Morbid - Listener Tales Episode 4

Episode Date: November 3, 2019

It's another installment of your crazy-ass tales, weirdos! This one features a dead body in your bed, a stranger with too many knives, some ghosts, a killer co-worker, a recreation of Stand By Me and a few more! Come on in! The water is probably tainted with dead body juice. Episode Supported by Ned! www.helloned.com/MORBID Use Code “MORBID” for 15% off your order Check out Silent Waves, a new podcast by Casefile Presents.  https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/silent-waves/id1398753375 Silent Waves is a seven-part podcast series that tells the confronting true story of 26-year-old Raquel O’Brien as she attempts to liberate herself from the trauma of childhood sexual abuse and a father with a dark secret. She records raw and brutally honest conversations with her family as they discuss the circumstances of their past for the first time. What emerges is a larger story as they find the freedom to confront their conflicting versions of events and reconcile with their past and each other. Find Silent Waves wherever you stream podcasts.  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 ANGI, or download the app today. Hey Weirdos, I'm Elena. My name's Ash. And this is morbid, the listener episode. I'm gonna go back to you. I'm gonna go back to you. I brought you by you from you for you with you and all about you. Yes. Guys, we just had our first live show. Five minutes ago.

Just happened. Just kidding. Just kidding. It was a few days ago and I'm still fucking reeling. I think we're both like, we both hit a wall today because the week just finally caught up with us. But that was the most incredible experience in my entire fucking life.

It really was. We had an absolute blast. Meeting everyone was amazing. We cannot fucking wait until November. Dude, I literally, November better go by as fast as October did, because I am fucking ready. I'm ready. I can't wait to hug every single one of you.

Seriously, guys, you guys are amazing and we can't wait to see you again. But I think we're just gonna dive into it. I think we're about to dive in every time. I was gonna do that at the live show but then at the last second I panicked so I didn't. But we did it now. Bye. Alright so tonight is a listener episode so you guys know the drill by now because I think this is listener episode number 4. Is it number 4 already? I think it is. Yeah. So we've done this a few times before.

You guys love it. We love it. These are just good old fashioned fun. You want to go first or you want me to? I'm a go first. Oh, okay. Mainly because the title of this one is that time Casper was training for Tour de France and my garage. That's why you're going first because it's an amazing name. That is a great title and it demands me to go first. I love it. I must go for no. Sorry about that guys. My microphone stand fell and I offered no assistance, but to yell fuck. But it was great.

So, so let's start off with Casey and her tale of Casper training for the Tour de France in her garage. Casey, Casper, and France, let's get it. Let's do this. Hey, Ash and Alaina. Hey, just watched your livestream at the Lizzy Boardinghouse. Y'all have larger chesticles than I could ever dream of having. So I have a paranormal experience for you.

Awesome. Casey growing up. I didn't believe in ghosts until I was 15. Keep in mind, this is going to sound ridiculous at first, but it happened. And I'll never forget. So when I was 15, my dad and I were renovating my bedroom. I had horrible, horrible circa 1970 wood paneling walls, so we were in the process of tearing the walls down and putting up sheet rock. Good on you.

In the meantime, I moved out into the garage. In our garage, we had an exercise bike. My parents had purchased it a few months prior with no issue. Well, when I moved out there, the bike would just start randomly beeping and lighting up. Nope. Hold your guys knee-tax or size as well. Yeah, we do. Everybody's got to maintain a good heart muscle there.

Dead or alive. I like that you thought about the heart and I thought about the physique. We are who we are. Day or night, it would just start beeping for about 30 seconds and then stop. I kept telling my dad that the Sears bot exercise bike was haunted. See ridiculous, but keep reading. Throughout the week, I kept insisting that it was haunted. So to calm my nerves, he took the batteries out, no noise for the rest of the day or the

rest of the next day. The next night, the took the batteries out. No noise for the rest of the day or the rest of the next day. The next night, the bike started beeping again. So I got up, grabbed the screwdriver to take the back panel off and found the batteries back in the bike. Okay, no big deal. Mom probably used the bike that afternoon left the batteries in it. So I took the batteries out and it stopped beeping. I did all this while it was beeping. I put the batteries in the desk

drawer and went back to sleep. The next night, Friday night, I was up late watching TV but ended up falling asleep. I woke up to the bike, bike beeping and lighting up again. I looked at the time and it was 3.15 am. Oh, it always happens at 3 am. Always. Oh, it's my lucky number. I got up half asleep grab the screwdriver and took the back panel off There were no fucking batteries in the bike. Nope. Don't love that. I'd go sleep with the sheet rock. Nope Definitely sleep with the sheet rock Let's get asbestos. I don't want to deal with it. I don't give a fuck Oh, let's get asbestos. I don't want to deal with it. I don't give a fuck. Cool. So freaked out. I climbed back into my bed, grabbed my digital

camera, because you know, in 2019, flip-flones were still things. Oh, yeah. And started recording the bike. After about 30 seconds, it stopped. Still slightly panic, I covered myself up and turned away from the bike towards the furnace. It says, in all capital letters, now, at some point prior, my three-year-old brother had rolled a ball in between the water heater and softener. The space in between was about four inches, basically just big enough for a ball to fit. So I'm just covered up in my blanket wide away, staring at the furnace. The ball rolled out and knocked over a water bottle that was in front of the furnace. Nope, nope, nope. Right the fuck out of there.

Sheet rocket right out of there. Let's just go sleep with some sheet work. Well, you know what? Good on Casey. Guess the next thing she says is, and I was out. I ran out of the garage into my parents room, grabbed the crucifix off their wall, and girls up at the foot of their bed. I'm not even religious, but in that moment Jesus was my Lord and Savior. If it meant the exercise bike ghost would go away. The exercise exercist. I love it. My dad woke me up as why I was sleeping in a ball at the foot of their bed.

Holding a fucking cross. Like you okay girl? I explained everything and he managed to convince me that I dreamt it. Up until I went out into the garage and the ball was in front of the furnace and the noctober water bottle. No.

While they were out grocery shopping, I called my buddy. He drove to my house and we took the bike to the transfer site. Needless to say, I got in a lot of trouble for that, but it was worth it to keep Lance Armstrong's left nut out of my house. I had not read this before, and so I just like, that just killed me.

Fucking Casey. Oh, I love you. That was awesome. I never had any paranormal activities in my house again. I'm terrible at describing, so I drew a little layout of my garage on Apple notes, so maybe this will make more sense, and that's why I drink. Also, please feel free to creep through my Facebook. I love Casey. Casey, I fucking love you. And Casey drew a very, a great drawing.

It's actually, it's great. I think she's an architect these days. It's pretty amazing. Way to go, Casey. Oh my god, Casey, I love you. And I love your Lance Armstrong possessed house. His left nut. I was fucking brilliant. Keep his left nut out, possessed house. His left nut. That was fucking brilliant.

Keep his left nut out of my house. Keep both your nuts out of my house. Okay. All right. So mine is called listener tails, knives and pipes and guns. Oh my. Woo. That doesn't sound like the Wizard of Oz I saw.

No, it's a little different. Hey ladies, I found your podcast a few months ago. Hey, I don't know why I'm making her sound like that. found your podcast a few months ago. Hey! I don't know why I'm making her sound like that. So dude, a few months ago. She's like, oh, you. She's like, oh, you. And I've been obsessed with it ever since.

It definitely makes my 40 minute drive to work a lot better, especially since I work nights and have to psych myself up for 12 hour shifts. Oh. I know how that feels. I said fuck that she didn't, but I bet she says that. Probably. I've been obsessed with True Crime and the Par the paranormal for as long as I can remember. The Blair Witch Project terrified me when it came out.

How ironic that I ended up marrying a guy with the last name Blair. That's amazing. You know, side note, sorry to ruin your story. My fucking babysitter when I was like seven years old because my mom's a shipbag and hired a shitty babysitter. Let me watch the Blair Witch Project. That's fuck.

And how I didn't, seven. Oh, that's not okay. And then I did not sleep for years to come. Dude, that's a terrifying movie straight up, but back to Whitney story. She says, so here's my story. First and foremost, let me say that I grew up in a little, I almost read this as pop punk, but she said little po-dunk town in the middle of pop punk in the middle of pop punk town There's my chemical romance all up in there in the middle of fucking nowhere west Virginia I've always said that an asteroid land that if an asteroid landed. Oh my god fuck me

I've always said that an asteroid landed there and some dumbasses decided to build a town in the crater like seriously It's 2019 and they still don't have cell phone service. Fuck that. Holy shit. Anyway, one night back in two, oh, am I all right? Anyway, are you broken? Yes. One night back in like 2007 or 2008,

my then fiance now has been to Aakongrats. And I were standing outside in my parents' driveway at like one or two in the morning, saying our goodbyes before he went home. Aww, that's cute. I bet it's not about to be for long. No. I was leaned up against his truck facing my backyard while his back was turned to it.

And I heard the gate dividing our yard and my onc yard open and close. I thought maybe it was my uncle or something and didn't think much of it. Then all of a sudden, I see this creepy ass dude walking straight toward us. Oh, nope, nope, nope, nope. My fiance evidently seeing a look on my face turned around and saw the guy, too. This dude had knives strapped all over him. What?

Like on his belt vest pretty much everywhere. I stood there in fear, certain he was going to kill my fiance and then dragged me off somewhere and turned me into a sex slave. Or sell me for drugs. Finally, the dude starts talking saying he needs help because some guys were chasing him with sticks and pipes. I mean, this dude looked like he could take on fucking Rambo with all those knives. So I wasn't really buying his story about being chased by what sounded like an angry mom.

I was going to say he has knives. I'll strap to him and he's like, help. They have clubs. I'm really, I'm going to love the help you need. Look, I feel like you good, bro My fiance then proceeded to take off toward my house leaving me standing in the fucking driveway with this dude Do you know when you married? Yeah, you married Her fiance's like fucking

I Took off right behind him with the guy following the dude then follows us into my house What get out? I ran through the living room toward my parents' bedroom. No way in hell was I staying in there with that guy. I ran and woke up my dad and told him what was going on. He grabbed his pistol and came through the house and his t-shirt and underwear. Saw the guy standing in the kitchen

and told him he needed to get the fuck out of this house. He sent the guy over to our neighbor who the dude evidently knew that a few minutes later, some guys came walking down the road with big ass pipes. My dad's staying outside with his gun while my fiance left. I'm pretty sure this was a drug deal gone wrong and Rambo wanna be got fucked up. It was some scary ass shit for sure

and I definitely did not go to sleep that night. Thanks for taking the time to read this. You ladies rock Whitney. Holy hell Whitney. What a wild ride wet! That was a ride! Fuck, your fiance left you standing there? I need to ask you, do you hold it over his head?

Because I would hold that over his head for the rest of our lives. I'm like, no I'm not loading the dishwasher. Remember the time you left me for dead? No I'm not cooking dinner. Remember that time you almost had me murdered? I'm not gonna shumble the snow out of the driveway. You almost had me killed one time. You left my ass.

What the hell? But you know what, Wendy? That's bad ass. Wow, he must know that you're about us and can handle yourself. Or maybe he thinks you're a fast runner, I don't know. We're trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here. MUSIC Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, the host of Wondries 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 offences. 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, an 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. What if you were trafficked into a cult over shot nine times, or fell in love with a vampire, or went into a minor surgery and woke up one week later, paralyzed. What would you do?

I'm Whit Missaldine, the creator of this is actually happening, a podcast from Wondry that brings you extraordinary true stories of life-changing events, told by the people who lived them. From a young man that dooms his entire future with one choice, to a woman who survived a notorious serial killer, you'll hear their first person account of how they overcame remarkable circumstances. Each episode is an exploration of the human spirit and personal discovery. These haunting accounts sound like Hollywood movies, but I assure you this is actually happening. Follow this is actually happening wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to ad free on the Amazon Music or Wundery app. Alright, so my next tale is Girls on Bikes. Oh, God. You know. Are they scary? This is from Carrie. Hey, Carrie. Prefer you only use my first name.

No problem. No, Carrie. Several years ago, I moved myself and my dogs into an apartment near a large park. I would only go to as a kid when my dad's baseball team from work would have games. It's precious. So cute. It was the late 70s, so the amenities were few. Ancient playground equipment made of metal,

foot trails through the grass, and two creeks running on either side of the park. The smaller creek was shallow, and kids would wait in to catch tad bulls. Cute. And bring them home in jars or plastic bags. Oh my god, this is so awesome. I love your childhood.

I love it. Parental supervision was minimal as the adults would tend to watch the game drink and gossip while we ran around exploring, playing, generally running wild. We lived within a 10 minute drive of the park. So although it wasn't in our immediate neighborhood, it was in what was familiar territory

and considered a safe part of town. So flash forward 30 years. I take my dogs for a walk in this park, which has been upgraded, walking paths around the shallow creek, a wide bike and jogging path running the length of the deeper creek. The old playground equipment, just a memory now. The grass is moan and a cement walking path

is laid through a quiet area of the park that leads into a quiet upscale neighborhood. As my dogs and I explored this back area, I remembered how wild the area was back then. Although there was a cement path, the shrubbery was much more dense, and I remember that girl was murdered here in the summer of 1979.

Whoa, that took a big left turn. Everything was beautiful, I loved tadpoles, my dogs are cute and murder. I was literally just about to be like, man, you're painting the most beautiful picture. I feel like I'm there, I can feel the breeze in this murder. And then I remember the girl was murdered here. What a thought to have, damn.

I searched for information of her murder online and only found one article what she attached. So I would have counted from my childhood memory. 14-year-old Joanne was babysitting for a nine-year-old girl Patrice. The girls were riding their bikes and on their way home. An older boy aged 16 or 17 started quote, bothering the younger girl. I'm still unclear on how he was bothering her whether it was verbal or physical, regardless. It was enough that Joanne saw to put a stop to it. The boy was a stranger to them. As memory serves, he had mental slash emotional issues and was unreleased from a program or a mental institution. Uh-oh. He stabbed Joanne to death. Again. Whoa! This is just a roller coaster.

Oh my god. The younger girl made it home with untold injuries. Joanne saved this girl's life. Oh my God. That's horrible. This is ruining my life. I remember seeing it on the news and my parents stressing that if I were ever to encounter someone bothering me anywhere

to not say anything in response, quote, you just high-tailed it out of there. Within the next few days, I was on my bike at my best friend's house. We were talking about the murder. Her little sister said something told her the blood was still there. Someone told her the blood was still there and everything. Jesus.

We decided to see for ourselves, but made her little sister stay home. This is like, stand by me. They've got this. The body. We rode our bikes through the neighborhood and made our way to the park, crossing an old bridge that ran over the deep creek. Wow, this really is like, so many. Well, down the narrow cement path where the foliage was deeper into the adjusting neighborhood.

And there just feet away from the quiet tree-lined street and the nice homes where Joanne was Joanne's blood dried on the path where it had pooled, dried, where it had splashed on the leaves. Yellow police tape broken still hung on the branches. The excitement of seeing the real life crime seem faded to real life fear, and we high-tailed it out of there. We were nine. I always admired this girl.

I never knew her. Here's what I found without a deep dive. So she attached this article that is titled Late Joanne Betts to receive Carnegie Medal for Heroism. And this really short little blurb says the late Joanne Betts who died of stab wounds after she came to the aid of a girl for whom she was babysitting, has been named the recipient of the Carnegie Hero Medal. Wayne Betts, her father, said he received word from the Carnegie Hero Fund Commission. He said the medal is expected to be presented here in about three months. The award is considered the highest civilian honor for heroism. Miss Betts' 14 was slain June 23,

while riding a bicycle in Towel Park, 96th Street, and West Center Road, with the girl she was babysitting, Pratrice Schmeidman. Miss Schmeidman recovered from her wounds. Thomas Samson was later found guilty of manslaughter in the attack. And it says no word on whatever happened to this guy. Wow. I wonder what happened to the younger girl too.

Therapy. Lots of it. Holy shit. Really intense. Joanne Betts is a fucking hero. Joanne. R.I. hero. Joanne RIP. Yeah, for real. Oh, that was a tough one.

Yeah, that really should. That had so many stand by me vibes though. But you know what, Carrie, thank you for telling me that. That was crazy. Seriously, thank you. My next one is called Listener Tales. Call the cops. Not your friend.

That was a really good advice. Hi guys. First of all, you guys are awesome. Thank you. Thanks. You are my all you guys are awesome. Thank you. Thanks. You are my absolute favorite podcast and I totally get wicked. Okay, I just, I'm gonna leave. You are my favorite podcast and I totally get creepily stoked when I see a new episode is posted.

At the time I was living in Hamilton, New Jersey. Ew, she said that not me. I was like, whoa. I know nothing about Hamilton, New Jersey. And was staying with my ex-boyfriend. Also, you, I love her, girl. I love this. I was a runner so I decided to go for a nice jog during the day. As I was running a totally typically ped- a totally typical pedophile van drove by and slowed down. Ooh. To look at me, no thanks. Nope. It was a nice neighborhood, so this fan definitely did not fit in.

He pulled off on a side street in front of me and stopped. He didn't get out, so since I tend to attract the creepiest guys to fame, I kept my eye on him. He didn't get out, so I ran by thinking it was normal. After listening to Murder Podcasts, I knew that being a woman running by herself is the typical scenario for getting murdered. One hundred percent% unfortunately.

So as I kept running, I picked over my shoulder to make sure the van wasn't creeping on me. It wasn't the van, but it was the fucking guy driving it, running after me. Once he noticed that I looked over. He was running after her. That's what it says. Holy shit. Yeah.

Once he noticed that I looked over and saw him, he immediately stopped running and walked. What the fuck? No, I hate this. I kept going but decided to call my best friend so I had someone to talk to. Sis. Girl. I peeked over my shoulder again and here was this asshole running toward me again. I decided to be a bad bitch and completely turned around and stared him down and which

made him cross the street. He was a hundred feet or so away from me. So I started to walk again to try to find someone outside of their house. I looked back to see where he was and the fucker was running after me again. Jesus. Thank little baby Jesus that some woman was coming out to walk her dogs. I approached her and told her what was happening. When he saw this, he ran back to his van constantly looking over his shoulder. Little bitch. She wrote that. So I told the woman and she told me to get home as soon as possible. I'd be like, yeah, thanks. I know that one. Thank you.

And the house I was staying at was a couple streets away, so I was getting there as fast as possible. The van drives past me once. That comes back around, passes me again. This happened about five times. I told my friend his license plate number as she was still on the phone with me. Then this van comes from a side street, I was about to cross and blocks me from walking. He asks me, he asks me where the movie theater is. I didn't take my eyes off him or anything,

but pointed my arm in the direction of the theater. He then leaves, but continues to drive past me in other three to four times. What? I'm so confused. I sprint to my house and get in the door and call the cops. A cop car that happened to be patrolling the neighborhood, stupid me for not calling the cops immediately. They could have gotten him, comes to my house. He had a picture of the guy and told me he lives about 30 minutes away so there was no reason for him to be there. It was one of the most terrifying things ever. For anyone in this situation, don't call your dumb ass friends, all the cops.

Thank you for reading this. And if you're ever looking for a new murder case, I now live in Solberry, Pennsylvania, where the psycho kid killed his friends. We're in them over with a backo and burned them in a fire pit. Oh, shit. Like I said, creepy things follow me.

Keep up the awesome work. You guys are awesome. Oh, shit. Like I said, creepy things follow me. Keep up the awesome work. You guys are awesome. Oh my God. Thank you. Wow. I want to know what he wanted. And I want to know why the cop had his picture. Holy shit.

Obviously, I know what he wanted. Yeah, you know what he wanted to kill you. What a bad bitch move to turn around, just stare at him, though. I just love that he kept running and then she would turn around and he was walk. Yeah. And then he'd run again and then he'd walk. What a bad bitch move to turn around just stare at him though. I just love that he like kept running and then she would turn around and he was walk. Yeah, like he'd run again and then he'd walk. What a little bitch. I'd be like, why, what?

I'd be like, are you broken? Are you, what's going on? He sounded broken. Yeah, he was broken. I'm scared. Fuck that. This is why I don't work out. I, um, like the elliptical, because it's in one spot.

Because no one can run after you on the elliptical, not that I've seen. All right, my next one is my coworker is a murderer. Hope none of mine are. And this is from Austin. Hi Austin. What's up weirdos? So my coworker is a killer.

Shocked? I sure as fuck was. I love this. You guys are wicked funny. You really are. This is amazing. Let me start by saying my work is fucking haunted. And I think one of the spirits that terrorizes the employees possess this man who would go

on to kill his ex. Whoa. Awesome. That's quite a thought. I personally have seen and heard the spirits. I see dark shadows walking around and hear them knock shit over and just try to fuck with anyone they can. Richard, his name has been changed for privacy,

was probably possessed by one of those shadow fuckers. But the ghosts that haunt my work are not the subject of this story. My murdering coworker is. Richard and I, well, we didn't get along. In fact, we disliked each other. That's not good. We hated the fact that I, he hated the didn't get along. In fact, we disliked each other. That's not good. We hated the fact that I... He hated the fact that I was his boss.

We did share some decent conversation, though. During one of these conversations, I discussed the fact that I was a competitive marksman and owned multiple firearms. Whoa, Austin. I'm glad you told him that because he didn't murder you. Yeah, I could do it for you. So...

He then shared the fact that he owned fireworms? Fireworms? Yes. Yo that he owned fireworms? Fireworms? Yes. Yo, I have fireworms too. And then the guy's like, no, I said firearms. And he's like, I know. And he's like, oh, I have flaming worms.

I don't know. He then shared the fact that he owned firearms as well. Now, I don't mind firearms, obviously. And I don't judge people who own them. But something about this guy owning firearms may be uneasy. You can't mind firearms, obviously, and I don't judge people who own them. But something about this guy owning firearms may be uneasy. Yeah, I can't say that. I'm uneasy. I was scared, in fact.

I had no idea why. My intuition just told me something wasn't right. Spoiler alert, my intuition was correct. It always is. Now, I've been listening to you guys for a few months now. And let me just say that you're both so fucking cool, and I absolutely love listening to you guys on my way to work.

I never paid much attention to serial killers or supernatural stories or true crime, but you guys peaked my interest and now I'm super into it. You guys have also got me thinking about how many people I walk by on a daily basis who could be so fucked up, like Dennis fucking Raider or 10 Bundy, but I wouldn't know.

Actually, a week before Richard killed his ex-girlfriend. Holy shit. I was thinking about this very thing. My exact thought was, quote, anyone I know could be a serial killer, even to my co-workers, and I'd never find out. Little did I know less than a week later, one of my co-workers would brutally murder someone. Holy shit. Are you psychic?

Jesus, Austin. Also, thanks for being so nice about our podcast. That was really nice. You're super nice. A couple of weeks before that happened, some work friends and I were out to dinner and just hanging out. He and another co-worker, who was also his best friend, were out as well. We all decided to meet up at a park and just hang out. We were all having a good time. He was laughing and smiling. No one could have ever guessed what he would do in just a matter of days.

Looking back on that night and remembering how he behaved and what he was like before he was a killer, chills me to the bone. Holy shit, I'm like getting chills. Richard and his girlfriend of nearly five years had recently broken up and he took it very personally. I don't have specific details, but from what I knew of him, he seemed like the kind of guy who would overreact to any inconvenience, quote, parentheses, understatement of the year, I know. He had complained to upper management that I was, quote, too harsh and that expected, that I expected too much. No one else ever

had complained about me, though, so I knew it wasn't knew it wasn't anything I did. Anyways, enough backstory. On the night Richard killed her. Her, his ex was at home in her second floor apartment near the local college watching TV with her roommate. Richard climbed up the balcony and broke into the back at around 1215 in the evening. Oh my God. That's when it all started. The roommate asked him what he was doing. He then showed his gun and told the roommate,

and this is bloodshilling. He said calmly, quote, run, because she is going to die. Oh, I littered my whole body just convulsed. Whole body chills. Oh my god, can you imagine being that roommate? Oh, oh my god. What do you fucking do in that situation? Run. I was just going to say run, but holy shit. That's horrible, that's it. Oh my god. What do you fucking do in that situation? Run, but I was just gonna say run, but holy shit. What about that? Oh my god. What that is literally a nightmare experience to be put into

Richard then forced his ex to her knees and stood behind her with the gun execution Oh my god and shot her in the head and emptied the rest of the 10 round magazines into her body. What the fuck? Holy shit. Something about making someone kneel execution style is the most fucked up thing I've ever heard. It truly is. It gives, oh.

You're like, you're supposed to love that person. Like, yeah, they broke up in you, but you were with them for five years and then you shoot them in the back of the head. And then emptied a 10 round magazine into her body. It says that he then threw the gun onto the bed and called the police and told them what he had done. Again, he calmly said, quote, I killed her. What the fuck?

And said, quote, send as many cops as you can. Way to turn up the fear factor, dude. Why did he say send as many cops as you can? Because he's fucking terrifying. The cops showed up and he was taken into custody without incident. Later that day I got the news. I was in shock. So was everyone else at work.

Obviously. It's so surreal when you get the news of someone you know doing something so fucking brutal. Several people much closer to him had to take a few days off. It was very unexpected. He was 22 in training to become an EMT. He had a whole life ahead of him and ruined it all for himself. But what's even worse is he ruined the life of his ex who was the same age, going to college, planning a long life, and he took that from her.

Now he has been sentenced to life in prison from first degree murder and burglary with parole set at $5 million. And that is the story of how my coworker became a vicious killer. Maybe I'll share some stories of the ghosts that follow me around at work some point. But I think this story is more than our fair share

of fucked up for right now. Yes, please share those stories about the ghosts because I wouldn't know. Thank you for all you guys do and keep up the amazing work. Yes, please share those stories about the ghost. Wow. Thank you for all you guys do and keep up the amazing work. Work. Be careful out there and remember to keep it weird. Welcome. Love Austin. Thanks, Austin. Austin. That was fucking wild. Holy shit. The story you just told. And yes, we want your ghost stories because one, you told that amazingly, and two, we love ghost stories. The you told that amazingly and two we love ghost

stories. The way these people rate is like oh awesome you you're all killing it no pun intended thank you. That one made me really sad. It did that's about my promise I won't cry on the podcast again by uh this one is called listener connection, episode 61 Chelsea Brock. That was a really crazy case, so I'm excited to hear this one. I'm so excited because I saw the words Big Mike and then I got really fucking stoked. You love Big Mike, Big Mike is a mood. Okay, he is a mood. Hi, Ash and Alina, I'm a brand new listener, welcome.

Hey, and I'm definitely in love with the podcast so far. You both are great are so great Thank you. Thank you. I wanted to read in about episode 61 in the case of Chelsea Brooke Monroe, Michigan is my hometown I don't know why I didn't take a breath before saying that entire sentence and even though this case didn't seem to get much national attention It was all anyone could talk about side note most of us just call the area Monroe rather than Monroe County, but I appreciate your attention to detail. Hey, thanks. Thank you. Since Monroe and maybe are both small towns, I have a few personal connections to the people involved that I wanted to share. I actually went to high school with Chelsea, although she was two years older than me, and we were a part of different social circles. I didn't know her well, but she was definitely

known for being a kind person that got along with everyone. Well, that's really sad. I know. Her mom, who is also the sweetest and kindest person, worked at a local bank branch where I would regularly cash my paychecks for my high school job. Neither of them deserved any of the horrific things they had to go through, and I'm extremely proud of our community who rallied behind the Brooks when the case got solved. As for Big Mike, I still don't know anyone who actually knows the guy personally. I want to know Big Mike personally. Something knows Big Mike. But everyone knows about this annual Halloween party. When I was in high school, I actually used to deliver pizza in

the area near his house, which is a little creepy for a teen girl to be doing in retrospect. Sorry, mom. A perception around town at the time was that Mike definitely had something to do with Chelsea's disappearance, mostly because he came off incredibly unsympathetic to Chelsea's case, an uncooperative in the investigation. He seemed to have this weird defensiveness about his party, like he didn't want to acknowledge that having 800 people at a farm in the middle of nowhere wasn't exactly constructive to the safety of the people involved, but to each of them, I guess. On top of his general lack of sympathy,

he decided he wanted to continue to throw his annual Halloween party even after Chelsea's disappearance, which naturally spawned a huge community backlash. I live in the Boston area now, so I'm not sure if the parties are still going on, but I can only assume based on what I know about Mike that they're definitely still happening. Thankfully, I didn't know Daniel Clay, but I do know that everyone in Monroe was so relieved that he was sentenced to life in prison, especially after everything he put the brux throughout the trial.

I can't stress enough how huge this case was for our small town. It was a major tragedy that everyone is still recovering from and has absolutely changed the community. Thank you so much for bringing this case to the attention of communities outside of Southeast Michigan. The five-year anniversary of Chelsea's disappearance is coming up this week and it has such a coincidence and it was such a coincidence that I happen to find your podcast right around the same time.

It's always nice to know there's a community of weirdos out there who are just as fascinated with true crime as I am, especially when a case hits so close to home. Keep it weird, Jennifer S. Jennifer, that was so cool. Thank you for updating us on all that stuff. That's really cool. I love when we can hear like a case-come full circle

in here, actual people who live in that town, who knew those people. It is really cool. It becomes so much more real. In that case specifically, because that was one of my quote, minis, was not a minis. It was not a minis. But a cherry-lovin' minis. In that case was fascinating, tragic, just bone-chilling, heartbreaking.

It had everything in it. So it's really cool to hear somebody say that it was good to be brought outside of their little county. Because I know I had never heard of it until I stumbled upon it. It's a really, I don't want to say good case, but it's an intense case. Yeah.

And it is nice to bring those things out of the small towns because I would have never heard about that. No way. Yeah. So thank way. Yeah. So thank you. Thanks. This one is titled, Abso Fucking Lutely Not Great Uncle Joe.

Cool. Hi, Ashina Lena. Hey. And this is from, well, hold on. This is from Ali. Hi, Ash. Hi, Ashina Lena. I just have to gush for a minute over how much I love you guys.

Thanks for keeping true crime interesting, informative, and one appropriate, light-hearted. I really enjoyed the roast of Dennis Raider the most, me too. Although it was agonizing hearing about what a fucking idiot he was, I would literally rather put my head through seven sheets of drywall at once than hear him talk about Sparky Big Time. I love that for you. And don't you ever stop your banter. Thank you.

Thank you. We love you. We fucking won't. By the way, congratulations on Baby Morbid. Thank you. On a side note, any plans to do a third live show? Yup. We hope to do many more live shows,

because we had so much fun. Maybe feel awesome. I am bummed I miss my first two opportunities, so I hope you will. So I'll stop gushing and get on with it. Oh, you don't have to, girl. Keep gushing. Let me tell you the story of my spiritually intuned grandma

and my terrifying memory of one night at her house. Hell yeah. My grandma has always been very open about her ability to communicate with the dead. She has stories that will make the hair on your neck stand up and basically make your heart drop into your ass, especially when you are in her house. The dead always seemed to find a way to her.

Ooh, spook, spook. She told me about her brother, Joe, that had passed away when she was much younger. She had many encounters with her brother and others. One was a spirit with yellow eyes. And then it says inserts puking emoji. She once said she saw she once said she once saw Joe her brother when she went to get a glass of water in the middle of the night rocking in her rocking chair in the living room. She stopped and asked him what he was doing there and he didn't respond. Just kept rocking. She asked him to leave and went back to bed. I repeat, she went back to bed. Holy shit, what a badass. She's like, Joe, can you get out of here? And she says, I personally

would have set the house on fire, but good on you, Grimm. She inherited her childhood home and lived in that home since I could remember. And that is where many of these interactions happened. She ended up selling her childhood home and moving to something larger and newer. And we went to visit her in the new home and stay for a few days, and that is where my story begins. So this is where you'll want to hang on to your butts. Hold it.

I'm hanging on. Her new house had an additional room that she created in office slash spare room with a queen size bed. Now my 13 year old self was jazzed as fuck to have this bed bed myself. I normally slept on a pullout couch next to that fucking rocking chair in the living room. Holy shit. And constantly stressed about seeing dear old deceased son great uncle Joe and his. Yeah, I don't play me like uncle Joe.

I don't want to see you. So I'm in bed and fall asleep right away, sprawled out happy as a clam. And I wake up at a nowhere, I glance at the clock and it's slightly after 2 a.m. I stare at the ceiling and that's when I feel it, pressure. Pressure on my shoulders, like two hands squeezing my shoulders. No.

And they're pushing me down into the mattress. No. And I am fucked up fam. Oh my God, that's screaming. Completely paralyzed by fear and this unseen force, I lay there in silence until it passes, which feels like a lifetime. When the pressure ceases, I jump out of bed and flip a light on.

I don't know what I was expecting to see, but there was no one in the room with me. You still got your butts? No. I still got them. I'm completely panicked, str there was no one in the room with me. You still got your butts? No. I still got them. I'm completely panicked, stricken, and stressed the fuck out. Did I imagine this? Had all of grandma's stories gotten in my head?

I must have been dreaming. There was no way this just happened to me. I assessed the room, not like assess as in looking under the bed because who fucking does that. But I managed to calm myself down and assure myself that this must have been a dream. No one was in the room, and I must have imagined what had just happened to me.

But to be on the safe side, I decided to get back into bed and keep the lights on. I mean, I was 13. I knew everything, and I didn't need my parents, right? I couldn't bear the thought of telling them I had a bad dream and needed a climb into bed with them. Oh. I'm back in bed and it's getting closer to 3 a.m.

No. And I'm tired. My eyes involuntarily close after fighting to stay awake and I fall asleep, only to be woken again. The same force pushing me into the mattress by my shoulders. The strong hands grip tightly and the fucking bed is shaking you guys. No, no, no, no, no. Remember I left the lights on in the room and I'm actually seeing this bed vibrate underneath me. Fuck that. Shit pants time now. When the force lifts, I book it straight into my parents' room,

sweaty, rambling, and begging to sleep in bed with them, they bludge. Nice parents. The next morning comes and I immediately confront the Long Island medium, aka Graham. Oh, I'm so happy. Until I'm at my house. I'm a crazy, Island medium aka Greyhound. Until I was a cheesy chase. That's amazing.

Home fry doesn't even bat an eye. Home fry. She's like, oh, that was definitely Joe. He's been upset with me since I sold the house and moved into this one. He's just playing jokes on you. Try not to be too afraid. I'm really, what the fuck do I have to do with this? And that is my absent fucking, lootly, not story of how great Uncle Joe scared

the living shit out of me and no lie, I have not slept in that house since. I would refuse as well. Ha ha ha. PS, this is the third time that I have drafted this email to you. Each time I got to the part about the bed shaking, my email disappears.

What? And she wrote, woof. Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I hope you both keep it weird, but not so weird that your Long Island medium grandma tells you a story about your great Uncle Joe rocking and a rocking chair and lets you sleep in the room by yourself and then great Uncle Joe shakes that

until you run into your parents bedroom like a blubbering idiot. And then your grandma makes you tells you not to be afraid. Bye. We love Ally. Ally, that was incredible. We love how they say. Love, Ally. Ally, that was incredible. You just killed every part of that, Ally. She even did a keep it weird thing.

She did a perfect keep it weird thing. Also, I need to correct myself because I referred to the Long Island medium as Teresa Ducice, but that's actually a lady from the Real Housewives. And the Long Island medium is Teresa Caputo. And my two worlds were just colliding. You know what I'm really glad you made that correction because I bet a bunch of people are really upset about that. You know what? If I didn't correct myself you'd

probably receive an email so you're welcome. You know what you're right I was. And with that mine is called Listener Story but there's a dead lady in my bed and I'm wow wow wow wow wow was me. Wow. wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, better. So I was a weird kid. Same. I didn't fucking kill animals or collect my toenails and jars or some bullshit. But I love you already. But I spend a lot of time alone. We had like five fucking channels on TV where I lived. So the woods behind my house were most of my entertainment. People pay for that shit now. I probably should have appreciated it more. Anyway, we didn't have movie channels or even color TV. So I didn't pick this shit up because I saw it somewhere. Anyway, we had

a two-story house and my brothers and my parents and I all slept on the second floor. There was a bathroom on both floors, but being the quirky little fucker that I was, I always went down the hall, down the stairs, through the living room, down the other hall, to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Every night. I don't know why. So one night I wake up and as usual, oh I wake up as usual and when I turn over to get out of bed there's a dead lady laying there. I shit you not.

What the actual fuck just happened? And she was not fresh. What? What? She was a goddamn tight skin, wy hair clothing disintegrating empty eyes sockets fucking desiccated old-ass corpse bitch and when I jumped back fucking little pieces of dirt popped out to my she I'm sorry sister what she didn't do any of that old movie type hold on. She didn't do any of that movie shit and turn her creaky ass head to look at me. She just, I'm literally crying. I'm screaming.

She was just in my fucking bed, like that's where she was pulling on spending eternity. Not a ghost, just RIP, like a boss. Who are you? And why could we become best friends? I hope she was literally streaming down her face. I'm so excited. I have tears literally streaming down my face. I'm literally crying. No, only in his red face to cry. Oh my god. I'm literally crying.

So back to why I woke up. I got a fucking pee. So I carefully extra-keyed myself from my bed, her grave, whatever. I do my trick. for my bed, her grave, whatever. And do my truck, do the downstairs bathroom. I come back up and she's still there. Now I had a sleepwalking issue as a kid.

My mom and dad would hear me banging her on the hallway and say, Kathleen, go back to bed and I'd go. Not what happened that night. Can you shut the fuck up? She can't breathe. I think we just kill the lady. She's so funny. Oh, shit. All right.

You good? All right. So she says she used to sleep all her parents with Yolanda and then she'd go back to bed. But she says not what happened that night. They're telling me to go back to bed and I'm nopin' the shit out of that. You should just keep laughing because it gets funny. I won't hurt to tell me every story that has ever been told.

She says, now they're getting pissed and using there. This is the 70s and we still get to legally beat your ass voices. So I finally came to bed. Now they're getting pissed and using their, this is the 70s and we still get to legally beat your ass voices. So I finally came in. This is everything. Oh fuck. Yup, I crossed my room, climb up into my bed and lay. I'm not okay.

And lay down next to my own private night there. I literally become one with the wall. So you're just laying next to the dead woman. Fucking what? I wonder if this was the dead lady that I saw. The one that was like she didn't have my body. She was just made of bones. That's what she looked like. But there's no dirt. Oh, fuck. Oh God. She says, I literally become one with the wall and I don't know how long it took me to go to sleep, but when I wake up the next morning, the bitch is gone. No, she didn't leave any grave dirt behind her anything,

so I couldn't prove it, but she was there. And the part I didn't tell you is, tell you who you had is, I was five years old. So I never saw that shit anywhere. And the fine details were just too fucking real. I had a wicked hard time sleeping for a long time after that. Why? Yeah, no shit.

And to be honest, I was a little salty that I couldn't sleep somewhere else, but I never saw her again. So that's my story. I hope you enjoyed it. I haven't thought about it in years, but your podcast made me remember. And that's okay, because you'll do it justice.

I love you guys, and I hope you'll be doing your thing for a long time. Heart Kate. Kate, you're just fucking made our lives. Kate, I cannot thank you enough for just making me literally sob. She was sobbing. Laughing.

I have tears completely down my face and I could not stop. I got a sniff because I was laughing. down my face and I could not stop. I got a sniff because I was not in the car. That was unbelievable. In the best way possible. I want to like hang out email on my wall, but I also don't want to invite any dead ladies to sleep with me, so I'm not going to do that.

Kate, I love you. Kate, it's just low heart rate. I love you so much. Oh, fuck, alright. We should have ended on that one, but I have one more. So this one's called, this is some fucked up shit, yo. This is from JD. Hey JD.

Hey JD. Hey you crazy motherfucker. Haha, just kidding. Love the podcast. This story happened to me over 20 years ago in Michigan when I was a teenager. I'll footnote this with links to validate what I'm about to tell you. This is going to be a bit of a long dinger, so hang on in there.

A long dinger. Growing up in the country, it was nothing but woods and farms for miles around our house. My best friend at the time, Dan. I'm still thinking about the dead girl. Girl. Okay. My best friend at the time Dan and I spent all of our free time in the woods are out fishing in my little two-person rowboat. Oh my god that's so cute. That's very wholesome. The closest lake was about a mile through the woods and over the course of a few summers

we had made a trail to the little lake. For my parents' property via dirt tracks and an old abandoned road. We would lug my little boat down the trail. It was light enough for us to carry over our heads, all the way to the lake so we could go fishing all day. The only access to the lake was a little 10 foot wide opening in the trees, and it was overgrown with cat tails and brush. At the edge of the opening was a small collapsed duck blind. Maybe small, maybe four by four wooden hunting blind that people

would ambush ducks out of. That's weird. The collapsed duck blind was at the edge of the water, half on ground and half over the water, so we used it like a dock to get in and out of the boat. Keep in mind, this lake was only probably 20 to 30 acres small and had maybe one or two houses on it, the opposite side from where we were at had access to it. In the summer of 1995, a young lady named Christina O'Brien answered a newspaper classified ad for a horse farm helper, helper, and on the evening of July 18th met the person in the parking lot of a local golf course. She disappeared that night. Her car was left in the parking lot, but she was never seen again. Back to the lake.

Late summer of 95, Dan and I were back to the lake and ready to launch my little boat. We climbed out on the collapsed duck blind and loaded up our gear. Before pushing off to fish, we made a quick bathroom break, break writing our names and pee on the roof of the duck blind. Lone, right? Dump shit teenagers do. This fishing trip was strange, though. A horrible rotting smell filled the air

around the area that day. No, no, no, no, no. Woo-woof. Growing up in the country, I've smelled numerous rotting deer or other wild animal carcasses, and we just chopped it up to that. He hurried up and got them to the boat.

We hurried up and got into the boat and fished for the day. Life went on and school started again soon. The following winter, once the lakes froze over, we decided to go ice fishing and ventured out onto our favorite lake via the launch spot by the duck blind. Fishing was good that day and we ended up staying into the night. I don't remember what time it was,

but it was dark, so probably at least 6 p.m. There was a small hill overlooking the makeshift lake across the makeshift lake access spot. And we noticed a vehicle pull up to the edge of the hill overlooking the spot. The vehicle headlights lit up the duck blind and across the lake onto us. We were a little concerned as the vehicle sat there for probably 10 minutes, but it felt like where this spot was. So needless to say,

we were a little bit sketched out at the person just watching us from a few hundred meters away. Eventually, the vehicle left and we finished fishing and went home. We never could tell what type of vehicle it was, but assumed it was, it would need to be four-wheel drive to get through the snowy terrain. Fast forward a few months to spring 1996. Two random people outwalking the vacant land to, outwalking the vacant land decided to move the roof of the duck blind. They found a mother-fucking rotted body under it. Oh, holy shit. I don't remember the circumstances of how they caught the killer, but I believe it was due to him who was already in prison on unrelated charges telling his cellmate about how he raped and murdered this girl. Oh, he was eventually charged and convicted. So yeah, a fucking trip, right? It's a fucked up sick situation and I'm glad we weren't the ones who discovered the body.

We were only like 15 and that would have probably mentally fucked us up for both up for a long time. Here's some links to read about this all. Later gators. PS, do you know how to tell the difference between an alligator and a crocodile? One we'll see you later and the other we'll see you in a while. Oh my God.

That was gold. That was fucking gold. That was amazing. I love you. Holy shit, that was a fucked up story and I love that you ended it. How you went? See you later crocodile. Oh, I meant to say see you later alligator. Fuck me. I'm definitely keeping that. I know I knew you were gonna see that. See you later crocodile. I'm fucking tired. Oh shit. My last one is called Listener Story.

The time I got possessed, no seriously. I got possessed today and I told Elena. She did. But I just got possessed because I did a good updoin' normally. I fucking hate them. Anyways, this isn't about me. This is from Jeffrey. It's a, or, no, it's not.

Take that out. Just kidding. This says, hi all. This story is a bit mental, but I swear it's all true. My mommy used to travel around the country doing psychic readings, but had to give it up because my sperm donor is a bit mental, but I swear it's all true. My mom used to travel around the country doing psychic readings, but had to give it up because my sperm donor is a cunt. My egg donor is a cunt, so we have that in common.

Love that. Please feel free to use prick asshole or downright fuckhead as alternatives. No, Paul say cunt. No way, cunt is the best. I love saying cunt. Someone's gonna yell at it, but that's about that. But somebody already has it, and I don't care.

Whatever. Her gift was passed down to me. Oh my god, you're psychic. So. Her gift was passed down to me. Oh, my God, you're psychic. So my childhood was always spent talking to dead people. It all meant that my mom and I, as girls night, was to use the Ouija board. One night we had a bad reading, so we decided

to get rid of the board, putting it in the bin, and the next morning when we woke up, it was on the table. Nope. For three days, we did everything we could think of to get rid of it, including putting it in my grandparents bin. Sorry, Papa, but it kept showing up back on rid of it, including putting it in my grandparents' bin. Sorry, Papa, but it kept showing up back on the table where we'd used it. That's fucked up.

My mom being the woman she is, who never worries about anything, calmly told me that this was probably my dad, not my sperm donor, but my father figure who had helped raise me. Flash forward two weeks, mom and I are away. Drunk as hell. Thank you, Tequila. I love you and your mom. And since no Ouija boards were handy, we decided to play one of the games they had in the hotel. When we opened the box, there was the creepiest photo we had ever seen. A lady dressed in all white with long dark hair and just looking like she'd murdered

someone. Literally the definition of a horror movie. No big deal. Great. We both got a bad feeling straight away. We decided to put the game away and just go back to bed. But not before I stupidly touched the photo. Nope. Oh. Now the next part is a bit of a wild ride. So strap in. I'm strapped in.

OK. At four o'clock, my mom woke up to me standing over her with a fucking kitchen knife. What the fuck? She says I didn't look like myself. I was not talking in my normal voice and I kept repeating one thing. I was going to slit her throat.

Again, my mom being the person that she is calmly had a conversation with quote me about why they about why they'd taken over my body and try and try to convince them that she was not a threat and there was really no need to kill her. You're a fucking idiot mom. You should have just screamed. When I took a lunch for her, it was like a wall had been put up between us and I couldn't get to her. Next thing I knew, I was passing out and woke up back to normal. I can remember all of the above, but it felt like I was having one of those out-of-body experiences where I was floating above myself. I couldn't understand why I wanted to hurt her. I just knew I had to. Holy shit. Oh, the part that nobody else saw was the minute I lunch for her. My dad who had passed away three weeks previously appeared behind me and rap. I just got so. Oh my god. I was just going to

say my entire body right now and wrapped his arms around me and spoken my ear. Then I passed out and woke up back to normal. We left the next day and when we got home, the fucking Ouija board was gone. Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy. Nothing bad has happened since. We still play with our new Ouija board. She's still my best friend. Oh my God. And I haven't tried to kill her again. Sorry, this is so long. Yeah, congrats. Sorry, this is so long. I just wanted to tell y'all, as I love your podcast so much and wanted to contribute my story keep being amazing And thank you for making my exercise Exercising easier by your podcast love tea tea

You just blew my brain apart tea you just spilled the straight up tea you spilled the tea I love that that the father like wrapped his arms around and was like don't kill your mother Don't kill your mother tea. I know it's hard like, don't kill your mother. Don't kill your mother, T. I know it's hard, but don't kill your mom. Wow. Wow. What a way to end. Guys, you fucking killed it on the listener's stories

this week, this time. You guys never, you never disappoint. Not even slightly. I love you guys so. We love you all. And everyone who contributed a story this week, you guys are fucking rock stars. And everything was amazing, spooky, tragic, terrible and awesome all at the same time. So, wow, that was so much fun.

And we will see you again this week when we come out with Elaine as many morbid. Yippee! In the meantime, we hope you follow us on Instagram. Morbid podcast. Follow us on on Instagram. Morbid Podcast. Follow us on the Twitter. A Morbid Podcast. Send us a Gmail with a listener's story. Morbid Podcast at gmail.com.

And make sure you write listener's stories before your title. Maybe you could donate to the Patreon if you have an extra couple dollars in your, uh, uh, cup holder. Paterion.com slash Morbid Podcast. Oh, check out the website that Elena and I designed. There's a new spot coming soon designed by John. Hell yeah, morbidpodcast.com. We hope you keep listening. And we hope you keep it weird.

But not so weird that you decide to write us a whole bunch and more listener stories. Mmm, love you. Keep it that weird. M-m-m-m-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a- I'm going to be a little bit more careful. Hey, Prime Members, you can listen to Morvid, Early, and Add Free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today, or you can listen Add Free with Wondery Plus and Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey. Tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.