Creepy - Day 9 - The Hanover House

Episode Date: October 9, 2021

Knock, knock***Written by B_ent Thoughts and narrated by: Michelle Kane***Content Warning: Child kidnapping/murder***Bonus episode: "I Got the Devil in Me" written by Sum Gigh***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy posters and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of. violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents The 31 Days of Horror. Day 9. The Hanover House. Written by Bent Thoughts and narrated by Michelle Kane. October 24. Okay.

I know this is a little, well, gratuitous, but hey, it's the only boating experience I'll personally have, probably. So this is entry one of my captain's log for my kayak. I'm a little embarrassed, but no one will read this blog anyway. And if they do, maybe they'll appreciate the dream-fulfilling thing this is for me. I dreamed of being a pirate when I was little, but, as it turns out, pirates are terrible people, and boats are very, expensive. So here we are, just a girl in her kayak, the SS Raven, named after my favorite

childhood cat. Anyway, I don't think I have much else to say for this first one. I just wanted to announce that I got a kayak, and I'm doing this thing. Captain Ellie. Too much? Probably. Okay, just Ellie. October 25th. I'm currently in my kayak. I'm writing for my phone so I can actually log this on my maiden voyage. There's a little inlet near my house that leads to a larger part of a local bayou area. Living in the panhandle of Florida means Louisiana's similarities with less hurricane damage. Anyway, I'm not actually into sport kayaking, so drifting along the bayou satisfies my boating desires without presenting a lot of whitewater danger.

Speaking of danger, while the water itself is placid and peaceful overall, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. I've scanned the water multiple times, expecting to see the bumpy eyes of alligators glimmering in the sun. But so far, nothing. Even so, it's a little unsettling, so I'm thinking it's probably time for a beer. I can't help but feel pretty brilliant for my backpack bar, which in all all. honesty is two bud lights and a backpack full of ice. But it should help me relax and really soak up being a captain, I guess. I know it's silly, but little nine-year-old pirate me is so proud right now. All right, I'm going to go now. It's October, so the sun sets around six o'clock, which means I

only have about an hour until most light is gone. I'll be paddling back to shore soon, Ellie. October 28th. I'm live again from the seat of the SS Raven. I'm coming up on the Hanover house, and I feel like doing a little story time. So remember when I said the Florida Panhandle has some similarities to Louisiana? Well, one of those similarities is ghosts, or rather ghost stories. So for Halloween, the little town square area of our city is doing a Hearst Ghost tour. It's a sort of morbid tourist trap, but I can't wait to do it. Mixed in with some pretty outrageous tales are some really interesting historical facts. The local historical society is actually who puts this thing on, so it's at least somewhat

educational. They do it every year, and every year I participate. Why this matters for my captain's log is because of the Hanover House. I've been passing the Hanover House on my kayaking trips for a a few days now. Tucked away in a more swampy area of the bayou, there's a house pretty far back in the woods and moss. Around here, it's known as the Hanover House. It's a featured element of the Hearst Tour, and its namesake's grave is a massive monolith that can be seen from the street in our square cemetery. Elias Hanover clearly had money, because even the rotting remains of his house

look impressive. According to the Historical Society's account, in 1805, Elias Hanover lived by himself in his large house with only two, a butler and a maid. Hanover was incredibly private and never seemed to have anyone visit, until one day his sister's daughter came to live with him after her mother and father died. Apparently it had been a house fire. The parents were burned beyond recognition. but the little girl was unharmed. Being Louisiana adjacent, there were rumors of witchcraft and voodoo, partially because of the already private

and mysterious nature of Elias Hanover. After his niece showed up, somehow alive after the terrible deaths of her parents, people couldn't help but speculate. Did Hanover have it in for his sister? Was there familial drama? Hanover was so alone that it. It was a surprise not only that he had a sister,

but that he was somehow the new guardian of another family member. Anyway, this entry is getting long, so I'll hurry up and finish the story. Hanover's staff died first. The butler was found by the closest neighbors to Hanover some three miles down the bayou. He was floating face down. When the police showed up, they turned his body over

and his eyeballs had been brutally gouged out with two large exes carved into his face, covering the empty sockets. His arms were perforated with small holes. What little goodwill the town may have felt toward Hanover was completely gone. Everyone blamed him. He had always been rich, reclusive, and strange. The superstition of the time period took over. Everyone worried for his niece, but no one would.

go near the Hanover house. Just a month after the butler died, a couple of fishermen found the maid. As their boat was passing the property, they noticed a woman hanging from a tree. The police arrived, they found the same jagged exes carved into the woman's face over eyeless sockets and the same small holes dotting her arms. Law enforcement tried to take the child then, but the girl refused to leave. According to police reports, Hanover had seemed shaken and didn't try to put up a fight to keep his niece. In fact, he seemed almost scared. But given that the child showed no signs of harm and didn't want to leave, the police left her with Hanover.

Two months later, there was a massive fire. Elias Hanover died in his house, burned to his bones. the child was nowhere to be found. The inside of the house was destroyed by the fire, but the outside remained intact. Police looked for months for the girl, but never found anything substantial. It was thought that Hanover had finally snapped, already strange and too quiet, and then burdened by his sister's child. To this day, people say they sometimes see a young girl in the windows. eyes as black as the soot and burns marring the house.

A condemned property, the old mansion is covered in vines, moss, and decay, but still imposing in its own right. All of that to say, I've never seen anything in those windows, but I feel a chill run up my spine whenever I pass, the Hanover house. Okay, and that's enough murder mystery story time. I think maybe I'll go ahead and break into my backpack bar and try to relax a little. I think I've spooked myself plenty for this log entry.

Ellie. October 30, Part 1. Here from the SS Raven again, I'm actually writing this partially to keep my mind occupied and to fill a little bit of a connection, even if I haven't actually published this blog entry yet. Just knowing people will read it makes me feel less alone. It's amazing how beautiful.

beautiful and lonely a Florida bayou can feel. I'm surrounded by sprawling gnarled trees and wildlife, and it's somehow so isolating. Anyway, last night I did the Hearst Tour around our square. When we stopped outside the cemetery, I expected the usual story about Hanover and his niece in front of his large gravestone. Instead, the tour guide began talking about how the historical society had recently found some old letters. Some in Hanover's handwriting tucked into a crumbling diary found in a

very old misplaced box of historical town relics. Some of the correspondence was between Hanover and who appeared to be his sister. She confessed fear about her daughter, saying she had found multiple dolls with pins from her own pin cushions stolen and puncturing the toys. Large exes had been scrawled over the eyes of the dolls. According to Hanover's sister, she was a god-fearing woman, so she promptly threw away her daughter's toys and requested her priest come by the house. Hanover's niece had a meltdown, crying and screaming the moment the priest walked in the door. He only stayed a few minutes, telling Hanover's sister that he wouldn't put up with such wickedness,

and that either the child truly was evil or was that. terribly behaved. Ashamed and a little frightened, she sent her child to bed without supper. A few days later, the priest was found dead, right outside the church. Large exes etched roughly into his face, over his eyes, and small holes covering his body. Terrified, Hanover's sister searched her child's room with dread. Sure enough, there was a small doll, wrapped in black fabric reminiscent of the priest's monotone black attire. X's crudely drawn over the eyes and pins sticking out of the arms and legs. Her mother and father removed anything that resembled a toy and anything to do with sewing from the house.

Their daughter watched all of this passively, not saying a word. The house fire that killed them happened only a few days after the date on the letter. Crazy shit, right? Also, maybe Hanover wasn't some murderous recluse after all. His niece sounds terrifying. Of course, she also was a young girl whose religious parents suspected she was evil, so who knows? I'd be pretty anxious and angry if my parents thought I needed an exorcist because I'd play with dolls.

Hard to know the truth here, which brings me to why I'm feeling a little extra nervous on this voyage. I'm going to go by the Hanover house. I just want to see the grounds for myself. Years of stories and I can't help but be interested, if also a little scared. I'll do a double entry today, one now and one after I've explored a little. I'll check back in soon. October 30, part two. I'm back home now. I couldn't check in again for my kayak. I paddled back so quickly, I almost capsized. I, I saw her. Her eyes were completely black, and she stared from the top window of the Hanover house. She wore a white dress covered in black sooty smudges. I ran back to my kayak, and I didn't look back once. I was too afraid. And even with what I

saw, what I think I saw. I'm questioning myself. Was my mind playing tricks? Should I call the authorities? What if it wasn't a ghost or a spirit but an actual child who needed help? I don't want to be paranoid and I don't want to get the cops involved because of my overactive imagination. I'm going back one more time tomorrow afternoon. I just want to see it in the daylight. It had been dusk last time. I just want to know what I saw. I just want to prove it was nothing. Or get the evidence that it was. I don't know.

Just something? Besides, what better day to go on a ghost hunt than Halloween? I feel crazy and I probably sound crazy. Which is what you get, I guess, when a girl does a captain's log for her kayak. Okay, I'm feeling a little more relaxed now. I'm going to go get some sleep and I'll give an update tomorrow. October 31st. I'll burn.

Even now, I see smoke curling under my door. I hear the fire alarm blaring. I could try to run, try to escape, but something would happen. I'd trip breaking my neck or toppling into the fire head first. I can't cheat what's coming for me. I wanted to write one more entry here, just to make sure the truth of what happened to. me is somewhere out there, and to hopefully keep anyone who comes across this from ever trying to

visit the Hanover House. When I arrived at the Hanover House this afternoon, I felt better in the daylight. Although it was already fading, the amount of light left was comforting. It was easy to tell myself I'd just been seeing things that, of course, there weren't any ghosts or spirits hanging out in windows. But as I began walking toward the house, something caught the corner of my eye. I thought I saw a dress, fluttering in the breeze to my left. I whipped my head to the side, but there was nothing there. I would have thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I felt my stomach drop when I saw a frayed rope looped around a tree then. My brain conjured images of the maid hanging from the tree, bloody exas scarring her face. I shook my head and took a deep. I didn't need my imagination

rattling my nerves. I moved forward, trying to steal myself against every urge to run. It was just a legend. Maybe mixed with a little history, I shuddered at the thought of the letters, but still, mostly just a legend. I walked up to the door and lightly pushed. It creaked easily open. It's hinges old and tired, but not resistant. The inside of the house was a wreck. Parts of the floor had caved in and parts of the ceiling were falling down, some of the blackened piles on the floor. The smell of mildew and rot was overwhelmingly strong. I didn't want to step foot further in because I didn't trust the flooring at all. But then I saw them. Two little little. black shoes on the stairs across the living room. I could barely see the hem of a white dress with black smudges dusting the tops of those shoes. I felt my heart skip a beat. Everything in me wanted to run, but what if this child needed help? What if I abandoned a child because of a ghost story? I called out to her, but there was no movement and no response. Gingerly, I was a child. I

I began testing parts of the floor and moving forward. When I reached the stairs, the shoes, and the person attached, turned and ran upstairs into the dark. Fear gripped me. My concern for whoever this was pushed me on. My foot fell through a couple of the stairs, but I went slowly enough that I didn't injure myself. When I got upstairs, I pulled out my cell phone to help me see better. As I looked around, I saw her peering from behind a door to a bedroom. Her eyes still completely black, not reflecting any light at all.

Nervously, I crouched down a bit. I tried to speak to her. Her expressionless eyes unchanging. Her pale lips stretched into a painful grin, exposing broken and jagged teeth. She gripped the doorframe. So hard, it cracked. I gasped and dropped my phone. And the flashlight feature shut off.

The entire room went black, and I heard the quick shuffling of small feet. And that's when I ran. I wasn't so careful this time, and I twisted my ankle on the way down the precarious stairs. I limped and ran and ignored the searing pain as I fled. When I got back to my kayak, I began crying, but I didn't. stop. I had to get away from the Hanover house. Halfway home is when I smelled it. Something was burning or burnt in my kayak. With his shaking hands, I picked up something I hadn't noticed before. It was a doll, charred black, with its ankle twisted at a disturbing angle. I absentmindedly

touched my own swollen ankle, and my blood felt like ice. I knew what would happen next. I considered not going home, but I knew it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter where I was. There would be a fire. I figured I might as well be home alone, or no one else would get hurt. And so I'm publishing this last entry so that someday someone might find my letters. And maybe you'll listen better to mine than I did to Hanover.

Elie. For bonus episode, creepy presents, I got the devil in me. Written by some guy. Ever since I was a kid, my parents said I got the devil in me. If there was a stain to make, I made it. If there was a set of stairs to push something down or fall down myself, I did it. I was walking almost as soon as I was crawling and running as fast as my chubby little toddler legs could care me after that.

It was just something I had to do. Ever since grade school, teachers said I got the devil in me. I was that kid in the back of class who couldn't sit still. The kid who made all the jokes, who learned all the naughty words first. I was a kid who pushed every limit that was ever set down in front of me by every teacher I ever had.

It wasn't because I didn't like them. It was just something I had to do. ever since high school the cops said I got the devil in me I was a kid who was driving around without a license shoplifting nudie magazines

and 40s from the gas station I was a kid who smoked I was a kid who had his own reserve seat and detention no matter what my parents did whatever threats they leveled against me it didn't do any good it wasn't their fault as much as it wasn't the teacher's fault

I just had that itch inside me, the rebellious streak that started the day I slid out to shoot. It wasn't a voice in my head or anything of that. It was just something I had to do. Ever since I got back from overseas, my friends said I got the devil in me. I was a guy who came back from overseas with more inside him than what he left. everything I was supposed to have gotten from the previous four years, discipline and all that, were just words that rattled around in my head until the hierarchy was gone,

and I was walking around in jeans and a t-shirt again. No one's going to pretend like the itch inside me didn't have its uses over there, but my use was over. So, when I got home and didn't know what else to do, I did what came naturally. I started to raise hell. See, when I was growing up, everyone had their idea of what I needed. They'd say I needed medication.

They'd say I needed therapy. They'd say blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Turns out, what I needed more than anything? I needed to find the word. I wasn't raised in a house with religion. Dad was an atheist and wasn't afraid to say so. Mom was agnostic, saying no one really knew, so it didn't make any sense to say you or anything.

I think that irritated Dad. I didn't go to church. I wasn't baptized. I wasn't confirmed any religion. Some of my friends were, but I never really thought about it. I just knew there were certain times of the week they couldn't play. Didn't mean anything to me,

and I never much thought of a higher power, as it were. You'd think with what people thought of me, I'd believe in something. I can't say it was any one thing that made me believe. But once I heard the word, I knew what I had to do. That's how it works, right? People become nuns or priests because they hear the word

and know that they need to devote themselves to something beyond themselves. No different from me. Just a different destination. I started small, talking to a few people at a time, wouldn't call it a congregation. And you probably know what it's like when people start talking about their beliefs. Some people get excited and chatty.

Some people get awkward and quiet. Some people are just ready to argue their own belief structure, making it about being right and wrong. That isn't the most ridiculous thing there is. Telling someone what they believe is wrong. It took time, patience. I started to find my friend. flock, as it were. The people who not only listened, but understood, they saw what I was saying

in their own lives. I wasn't out there to change anyone's worldview. I was just sharing what I'd seen my entire life. People were free to listen or not. Didn't make any difference to me. I just knew I needed to spread the word. Now I have a flock, as it were, and a message to spread. It's a message of warmth and simplicity, action and reaction. See, I'm a big picture kind of guy. I can spot who needs to hear what I have to say a mile away. Some people just need something to believe in, a little nudge in that direction that their heart's been telling them all this time.

Some people call it an echo chamber. But I think that's a little reductive of what I really do. I just tell people that what they believe, and what they want to hear is exactly right. Business has been great lately. I can repost it and retweet it no matter which account I use. People couldn't be happier. Well, maybe happy ain't such the right word.

But they sure are getting heated out there, ain't they? And heated is exactly what I'm looking for. Old guy way back when one said, what's always made a hell on earth is a man has tried to make it as heaven. See, that's where we got it wrong, aiming for the wrong model. Don't you worry? I'm fixing to correct that.

Things have been going along pretty well, too, if you've been paying attention. It's just something I have to do. All my life, people said I got the devil in me. I guess they were right. For even more from creepy, including how to submit your own story for, Consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are used under license and may not be rebroadcast or distributed

without the express prior written consent of the stories author. Please contact us at creepypod at gmail.com for further information on obtaining the rights necessary to rebroadcast or distribute a particular story.