Morbid - Listener Tales 29

Episode Date: June 14, 2021

Listener Tales # 29 has arrived!!! You guys really delivered for this one. We’ve got a story that is somehow related to the early 2000’s song “Pop Lock and Drop it,” (can you tell Ash picked these?) another that tells of a horrific Halloween party murder and to finish it all off our listener Bryan tells us a few instances of spooky in his life. You guys rock out loud 🤘 As always, thank you to our sponsors: Brooklinen: Go to Brooklinen.com and use promo code MORBID to get $20 off, with a minimum purchase of $100 FirstLeaf: Join today and you’ll get 6 bottles of wine for $29.95 and free shipping! Just go to TRYFirstleaf.com/morbid ThriveMarket:Join today to get $20 off your first order AND a FREE gift!  Go to ThriveMarket.com/MORBID  Stamps: Just go to Stamps.com, click on the Microphone at the TOP of the homepage and type in MORBID, you’ll get a special offer that includes a 4-week trial PLUS free postage and a digital scale. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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That's W-O-N-D-E-R-Y-P-O-D. Audible.com slash wonderypod or text wonderypod to 500-500 to try audible for free for 30 days. Angie's list is now Angie, and we've heard a lot of theories about why. I thought it was an eco-move. For your worst, guess paper. It was so you could say it faster. No way. It's to be more iconic.

Must be a tech thing. But those aren't quite right. It's because now you can compare up front prices, book a service instantly, and even get your project handled from start to finish. Sounds easy. It is. And it makes us so much more than just a list. Get started at Angie.com.

That's ANGI, order download the app today. Hey, weirdos, my name happens to be Ash. And you know what, I'm Elena. Oh, girl, and this is morbid. Hello! A true crime. Podcast. Which is also just all kinds of spooky shit

I was gonna say it's it's true crime podcast with some spooky shit and I don't know why I'm introducing it to you like you've never been here before yeah guys I don't know if you know this but we do lots of we do a variety of weird shit Maybe you've never been here before you haven't this could be your first episode if it is I'm I apologize I Cuz this is quite an interest could be your first episode and it could be the dankest moment of your life This could be your moment your moment moment, it's all about you. I wish that you have this moment for life. And you know what? This is a great episode to start on because this is an episode

that is all about you. Brought to you by you for you from you and all about you. There you go, because it's a listener tails episode. Hell yeah, and I got the listener tails. So if you don't like them, please don't tell me because it makes me sensitive. And I did not look at them yet. So I have nothing to do with this

So you know what you can tell me to go ahead and tell me if they suck because I didn't have anything to do with it So it won't hurt my feelings There it is there it is All right, let's begin this you guys have been sending some great All right, well, you can this. You guys have been sending some great tales. Okay, we have a mailbox full of them. They're so good and shout out to the people that attach a putt-a-fa or a dock.

Or a dock. Somebody literally, I think, in one of the ones that I picked was like, I also attached a putt-a-fa and they wrote it like putt-a-fa. Putt-a-fa. Oh, God, I love you. And I was like, well, I have to pick that one. Man, guys, I fucking love you.

Can I please start? You got to get us. Yes, of course you can. Because I want to start with this one that's called Listener Tale, pop, lock, and drop it. The fuck up out of the Horseshoe Lake, bro. You know what? When I saw that one, I knew that's what you were gonna go for.

Pop, lock, and you drop it. Oh, I used to love that song, but imagine me popping, locking, and dropping. It does not look right. I would always picture, and dropping. It does not look right. I will always picture you doing that. It does not look right. I look for a screen always. I will picture that.

Well, this one starts off. Hello, you beautiful fucking weirdos. Hello, right back at you, you beautiful fucking weirdos. You're the one of the old school hearts that's like the less than sign and the three. And a modicon. For actually, would that be the greater than sign? No, it would be less than sign. And a modicon. Actually, would that be the greater than sign? No, it would be the less than sign.

And a modicon. Yeah, that. Not an emoji. And a modicon. Yeah, where's Gen Ziat? You know what we're saying? The original. But it says, you can call me Shaitan for this tale

of which is not my own, because I do not want to be sued. In case I screw the pooch on some of this info, I'm filling your brain meat with, already love. As you can see, this is why I chose that. You already know what's common, girlies. The praise that usually starts a lesson or tail. I fucking love you too so much. Say.

I love you. You make working, cleaning, driving, showering, and working out, just kidding, I don't work out, I'm trash. Say. So much easier. And hilarious. Side note, I work at a community college, and my office is in the open so everyone can see me.

A sweet lady that I work with saw me laughing my literal ass off and said, Shytown, you look so happy. What are you laughing about? I paused your podcast to tell this sweet woman, oh, I'm just listening to a podcast about this killer BTK. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Okay, so jump into your time machine bitches. We're back in 1996 now. Hell yeah.

I myself am a fetus. The year the world got red, because Ash came into it. I'm going, thank you. Well, Shai Town says, I am two years old now, and probably doing some typical two-year-old shit, like chillin' in my crib,

watching a Disney movie, or wobbling around following my big Bubba, aka brother. Oh my god. Down in Arkansas, we say big Bubba, aka brother. Oh my god. Down in Arkansas, we say Bubba, ye fucking hot. Oh my god, I love that, my big Bubba. My big Bubba. Oh, I'm obsessed with that.

I called Drew Bubba, and I said it in front of my uncle the other day, and I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He was like, why do you call him? Why? I was like, because I do. And I call my dog, Bubba. So. That's true.

There's that. But he's got a Baba. But they were following him around because God damn it, he was the coolest fucking thing in the world to me at this time. No, adorable. Anyways, enough about my cute ass self and my brother who hung the fucking moon. Oh my God.

That's a great saying. I love that one. I live in a tiny little town called Hughes AR, which is Arkansas. I'm not good at the little things. Just took you a second. It's cool. It's 20 years so, but it's from West Memphis, which you are familiar I'm not gonna, the little things. Just took you a second, it's cool. It's 20 or so minutes from West Memphis,

which you are familiar with. Hell yeah, we are. Great fucking job, by the way, on the West Memphis three case. Thank you. In between Hughes and West Memphis, is a quaint little lake town called Horseshoe Lake. Though many beautiful vacation homes,

vacation homes reside on the lake, the Snowden House. Please say this in a spooky voice. I hope that was spooky enough. I should try it again. the Snowden House. Please say this in a spooky voice. I hope that was spooky enough. I should try it again. The Snowden House. The Snowden House. Is by far the most intriguing and notorious. It's also fucking gorgeous.

The Snowden family once owned the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee. So they are cash money fucking millionaires, bro. I also wonder, because we have Peabody, Massachusetts. I wonder if it's Peabody down there. I feel like it can't be Peabody. I feel like my brain won't say Peabody. No, because you have to roast it here.

It's Peabody. Peabody. Yeah. I would think it's Peabody. You can let us know. It's Peabody even if it's not. So anyway, she put that in the perfect spot. One morning in good old 96, a 17 year old boy named Travis Lewis murdered Sally Snowden

and her nephew Lee Baker in the Snowden House. Travis's mother worked in the Snowden House somehow, so he was familiar with the family. He pled guilty but was and was put behind bars, sweet justice, or was it? Some people whisper amongst the small town that he was not the one that did this. Someone within the family did. Ooh. They claimed the color of Travis' skin is the reason he was framed. Fuck racism. But I don't fucking know, excuse me, but I don't fucking know because apparently no one wants to whisper to me about who they really think did it. God damn. And this could all be bullshit anyways. It's not my business. So my business, bro. So we are back in the time machine, my gals. I don't even know what year I'm taking you to.

I just know it was an era of my space and the song Bedrock was the ringtone on my pink razor cell phone. I can make all bedrock. You're welcome. Sally Snowden's daughter, Martha McKay, had taken over the Snowden house. One of my best good pals lived near Martha

and she would scold the fuck out of us for zooming around on golf carts blasting pop lock and drop it on our Coolest shit portable radios with batteries. She hated us, but we were pre-teen. So who cares? Well, I do now brothers Hold on to your butts because it's about to get twisty and we're in the time machine again Sorry if you're feeling a little car sick me fucking The year I'm bringing you now to, excuse me, the year I'm bringing you to now is 2020, I roll because fuck 2020.

Yes. I am now 25 married, own a beautiful home on the outskirts of town, and my lovely brother, home I adored is now in prison for stabbing a man. Oh, okay, that took, whoa. They said it was gonna take a twist. What a twisty turn that was.

And then they said, great life. Wow, twisty, the clown is what that was, that was insane. T-B-T. This happens in the midst of quarantine. I've had about four bloody marries by 10 a.m. Because quarantine is a merciless time where rules have fucked off and time, days and weeks are now just one giant mind fuck.

Couldn't have explained it better myself. I'm insane. I go to take my seven. Yes, seven. We have now added an eighth. I have a problem. Beautiful fur babies outside. Yeah, where do you put them all?

As I'm drunk rambling to them about staying away from the road, about 50 11 cop cars go racing in the direction of Horseshoe Lake. What the shit, man? I gather my sweet fur babies up and we go inside the house. As I'm making another drink, I am such trash y'all. I get a little ringy dinghy on my phone. It was my beloved dad. He said, stay in house.

Martha McCay dead, looking for killer. That is a text that my dad would send. And this is like that. I literally thought of this because it said, through my drunken haze, I thought back to the golf cart days and suddenly remembered who Martha was. Oh no, we had tormented this woman with our loud music and shitty driving I felt like actual shit and she was murdered and they're looking for the killer

I Huddled my babies in the room with a pistol in my hand where she was literally a conter away from my house I'm never saying I'm never using another term of measurement other than character ever I will straight up end someone over my fur babies fuck my life but her one of my dog goes and you gonna get dead real quick brother after a few hours of being barricaded in the bedroom with the vodka V8 juice and my pups I finally received a text from my

dad I will not text it such as he I will not text it such as he did because it was very hard to decipher dad's and technology is so cute. Yes, that's what I'm gonna do. I love when my dad texts. Puppo will literally just text like the randomish shit. He'll just text one word that might not be spelled correctly,

and he's like, why didn't you understand? And it's always just very vague, and very you have to call him afterwards. Yeah, you've got to decipher it. Anyways, back to the story. What had happened was, Travis had been paroled from jail He was working for Martha and the Snowden House since he had been paroled So he murdered someone there and

Legidly and then back to work there after he got paroled Huh well He ended up brutally murdering her 24 years after killing her mother and cousin He was still in the house when the cops arrived, the same ones that ruined my fucking bus. And he jumped into his truck, uh, yeah, and he jumped into his truck and drove into the yard and got stuck. He then jumped out of the truck and ran to the lake and drowned himself. What? In the same link I once got thrown off an inner tube, so, I saw the light and Jesus said to me,

not now child, it's not your time. It was a big deal around this small town. I love, I love Shai Tau. No, no, no, no, no, it's not your time. I saw the light and Jesus said to me, I'm screaming. Oh, Shai Tau, shut up. Thank you. What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill? Or are they made to kill? I'm Candice DeLong, and on my podcast, Killer Psychie Daily, which you can find exclusively on Amazon Music.

I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the criminal masterminds you read about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent, and a criminal profiler. On Killer Psychi Daily, I'll give you my expert perspective on cases like the mysterious New York City drugings, Breaking Down Lori Valow, a.k.a. Mommy Doom stays motives, and what drove Caitlin Armstrong to murder? I'll also bring on expert guests who add even more insight into these criminal minds. I promise you won't regret adding these 10 minutes to your morning routine.

Hey, prime members, listen to the Amazon Music exclusive podcast Killer Psychie Daily in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. It was a big deal around this small town. I started loon, Jesus, I soon learned that Martha was an advocate for Travis and wanted him out of jail.

Oh, maybe she knew the whispers around town that I still have yet to know about and thought him innocent as well. I know this sound shitty because I woman, a woman, oh yeah. I know this sound shitty because a woman lost her life, R.A.P. Martha, but I was terrified she was going to come back and haunt my ass

for terrorizing her when I was an idiot pre-team. That's a valid concern. Please don't ruin pop-lock and drop it for me Martha. I am sorry and rest in love. Also R.A.P. Huey, who was the genius behind pop-lock and drop it for me Martha. I am sorry and rest in love. Also, RIP Huey, who was the genius behind pop-lock and drop it. This is so chaotic. I love it so much. They have now torn down the Snowden House and plan on building something else on the property.

I hope those bozos know some of the Snowden family is buried in the actual backyard on the property. So they'll death get haunted by them and fucking good. And thus my tale, which is not my tale, has ended. You can look up Martha McCay on Google and find out more info. There might even be some spookies about the Snowden house and how haunted it was on the web as well. I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for listening to me.

Keep it weird, but not so weird that you murdered two people and go to prison for a good while and then get paroled out of then murder the woman to help you get out of prison and then drown yourself in horseshoe lake. No, don't do that. P.S. Terry Hobbs' guilty career campaign didn't kill himself. My brother is in prison for stabbing a man who he found out was messing with his wife, which is not okay, but not worth a stab to the arm, but the guy lived. So my boba is still kinda good, I guess. Thanks, love ya, bye. Thanks, love y'all, bye! Shytown fucking shytown fucking killed it shy

Pop lock it drop it. I also did Huey die cuz I didn't know that I got a I feel like I want to give you something Shytown you're just wonderful Literally my favorite I want to give you something like buy you like buy you something. Well, send her a shirt. I really want to, shout out. Shout out. Shout out if you see this message. If you hear this. Yeah, if you hear this message, the account with the shirt that you would like and your size.

Hell yeah. I want to send it to you because that was. I'm gonna send them an email right now. That was beautifully written in a shout out. I'm literally writing. Shout out. Actually, I'll do it after because I don't want you to hear me typing. Alright, we're back after we just took a second to calm ourselves down.

So the one that I am going to do is called the Lion, the hockey player, and a Halloween slayer. A Midwestern murder mystery nailed it with that title. I love it. It drew me in immediately. I'm hooked. It drew me in immediately. I'm hooked. It was like the line, the line, the witch in the wardrobe except different. Yeah, it really except different.

It hit different. Hello, Ashina Lena. And hello, my fellow weirdos. Hello. My name is redacted, but for privacy. But for privacy purposes, you can call me Liz. So we're laughing because it does not say redacted. I only know he was just like, redacted.

So where you said that? If there's anything that having a dad and several family friends and forensics, hey, Ash, that's really cool. And crime scene things has taught me always be stingy with personal information and don't trust anyone. I love your podcast so freaking much. I've been to all the episodes and effectively gotten my boyfriend hooked. He says hi. Hi boyfriend. I listen in the car doing chores around my shitty little college apartment and whilst doing my makeup and winging my eyeliner up to the high heaven. So as one does. Hell yeah mother fucker. I always feel like I'm shooting the shit with my gal pals.

I freaking love what people say that too, because that's what we want it to feel like. Especially over winter break, where the passage of time is in a negba, and I have absolutely no F and clue what day of the week it is, 95% of the time. I love having y'all there while I cook my hello fresh meals. Yeah. With my boyfriend, shout out hello fresh not an ad

And apply for post-grad jobs ugly cry you're gonna get it you got this we laugh with you and share What the fuck's can you imagine and of course as one does oh my god? I love this amazing. I would literally poop my pants if you read this on air I hope you're wearing a diaper. Oh my god Bitch I was literally gonna wait for you to finish and say the same thing. I love that we are wearing. I hope you're wearing a depends. There you go. So in the off chance that you do, hi mom, I love you. Oh, hi your mom. I lose this mom.

The case I'm about to share has been on date line on NBC and it is so wild to me that a brutal, a murder, this brutal occurred in my boring Midwestern town. Anyway, I will get on with my listener tale and also apologize for the overload of parenthetical remarks and wordiness I wanted to be thorough because I'm aggressively type A. Same. That's why Alina's reading this. Oh yes, I felt a connection. So please edit as necessary, won't do it. Let me paint you a picture of the setting of the Sputel murder that happened on October 27th, Halloween weekend 2007 in my hometown of Grand Forks North Dakota. Side note, this is the sister city of East Grand Forks, Minnesota, where Carl Pan's Ram was born I almost choked on my coffee and surprised when I listened to that episode and for that and a few other reasons

Well, I've been in the college Well, I've been in college out of state and told many people that I am from North Dakota. I often hear them follow up with what even is there to do in North Dakota. The answer is short, drink and watch hockey. Hell yeah. While you could say that drinking is widely popular.

In general, I reply with this fun fact. North Dakota has more bars per capita than any other state in the nation. I did not know that. That's wild. The US Census Bureau recorded one bar for every 1,620 North Dakotans in 2011. If numbers help you put things into perspective, they do. Additionally, we have a college hockey team that spits out NHL players with the same intensity

my curing spits out the last bit of coffee every morning. I know exactly what they mean by that. In other words, we're pretty damn good and have a large drunken fan base. It is important that you know bar hopping, slash partying, and hockey go hand in hand, and it is like a religion in Grand Forks because our case takes place at a bar. Also, that is why it is popular to dress as a hockey player for Halloween. That makes sense. So in my little population, 57,000 town we drink and win hockey games, right? Wrong. Apparently we murder people too.

A murder this brutal is sort of out of character for a North Dakota town where everyone knows you, your family, where you work, what car you drive, etc. If you grew up in a small town, you get it. I got it. The fact that this remains a cold case over a decade later is just incredibly bizarre, as my dad would say. I love that you gave her dad an English or an English accent. I was just going to say a Boston accent. And then I said, my dad would say, stroke salt and pepper beard, hell yeah. Papa would too. He would. Our story takes place at a bar called the Drunken Drum.

It might sound cutesy, cozy, but see the attack, or the, nope, the broken drum. I literally was like, nope. And then you just go, and I was like, still no. Sounds better to say the Drunken Drum. I like the Drunken Drum. It's a bar called the Broken Drum. I just read a totally different word.

It might sound cutesy, cozy, but see the attached picture and you will realize it is not a place you would take your nana. The grandpa, maybe. Why does that apply so heavily to my legs? It really does. It is grimy, humid, run down, and cheap. A drunken Halloween barhoppers oasis. On the night of October 27, 2007, 38-year-old Joel Lovelin, thank you for that pronunciation. Took his fiance, whose name I will not mention out of respect for her loss, thank you.

Yeah, thank you. To a Halloween party at the Broken Drum. The Broken Drum and its occupants were buzzing. It was going to be a fun night. And the next day, Lovelin was to attend his daughter's confirmation, my heart equal shattered. Lovelein was dressed as North Dakota hockey player, and his fiance was a cute mechanic. That's adorable.

I love that. Blackjack was played, cigars were puffed, and drinking ensued, until Lovelein stepped outside to take a call around 1130 pm. He promptly returned to his fiancee inside. However, a party bus was waiting outside to transfer 40-50 riders to the next bar, and lovely noticed someone who looked lost and possibly got left behind. He explained to his fiancee that he was going to come back out to check on them and

kissed her before returning outside. Moments later, a woman burst into the bar, screaming to call 911. Joel's fiance grabbed a bouncer to help her find Joel and to figure out what the hell was going on outside. The bouncer and the fiance discovered a body outside, bloody and beaten, and quickly I deed it as a loveline. Loveline was rushed to the hospital, the very same hospital he worked as a computer technician, but died as a result of his wounds, trigger warning gore. According to doctors, Loveleens face was so badly beaten that the cause of death

was aspiration on his own blood. That is so insane. Like that's so brutal. That's so brutal. Police arrived on the crime scene and were met with utter chaos scene. Also, think about the non-existent crime scene preservation at a greasy bar. About 80 people remained at the broken drum, and most of them were very drunk and confused, wondering what the fresh hell was going on. Witnesses and possible suspects were dressed up in costume as they continued to party that night, further complicating the investigation. Police struggled to get statements from cognitively impaired bar patrons and grappled to piece, grappled

to piece together a narrative of the events preceding the murder. Police tried to track down the departed party bus and its occupants who had continued their tour to the next bar on a downtown street. For context, most bars that were the stops on the bus's tour are concentrated in a busy two or three-box square downtown. So finding the party bus was pretty easy, but tracking down its occupants in that area was basically where's Waldo with drunk assholes. The broken drum is a little over a mile away from the downtown area where the most popular bars are located. Identities of

those in question were unknown, and it was almost like police were perusing a lineup, or pursuing a lineup of bad comic book characters, a hostile cowboy who refused to give up his real name and birth date, totally not suspicious, a crying clown, a construction worker, an angry hunter, a gangster rapper, gangster cringes in 2007, and a lion in a yellow hoodie.

That's, I'd like just thinking about that, that they're all just standing in a little way. Seriously, we need to question. Also, you're a really good writer. The way this is really, as I was like reading it, I was like, oh yeah. Yeah. The crying clown loyard up until police,

he was crying because him and his girlfriend had a fight. Lies. The cowboy came back down to police headquarters the next day, sober and cooperative. The cowboy in the clown told the story that police felt exonerated both of them of the previous night's events, as well as no other suspects on that bus. Party goers told police that two bus passengers had gotten into a fight outside the bar, the hunter and the lion. That's weird.

The fact that the hunter and the lion got into a fight outside the bar, the hunter and the lion. That's weird. The fact that the hunter and the lion got in a fight? Seriously. The lion was like, we are in endangered species. After the fight, they told the lion he couldn't get back on the bus, totally understandable. A drunk a ball on the crout, wow. A drunken brawl on a crowded bus would be pretty dangerous. Before the bus pulled away from the bar,

the lion and the yellow hoodie was seen speaking to a guy in a green hockey jersey. Dun, dun, dun. The lion, who, you know, now that I'm reading this, I know this story. Oh, do you? Yeah. I'd never heard of it.

The lion, who identified as 23-year-old Travis Stey, was appointed as a top suspect in the Grizzly Murder, as party goers mentioned to police that he had been belligerent early in the evening. Oh, and his clothes were completely spattered with blood. Stay told detectives that he threw it in the garbage, definitely not as one does. Detective Duane Simon asked Traveste stays the question we are all thinking about, why did you throw it away? And stay answered because it was so full of blood. In an interview with the NBC News, stay told reporters that he

let police recover his costume and gave them his shoes, so nice of him, which had blood all over. This was all done without a sort search warrant or lawyer present because he was innocent, quote unquote. Stay said that he was so drunk that he did not remember anything that happened that night, but he knew he hadn't heard anyone. A yellow costume foot or paw with blood on it was tested and found the match to love lean DNA. Well, nobody had seen Stay punch love lean. Bus riders said that they had seen the fight between Stay and the Hunter, and yet another man admitted that Stay had thrown a punch at him later that evening, that night

following Evelyn's death. So this dude murdered someone by beating them to death. And then continued to party in Mardieck. And then kept fighting in Mardieck. What the fuck? What a fucking asshole. Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, the host of Wondery's podcast American scandal. What a fucking asshole. What a fucking asshole. What a fucking asshole. What a fucking asshole. What a fucking asshole. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wonder Woman's podcast American scandal.

We bring to life some of the biggest controversies in U.S. history. Presidential lies, environmental disasters, corporate fraud. In our newest series, we look at the Kids for Cash scandal, a story about corruption inside America's system of juvenile justice. In Northeastern Pennsylvania, residents had begun noticing an alarming trend. Children were being sent away to jail in high numbers, and often for committing only minor offenses. The FBI began looking at two local judges,

and when the full picture emerged, it made national headlines. The judges were earning a fortune, carrying out a brazen criminal scheme, one that would shatter the lives of countless children and force a heated debate about punishment and America's criminal justice system. Follow American scandal wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wonder App. A trial and sued and prosecutors painted a picture of stay

as a bruised and angry loser of a fist fight who later attacked the good Samaritan who had come to his aid. Witnesses on the stand testified that they had seen Lovelein, quote, talking to the guy in yellow. Most importantly, the Paul left at the crime scene, this is like literal, the Paul left at the crime scene. I know it's truly something. The Paul left behind at the crime scene did not match any other costume. A taxi driver who picked up Travis Day at 1 a.m. that night by a cemetery, a half mile away

from the broken drum testified that quote, I looked at at his face and he was blood covered and he had a blood covered hairline to the neck and covering the whole front of his face, kind of like it was a mass. So his face was literally just covered in blood? Just covered in blood. The cabbie said that he asked stay a few times where he wanted to go and it wasn't until the third or fourth time that he got a response. It was like, quote, it was like he was focusing on something else.

He had something on his mind. He was like staring out into space. Stays costume, lion pod, dangled, and the other one was missing. So the cabbie had nervously joked. Tough night too. No response. Stays was also unaware of the cut on his face that was oozing blood until the cabbie mentioned it. It wasn't until he flipped down the mirror and saw his own face that stay snap back to reality. Despite this testimony, jurors saw holes in the case. Loveling was six, three, and 240 pounds described by his family and friends as, quote,

a gentle giant. Dot always ruins me. That kills me. And would have towered six inches over stay, not to mention the 80-pound weight difference. The defense provided a report from a blood spatter expert who said there were many ways Leblin's blood could have ended up on stay, possibly, from stay coming to Leblin's aid after the attack. An ER doctor said that the cuts on stay's hands were not severe enough to have come from giving

a deadly beating. The defense turned to a wild west-esque shit show of pointing fingers and shifting blame, and unfortunately, they succeeded in redirecting suspicions. Quote, I think that they, quote, or someone else, beat us both up, said stay. Police turned to the timeline of the Knights of Ends and security footage from the Broken Drum Video footage revealed that three and a half minutes after Loveline left the bar for the last time,

the clown can be seen leaving the bar. That would mean the party bus hadn't departed yet, because everyone agreed that the clown left the broken drum on the bus. If the bus was still outside, Loveline stay, and some of the costume partiers from the bus could have been together in the parking lot for at least three and a half minutes. The defense claimed that a gang of people from the party bus had beaten both Loveline and stay.

This is wild, isn't it? Authorities struggled to accept that the prime suspect was acquitted after a nine-day trial and could not be tried again. Mike Scholl still believes that stays guilty. Stating to NBC that quote, there's not one stitch of physical evidence to suggest anyone else it was involved. The case is considered close and prosecutors allowed evidence to be destroyed.

Joel? Lies and evidence ever be destroyed. Right? I don't understand that. Joel was described by friends and family as a gentle giant and a family man. He was born and Bismarck to North Dakota to his loving parents. As described by those who knew him, he was a sensitive and humorous child. His family moved to Bagley, Minnesota, where he attended high school. After Joel moved to Grand Forks North Dakota to

attend the University of North Dakota. He graduated with a degree in math and computer science and worked as a computer technician at the hospital nearby. He married and had a daughter, who he loved and adored. Later, Loveleen and his wife divorced. The two still remained very amicable, which says so much about the man Loveleen was, and co-parent to their daughter. Loveleen's ex-wife and fiance were

friendly to one another and even following his death, they found comfort in one another and in Loveline's daughter. That entire paragraph just had me like buzzing like in a sad way. No one really talks about what happened anymore and the broken drum is still open. That's crazy. Although I am of drinking age, I've never been there nor do I plan to. I would think about this case every time I drove by the broken drum and it reminded me to always say I love you to those who I care about and that the criminal justice system needs to do better. I hope my analysis did this case justice

and wasn't too long and as always, I hope you keep it weird, but not so weird that taken away ash. I feel like I can't even for this. I know this is a harm like dumb to sound. Not so weird that taken away, Ash. I feel like I can't even for this. I know this is hard. I'm like dumb to sound. Not so weird that you dress in costumes and beat someone to death.

Yeah, not so weird that you ruin Halloween by murdering a guy. Oh, so PS, if you want to hear a story about a guardian angel telling me in a dream that something bad was going to happen in an anxiety attack, a voice on the radio speaking to me during an Uber drive to remember and trip to Urgent Care Creepy Dream Premonition.

Let me know. Everyone else thinks I'm off my rocker. I am and have been for quite some time, but still, let me know. We're off our rockers to this. I want to hear all of that. Please send to all of that in. Wow, redacted. That was an amazing, amazing, amazing, amazing tale.

It really was. And I definitely have heard that case before. That's a case I feel like I wanted to cover at one point. Which is a crazy case. It's so good. Yeah. Dang. My next one is called a murderer

in my parents wedding parentheses eat. What? And let me make sure I can say this person's name, Lizzie. Today sent this email twice and added the second time, so I was like, I have to pick this. You've got to love you and it's amazing. So I love that eat. All right, hi, Weirdo.

My name is Lizzie. Feel free to use my name. And I am a new Weirdo who just started, see, I knew it. I actually did know it, but I forgot. You did. I forgot it's cool. And I am a new Weirdo who just started listening at the beginning of the pandemic, Lovato. I've never heard that one and I love it, but I forgot. I forgot the beginning of this. I forgot it's cool. And I am a new weirdo who just started listening at the beginning of the pandemic lavado.

I've never heard that one, and I love it. That's just me. Thanks to my wonderful big sister, Jess, I want to thank you guys for being so awesome and a source of entertainment and good feels. I mean, you know, minus the murders, while being cooped up inside forever. The story is kind of a long one because I felt

the need to include all the details I could find, but I hope you enjoy. So this is about an old friend of my dad's named Anthony, and as you can guess from the title, yes, he was in my parents' wedding. Just for a little context on this man's, around 1986. I love that. Around 1986, dude stole over $100,000 from his job and used part of it to have a romantic Bahamas trip with his accomplice.

But then they came home and turned to themselves in. All they had to do though was pay that back or pay back what they had spent and were placed on two years probation. Can you imagine that's all you get for stealing $100,000 from your job? Just two years probation. $100,000.

But a few months later, Anthony was arrested again for drunk driving and sentenced to serve 48 hours to 12 months in parentheses, what in a rehab facility. And to that, Anthony said, in true Amy Winehouse fashion, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,

no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no ran from his problems to another state where he met a young woman that he would then go on to have a two-year relationship with. I'm sure you can already suspect how this relationship ended though, so buckle up. Click. Alright, so we already know that Anthony's a real stand-up guy, but even good guys make mistakes, right?

Sure. You know, mistakes like, quote-unquote, accidentally stabbing your girlfriend in the chest during an argument. That's a big mistake. And obviously, after you make a mistake, you have to fix it. So you clean up all the blood by a 33 gallon plastic garbage can, throw your dead girlfriend's body inside, drive across state lines, punch holes and said can, and then dump it into Lake Michigan. You also try to cover your mistake by calling your dead girlfriend's mom more than 15

times, pretending to be concerned, because she supposedly packed and left after they had an argument about flirting with other men. Just a tiny mistake, right? Oops. Nope. Slopper-oom-up. Oopsie. Dude wasn't as smart as he thought, though, and hadn't put anything else inside the can, so her body was soon found badly decomposing, floating in the lake. That is horrific. It's so sad. He eventually confessed to his quote-unquote mistake. And while the prosecution pushed for the maximum possible sentence of 40 years, he was given 20. 20 years for murdering

somebody and placing them in a frickin can and throwing them in the water. Okay. All that preparation, like punching holes in the can and calling her mom and calling her mom and calling her mom. the can and calling her mom and calling her mom. Wow. You should add on extra time for that. However, he was released on pillow on parole. He when they get released on parole. However, he was released on parole just after 10 years. But I mean, is anyone really surprised that another white man in the 80s only got a

slap on the wrist for murdering his girlfriend? Unfortunately, no. I digress. Well, I won't rage, but not surprised seriously. It's fucking ridiculous. While I wish he was caught doing something else really stupid and sent to Rotten Prison, he's actually an example of an effective rehabilitation

and has not gotten into trouble since, at least publicly. I mean, Karma's still is a bitch, though, as she should be, so don't worry. In the early 2000s, Anthony's plan to open a badass coffee company franchise was publicized along with his little mistake in the 80s. Oh, that little thing. And he was going to follow you forever.

Yeah, and that's in quotations, by the way. Like she's very much making fun of him. Yeah. And he was quoted as saying, quote, I'm not proud of what I did. I live every day with what happened. I don't know what more I could do. I did my time and I'm one of the few people who didn't go back. It was stupidity and I don't know what else to say. I love that I live with it every day. It's like, yeah, she doesn't live. She doesn't. Right. And you don't know what else to

say. You should come up with something. Yeah. And then they write cool story, bro, but you actually didn't serve your time and you're still a waste of skin. Yep. Less than a week after this was published, it was reported that an official from the coffee company said it was, quote, mutually agreed upon with Anthony to terminate plans for the store. You don't say, and then in this person says, I refused to believe this was a mutual agreement, though, because the official then went on to say, if someone else were to come in and wants to open a store, we would support them. So yeah, that's the story of my dad's groomsman turned murderer. Keep it weird guys, much love, Lizzie. That is wild. Can you imagine looking back on your wedding photos and just being like,

yep, no way. That's that, like wow. That's like the um, wedding video that they have of, I think it's dirty John, where they show where in your life. Oh yeah. What the fuck? And you're just like, so weird. So let's see, I think I'm going to pick, listen or tale, like literally the sloppiest premeditated murder y'all have ever seen. Plus Facebook behind bars, a love story. Love it. Because that sounds great.

A love story? A love story question mark. Hi, Elena and Ash. My name is Danielle. You can use it. Thank you, Danielle. You're not redacted. And I love you guys, I love you. And if you read this, shout out to my sister Tatiana and my coworker Amanda. Both lovely ladies I got hooked on you guys' show. Hey thanks. Thanks. Hi Tatiana and Amanda. Hey. I am obsessed with you guys and got caught up with your show in like

six months after I discovered you guys. I love the listener tales, but never thought anything true crimey or cool happened to me or around me. Except for the body found near my house, which the police found right after I really got and it grew true crime stuff. So I felt like I manifested that shit, you know? I also feel that way. But anyway, one day Facebook, that ancient beast,

suggested a friend for me, and I wish I could say my reaction was to ship myself, but honestly, I was more just that ancient beast, suggested a friend for me, and I wish I could say my reaction was to ship myself, but honestly, I was more just like, uh, what? But it reminded me, I have a story I could share with you guys that maybe you would like to read. But honestly, there are some pretty sloppy criminals and murderers out there, but dang, these guys did not plan their crap out of the, we're here to know what that says. But these guys did not plan their crap out that well.

There you go. There you go. So, I went to school with this kid, going to leave names out, but I will share the articles with you guys if you are curious. Thank you. From seventh grade up until my sophomore year of high school, when all this stuff went down.

I wasn't close with this guy because he had a lot of anger issues, and he would frequently have outbursts and get in trouble in seventh and eighth grade from what I remember. And, oh, I lost my place. And there was a rumor he sold pot in eighth grade, or he had pot, but my little self could not even fathom this at 13 years old. I thought we were all way too young for that and people were just lying to sound cool. At our elementary school, which was K through eight,

I know a lot of places have a separate junior high, but we didn't, so I still refer to my junior high years as elementary school. Well, that's why I was wondering. It was fairly small and we didn't have the same home rooms, but I knew him well enough to have a few conversations with him. Once we went to high school, everything was much larger.

And I was on the honors track and never really saw him. But I heard of shenanigans from each old friends and whatnot. South more year, we start to hear that this kid killed his dad. Like, what? No way, that's not real. But then he was arrested and charged with murder of his dad. Then all the rumors asked to why. First it was self-defense.

His dad was high and he tried to kill him first. Then him and his friend killed his dad to try to steal his dad's meds. Then him and his friend killed his dad for his mom as a plan to get his life insurance money and hot damn if this isn't like hot juicy goss for a bunch of 16 year olds but like only for two weeks until someone's nudes were shared around which happened a lot in high school which looking back as extremely disturbing. I'm happy to have flown so far under the radar no one remembers me from my school. But anyways since we were young and, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon,

C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'm dad, since he was abusing the family, this is alleged when he was facing assault charges when he died, I guess, but I don't know the details. She gave the two teens a gun and told them

to shoot him in a park and scatter pills to make it look like a drug deal gone bad. One of the friends bailed on the plan. The friend that committed to the plan decided he didn't want to use the gun he was given, but a baseball bat. I'm like, where did he make that decision? Did he make that decision?

This kid was clearly going for something? That's taking it into a very disturbing place. He hit the man in the head with the bat while he was in bed sleeping. What? That didn't work because he got up and was walking around later, so the friend hit him again with the bat. That's when the kid stabbed his own dad. Wow. When did he become a part of the plan? Don't ask me, I have no clue. Anyway, the kid stabbed him three times, and then the kid, the friend, ended up slitting the man's throat. That's so intense. They moved him to the garage, and then when

the mom came back from quote, establishing her alibi, she called 911. It all later came out, she had planned it all, and the quote unquote mastermind for all this. I typed out quote unquote this time because I figured every other time I quoted something you would just read it with emphasis or sarcasm as you saw fit. But in that moment I felt I needed it stated. So yeah, that was pretty cray and super sloppy, and like, I'm pretty sure it really only took them like two days to arrest everyone involved, or something like that. I said in my title, this was like literally the sloppiest pre-meditated murder y'all have ever seen.

The kid is serving 22 years in prison, the friend is serving 16 years, the friend who dipped on the plan but knew about it, I think got one year. The mom is serving life. What reminded me about this case is one day, Facebook suggested I add this kid as a friend. He had a new profile and I'm like, uh, okay, so when do prisoners, especially convicted murderers get Facebook privileges?

And there are recent photos of him too, prison tats and orange suit and all. So I am hella confused and I have mutual friends with him. That was my favorite part. Like what friends of mine added him. And he has a fiance that he met while he was incarcerated. I don't understand these things. So apparently Facebook is keeping people in touch,

even behind bars peeps, and potentially helping those locked up find a different kind of ball and chain. So I found that hilarious. I did too. I found that hilarious when I typed it, so please laugh or expel air. But for some reason,

three or no is the news for my sake. I can't do it when I'm not intending to. That's amazing. If you read this, thanks for reading, guys. Love you so much, exo exo, and hope you keep it weird. But not so weird that you plan to kill your dad and do it in a way that is not as planned. It's super messy and like obvious to everyone

that you planned it and you did it. And then somehow got Facebook and a fiance from inside prison, but yay for love. I loved how it ended. Yay for love, that's amazing. So good how it ended. Yay for love. That's amazing. It's so good. Guys, you are so funny.

I love this. So good. Damn. I just want to hang out with everybody. And just, you guys can make me laugh all the time. Hell yeah. Let's do that soon. My next one is called Gun Town Cemetery.

And I got to shout this guy, Zacho, because look at this. Are you seeing this? Oh, I can't. I wrote a put a foot. He's the one that said put a foot. And I included pictures like you would for like a school project. Yes, correct.

I was trying to figure out how to word that and you did it for me. So let's get it. Oh wow. Hey guys, my name is Zach and I found your podcast about two months ago. I'm a truck driver. I love our truck driver listeners. I love our truck driver listeners.

I love our truck driver listeners. You guys are the shit. You guys rock and you're nothing like Boots. You are amazing girls obviously. Everybody. And listening to your show makes the day go by so quick. Who would have thought you can combine lightheartedness and murder together? Not us. Not us. It happened. It's a great show. But anyway, my story I would like to share is that of gun town cemetery. I'm excited. Gun town is one of Connecticut's oldest cemeteries. It's located in Nogata. Nogata, thank you. He literally gave me pronunciation for that.

And I was like, no, just like can't say it. It's good talk. It's not easy. I did it. And it was established in 1790, so it's old as fuck. It's on the plot of land that the guns had owned and operated a sawmill back in the colonial times of settling.

One of the original guns was Jasper, of course he was. I love that. He was a Scotsman, he came to the States, our brother, and pretty much settled the majority of Connecticut towns. Gun Town Cemetery is said to be haunted and boy do I have a story and pictures to back up those claims.

I am here for it. Also, you're a great photographer. A couple of years ago, I decided I wanted to go see what all the hubbub was about. So I gathered some of my friends and off we went. In my spare time, a hobby, if you will, I'm a photographer. So I brought my camera ready to catch some gosties. We couldn't have picked a better day.

It was October, Misty, and Foggy, the perfect recipe for some spooktastic shit. As soon as we got there, I was hyped and we all walked through the gates and split up to see the whole place. There's local legends of spirit dogs and music playing and vanishing boys, so of course we wanted to see any of that. Hell yeah. And also when you said split up as soon as they got in, I thought it said spin up. So we all sped up right up. We got there. We didn't even throw up. So we all have to spin up. Right, look, we got there. Didn't even throw up. We spin up like a newborn.

We were so stressed for this, spin up. I pulled out my camera and started snapping photos. This is the first photo I took. Some old ass headstones here. That is an old ass headstone. That's also a great photo picture. After I took this photo, one of my friends said it started to feel like there was more people here, not just us.

I definitely began to feel that too. I walked a little bit more and almost stepped on a gravestone. You'll see why in the next picture. 1841. Damn. So this person was buried, but it's like one of those tombstones that's like on the ground, literally like in the ground. Yeah. Some of the people buried here actually fought in the Revolutionary War.

Wow. That's crazy. As I was standing over this grave, I swear I felt someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and saw Mr. Guns grave. So of course, I had to get a picture. Also, that's the coolest fucking picture ever. I, all the most,

to go to this cemetery. Yeah, I want to go and we could go. We could go. After I had a moment with Mr. Yeah, I want to go and we could go. We could go. After I had a moment with Mr. Gunn, I walked over to the other side. This is where the children are laid to rest. Most of them here died of sickness. But one of the children here

said to have been the victim of a murder suicide. Oh. And that's the child that's seen running the perimeter of the walls. And when he's seen, he stops running, turns towards you and vanishes. Damn. This could be folklore, but if it is real, I didn't want to take any pictures of his grave.

I've had encounters with demons before, another story I can share later. Please do. Please. And acknowledging its present is the last thing I wanted to do. Smart. Yes. I'll hear for that. After that, I felt the strong need to take a photo of this grave.

Don't know why, but something told me to, so I did. Right after I took this photo, one of my friends, John, waves me over to where he is. He told me that while he was reading a headstone, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ghost lady walk across the cemetery. Right after he told me this, I went to the corner of the cemetery and grabbed this photo. At first glance, it doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary, but if you look just below into the left of the center, you can make out what looks

to be a woman standing behind or in front of her grave. My goose bumps. It's goose bumps. If you zoom like crazy into that too, it almost looks like she has like the like hairstyle that they they have in the high neck. Yeah. Oh, wow. It's really fucking spooky. Just gave me goosebumps. We're definitely gonna post this. I also attached all the photos in this puttafa along with the email. After this picture was taken, we were all overcome with the sense of sadness. At the time I didn't see her in the image. It wasn't until I got home and took them off my SD card that I saw her. This is getting pretty lengthy now, so I'll

end it here. If you guys do end up reading this on the show, feel free to use my names and my friends. Good, I'm glad I did. Also one thing I'd like to share before ending this. I live in Connecticut, Waterbury specifically. Born and raised, and a while back, a man by the name of William Billy Smolinsky vanished, completely gone, no trace at all. His family has been looking for him since, nobody or any information has been brought forward yet. If you guys could cover this in an episode, it's a very interesting story.

I'm on it. Well, that's it. Keep it weird. Sincerely, Zach. Zach. Also, the pictures that you got are so fucking great photographer. I'm gonna post those and we'll, oh my god, we definitely have to post those so everybody can see it. Yeah, yeah. Why? Especially the ghost one. That is truly wild. I'm shook.

I am shook. Wow. Okay, so thank you for that Zach. That was amazing. My next one that I will read is a librarianrarian's listener tale. Yay, yo! Which I love. We love a Librarian. This one's really good too. This one's entitled, Ghosts Need to Lay Off My Shit, a Librarian's listener tale. This one is so good.

Hey you fucking weirdos. My name is Brian. You can use my real name. Thank you Brian. Thanks. And I've been mulling over submitting a listener to her for three months now. I've been shamelessly obsessed with your podcast in August.

Thank you so much. No shame in that. Thank you. Which is when I just so discovered y'all by happenstance. Either way, I supremely look forward to listening, especially when I can't sleep in its late at night, which seems to be happening more often than not recently.

Fucking COVID. In life, not seeming real anymore. I feel that. I feel that. I absolutely love Ash's voice and how when she says exactly, she actually pronounces the fucking tea before the L.Y. Do you notice she does this?

I never did before this podcast, but I'm glad you love it. Yeah, I'm glad you do not. A lot of people do not. Don't understand that, but I don't really give much. But thank you for loving it. And how Alina consistently wants to set people on fire for their sins in acts of douchebagry.

Yes, he gets us. Also now whenever I say, I love that. I actually think of both of you and I smile. Oh, I love that. I know. Is you even me to do that? I didn't even need to do that. So thank you both for being you.

Thank you for being you. Also attaching this is a word doc and put a foot because I'm a librarian, that's what I do. Yeah, yo. Okay, there's seriously a million things I can write about here. Maybe the story about how I saw my deceased grandmother sitting in the living room wearing one of her Sunday hats one morning when I was nine,

or the one about how my father received a phone call when he was a teen from his godmother months after she had passed away. Shit. How about the one where my parents bold in a league with the infamous Buffalo, New York bike path rapist, Alta Mio Sanchez? Holy shit. Turns out he was a killer boulder.

All jokes aside, that dude is a serious turdburger. And if you haven't read into him and the bullshit that ensued with the Buffalo police and their crappy investigation that put an innocent man in prison for decades, you really should. Anyways, I digress. This turned into like, listener tales in case you just- Yeah, you guys are like- You guys are so grateful. Giving us a mountain here and I can't wait. While digging through my mind, I decided to combine some of the spooky- spupy ass shit that's happened to me. Maybe it's all related.

Who the hell knows. I suppose that it's important to start from the beginning of one weird shit started happening in my life. Apologies for the lengths. So if you decide to cut parts out, what you probably want to, never. Never. I completely understand. I already mentioned the grandmother thing

when I was a wee lad. At nine, I convinced myself that I was just seeing things or dreamed it up. I didn't tell my parents because I was already super neurotic ass hat and I tested their patients on the daily. They wouldn't have believed me anyways, so I tabled it. As I grew old, I earned my father started to go to classes in a neighboring town with two mediums who lived in Lilliedale, New York. I'm sure you're familiar with Lillie dale being the spiritualistic capital of the Eastern Seaboard. I don't know how my dad was

drawn to it, but my mom encouraged him to go, so he did his thing. He learned how to meet, meditate, and open up his mind to accept whoever wanted to talk. That's cool. That's cool, but I don't know if I would want to open my mind to whoever wanted to talk. But like, what a cool dad. Yeah, you were cool last time. I also had never heard of Lily Dale. Yeah, I've heard of Lily Dale, but that's, I didn't know that it was like this cool. And let's go. To this day, but that's, I didn't know that it was like this cool. And let's go. To this day, my dad will often walk into a room and say something like, okay, there's

someone in here. Wow. He thinks he constantly sees and hears shit and refrains from telling anyone. Maybe not the alarm, the rest, maybe not to alarm the rest of the family, but to be honest, we're all in tune as well. Shit, a family of empaths. I feel you. It's a blessing and a curse. For the record, my dad has a huge handlebar mustache. I literally pictured him with a handlebar mustache. I am not

kidding you. Why? I don't know why. Maybe you're a fucking empath. That's wild. That's weird. Maybe this story made you intuitive. I think it did. Thank you so much. A huge handlebar mustache and resembles the past football player, Mike Dicca. Don't tell him that to his face though because he might kill you. I noted. I'm looking up Mike Dicca. So I'll set the stage of where the fun stuff starts. Picture me, 18, a gangly scaw kid from the Burbs of Buffalo, New York.

Yep, that's exactly who I picture. Your dad seems adorable. I'm attaching a picture for the record, so you can see my bomb ass highlights and complete awkwardness, see Appendix A. I love that there are appendix A. This is your librarian, for sure. When I'm not slinging a trombone on stage

and pretending like I know how to sing, I'm stealing street signs and fence company signs with my scabros because that's how we did. Fucking nerds. So we were all straight edge, so we needed something to pass the time. We eventually shook the Kleptomaniac shit and we're drawn to other stuff,

mostly because we could finally drive. This was the age of the internet, so my space really connected us to some interesting stuff. Hell yeah. The day of my high school graduation, one of my best friends had a grad party. We ended up having a super great time and ended the night with a campfire, our tradition of sorts. The day of my high school graduation, one of my best friends had a grad party. We ended up having a super great time and ended the night with a campfire, our tradition

of sorts. That's what we did, too. Because everyone was up super early, everyone really checked out sooner than usual, leaving only a few of us left. Me, my friend Lisa, named Change because we've lost touch. And my BFF4E. My BFF forever. Jo. Lisa had a sweet Chevy Cavalier and would drive us around from time to time.

Since the three of us were still ready for some action, we decided to travel to East Aurora New York, a quaint and sleepy town about 40 minutes away. So what's in EA, you ask? Guttelberg Cemetery. Okay. So if you google the name, you'll find some info. But to fill y'all in real quick, this old cemetery dates back to the 1800s. There's maybe 20 some graves and it's on a pitch black dead end street.

The three of us had read some stories about a lot, about a lot across the street belonging to an old abortionist who would carry out the deed for desperate men who needed their quote unquote, problem to go away. Guys are douchebags. Often times the mothers would not survive, as the practice was still in its infancy and quite dangerous. Rumor has it that this Dr. Goodlberg would bury bodies in a lot across the street, or throw them in the body of water a few hundred yards away.

That is fucked up. So fucked. The lore also says that at some point, Dr. G hanged himself from a tree above the cemetery because he couldn't manage his guilt anymore as he was implicated in a murder. Certain paranormal website states that you can often see a transparent being hanging from a branch,

or hear hellhounds in the distance, or even find the small handprints of babies on your window if you abandon your car to walk in the cemetery. Queue that night. Ooh. I hate this already. Fuck that. Baby handprints are not for me.

Dead baby handprints are not anything. Honestly, I'm involved in this. You know, like, baby handprints also work for me. Like, you get some windows. For real life babies. Baby's up for me. Just not their handprints. Not their handprints.

We made the drive and we're definitely ramped up, ready for anything really. Lisa parked across the street from the cemetery. Note that there were signs all over the fucking place to tell you not to park anywhere. We obviously did not heed their warnings because we were badass on stoppable high school graduates. I remember the road being covered by a dense fog. The night was chilly and it was probably around 12, 30 or so. This is what nightmares are made of. As we approached the steps up the graves,

up to the graves, the moonlight peered through the few trees illuminating some of the headsoons. I quickly deduced that this was probably a war of 1812 cemetery and there was nothing to worry about. I remember saying something like, this is fascinating. I sincerely hope these people are resting in peace. I really felt nothing negative at all,

even despite the fact countless headstones that were vandalized. We continued walking further to the body of water behind the cemetery. It was really calming being out in the country with a couple of friends. I was feeling actually really wonderful. Then the sounds began.

It started with low, bellowing growls and grew to loud-ass barking. This wasn't a typical dog bark, it was chilling and infernal. Chaos was circling us. Hellhounds? Well, fuck me! I wasn't prepared for this. We couldn't see a thing at all, just the sonic bombardment cutting through us. Wow, great writing. I know. We love burying. Collectively, we all began to book it back to the car, which at this point was probably a couple football fields away. I would have died. Joe was a track star, so he ran out in front

as Lisa and I trailed behind. As soon as we hit the graveyard, it stopped. Out of breath, we gingerly walked back to the car. As Lisa began to unlock this driver's side door, we see it. Fucking baby handprints. No! Like ten of them, all over the fucking place. Not fam, we were done.

Yeah, bye. My ears teared up. My- it was so insane that his ears teared up. I just threw my head back so far that I literally got dizzy. Your jaw like unhinged with those ha ha. My jawline doesn't hinge, I feel. His eyes teared up. My eyes teared up and I wiped that shit off the window so fast.

We bounced as quickly as humanly possible and drove home in silence and disbelief. I passed out pretty quickly as soon as I hit the pillow, just happy to be in the comforts of home, always calm, then the morning. The next day was Sunday, and for some stupid ass reason, my parents wanted to go to some picnic or something around 1130. I'm like comatose at this point, but obliged because my parents had wanted us to go as a family. We only had one bathroom at our house, so I had to wait until my parents were done doing their thing. When the bathroom was free, I went in and washed up real quick, brushed my teeth, and did whatever I needed to do to look presentable. My parents and sister were downstairs waiting for me to finish up. Kind of peering up the

stairs. K, all set. As I turned off the water, the swift wind pushed through the whole upstairs. The door to my parents' room slammed shut, along with the door to my sister's room. Then the bathroom window slammed down and the curtains flew off the wall. I audibly said, what in the fuck? Then I hear it from downstairs. This deep voice from behind a handlebar moustache. Brian, what the hell did you bring home last night? I went cold. My dad found me out. I brought something home. How? He didn't even know I went anywhere.

What followed me? I was doubly terrified now because I knew I messed up. I spilled the beans immediately and my dad was fuming. I got my ass handed to me on the car ride. I don't remember anything else from this incident, but this wasn't the end. Fast forward about seven years later, I'm finishing up my grad degree. I'm no longer a sky kid and no longer as gangly. I'm in love. I'm happy.

Things are coming together. Good for you. Yay! I found the one, spoiler alert. She was not the one. I didn't see that coming. I found the one, spoiler alert. She's not the one. She's not. She's not. She didn't. She stuck.

My girlfriend had her own place, a side-by-side duplex owned by her parents, who now lived in a neighboring town. On the other side, where there are old effects, including a room full of her deceased brother's stuff, honestly, none of that bothered me much. I ended up living in his old room at one point and never felt a negative thing at all. Before I officially moved in, my girlfriend had roommates, so she lived in a smaller bedroom that had access to the attic.

She actually put her bed in the attic, along with a TV, some clothing, dressers, jewelry, et cetera. This attic was the actual definition of suck. Her bed was next to one of the walls, where a full-size mirror hung. Not smart. That shit is creepy in itself.

Can't do that. I did not like being up there at all. Half the attic was blocked off by a sheet hiding more of her parents' old shit. Old decorations, boxes, lamps, and the like. I remember thinking, why the fuck aren't your shitty roommates living up here? Either way, I embraced it and just enjoyed being around her. Oh. I would stay over quite a bit, but not as much as I really could because of that goddamn

bedroom situation. I never told her why, so I would make up excuses to go home. I didn't want to upset her. I guess I should have though. One random night, I decided to stay over. We fell asleep, and all was fine. No real issues. At some point, three or four, I was wide awake. I sat up and felt like I was stuck in a trance. I got up out of bed and ducked underneath the rafters and was drawn to the front corner of the attic. My eyes adjusted. In front of me is a figure of a dark man

wearing a hat crouched in the corner. Just watching. No. No. No. Why was he crouching? No. Smoke is coming from him, like he's taking a drag from a cigarette. The fuck? I walk right up to him and start waving my hands furiously in an attempt to clear the smoke. I love that that was your first response.

He's like, what do you do? He's like second hand smoke kills, man. I walk right up, or excuse me, as quickly as he appeared, he's left. I'm sweating bullets. I start yelling, babe, babe, we gotta get the fuck out of here. Some shit just happened. My girlfriend woke up and I practically dragged her down the steps to the living room. I sat her down and go, we can't be up there anymore. I saw something. I swear to God. She quickly went from

sleepy state to wide awake and said, what did you see? There was a man, a dark man. He was wearing a hat. he was smoky. It was the craziest thing. It felt like a dream, but it was so weird. He was smoky. If Drew looked me up and said, I'd be like, well, put in the playstyle. It's like, what?

She went silence. She went silence. She went silent and all the blood left her face. Her normally olive complexion turned the pale-ish shade of white. I was confused and alarmed. What the hell was going on here? Then from her purse, the lips comes the words, not again. Not again! What the fuck do you mean not

again? For the record I shouted these things. You have every way to explain that when she was a kid, her friends had a sleepover up there once. At that time it was her older brother's room. They always felt cool being amongst his things, Nirvana and Green Day posters, incense, etc. incense is cool, I love that. And he was away that night. They did everything little girls would do at a sleepover. When bedtime came, they all retreated to sleeping bags. In the middle of the night, one of her friend awoke from a sound sleep to see, I bet you can guess, a black figure of a man and a hat taking drags from a cigarette. She told my girlfriend, and nothing ever really came from it because my girlfriend didn't believe her.

It was swept under the rug. Well, guess she didn't make that shit up. We slept in the living room on the pull-out couch that night and moved her bed to the lower room the next day. I also put a glow in the dark light cover of Jesus and two children as he shepherded a lamb in that room. I'm literally screaming. I'm not overly religious in the slightest.

You're not. But apparently this was enough to stave off whatever crept in the attic. I'm literally screaming. Nothing ever fucked with us. I used to think, though, if I was haunting a family, like when I die, I do plan to do that. Like I wanna.

Oh my God. I would never be driven away by Jesus. No. I wonder why it drives a lot of spirits away. Well, because demons, isn't it supposed to be that like Jesus, like, yeah, of course, protects you from the demons? Do you think that I was a demon

or do you think you were just smoking? I think he was just smoking, but I don't know. Cause he never fucked with the demons. But it worked, yeah, exactly. It's important to note that before I came into the picture, her brother was haunted by a lot of things and had many personal demons. Oh.

Perhaps this was one of them? I'm not sure. I only lived in that house for another year, so as we broke up, she was incredibly miserable, and I just couldn't do it anymore. In retrospect, I think I may have had better luck dating the black figure in the attic. Yeah. Fast forward again.

Current times. I've been my early 30s. I'm still laughing. I can love you. I'm just making sure I'm walking back up to that. I'm like, you want to give this a shot? I'm like, do you feel this between us? I'm so stupid.

I'll get rid of the Jesus lamp if we can continue with this. Let's see where this goes. Can I have a drag? I'm not a smoker. That might be a deal breaker. You should really try to take this. I was just gonna say, are you willing to try chancex for this relationship? I've been my early 30s and I own an upper lower apartment with my parents. They live downstairs and since they're aging and like to fall down. Since they're aging, since they're aging, like to fall down, go into diabetic shock,

and set her up. I decided this would be a swim. The audio is going red right now. Anytime the audio goes red, that's how you know it's a good time. My siblings called me the golden child. They're just jealous shitheads. Regardless, we moved in November of 2017. I moved in first because my parents were still selling their current home. Everything was all peachy keen. The past owners of the home were the only ones

who had ever lived there. And I guess they were a little Italian family. Like they were actually little. Maybe the tallest of them was five-six. And yes, it shows. I hit my head on shit all the time. Maybe in three years. It's five-six, that little.

I did think so. Five-six. The father had passed away, which triggered the family selling this home. What kind of irked me was that they left a whole bunch of his stuff in the basement, along with Catholic, Jesus' sea items, I gave away.

Why'd you give them away? I thought you let it help you out. I'm attaching a picture of the crushed velvet Jesus painting with bloody tears that was left in the basement for reference, Sea Appendix B. Oh, I see that. They also left clothing tools in like World's Best Grandpa Shit. Oh! If any of my future children leave that kind of shit around, I will haunt the hell out of

them. Anyways, I threw a lot of it away and donated a lot of his closing. Closing. He's closing. I donated it. I donated a lot of his closing. I donated it. One afternoon, a couple buddies and I were moving a couch into the garage and we're taking a second to catch our breath.

A little old dude kind of resembling the guy from up, walked up and said, oh, are you moving in? I responded, yeah, my parents and I are moving in. We're excited. I'll be taking care of them as they get older, you know? The gentleman didn't say anything. Just nodded at me. I turned my head to the right to call my friends out of the garage so we could start moving the couch again. They came back out and I turned back to the gentleman. Well, it was nice to meet, um, what the fuck? The dude was gone. And I doubt he went back into the sky in a house being carried by balloons.

I mean, you never know. I walked over to the neighbor's driveway and no one was around. I was shaken and so were my friends because they also saw him walk up in the first place. In doing some research, I found a picture of the past homeowner who had recently passed away. Let's just say it turns out he was a picture of the past homeowner who had recently passed away.

Let's just say it turns out he was a man of few words in ghostly form. That's cool. That's really cool. Since then, the ghost, whose name is Benny, has been a pest on and off. For a while, our electricity kept shutting off every time I was doing work in the basement, like he was pissed off or something. The circuit in question was right next to an old metal cabinet with some of his old clothing in it that I happened to forget was there. I was starting to get annoyed and asked the spirit to leave multiple times,

ensuring him that the home is in good hands and that he's okay to pass on. I began to have to reiterate this message daily. One afternoon, I was sitting with my dad on the couch in the first floor living room, just like normal, and the ground began to shake below us. Just normal. Loud banging and sued. I got chills and said, nah, fuck this, I'm done. I ran to the basement and yelled, fucking stop it. You don't live here anymore, don't do it again. Few, that should settle it. I went back upstairs and sat back down. My dad and I began talking then boom, boom, boom. You should've asked nicer.

You should've. I went back to the basement and just felt drawn to the back corner where that metal cabinet was. I went up to it and said, fuck you. Because obviously that works, right? Wrong. I donated the rest of his clothing the next day, and he's closing.

And through the cabinet away on garbage day, I just wanted anything connected to him gone. Since that day, which was about a year and a half ago now, he's only thrown my dad's computer mouse on the ground from his desk in the same living room. I think the residual energy has dissipated, but you never really know. So clearly this kind of stuff seems to follow me.

I'm currently dating a wonderful witchy woman, yes, a iteration. Oh, yes, that is. And I agree. We love a witchy woman. And she also is in tune with spirits. I'm sure my encounters are far from over as she grew up in an old farmhouse and was constantly watched by that by a crouching black shadow man in a hat. Apparently, where match made in paranormal heaven, that's adorable. If you've gotten to the end, thanks for reading this long ass tale of some of the creepiest shit that I've encountered. I really appreciate you've gotten to the end, thanks for reading this long astale of some of the creepy ass shit that I've encountered.

I really appreciate you both for all the things all that you do and look forward to more episodes of Morbid, crime, town, town, and possibly even seeing a live show once the world gets back to normal. Hell yeah, brother. It's a bit weird, but not so weird that you go to a haunted cemetery and bring back some attached spirit and then get found out by your dad who looks like Mike Dick on it or date of his horrible person who hides the fact that a haunted black chain smoking figure in a hat wants to hang out with you in the middle of the night

and definitely not so weird that it goes so it looks like the old guy from up wants to keep annoying you in your new home to the point where you have to yell fuck you at him in the basement and donate all of his effects including a crushed velvet Jesus painting, yours and weird, Brian. P.S., if you ever need any help researching anything, I'm an academic librarian and that's kind of what I do. Hit me up. And he did another one too. Brian, if you ever need any help researching anything, I'm an academic librarian and that's kind

of what I do. Hit me up. And he did in the right hand too. Brian. Brian. First of all, appendix A. Picture of gangly ass teenage Brian circa 2005. Yes Brian. That's so, that's so gangly.

Yes Scott. So gangly. So gangly. Appendix B. Crushed Velvet Jesus. Blood tears. My God. A lot. My gosh. Yeah, I would haveendix B crushed Velvet Jesus. Blood tears. My God. A lot. My God.

It's all so good. It's all so good. That's wonderful. I love it so much. I love all of this. You guys fucking killed it. You guys are so good, man. You killed it.

It's crazy. You killed it, pun intended. Killed it, pun intended. And lots of people killed things. I did a good job. I'm a great job. You did a great job. Thank you. You did a great job. You did a great job.

You did amazing. I tapped myself on the back. So you're doing amazing, sweetie. You're doing amazing, sweetie. Thank you. Guys, thank you so much for this. I just love you guys. I love you guys so much.

And I love you guys so much, so you should keep listening. You should. And you should also keep it weird. But not so weird that you go to gun town cemetery and you take a picture of a lady who's dead and maybe is standing right next to a grave, I don't even know,

not so weird that you premeditated murder and it's really bad and super sloppy. Maybe keep it so weird that you get to go on Facebook in prison, I guess it could pass the time. Don't ever have a murderer in your parents wedding. That's far too weird. Never ever ever murder somebody at a Halloween party. That's far too weird. Never ever ever murder somebody at a Halloween party That's way too weird

Definitely keep it as weird as Brian because I think he's living his best life and definitely always keep it as weird as Kiwi and pop lock and drop it The fuck up out of Horseshoe Lake, bro. Yeah Thank you. 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 ad-free with Wondery Plus and Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.