My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 368

Episode Date: January 29, 2024

This week’s hometowns include a haunted farmhouse and growing up near Broadmoor Hospital. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This is exactly right. At Salesforce, we're all about asking more of AI. Questions like, where's the data going? Is it secure? Are you sure? Are you sure you're sure? Get answers you can trust from Salesforce at AskMoreOfAI.com. This episode is brought to you by Taco Bell.

Hey, Canada, wanna do something fun? Wanna go to Taco Bell? You're gonna love Taco Bell. Hey, Canada, wanna do something fun? Wanna go to Taco Bell? You're gonna love Taco Bell's new Cravings value menu. For a limited time only, you can choose from 7 tasty items for just $3.50 or less, including the brand new Loaded Fries Pocket and Double Stack Taco. Discover the new Cravings value menu, only at Taco Bell. Order now at TacoBell dot ca or your closest store. My favorite murder.

Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-soad. That's right, we read your stories to you. Do you want to go first this week? I'm first this time. Yep. You are.

I realized just this very moment that I just blew my nose in a tissue that Cookie had been chewing on. Sure. Yeah. So I'm a little horrified right now. What, that you have dog spit in your nose, maybe? Well, I didn't inhale the tissue, I blew into it. So maybe I don't.

Yeah, it's all outward. It's fine. It's totally fine. Everything's fine. I mean, because I've definitely been kissed by either one of my dogs where I'm like, did you just eat kilogopher or rat or something? Totally, that's very true.

Okay, haunted farmhouse, creepy child who can see ghosts, question mark. Here we are, guys, period. Love all of you, you're awesome, apologies in advance that this is probably longer than it needs to be. As long as you apologize, it's fine. Yeah, that's right.

I've managed a small, fancy barn in central Massachusetts, and then it says the horses all got very well acquainted with the MFM while I was getting caught up last year. But it says big fans. Yay. Oh, could you imagine? No, the horse likes us.

Oh my God. I would die. I would, I would. The barn and the barn owners house on the property were both built in the 1800s. So I'm the sort of person who does believe in ghosts, but I prefer to exhaust any reasonable explanations first. Oh my God, a reasonable fucking person.

Can you imagine? I mean, that's kind of how it is, right? Yeah. However, my barn kids and I regularly joke about the fact that we absolutely have a barn ghost named Otis. Otis just pulls the usual ghost antics, doors opening, hearing distinct footsteps in rooms we know are empty, that kind of thing. Nothing super creepy, no bad vibes,

but we've all had at least a few Otis experiences. Now the house on the property was stunning. When my boss, let's call her Carol, moved in 20 plus years ago, she did a major renovation. And the first thing on the list was getting rid of the creepy stairs down to the original stone Blair Witch looking basement. Oh no. Literally just noped and put up a wall.

Good call in my opinion. I used to house it for her pretty regularly as in a few days a week put up a wall. Good call in my opinion. I used to house it for her pretty regularly as in a few days a week for over a year. And it was definitely the kind of house that was huge and old and made lots of noises that made it easy to freak yourself out. Personally, I almost had a heart attack when her dog,

Asha, woke up from a dead sleep, ran to the front door at 11 p.m. and stood there barking, which was normal if someone was about to walk down the driveway, which was weird enough since the door was solid with no windows. So it's not like she saw someone. She's just like fucking sent someone. Vibes. And then the dog was shaking. I turned on all the outside lights, looked out all the windows and couldn't see a thing. Then I made my boyfriend stay on the phone with me while I made sure that every door and window in this three-story monstrosity of a house was locked before I went to bed, just in case. When I told her that her dog made me think I was about to get murdered the night before,

she replied, maybe it was a ghost. And casually mentioned to me that her friend, what's called her Nancy is quote, a bit of a medium and years ago, she had come over to do a reading slash cleansing of her house when Carol's then two year old son was creeping her out. She noticed that her son would run past certain rooms in the house covering his ears.

Creepy, especially if the lights were off and we refuse to go into certain parts of the house alone, if quote, the red man is in there. Oh, no, no, no, no. It says no period thing. Period. Exactly. When her friend got there, she immediately got a little smile on her face and said, Oh yeah, there's definitely some energies in here, which I mean, every fucking medium type of person is gonna say that right?

Right, but it's also kind of it sounded like it's an old yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, she doesn't get invited over to places because they're fine It's not gonna be a new bill department where it's like get in here and tell me the vibes Just like the painter was a creep. What do you? Okay, so she very thoroughly cleansed all the rooms where Carol's son pointed out that he had seen the red man. When she was walking around on the second floor, she got to the guest bedroom and laughed and said there was a very playful childlike spirit

that she could feel very strongly by the closet. When I asked my boss to clarify that this was the closet right next to the bed in the guest room where I sleep, she said, yeah. Mm, cool. Unfortunately, her house was destroyed in a fire a few years ago. That was started, get ready for this, by sunlight coming through a hand blown bullseye glass window pane and the front door, like a magnifying glass and then igniting some cardboard boxes that she had moved to the foyer for storage just a few days before.

Okay, but if this is this really old house, how come that never happened before? She also said there was no window on the front door. So I have questions. Well, down by where the dog was, but there might have been one up by where people's eyes are. Okay, I have trust issues. We're being lied to in this email.

When we're done, you need to ask your dad if that is like a thing that like, you know, you put a thing in the window and yeah, it's like a magnifying glass. Right. Yeah. And it's like maybe that specific type of, because she said bullseye glass, or they said bullseye glass. Yeah, so maybe there's like a pinpoint in it somehow. It's just like Raiders of the Lost Ark when he finds the map room.

Just like that, except it burns down. No one was home, and one of Carol's friends had picked up the dog for a play date, maybe half an hour before the fire started. So no one was hurt. The new house has been built and moved into, and I'm a little curious if there are any ghosts enjoying the new digs.

Stay sexy and cleanse your creepy spirits, Jamie. I mean, that is, I don't know, that's fascinating. And also it's like a two year old telling you about the red man. Oh, not fun. And running around with their hands over their ears. Why, what does the red man say? Is the red man just screaming all the time?

Like I don't like it. The kid doesn't mean that it was like a ginger. Was that not someone with red hair. Yeah. It's like a red man. Yeah. The devil. It's a little devil from the devil's ham can.

Oh my God, I'm cute. Okay. Okay. My first email, the subject line is living by Broadmoor Hospital. Oh shit. Yeah, and it begins, hey friends, you asked for Broadmoor stories and have I got one? I grew up in Crowthorne, which is the small village

where Broadmoor Hospital is during the 90s. So they grew up during the 90s there. We grew up constantly aware that the hospital was there. Every Monday morning, bang on 10 a.m., the Broadmoor Sirens sounded, a test of the 13 warning sirens in the surrounding towns and villages. What a way to start your fucking weeks,

just like a reminder. Yo, wow. Hey guys, let's test this out. Let's scare everyone, let's get everyone on their hackles or whatever. Okay, so it says these were first installed in 1952 based on air raid sirens and only used at other times to warn residents of an escaped patient.

Practice being scared on Monday morning at 10 a.m. Thankfully, I've never heard it at any other time, but when I was two, the child rapist James Saunders, nicknamed the Wolfman, went on the run. The siren sounded and my mom said that if you tried to drive out of the village, you had to go through a blockade and have your car empty to make sure that you weren't smuggling anyone.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I would hope so. Who, holy shit. At my primary school, and then in parentheses, it says ages four to 10 or 11, we also had a form that parents and guardians had to sign to say what would happen if someone escaped. You could either walk home, go home with your parent,

or wait for a different designated adult. Stranger danger was real and we had it drummed into us, never to speak to anyone outside of the school whilst we were there. And that's good. But I don't know about the option of, hey, four year old, why don't you go ahead and hike home. Let's take that one off the list

if there's a fucking break out. Yeah. Let's get some police escorts home. Yeah. Okay, everyone had a connection to Broadmoor. For me, it was my first boyfriend's dad who worked as a psychiatric nurse there. Hey.

Hey. My mom was a psychiatric nurse. Yeah. I was obsessed with true crime, so I loved it when I was 16 and he used to tell us stories of past patients. One of these included the time when one of the Kray twins, so that's, did you ever watch that movie with Tom?

Yeah, it's the brothers who were like the head of the British mob thing, right? Yeah, they were like their own gang. Yeah. And one of the twins was like the guy in charge and the brains and the other one was a madman. Yeah. And basically why everyone was so incredibly scared of them.

So they, you know, they each had their part. Legend with Tom Hardy. If you haven't seen it, please watch it. He's so incredibly amazing in it. And Tom Hardy plays both leads. Like, goddamn, that guy's a good actor. Okay. So one of these included the time,

one of the Kray twins stuck his testicles on a plate through the door and asked if he wanted some ginger nuts. Which, and then in parentheses it says, this is the name of a biscuit in the UK, just in case you don't have them in the US. I didn't, but it's fucking hilarious. I didn't know that, but it's still funny.

We don't have ginger nuts here, but yes, that is hilarious. Just like that's how bored you must be in jail. Hey, wanna ginger nut? And lastly, the prolific pedophile Jimmy Saville was also prevalent in our village. He used to walk around the high street and the outskirts of the hospital,

which I might add really doesn't look like a high security prison, it's very unassuming. In his shell suit, waving at people with a cigar in his mouth. Oh my God, I forgot that he was, quote, volunteer there and had his own office and shit, right? I believe so.

Yeah. And then the next part says, he was a longstanding supporter of Broadmoor, often raising cash for it and even donated to my boyfriend's dad's charity bike ride. So yes, I believe you're right. Oh my God. Anyway, I've rambled long enough, but Crowthorne is a small friendly village

with a population of about 7,500 people. And I loved growing up there. In fact, I think it's what fueled my love of true crime. Yeah, I bet it was. Yeah, it did. Yeah, when I visit my mom now, the sirens don't sound anymore as they've been decommissioned. But we still go for long walks

around the Broadmoor Loop with the dog. Thank you for all that you do. You've kept me going during some dark times, SSTGM Harriet. That's amazing. Imagine growing up in a place like that. Yeah. Like it just adds this layer of like It's like a WB show or it's like what happens when you grow up next to this fucking? That's amazing. Yeah, it's just in your consciousness all the time and then the kind of awareness

It's like you are in the real world from of awareness, it's like you are in the real world from day one, you know, in a way that some people never have to be. And everyone has a story. Everyone, the chip shop owner has a story. You know, everyone has this like, ooh, I love it. Yeah. Amazing. Scotiabank helps you put money back in your pocket so you can do more of what makes you, you. From now until February 29th only, you can be rewarded with up to $550 when you open

a banking package along with a TFSA or RRSP at Scotiabank. Now that's rewarding! To qualify, certain conditions must be met. Get details at scotiabank.com slash welcome offer. Scotiabank, you're richer than you think. Okay, this one's called, The Time My Sister Broke My Arm Accidentally On Purpose. Hello friends, long time listener here and it's true,

your voices are the best for podcast listening in the shower. Hi. Hey. Hi. It. Hey. Hi. It's private. I just finished and then he said, 364, about Lucy and Alice and the bear. And I too have a story that I did not relay in my speech at her wedding.

Unlike Lucy, that was the one where her sister was like, didn't ask her to ask her not to speak at her wedding, but if she would have spoken, this is the story she would have told and it was about. Oh, right, okay. Unlike Lucy, I was asked to speak, but my wedding gift to my sister was that I wouldn't tell this story as part of my speech. I am four years younger than my sister, and when we were little, my mom probably desperate for some peace and quiet from four kids under 13, despite the fact that I was definitely the quietest and best one, would always send me along wherever my sister, whenever my sister had to sleep over at her best friend's house,

like every time. The best friend's parents owned a motel and we got to sleep in one of the motel rooms. Oh my God. That's amazing. As a kid, that's so exciting. Yeah. My sister and her friend lying normally in the double bed and me squeezing in sideways at their feet.

So cute. And then your sister trying to kick you as you're down there because she doesn't want you there. Exactly. Plus the best friend had the most amazing Archie Andrews comic collection that they sometimes let me read. Ha ha ha. Obviously, the whole situation was heaven for me

and abject hell for my sister. So it's the summer of 1989, seven year old me and my 11 year old sister are standing on the best friend's front lawn one morning. After yet another sleepover, I ruined just by existing. Waiting for the best friend's dad to one morning after I get another sleepover I ruined just by existing, waiting for the best friend's dad to take us to the public pool. They had a little cherry tree in the yard with the branches starting maybe three feet above the ground. I climbed it, sat on the branches, then decided it would be the best trick to jump off and get my big sis to

catch me. You can see where this is going. Little me yell catch me. Big sis yelled sure and then dot dot dot didn't. In her defense, I probably could have made it on my own but my foot got caught by a branch and I fell straight down head first and smashed my left elbow into the trunk. Not getting too graphic here but where there had one spin and elbow joint was no longer one.

Mm. Chaos and tears ensued. The latter most from my sister, who felt horrible and went white as a sheet as soon as she realized the extent of my injury. Not horrible enough to not go to the public pool after I got swept away in the ambulance. But still.

Yeah, of course not. She needs to go relax and do some laps. She's not a fucking surgeon, elbow surgeon. She can't come to me. She's not a saint or a surgeon. I have retold this story so many times because it's amazing, but also because it really does include one of my best memories for my childhood,

because guess who got their mom alter herself in the hospital for days after elbow surgery? And it says this gal slash third child. I hear you. I kept the pages and pages of Disney characters she drew just for me during my stay for years and years until we lost them in a flood. I healed up fine, got full range of motion in my arm back, and I'm happy to report that my older sister and I are best friends. And I love her so much that when I spoke at her wedding a decade ago, I didn't retell one of the greatest stories of my childhood and haven't since because it makes her cry

even to this day. I bet. Yeah. But since I'm keeping this anonymous, I don't think she'll mind me sharing it here. Love this podcast. Thanks for all the realness. Stay sexy and don't trust your adolescent older sister when she says she'll catch you, especially if you're the bane of her existence from Kay.

Is that from me? Is that me and Laura? The thing about having an older sister is they teach you not to trust, which is in this harsh world, not the worst thing. No. They make you not be naive, not fall for stuff. Yeah, but also unconditional love, they teach you.

True. Because they're fucking such bitches when they're little. And then you get older and you're like, well, I guess I like you now, even though you've punched me in the stomach. That one. Yeah, they, you've tortured me my entire life. Or ignored me, which for me was worse than getting punched in the stomach. They also teach you how to fit onto a motel bed across ways,

which will come in handy in college. They teach you to make do with the scraps, essentially. That's right. And maybe even convince yourself you love scraps. Right. Well, that's something to talk about with our therapists. Exactly. You got to talk about something. Yeah. Okay. Here's my next one. It says, Hi everyone. And I'm not going to say fur babies because that term sucks ass. Did you write this? I mean, it's another one from me. I wanted to send this in for a while, but I'm inherently lazy, so never got around to it.

But now that I have a few days off and I don't feel like taking the Christmas decorations down, I just thought I'd take a minute and actually do it. So here goes, thank you for doing that. In the 90s when I was married to my practice husband, AKAX husband. Practice husband. Practice husband.

You gotta have at least one. We moved into this old fairly historic home on a lake. It was originally built around 1907 and then updated in 1930. After that, pretty much nothing had been done except for the addition of relatively new appliances. I never really loved this house but did my best to update parts of it and try to keep it clean.

It was around 4,000 square feet, so that was no small task. Wow. Jesus Christ. Yeah. One of the many unique things about this house was the immense living room that had a fireplace that was so high, I had to use a ladder to dust the mantle. Above the fireplace was a weird, and then in parentheses it says, to me inscribed poem that looked like it was embedded into the wall.

It was about four feet tall, and you could light it up with a switch on the wall next to the fireplace. Wow, fancy. Anyway, one day I checked out the ladder and climbed up to the mantle to dust it. I must have climbed a bit higher that day because for the first time I noticed a little knob

at the base of the poem. When I pulled on it, the whole damn four foot poem picture swung open. And when I looked behind it, it seemed like there was a bunch of empty space. So I grabbed a flashlight to see what the heck was there. Imagine my surprise when I found a room behind the fireplace. What?

It was a tiny room, but it had a children's table in it with two little chairs and some old books. I called my practice husband to take a look and the best we could figure was that when the house was updated, someone closed off the area on the other side. But here's the weird thing. The original owner of the house was updated, someone closed off the area on the other side. But here's the weird thing. The original owner of the house was a school teacher whose wealthy father built the home for her.

She lived there until she died when she was 95. She never married and never had children. So what the heck was up with a children's table and books for question marks? We never could figure it out and damn we tried. I'm also convinced the house was haunted. I am too, for sure. My youngest son was a toddler

and he never wanted to sleep in his room because of quote, all the talking. No, no, no, no, no. Yeah. Oh my God. To be honest, I would hear it from time to time as well. A part of me thought that maybe there was a radio hidden in the walls, but the kicker was one night

when both the boys had crawled into bed with me and when their dad was out of town. I had a dream that there was an old timey man in the room looking at us while we were sleeping. And the next morning when we got up, my oldest son asked me who the guy was staring at us while we were sleeping. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

By the match and run. And run, grab both children, jump in that lake. Yeah. Then it says, weird thing was, we were never afraid in this house, but I was never comfortable either. And then it says, so there you have it, secret room and haunted house. Other topics in my life I wanted to share with you.

And then there's two dots. And one, the first dot says, my great grandmother was a black widow serial killer. I mean, she only killed off three husbands. So I think she's more of a black widow. Correct me if I'm wrong. Depends on the timeframe from what I know. Number two, the time I had coffee with Ann Rule. And then it just goes, hope you all had a great holiday.

Stay sexy. Like that's all we get for those two. What's their name? This is the end, but that's all we get from those two story points. Okay, okay. I thought that was just- Which drove me insane when I read this email. I was like, sorry, what, what you're just leaving?

I'm like kind of jealous of this person grabbing like three of the best stories ever. Hope you all had a great holiday. Stay sexy. And if your practice spouse ever wants to buy a house with a weird ass poem above the fireplace, maybe just say no, Lori. Lori, you got to write in Coffee with Ann Rule

and a great grandmother, Black Widow. Please, please, we're begging. You can do it in one story, it's fine. Whatever you need to do. The thrill of a lifetime finding a fucking hidden room. Oh my God. Like, bigger than anything. Really?

And also just the fact, it's like this weird thing above the mantle that you're like yeah, not a picture. It's so weird. Oh my god. It comes off the wall like it opens like that's amazing. Oh my god, that's incredible. Okay, this one like I don't know like hit me in a weird way. It's called look for a goth. Hey besties, let's dive right in shall we? I was at Walmart a few weeks back getting groceries when suddenly I felt a slight tug at my jacket. I turned around, looked down, and there was a small child, probably about five or six, standing behind me and she looked

terrified. At first I thought it was because of my appearance. I'm a six foot tall woman to begin with, wearing massive platform spiked combat boots that make me about six to amazing. With stretched ears, multiple nose rings, thick black eyeliner, and wearing a black denim jacket covered in spikes, safety pins, and various patches. Like who I wanted to be when I was 14, you know? Absolutely.

I never had the commitment. I couldn't commit. Usually kids point and loudly ask their parents, why does she look like that? So I understand why she might have been scared to see Bealsbub herself turn around. However, this kid simply asked me, are you a goth? Oh.

I nodded, kind of confused, and went, yeah. And she started that little kid cry talking voice. I can't find my mommy. So I took her with me to the customer service desk, asked her mom's name, gave it to the employee at the counter, who called out over the intercom for her mother. And I let her poke the spikes on the shoulder of my jacket while we sat and waited. Says don't worry they're pretty dull little. When her mother got to the counter she let out a sigh

of relief and said to her daughter you remembered I'm so proud of you. I must have looked confused as fuck because she leaned to me and said I always tell her to look for a goth, a punk, or a grandma if she needs help. It says honestly that it's sound advice. It really is. It's so smart. It's so true. It's so smart. Yeah, we're like, they're peace punks. It's not like, they're not the ones. It's the fucking normies that are the problem.

Yes, that's exactly right. I underlined twice. Yes. God damn it. Every goth I've ever known, every person that's like a demonstrative punk is someone that would protect a child hands down. If your pet is a rat and you've like, and it sits on your shoulder and you like talk to him,

like you're probably not a piece of shit, you know what I mean? Or you're a chef that's getting help from that rat. There's two options. I forgot about that option. Anyway, I felt like a hero that day on my weekly grocery trip. Thank you so much for existing.

You actually helped me find my soulmate. We were on our first date and they had a murdering patch. I knew it was meant to be. Oh my God! Stay sexy and look for a goth, I guess. S. She. Her. Oh, fuck, wait a minute. God damn, that is the greatest.

I know, it makes me kind of teary for some reason. That's the greatest email. Yeah. Okay, here's my last one. Okay. And I won't read you the subject line, I love this email. Okay, it says, hello ladies, pets, et cetera. I cannot believe I never thought of sending in this story,

but after getting some additional verification over Christmas, I knew it was a winner. I'm sure you have asked for hitchhiking stories. So here's one with a twist. Definitely. In the late 70s, and then in parentheses, it says pre-kids, my parents were living in Pittsburgh and my dad was working at a bank about three miles from their home. Most days he took the bus into work as my mom needed the car for whatever she was doing. On this particular day, as each bus approached his stop, it would start to slow down,

but then barrel right past as it was completely full. Luckily after a few buses had gone by, a car pulled up and the driver asked my dad where he was going and said, hop in, that's on my way. It turns out that the driver knew my dad's boss down at the bank. As they were chatting, my dad asked him his name and where he worked and the man told him his name was Fred and that he worked at WQED, which was the local PBS

affiliate. Fred dropped him off at the bank and my dad went about his morning and later that day his boss stopped by since he had heard about my dad's morning commute asking if he knew who had since he had heard about my dad's morning commute, asking if he knew who had given him a ride. My dad's response was Fred. His boss exclaimed, not just any Fred, Fred Rogers, Mr. Rogers from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. Oh my God.

Oh my God. Are you actually crying? I know, but I was like, oh. I don't cry, but I want to. You can't. You will someday. The show was already very popular, but without any kids, my dad had no clue who Fred Rogers was.

I always love this story, since it shows just how kind Mr. Rogers really was. And I love telling people that we really lived in Mr. Rogers' neighborhood. Oh my God. SSDGM, Tara, or Tara. What a beautiful story. That guy.

That guy. I still haven't watched the Tom Hanks. I just don't think I can handle that. Did you watch the documentary? No, I don't think, I think it's too much for me on it. I don't know. Like Break Shoe, right? I think I told, I have told this story on the show before, but I think it's because there's all this footage of like toddlers in the 70s.

So it's like I'm watching myself. It's all the same clothes. And it's that weird kind of like, it was so prehistoric, like early 70s. And it's all these little kids just staring at him because, you know what I mean? Like they're just all in love with him. So I was on a plane, I think I was going to Hawaii

and I started watching that documentary. I was only like 10 minutes in and I was crying so hard I could tell I was making the man next to me uncomfortable and I had to turn it off. It was like sobbing. A plane cry though is different than a fucking couch cry, you know? There's a weird catharsis on a plane, but also there's something about Mr. Rogers' words. It's kind of like watching a documentary about Jesus having a job at the public television station in Pittsburgh.

I believe in Mr. Rogers way more than I believe in God, for sure. Yeah. Yeah. Well, he was doing the Lord's work. That's right. Just like we are. Just kidding. Just kidding. Just kidding.

Anyway. Anyway. As Mr. Rogers would say at the end of every episode. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie?

Ah. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah! This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi. Email your hometowns to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritm favorite murder and on Twitter at myfavemurder. Goodbye!