It was a picture of myself and my mom from a few years back. Turns out that his dad was none other than the guy my mom had recently broken up with. They were together while I lived in Florida with my first husband. I had never met him. I'd never even seen what he looked like. She had mentioned that he had a son that was

going into the military, but that was the extent of it. I am now dating my almost was a stepbrother boyfriend. What is going on here? I guess that our families were always meant to be connected because I ended up pregnant shortly after this incident happened. Let me tell you how awkward our wedding was. I was just gonna say.

That's amazing. That's incredible. Now that all that has finally been said, let's get to the reason why you're reading this. My kids. Okay, so it was the spring of 2006 and I was four months pregnant with my second child. My oldest, who is now three years old at this time,

would tell me that a fireman would come to his room sometimes through his window. That's delightful. Kids scare the shit out of me. One morning I went to wake him up and found his glass light fixture on the floor. You know the ones that look like a lit up boob when it's on and the one the one with the glass dome with a screw in the middle? Yep. It was sitting on the floor with the screw in the bowl side of the glass. If it fell down wouldn't the screw bounce off somewhere?

You'd think. I thought that was very strange but the three-year-old totally believed the firemen did it so it was okay. A few weeks later, I was cleaning my kitchen, and I leaned my broom against the counter to get the dustpan in the other room. And I came back to my broom being three feet away from the counter, literally standing up on the bristles alone. What? That would... I just got chills. Yeah, that would freak me out. I took a video of it on my old-ass camera, but it's been lost over time.

Anyway, a few weird things happened, and I started to get suspicious that this place might be haunted, but meh. I was too tired and too pregnant to care at this point. I heard that. My boyfriend had to go away on business trips for a few days, and while he was gone, my son got to sleep with me in our big bed. One night while we were sleeping, it was a full moon, so a little light was shining through my window in the middle of the night. I was facing the wall while my son slept behind

me on the other side of the bed. I woke up to this feeling of being stared at. I slowly opened my eyes and saw my son standing next to my bed, with his little arm on my nightstand and his hand propping up his head, just chilling, looking at me in a soft loving gaze. He did not take his eyes off of me. He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair and was wearing what looked like an oversized baby blue t-shirt that almost reached his knees. Finally, I became aware enough, but not close to fully awake, to realize that my kid was up in the middle of the night. I said, Hey, Spud, what are you doing up? Why don't you come back and lay down? As I was about to say down, I padded the bed behind me as a motion for him to come over here, only to realize that my son was sleeping soundly in the bed under the covers.

I padded him a few times to make sure that it was really him. It was. As I realized this, I turned back toward the side of the bed to see this other child gone. This was not my son. My son has dark brown hair and was wearing red and black pajamas that were pants and a shirt. Not a baby blue oversized t-shirt. I was shooketh to say the least.

My pregnant ass did not sleep the rest of the night. Not much happened after all that. All was normal. My son was born a few months later. We were car shopping and I apparently went into labor. I didn't wanna go on a test drive because I was feeling off. Needless to say, my boyfriend had to cut his fund short and take apparently went into labor. I didn't want to go on a test drive because I was feeling off. Needless to say, my boyfriend had to cut his fun short and take me to the hospital.

Four hours later, nine and a half pounds of bouncing baby boy was in my arms. Fast forward three years and my now three-year-old is hanging out in the kitchen with me, talking, helping me make dinner. I walk back to where he was after retrieving a dish from the cabinet and frozen my tracks. I dropped the dish to the ground and said, it's you. In total and utter shock, he stared at me like I had gone crazy, but just smiled at me. I was staring at my three year old son. He was in an oversized blue t-shirt of his older brothers. He had the shaggy blonde hair and was the spitting image of the little boy that came to visit me that night a few years back.

My son came to see me before he was born. I walked over to him and gave him the biggest hug with tears in my eyes. Fast forward one year and his dad and I ended up pregnant again. However, I lost this little angel at about 12 weeks. I'm sorry. It was the most horrific thing I had ever experienced and I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. Me either. We ended up divorcing in 2010 and I ended up a single mom with two boys. We were doing great and thriving, just the three of us. In 2012 we went on vacation to Venice Beach in California and I randomly went to see a psychic just for fun. I had never done that before and it was 20 bucks, so why the hell not? What's the worst that could happen?

She told me that I would have three children. Now at this point, I am very single and do not plan on having any more children. My first was 10 pounds and my second was almost as much. I was not going to put my body through that nonsense again. My boys were also 6 and 10 at this point. I explained that I miscarried a few years back and could that be what she was talking about?

She said, oh no, you will have three children. I was like, great. I really wanted to hear something that was realistic. What a waste of money. Fast forward again, four years in 2016. I know we time traveling here. I reconnected with my now boyfriend after about six years of it being just me and my two boys. I never thought much about having more kids. He and I have been together for eight long years now at this time. We dated in high school before my first husband, who was my boyfriend my senior year. Wow. I love that. Two years into this relationship, I began having dreams about twin girls. This was, I guess what you would call a lucid dream. The very first dream, I was pregnant with them. Very pregnant. I knew I had two girls on my belly. It was interesting

to have the sensation as I had not been pregnant for 10 years I woke up and told my boyfriend about this dream and he just laughed. I did too. That would be fucking crazy My oldest is 16 and almost the age I was when I had him hell to the fucking know a few weeks later I had another dream this time these same two girls were in my arms in the delivery room Wrapped in their tiny little blankets and beanies. I had just given birth to two twin girls. I loved them. I cried with joy and woke up crying with the remnants of feelings from my dream. I told my boyfriend and he thought it was cool that I had another dream, but we still didn't think having more kids would be a great thing at our age. We were both in our late thirties at this point. So we just laughed

it off and went on with our day. In 2018, I fucking ended up pregnant. I almost died of shock. I almost murdered him. LOL I'm too old for this shit. I was going to school full time, working 12 hour days, had my two boys plus his 17 year old daughter in the house. What the fuck were we thinking? My personal beliefs in abortion were to not have one.

And so here we were, late 30s and fucking pregnant. Fun fact, did you know that if you're 35 or older, it's considered a geriatric pregnancy? So nice. What a way to make a woman feel good about herself, eh? Get this girl a locker. Yeah, it's like, fuck that. It's such a shit thing to say.

A geriatric pregnancy. Together, we had eight children at this time from our previous relationships. Seven boys and one girl, age ranging from 17 to six. I told my boyfriend if this was going to be another boy I would murder him. If I'm going to go through this it a damn well better be a girl. I of course would have loved it either way but Jesus another boy lol. I continued to have these dreams. The next one was the two girls about three months old laying on the ground next to each other, matching onesies and shorts, sensory toys all around them while I was on my belly playing with them. They were always simple dreams, but I always felt so much love in them.

Being of granny age, apparently, and having this so-called geriatric pregnancy, we got to find out what we were having quite early. I was at work and got the call to tell me what we were having. I walked outside and video called my boyfriend. It's a girl. He dropped to the phone and started to cry. I'm sure it was because he knew he did good and would live another day. A girl? Shit, is it twins? Slight panic started to set in with the excitement of having a girl. His daughter had only lived with us for a few months at this point, so the idea of being a girl mom was still new to me. The next dream I had was the two girls at the point where they were learning to walk, about nine months or so. They were standing and falling on their bottoms multiple times, laughing, smiling. I felt

my heart swell with such pride in this moment in my dream. My girls. Only this time, this dream was different. I learned their names, Autumn and Olivia. I love those names. I know, those are really pretty. Autumn had the lighter, dirty blonde hair and Olivia had light brown hair. They were playing with their toys and having the best time. I had such joy and pride in my heart that I never wanted to wake up. Oh my God, you're like such a mom. I love it.

I know. The next dream was when they were about two years old. They were getting ready for bed and I was tucking them in for the night and their cute little pink and white pajamas tucked in together. I sat and watched them cuddle with each other as they fell asleep. The last dream I still think about to this day, because it was the last dream I had of them together. The two girls were about five years old at this point. Their hair was close to waist length and curly, identical length, just different shades, dark blonde, light brown. They both wore what looked

like Easter dresses or something you would wear to church. We were walking along a path in a park. I only saw the back of them in this dream, which I thought was weird, but it was still so beautiful. There was freshly cut grass to the left and large developed trees to the right, large enough to provide scattered shading for the path. Autumn and Olivia were walking in front of me, holding each other's hands and talking about whatever five-year-old sisters talk about. They were happy-old sisters talk about. They were happy and seemed excited for something. We were going somewhere.

I didn't want to leave this moment, but alas, the alarm clock called and it was time to get up for work. Oh my god, this is like beautiful. It is. The next week I had my daughter, beautiful nine pound Olivia Rain. Oh, that's such a pretty name. I love it. But this is not where the story ends.

Oh no. On to the next chapter, Insert Creepy Page Turning. Now I have experienced many different happenings over time. My family's so used to weird shit happening that when it does, we don't think much of it. But that's for another tale. Let's face it, after a night with drinks, you don't bounce back the next day like you used to, and I don't either. You have to make a choice.

Either have a great night, or a great next day. That's what I thought, until I heard about Zbiotic's pre-alcohol. Their prebiotic was invented by PhD scientists to tackle rough mornings after drinking. Here's how it works. When you drink, alcohol gets converted into a toxic byproduct in the gut. It's this byproduct, not dehydration, that's to blame for your rough next day. Prealcohol produces an enzyme to break this byproduct down. This is a proactive solution that wards off feeling miserable the next day, instead of

a reactive approach like drinking electrolytes or eating greasy food, which I used to do. I kept hearing about pre-alcohol and wondered what it was actually like and now that I've tried it, I believe the hype. And with their GMO technology, they will release different products that help address toxic byproducts of modern living in the gut. Go to zbiotics.com slash morbid to learn more and get 15% off your first order when you use morbid at checkout. Zbiotics is backed with a 100% money-back guarantee, so if you're unsatisfied for any reason they'll refund your money no questions asked. Remember to head to zbiotics.com slash morbid and use the code morbid at checkout for 15%

off. Thank you Zbiotics for sponsoring this episode and our good times. Being a part of a royal family might seem enticing, but more often than not, it comes at the expense of everything, like your freedom, your privacy, and sometimes even your head. Even the Royals is a podcast from Wondery that pulls back the curtain on royal families, past and present, from all over the world to show you the darker side of what it means to be royalty. Like the true stories behind the six wives of Henry VIII, whose lives were so much more than just divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. Or Esther of Burundi, a princess who fled her home country to become France's first

black supermodel. There's also Queen Christina of Sweden, an icon who traded in dresses for pants, had an affair with her lady-in-waiting, and eventually gave up her crown because she refused to get married. Throw in her involvement in a murder and an attempt to become Queen of Poland, and you have one of the most unforgettable legacies in royal history. Follow even the royals on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge even the royals ad free right now on Wondery Plus. Ever since my daughter has been born, there has been peculiar happening specifically to her.

We have cameras in her room and a baby monitor because yes, I am extra with her safety. I feel that. One night when she was about two years old, we heard her on the monitor, but then there was another voice. She was being disturbed and began to whine. Then you hear a, yeah, that sounds slightly frustrated. And then she says, no. Oh.

Another time she's dead asleep and then you hear, get up! In the same voice. Her leg has been pulled so hard that her whole body has been moved multiple times. And orbs are a regular occurrence. I will throw fucking hands with this. Whoever the fuck's doing this. The fuck? All of this is captured on video. Along with a weird dude dressed in 70s style corduroy and a very colorful silk shirt.

I think he's a jokester. A weird shadow lady that likes to stalk my boyfriend when he sleeps, and my precious cat Luna that we had to put down two weeks before Olivia was born. These are our resident ghosts. We now have a child ghost because these voices are of a child, a young child. I've attached the videos for you to see and are welcome to share the audio if you wish. I've never run so fast through these videos. At the end of the day, I like to believe that Autumn is here. God help us with a teenage daughter and a teenage ghost daughter, if that's the case. I would also like to believe

that Autumn is the baby I lost all those years ago and that she's with me in this way. And finally, I would like to believe that I had those dreams because they were of her bringing Olivia to me. I got to experience being Autumn's mother and experience all those joyful milestones even in a dream. I love that. I have also attached pictures of my beautiful children because I'm completely biased and I think they're the most gorgeous creatures on the planet. And my cat Luna who still comes to visit occasionally. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know that there will be a slew of people who would shit their pants if this story was read. I will be sure to have extra pants

ready just in case. Oh my god, what a story. And we have the video. My god, your kids are so cute. My trifecta of perfection she put on one of the photos. I love it. Okay, I got it. It's somebody saying get up. Get up.

That's fucking spooky. Damn, that's wild. That's a so creepy. Damn, that's wild. That's a crazy story. It was also like so beautiful. That gave me all the emotions. It really did. Every bit of them. I really hope the ghost child is Autumn,

because otherwise I'm scared. I know, because otherwise I'm like, who is that? Because I was ready to like throw hands. Yeah, me too. Sorry, I won't throw hands with Autumn. No. Definitely not. But like I thought it was somebody bugging your kids.

Also your kids. Yeah, exactly. Your kids are also so adorable. They really are. All right, let's see. Let us see. Let's see. I really want to do this one that says resubmission of my listener tale because oh my God, I forgot

I'm a direct descendant of the last woman on trial for witchcraft in Virginia. I really think that was put in there specifically for you. Yeah, I'm just like, excuse me, what? What? Let's see. It says I'm resubmitting my listener tale the time I found out the identity of the ghost who had nightly play dates with my two year old son because how could I forget? Ghosts and kids is the thing.

I was just going to say we have a theme. I'm a direct descendant of Grace Sherwood, the witch of Pungo, who was the last woman who was put on trial for witchcraft. My many times great grandmother was the last woman in Virginia to be put on trial and convicted of witchcraft. She faced trial by water, placed in water to see if she would float, which of course she did because duh. So the sheriff tied a 13 pound Bible around

her neck and threw her back in the water. Oh my God. She was able to untie herself because she is a badass. She was imprisoned and once released, returned to her farm where she lived until her death at 80 years old. Here now stands a statue of grace in the middle of Virginia Beach, Virginia. What? If you look into her, she may be a person. I was just going to say you might've just given us a perfect story and I will absolutely give you credit.

And it's literally almost spooky season. Yeah. Clearly I come from a long line of spooky witches. Hell yeah. So at any rate, here's my 14 point font, Puttifa, tale of the time I found out the identity of the ghost who was having nightly play dates with my two year old son. Damn. Stay spooky ladies. We will. Let's see. You stay spooky.

Hey, Ash and Elena. My name is Cindy and you can use my name. I'm originally from California, but left when I was in my twenties and have lived in several other places as an adult. It will make sense why I mentioned this, I promise. I found your podcast late last year and was instantly hooked because your interactions and banter remind me of my best cousin slash best friend, Stephanie back in California. I love you, batches, because you never know what's going to happen.

I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend.

I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. I'm going to be a good friend. Instantly hooked because your interactions and banter remind me of my best cousin slash best friend. Stephanie back in California. I love you batches because you never fail to either have me crying, laughing or yelling hell yeah.

The way you tell difficult stories in a way that honors the victims and tell it like it is you fucking asshat for you rat bastards who murdered them is epic. Thank you. I love that. I'm a big fan and have found comfort in listening to your podcast from time to time. Okay, all freaking time. I currently live in the South, US and part time in France, the country. But my husband, with my husband, no, I can't speak French.

Those two years of French in high school have done nothing to help me communicate here. So I spent most of my time listening to your podcast while learning a bit of French on the side because priorities, am I spent most of my time listening to your podcast while learning a bit of French on the side, because priorities, am I right? I've always loved stories related to ghosts and haunted places. And eagerly sign up for ghost tours in old cities. Same. I've never had a personal ghost encounter until I was in my late 20s, when my friend Alyssa, not her real name, and I were in Phoenix, Arizona for a girls weekend.

There I had a face-to-face encounter in the middle of the night in our hotel room with little glowing curly blonde headed girl who was staring at me from behind the curtain. She had pulled slightly back with her little glow stick hand. Ugh. This freaked me the eff-a-fa out. So I forced myself to blink a couple times

just to be sure I wasn't dreaming. Nope, glow stick was still staring at me. I turned to look at Alyssa's bed and whispered her name in a shaky voice. The room was dark except for the glow of ghosty girl which provided enough light for me to see Alyssa in her bed and she'd the covers up over her head where I heard her muffled voice say, I know something is here but I'm not taking the covers from my over my face. Oh cool cool cool no worries I thought I'll just chill out over here with glow stick girl literal inches from my bed. As I slowly turned my head back towards the window, I was 100% sure this little glow shit would be right by my bed with the smile, smile on her face.

I'm happy to report she was gone, but I digress. I love this little glow shit. Now, before I delve into the story of the time I found out the identity of the ghost who was having nightly play dates with my two-year-old son. Let me give you a little background. I adopted my son from Russia. Wow, you're amazing. That is incredible. When he was just under two years old. Talk about a wild tale, but that is another story for another time. We lived in New Hampshire then, about 40 minutes north of Boston. And

I loved, loved, loved New England. I should mention our house was brand new. So while I understood the entire region offers homes that come with a ghost or two or 10, I didn't expect to have any ghostly encounters. One and done. I'll take my doses of ghost is in the form of movies and stories. I'll pass on the interactive in-person in ghost and I'll show. Thank you very much. Anywho, when he first came home, my son, of course, being two and from Russia,

didn't have many words he could say, but he was the happiest little guy. He was always smiling and babbling happily as he played with his toys in the living room or zipping around after our dog. He also loved Thomas the Tank Engine. That theme song is etched in my brain and still gives me the eye twitch when I hear it. And ran at lightning speed from morning until night. After he had been home for almost a year, he was able to say many words, English words, including the names of family and his favorite toy, an elephant stuffy called Horton. Oh, that's adorable. One night after putting him in his crib, I kissed my son's forehead,

tucked him in, walked out of his room and closed the door. As I started to walk away, I heard him begin to babble. I thought it was strange because he hadn't babbled for quite some time, but he sounded happy so I didn't think much of it and went back downstairs. This became a nightly thing, and very quickly I noticed he started to pause in the middle of the babbling, almost like he was having a conversation with someone. He would babble, pause for a bit, and then start babbling again as if in response. This sequence happened for several months. The first time I heard this pause, I felt the thwunk in my chest because of the wham. Because it really seemed like he was interacting with someone.

My already overactive imagination went into overdrive because I've seen horror movies. I was absolutely sure that there was a crazed lunatic with a red balloon hiding in my son's closet and came out soon after I closed the door. I listened intently at the door, but didn't hear anyone else in the room. So I calmed my ass down, chalked it up to him playing with Horton and else-ed myself down the stairs to just let it go. Now, as I mentioned, this became a nightly thing and I came to embrace it. It was calming to hear how content he sounded. Because let's face it, the first almost two years of his life were extremely difficult

and unimaginable. And to be perfectly honest, a shit show. He never asked to be dealt the shitty hand of cards he had been dealt at the beginning of his life. But now he was thriving and happy and content. And that's all that mattered. You're a good mom. One night, however, something about the babbling changed.

It was different. That night after I kissed my son goodnight, covered him with his blanket, and made sure Horton was tucked securely in the crook of his arm, I left the room. I waited outside his door for his nightly babble sesh to begin. Within a few seconds, he began the babble. But as I mentioned, it was different. It sounded like he greeted someone who came into the room, paused for a few seconds, mixed with rustling noises, and then he started to giggle hysterically like babies and toddlers

do when they're interacting with someone they're playing with. The exchange went on like this for several minutes. As I stood outside his door, my ear plastered to the wooden panels and my eyes the size of saucers. With the babbling sesh continuing in the strage cadence, sprinkled with the rustling, I could feel all the color run from my face as my chest went thwonk, thwonk, yes, just like the law and order sound. Now sensible me knew there was no one in the room with him, but overactive imagination me was fighting for control of the situation in a move bitch

get out the way kind of way. I put my hand on the knob and as I started to turn it, the room suddenly became silent. I peeked my head around the door and couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. My son was sitting in his crib with his legs crossed, smiling directly ahead of him at his eye level. Yeah, okay, that was creepy as fuck. Hearing me, he turned his head to the door and greeted me in the same manner I had heard a few minutes prior. Shutter, thwunk.

He stood up with Horton still in his tiny little death grip. I picked him up to give him a few more snuggles and kisses, allowing ample time for my eyes to scan every inch of the room before putting him back in his crib for the night. For the second time that night, I closed the door and stood there, ear plastered to the wooden panels for what felt like five business days, listening intently, but it was completely silent and remained so for the next several days. About a week later, we were in the kitchen and my son started crying, which was not like him at all. I picked him up and asked him what was wrong, though through his tears, he said, want grandpa.

So I thought he missed his grandpa. It was strange because he didn't use the word grandpa, rather my son called his grandpa pop pop. But I thought maybe he had heard the word used on Thomas the Tank and hey, that he must be absolutely brilliant to make that connection. But oh no, Contre mon frere. He hadn't heard it on the show and little did I know what I was in store for what was in store for me. Also, look at me over here speaking French. Woot. So we got him on the phone with Pop Pop and this was not what he wanted. He did happily speak with Pop Pop for a bit. But when we were off the phone, he started crying again for grandpa. I thought perhaps he actually wasn't saying grandpa at all and was really wanting something

else. For days, my son would endlessly cry for grandpa and I would endlessly try to give him anything I thought he meant. Son crying, grandpa, here sweetie, here's a graham cracker. Not it. Son, grandpa, here's Grover. Nope. Son, grandpa, here's a YouTube video for us to learn the Gangnam style dance. You're like Alexa. That just conjured a furrow brow and a toddler side eye, nada. Weeks went by with my son crying for grandpa and me having absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Then one day we were in the seldom used formal living room.

My son stopped to look at a table where I had a collection of framed family photos. Suddenly his face lit up. He pointed and exclaimed, grandpa. Of course there was a photo of pop pop. So I pointed and says, yes, that's grandpa. My son looked at me with an expression that clearly demonstrated I knew absolutely nothing, Jon Snow. Pushing my hand aside and excitedly pointed out a photo way in the back of the table saying grandpa. Ladies, when I tell you my soul, yeeted the F right out of my body. That doesn't even

begin to fully explain what I was feeling in that moment. For my son was pointing at a picture of my father who had passed away suddenly 17 years prior at just 40 or two years old. Oh, my whole body just warmed. I'm chilling up and down my fucking body right now. Only this photo was not of my father at grandpa age, of course, or even middle-aged dad age from 17 years prior. Oh, no, no, no, not even a little bit.

No, this photo was from my dad when he was about six years old. Oh my God. Yep, exactly. Shout out to Ash. I love the way you say it and have now started to pronounce that T and it makes me feel regal as fuck. That's the thing. You get it. It's regal, T and it makes me feel regal as fuck. That's the thing. You get it. It's regal baby. It makes you feel regal as fuck.

Exactly. But in that moment, I was hit with a full understanding of what had been going on nightly in my son's room. The ghost of my deceased father's six-year-old former self had been coming into my son's room to play with him at night. Are you crying? I'm about to cry. I heard a lump in your throat. I suddenly felt relief that it wasn't a red balloon yielding psychopath all along, mixed

with happiness that my son was able to interact with the grandpa he never met, mixed with a sudden urge to laugh hysterically at the thought of a two-year-old calling his six-year-old grandpa. I smiled at my son, pointed at the picture. He was now holding in a death grip. Horton was on the floor at his feet and said, grandpa. And my son smiled broadly and said, grandpa. Oh my God. He placed the picture back on the table, but in the front this time. From now on, he would

walk by it often, stop, look at it, and then walk away. My son never had any late night babbling sushes again, and he never cried for grandpa. More than a decade and a half later, he has now lost the memory of that time, but loves when I tell him the story, because he's a ghost-loving weirdo like his mom. I'm literally going to cry. During the freaking awful Russian adoption process, and when my son was first home, I often wondered to my family what my dad would think of his Russian grandson. My dad was in the Air Force and used to intercept Russian Morse Code messages. After this moment, I knew he was thrilled he was able to meet and play

with this awesome little kiddo. I was a bit sad that the visits stopped, but was glad they did have some sort of bonding time, however ghostly it was. I thank you if you're still reading and if you read it on Listener Tales, I will absolutely pee my pants. Feel free to shorten it as needed. Nope, won't do it. Never. I've attached the photo of my six-year-old dad, a photo of my little cherub then and one of us now, as well as because, aw, a picture of our best boy Teddy, a purebred golden retreater. Oh, that's no typo. You read that right. He's afraid of everything. I love that he's not a retriever. He's a retreater. I love it.

I will continue to be a faithful listener to the podcast and I'm waiting impatiently for your second book to come out, Elena. It's coming. It's coming so soon. It's coming. And congratulations on your wedding, Ash. Thank you. I love you ladies and remember to keep it weird and take it away, Ash.

I think you should keep it so weird that the ghost of your father visits your new son as a fucking six-year-old. Yes. Keep it so weird that you're a six-year-old grandpa in ghostly form. Yes. I love it so much. All the pictures you sent are so beautiful. That story made me so happy.

Your dog is beautiful. Oh my God, look how adorable your son is. And the picture of the dad. With a little gun in his holster. Like a little cowboy. Oh my God, look how adorable your son is. And the picture of the dad. With a little gun in his holster. Like a little cowboy. Oh my God, stop. And I just love that that's like, he's like,

that's grandpa. Oh my God, I love it. And clearly that is grandpa. Also, can we just have a moment for your built-ins because I'm obsessed. I'm really into built-ins lately. Oh my God, the picture of you holding your son when he was little.

I know. Like you love him so much and I love that so much. Wow. Families are so beautiful. I love that you gave this little boy such a good home. I know. That's so lovely. All right.

I think we've got time for one more. I think so. Let's see here. Imagine you're walking through the park one day and you see a suspicious backpack sitting underneath a bench. You report it to the police and upon investigating, they discover two live pipe bombs inside. You rush to clear the area before they explode, saving countless lives and preventing injury. Everyone declares you a hero for a fleeting moment until everything changes and you are declared the prime suspect. This was the story of security guard Richard Jewell.

After the Centennial Park bombing killed one person and wounded more than 100, public pressure and immediate witch hunt pushed a desperate FBI to find a suspect. Despite obvious holes in the case and unethical tactics used by the FBI, security guard Richard Jewell was under pressure to confess. I'm Aaron Habel. And I'm Justin Evans. Join us as we explore the aftermath of the 1996 Centennial Olympic Park bombing and the newest season of our podcast, Generation Y, the Olympic Park bombing. Follow Generation Y on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts, you can listen to Generation Y ad free right now by joining Wondry Plus. Listener tale, that time I robbed a man with my grandpa. Whoops! Or my grandma. Sorry, whoops. Hi, Ash, Elena, and the whole morbid crew. I'm Hannah. Attached as a 14 double

spaced putt-a-fuck, feel free to use my name and all others in my story. I've sent a couple others before, Appalachian Cryptids, College Witchcraft, and Attempted Murder, and have tons of more stories I could send. This is by far the funniest of my tales and could be a good palate cleanser. Love that.

I love you ladies and have been listening for about a year. I used to listen on 1.2 times speed, since my brain requires information at a mind-boggling pace, but I was running out of episodes too quickly and I switched to listen on 1.2x speed, since my brain requires information at a mind-boggling pace, but I was running out of episodes too quickly, and I switched to 1x speed, which shows how much I love you, since I refuse to do that for literally anyone else. I'll stop the fangirling here since my story's pretty long, but just know that I adore you

too, saucy sorceresses. I'm obsessed. I love her. The word grandma evokes images of a gentle woman in a well-loved apron pulling fresh-baked cookies out of the oven. She always insists you take a few for the road, and she's somehow even sweeter than the cookies themselves. Oh my god, I love it.

Her women, her wisdom, her women. Her women. Her wisdom always answers your toughest questions and soothes your deepest fears. Every time you visit, you're wrapped in the warm hug of her familiar perfume. She's a beacon of tranquility and morality. I did not have one of those grandmas. I want you to picture a 4'10", 80 pound, 80 year old

in a cheetah print sweatsuit and bright red lipstick. That's literally my future, I hope. I wanna be someone's Nana in a leopard print sweatsuit with bright pink or red lipstick. She was named Kitty. Yeah, she was. After all, and thought it fitting to always wear some kind of cat print. She's living. Her massive designer purse was filled to the brim with nicotine gum and cold hard cash

instead of the typical caramelamel hard candies. I'm fucking obsessed. Y'all can have your, your other grandma's. I want a kitty. I love this woman. Kitty is an icon. We bonded not over family recipes, but girls trips to the mall where she'd slip me a Ben Franklin and tell me to get whatever my heart desired.

What a great lady. She was the cool girl. my nerdy, chunky, vaguely misshapen middle school self would have never dreamt of befriending. We seemed like an unlikely duo, her being little Miss Florida and me despising all things Sandy, Sunny and Summary. Same.

I knew she wanted me to grow into a little diva just like her, but she'd never make me feel bad for spending my hundred bucks on books and art supplies instead of clothes and makeup. She was effortlessly flawless her entire life and regaled me with stories of her many suitors. However, she told me just as many tales of her education, career, and perseverance. She was one of the very first women in the US to attend pharmacy school, and she went just because someone told her she couldn't.

That woman had a lust for life inspired by spite. She suffered her first heart attack in her early 30s and had close to a dozen in the years following. But she made a full recovery each time, cigarette in hand without a care in the world. Kitty was the very definition of can't get rid of me, bitch. I learned all my swears from her, both in English and Yiddish. She always had the hot gossip but the maturity to spread it without demeaning anyone involved. She did not have the maturity to abstain from making fart noises and pretending that my grandfather was the culprit. I love this woman. Her spirit is everywhere. Her parenting techniques were a bit unorthodox, even for the 60s and 70s.

I do not condone most of them, but they make great stories and my dad seemed to turn out okay. Once when he was in kindergarten, he sat in a muddy puddle on the way to school, so Kitty would have to take him home and change. She said, well, now it looks like you shit yourself, and sent him to class. As a mouthy teenager, my dad made the mistake of calling her a bitch. He immediately realized his error and turned to flee, but she chased him upstairs on all fours as if possessed by a rabid badger, grabbed his ankle and bit it. What? Kitty, what? Kitty, what is going on? So when I, Kitty's first and only granddaughter, was born, my dad was hesitant to leave us alone together. You know what? I can't really blame your dad on that one. However, having a baby girl around seemed to bring out her gentler side. Each time my family made the trip to Florida, I cannot get the image of her running up the stairs on all fours and biting your father's ankle. Is this hereditary?

I love it so much. Each time my family made the trip to Florida, she and I were inseparable and my dad started to relax his supervision. This is how we ended up alone together the day this story occurred. She needed to pick up some groceries for dinner, pursue the makeup aisle, or peruse the makeup aisle. She wanted to pursue the makeup aisle. Peruse the makeup aisle and find some new heels to match her pedicure. So we headed to Target. While

I stared cluelessly at the endless wall of beige gloop and sparkly powder that somehow cost $20 an item, she ranted to me about the nuisances of aging. Everyone acts like I'm dumb and cranky, she said. I might be cranky, but I'm not fucking stupid. She went on to tell me about how not just scam callers, but everyone takes advantage of the elderly. Doctors and dentists get away with providing subpart treatment, companies rely on older people's lack of tech savviness to overcharge, the list goes on. But Kitty had her shit in order and always knew when someone wasn't being entirely truthful. I saw a little glimmer in her eye and immediately knew she was scheming. Wordlessly, she took

my hand, abandoned her cart, and marched me toward the exit. The wall of Florida heat hit us like a truck, the air dense and suffocating as it crawled to my lungs. She made a beeline for the Verizon store, whispering to me, they tried to double charge my phone bill last month, fuckers. I knew by her tone that she had resolved to leave that Verizon store a little richer. See, Kitty realized that Verizon store a little richer. See, Kitty realized that aging had a silver lining. Who's going to talk back or call the cops on a distraught old lady?

That's true. Relevant to this story is the fact that I really, really needed to shit. Like, prairie dogging it the entire time. My tactic was to focus on a point in space and clench every muscle in my body. I love relevant to this story. About 75% of my brain power was devoted to clenching, and I wasn't fully present for the following misdeeds due to the alarm bells coming from my bowels. Now back to the story.

As we approached the store, her demeanor changed completely. She managed to make her 410 frame look even smaller, slowed her pace to a crawl, and started walking with a slight limp, clutching my shoulder for support. Tears welled in her big brown eyes. She was a force for mischief and deceit, armed with nothing but Oscar-level acting. She hobbled straight to the front of the line and shouted, I need to talk to someone right now. I was mortified as she subverted every rule about manners that I had ever learned. An employee calmly responded, ma'am, the line starts back there.

We'll be able to see you soon. She was not having it. No way. You criminals think you can steal from us. Kitty was in fact the criminal in this situation. I want to speak to the manager of this establishment this instant." After pulling the ultimate Karen, we were quickly ushered to a corner desk to talk to an employee. We made quite the pair, me walking like a robot, eyes fixed in front of me jock-clenched trying

not to shit my pants, and her holding onto me hobbling and on the verge of tears. A frazzled looking man sat across from us in his desk chair while Kenny and I sat on stools. As he opened his mouth, she interjected, how do you expect an old woman to sit on these painful metal stools? I can feel the bones in my tuchus. I'll end up with bruises. He apologized and said that she was welcome to stand. He had pressed an incorrect key. I was just going to say, my guy. Stand! I'm 93! Lies. And I've had two hip replacements! More lies. And you want me to stand? I know, it just came to me.

She viciously apologized and wheeled his own chair from behind his desk and traded it for Kitty's stool. I was in awe. So ma'am, I can tell you're very upset. How can we fix that? I was expecting her to bring up the attempted double charge from last month, but she instead completely fabricated a brand new story. She began, my internet wasn't working last week. So I called this branch to send someone to fix it. I waited for hours and nobody came. Then two big men showed up in a Verizon van after sunset. Tears were streaming down her face and she brought her shaky hands up to wipe them. As Verizon stores are not usually places where people receive devastating news. The worker scrambled to

find tissues but came up empty handed. She looked at him and whimpered, you don't even have a tissue for me? Well, I guess this will do. And pulled, I shit you not, a roll of toilet paper from her purse, placed it on the desk and began tearing off pieces to wipe her eyes. She would later explain to me that she keeps an emergency roll on hand in case the public bathroom toilet paper isn't soft enough for her fragile princess butthole. I'm going to start doing that. I've learned a lot from Kitty in this story. So what happened with these men? The worker asked.

Apparently Kitty hadn't thought this far ahead, so she instead turned up the waterworks and wailed full volume. The poor man looked like a parent trying to quiet an infant on a plane. Okay, okay, please be quiet. I'm so sorry, ma'am. Please ma'am. He frantically stuttered. Instead of toning it down, she took it up a notch.

I can't believe you'd even ask me to tell you the horrors. Do you know? I have a bad heart. Not a lie this time, but why would he know that? That could explode any second. Before he could respond, she lunged forward, grabbing the poor man's hand. Feel my pacemaker. Feel my pacemaker.

With ridiculous old lady strength, she wrenched his hand toward her chest as he cowered in fear, pulling back his arm with all his might This of course dragged 80 pound kitty out of the chair and onto the desk She leaned into this and flailed legs in the air kicking and crying while screaming get off me you part Kitty fucking invented reckless. Kitty is just, wow. Wow, Kitty. I need you to step back and picture this for a moment.

This does not look good for the employee. There was a small old lady beached on his desk, mascara, snot running down her face, toilet paper now on the floor and unrolling across the store. While she was the one holding his wrist, nobody else could see that from behind the dividers between each desk. It would appear to anyone else that he had made the first contact. Most of the customers had left to escape this chaos, and not a single other employee was willing to step into the madness. The only witness to the entire thing was me,

the silent, awkward 11-year-old who sat through the entire encounter, staring into space like the ghost of a Victorian child, sweating profusely, veins in her forehead popping out from the effort of not pooping. He finally escaped her grasp and looked at Kitty in horror. She silently pushed herself off the desk, slowly limped to the other side of the store and retrieved her toilet paper. She returned and began re-rolling it, absentmindedly saying, you know, I can't use this anymore. I bet y'all don't even clean the floors. Dumbfounded, he let out a defeated sigh and asked, what do you want me to do? He's like, please help. This was clearly the question that Kitty had been

waiting for. I want a full refund. Confusion flashed across the employee's face and I could tell he wanted to scream, a refund for what? But I'm sure he didn't want to risk any other, feel my pacemaker moments. So he simply replied, okay She followed her original request up with in cash Now it was the man who looked like he wanted to cry ma'am. We can't do that Maybe we can waive next month's payment. No, no, that was not good enough for kitty. I see a register right there With dismay on his face. He tried to explain that without a transaction. He couldn't open the register.

Kitty, gearing up for another scene, started yelling, you scammers! And was quickly cut off by the poor man saying, wait, wait, please. He then reached out and he then reached in his back pocket for his own fucking wallet. Oh my god, I somehow knew that it was going to come to this. I'm obsessed. Handed Kitty a wad of cash without even counting it. He's like, just take it. Satisfied, she promptly stood up cash in hand and limped toward the exit. I sat there in shock. Did she just fucking rob this man? She sure did. Was I an accomplice? You sure were. Were we both going to end up in jail? Maybe. My 11 year old brain with half-baked cognitive skills thought I was

gonna be expelled from middle school and thrown into some federal prison. I sheepishly whispered sorry to the man and hurried after Kitty, shuffling awkwardly like a penguin while taking the tiniest possible steps to ensure that the log didn't enter my pants. Kitty was already outside and resumed her normal gait, counting her loot and looking very proud of herself. She saw the look in my eye and said, exasperated, they tried to double charge me last month, remember? The gravity of the situation hadn't yet hit me, and my priorities were still on the fecal matter bobbing for apples and... I'm not okay. My priorities were still on the fecal matter bobbing for

apples in my day of the week underwear, so I accepted this justification and headed for the car. No police ever showed up looking for us. I think that man was just glad to have her out of the store and didn't want to explain why an 80 year old woman had called him a pervert. In the end, he only lost about $60. I thought Kitty would be disappointed with the small sum of money, but she was so focused on reveling in the newfound perks of old age. She was satisfied to know that every time someone tried to scam her, she could scam them right back without consequences. After that day, I was no longer allowed unsupervised time with Kitty. My dad and her got into a heated argument as she bragged about her exploits immediately upon returning home. The conversation

ended with my dad saying, Jesus fucking Christ, mom, and her responding with Jesus Christ ain't my savior. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. G. She is such a G. She is an original gangsta. I occasionally think of the man she robbed that day. I hope the memory brings him some amusement and not the level of trauma that being robbed at gunpoint would.

Oh my God. Feelings of guilt bubble up as I know I did nothing to stop it. You were 11. Instead, sat there creepily staring, sweated and completely rigid. But what the fuck was I supposed to do? Shit myself trying to intervene.

Aww, Kitty ended up passing about five years later in 2019, thankfully before all of the pandemic craziness ensued. It was hard to lose the only cool girl who ever made me feel welcome, but I'm sure she's having a grand old time causing causing chaos in the great beyond. Oh, hell yeah. Kitty may not have been the wholesome grandmother plucked from a Hallmark movie, but she was something better. Boldness, brashness, and bravery molded into human form. She was simultaneously my guardian angel and the devil on my shoulder, always there to wipe my tears when I sobbed to her about my middle school tormentors, but just as quick

to tell me to fuck them up. Hell yeah. So that's the story of the time I robbed a man with my grandpa, with my grandma. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you try to get a Verizon employee to grow up your pacemaker while your granddaughter sweats through her clothes trying not to shit herself, but do keep it so weird that you make her feel special and cool even though she doesn't share your interests and empower her to pursue her passions. Okay, bye. Hope you enjoyed. We fucking did. Hannah. Hannah, that was... what a fucking tale. Every grandma should be a kitty.

What a fucking tale that was. Kitty for fucking ever. I am just... I'm without words. I love her with every fiber of my being. That was unbelievable. That was fantastic. One of the best tales we've ever read. Holy shit. That was phenomenal. Don't touch me, you pervert. Like, wow.

Wow. Obsessed. Damn. Well, oh, you guys really know how to send these in. That was incredible. That was a fun, spooky, and hilarious one. Yeah, love, love, love. Yeah.

We'll give you some dark ones next time. Well, our next time will be our Halloween installment. So if you have a good Halloween listener tale, send it to morbidpodcast.gmail.com with listener tale somewhere in the subject line and insert the word Halloween so we can find it easily. Yeah. We hope that you keep listening. And we hope you keep it weird!

But not so weird that you're not cuddled by a ghost cat, not so weird that your aunt picks up a hitchhiker but doesn't get murdered. I guess maybe keep it that weird because then she didn't get murdered. Definitely keep it so weird that you dream about your children before they're born because that's just fucking cool. And oh, oh wait, keep it so weird that you haunt your grandchild as your former six year old self and for the love of everything awesome in this world,

keep it so weird that you are a kitty. I love kitties so much. Okay, bye. Hi. If you like morbid, you can listen early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple podcasts. Prime members can listen ad free on Amazon Music. Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wonderu.com slash survey. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who'll fight like hell to keep you out of jail? We defend and we fight just like you'd want your own children defended. Whether you're facing a drug charge, caught up on a murder rap, accused of committing war crimes, look no further than Paul Bergrin.

All the big guys go to Bergrin because he gets everybody off. You name it, Paul can do it. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? From one dream, The Makers of Dr. Death and Over My Dead Body comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Isn't it funny how witnesses disappear or how evidence doesn't show up

or somebody doesn't testify correctly. In order to win at all costs. If Paul asked you to do something it wasn't a request, it was an order. I'm your host Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.