Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep41: Episode 41: Terrifying Ghost Stories

Episode Date: August 5, 2021

Tonight's show is proudly sponsored by Manscaped: get 20% Off and Free Shipping with the code CREEP at https://www.manscaped.com/ Our opening tale of ghostly terror is ‘No Such Thing as Ghosts’, an original story by Ryan Brennaman, shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/No_Such_Thing_as_Ghosts Special thanks to my collaborators!  Southern Cannibal: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1C8PAZgO9u6jgqrt_mJ_pg  Blackeyed Blonde: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC624cv3GzGyW-1RHqi3cUMw 'Molly, Molly' by Jaime A. Heidel is our penultimate tale this evening, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/_itoldyouiwassick_/ Tonight’s final fantastic story of ghostly horror is ‘The Case of Toll Number Two’ by Thenumberochentayseis, also shared via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Case_of_Toll_Number_Two https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Thenumberochentayseis

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.ca.caps are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.cavers. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Well, when it comes to ghosts, I like to follow the old adage. During the day, I don't believe in ghosts. But at night, I'm a little more open-minded. Three terrifying tales of ghostly horror for you this evening.

Now, later on, we have Molly Molly by Jamie A. Heidel. And we round off with the case of toll number two by the number octentiasis, but we begin this evening's entertainment with no such thing as ghosts by Ryan Brennaman. Now as always before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Jeremy Miller was never a man of God. Whereas all the other kids he grew up with spent their Sundays in their respective holy houses. Jeremy spent his Sunday mornings glued to the television.

He grew on the knowledge of the Discovery Channel, the girth of the Internet, and the pages of his textbooks. He used them to write his own story of creation. It was a story of evolution, probability and string theory. He saw an enormity to the universe, and to the realities and dimensions beyond it. He knew he was small, but he knew that no matter how big and unbelievable the world got,

everything could be explained. He was always certain. Jeremy was never a believer. He went on to Caltech to pursue a career in biological engineering, just as he had planned since he was seven years old. His parents were proud and amazed. They said they'd been blessed to have such a smart son. Jeremy scoffed at the notion.

To Jeremy, it had been as natural as the world around him. It was a product of his will and his actions. Alone he could do anything. Now that was a miracle. Oh, and Jeremy didn't believe in ghosts. The old house, 25 Plummer Hill Road, struck him as perfectly quaint. The New Hampshire woods had always piqued his interest, partly for the ecological beauty, partly for their peace and quiet.

The old house had buried itself within them. Jeremy wanted the same, but he also felt it was a great shame that the home's beauty had been hidden from the world. The steep, sloped architecture of the roof was picturesque. The stonework on the outside had an aged yet majestic feel. The gardens outside, long since neglected, housed much potential. When flowered, they'd wrap around that house like a stunning, knitted scarf. He saw it all in his mind, and it was magnificent.

So he made it his. Now, he was told on numerous occasions about the home's darker nature. They told him that homes that holds such unpleasant histories tend to hold a bit of that energy forever. They told him it makes the spiritual foundation weak, but all he heard was price reduction. Jeremy took it without hesitation. For a while, Jeremy was content. He was finally home. He almost resented the day and his job for stealing him away from that home.

He enjoyed his career and he was excited to see what he could do for the world. But the house. Well, that house was his six years. child, and he took great pleasure in nursing it back to health. All evening, and for most mornings, he put countless hours of work into the place. He had to replace many of the windows and reconk their frames. The living room was quite dreadful, as the ceiling above had seen some awful neglect. He had to add a crossbeam for support, and completely redo the floor of the guest bedroom above. Then, of course, he cared to the gardens.

There was only so much he could do about it midwinter, but he did all he could to prep it. Come spring, he'd be ready. However, as the renovations went on throughout his home, Jeremy started to notice some peculiar happenings. During his remodelling of the first-floor bathroom, Jeremy believed that he had heard footsteps in the hallway above him. Investigating, he found that, of course. He was alone.

The prospect of an intruder did come to mind. He was very jumpy and concerned in that regard. The house was large for just one person, and someone could easily hide in near plain sight. He slept on well that night, but after two days of silence and thorough inspection, he concluded that it had just been his imagination. Well, it usually was.

However, when the sounds of footsteps continued and then eventually evolved into sounds of actual conversation, Jeremy became concerned. No longer was it a simple glitch in his mind, an exaggeration of a thought. No, this was really, real. Someone was inside his home. It became particularly frustrating when neither Jeremy nor the authorities could find any trace of an unwanted guest. As far as they could tell, Jeremy was the only one who'd set foot in there for some time. That left Jeremy pondering irrational thoughts. He thought about ghosts. Don't be ridiculous.

There was absolutely no such thing. Spirits? Silly, childish attempts to bring understanding to the abstract that was deaf. They were made for comfort, inventions for occurrences without explanation. Ghosts were life's absolution. It's ex-Mashina excuse. Fiction. Jeremy was certain of that.

Then Jeremy saw the girl. She was young, probably about eight years old. She wore a teal flower dress with frills around the edges. At first it was his eyes playing tricks. Then it was simply his deceitful mind. The third time, however, The third time he had no excuse. The appearances became frequent and impossible to dismiss. He saw the girl in the hallway of the first floor.

Then, coming home from work, he saw her appearing out across the land from between the bathroom curtains on the second floor. She'd run by the bedroom door at two in the morning on a particularly sleepless night. Her appearances would have been less striking had the house's morbid history not been explained to him in gruesome detail. No young girl had been in that home for quite some time. Jeremy was convinced that there was still no girl in that home. And yet, every day and night, she was there. Without giving in to the paranormal rubbish, Jeremy had no explanation for why he could see her, the murdered child. Jeremy could only. Jeremy could only be. He could only, he could only. hold out for so much longer. One night, Jeremy had decided that he'd had enough. Footsteps had

once more disturbed his relatively peaceful mind before his sleep. Sleep and a restful mind were both in short supply these days. Again the footsteps came. She was running again, excitedly running. The sound of the girl's feet echoed in his skull as she ran from room to room. He couldn't understand why or how, but at the moment he didn't care. He just wanted it to stop. So, Jeremy made a stand. Any fear he had was swallowed by his frustration and rage. He hesitated, but the entity, though he didn't dare consider it as such.

hadn't harmed him yet it was still possible that the mirage of the girl was still just a construction of his mind it was quite possible that he was in no danger at all but he couldn't convince himself of that he was no longer certain he gripped the door-nob anyway throwing the bedroom door open he roared at her She was there at the end of the darkened hallway. Jeremy barely saw her face through the shadows, yet he saw enough to know that this outrage barely caused her to hesitate. He cursed at her and ordered her to keep still.

Silence fell after a few seconds, and then she responded. Every word came paired with one. single footstep forward. Mr? She asked innocently. I can't find my mommy. Can you help me?

The space between every word hit him harder than the words themselves. It was a terrible, awful silence. Regret swelled in his stomach. It tugged at his arm. trying to force the door shut. He refused it. Jeremy would rather stare it down than give in to his baser instincts.

It couldn't possibly be her. There was no girl. Go away, Jeremy ordered. Please. She smiled. Please help me. She was almost a problem.

upon him and the air around him drew heat from his body like a vampire drawing blood. This thing, this illusion, the hallucination before him got within an arm's distance from him. He was close enough to touch her, and that frightened him. What would happen if he was wrong? Stop it, Jeremy instructed. He hoped that saying it would work, and his mind would stop. She remained. She looked like she'd been painted onto the air.

Real, but not entirely there. Real enough, though, that he could reach out and touch her if he'd chosen to. He had to know. His right hand extended towards her, wary. She mirrored the gesture, reaching for him. Their fingers got so close, but the feeling Jeremy expected never came. Instead of the silky warmth of another person, or anything solid at all, all he received was a bite like a January breeze.

Her fingers slipped through his palm, and they then appeared again on the other side. Jeremy held his breath, his hand shaking fiercely. It had been so long since anything had surprised him. She whispered, her face suddenly sullen. I think he's still here. There was a warmth that soaked into Jeremy's naked feet. Blood. Blood had flowed across the hard wood floors and swirled beneath his toes.

His eyes followed the path of the river to the girl. and up her legs to her dress. He found its source. As clear as day he saw two spots soaked in blood, with two clean tears in her dress, two stab wounds that still bled fresh pain. Out of the darkness a rapid emergence startled him. Behind the girl, where previously only blackness had loomed,

a face appeared. A man, twice the girl's height, including the black top hat upon his head, stared at Jeremy with wide black eyes. The eyes were encircled with red. They oozed with warmth and dampness. It looked as though all the skin from his nose and cheeks upwards to his hat had been peeled away, no, torn away. The only skin left was around his mouth, and it had arched into an awful smile.

It peeled back over filed, pointed teeth. Do you believe yet? It asked, hissing. Jeremy's arm moved out of instinct to shut himself away from the horrors. An involuntary scream erupted from his mouth as he collapsed against the door. His horrified sounds drowned out the soft laughter on the other side of the door. Jeremy spent all night there,

wondering if they were doing the same. He thought he could almost feel a moist wind upon the nape of his neck. For the first time since he was a child, Jeremy cry. They had told him about her, of course. Before it had been such a trivial detail, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it.

it. A girl had been murdered there by her own father no less. She had been stabbed, strangled, and her body had been discovered in the attic by her mother. Everybody's favorite part of the story was the singular fact that her father had escaped, never been captured. They loved wondering what had happened to him. The murder had occurred half a century ago, and yet everyone was still morbidly fascinated by it. It gave them something to talk to over their campfires. He gave all the teenagers a good hoot. Jeremy had often seen them passing by, their eyes open in awe as they were told. He was living their dream. He was the one living in the haunted hand. He was the one living in the haunted No, he refused to believe it. His eyes had lied to him. There was no such thing. He was a scientist.

His reasoning was in numbers, papers, statistics and graphs. No, this meant nothing. It took him a week to calm his nerves. And then, a single thought. He had pondered, selling the house. He decided that that was the final straw. But no, never. Not for any demon or ghoul or Satan himself would he abandon that beautiful home, his first home. He would not run like some frightened schoolboy. He was never a man of God, but he was a man of faith. His faith was in what he knew and what he could prove. So, he studied the case of the little girl. Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive.

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Contact Connix, Ontario at 1866-531, 2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming, Ontario. For a while, this proved more of a detriment than an aid. The girl he'd seen in the hallway surely was the girl who'd been murdered there. The likeness he observed in the pictures he found was indeed that of the girl he'd seen. That meant that it would have been impossible for his mind to create the illusions he'd seen previously. She was real, in some sense of the word. Their presence had to have an explanation, however.

Something had been there that night. Something had physically chilled him. He'd felt the thing's blood on his feet. And so he pondered. He nearly gave in to their ruse. and then, like the great Sherlock Holmes himself, he realized something. He looked back, and indeed his suspicions were correct. There was a flaw.

There was one little detail that gave him hope. The floor was so minor that had he not been actively searching for it, he never would have seen it. It was unlikely to be mentioned by anyone, and, therefore, it was easy to overlook. However, it was not necessary if one was simply pretending. Ah, he knew for sure that they weren't ghosts. So, he just wanted answers. They came back again that night for the last time in the attic. Jeremy heard them talking above his head, whispered voices.

He climbed the ladder, and he pulled himself into the dark attic. He fumbled around looking for the switch. The attic felt so empty, so quiet. When the lights came on, he saw that he wasn't alone. The two dangling light bulbs above revealed so little in that cramped attic, but they showed enough. She stood far from Jeremy, just beyond the reach of the furthest bulb. Jeremy took his spot under the other. He found comfort in its light.

With both performers in their places, Jeremy recited his lines. Who are you? Jeremy asked. His voice wavered just a bit. Most of his fear was restrained inside. Sally? The girl spoke, going through the motions. Sally Johnson, I'm eight years old, and can you...

You were stabbed, weren't you? Jeremy interrupted. Sally nodded. By a very bad man. On cue, Jeremy felt the man. man in the top hat behind him. He didn't need to imagine the man's breath this time, but it made him smile. Why does a ghost need to breathe? He stabbed you? Jeremy asked again for clarification. Twice? Sally, or whatever she was, nodded in sorrowful agreement.

And that's when Jeremy smiled. He had her. again. Jeremy said, pulling a newspaper article from his pocket. This says you were stabbed three times in the chest. You're missing a stab wound by the right clavicle. Sally looked downwards at her dress. It remained intact and unsullied by her collarbone. That changed in a heartbeat. Blood poured from the wound and soaked her dress, but not a single drop dripped onto the ground. Even then, the two wounds you had before were mirror images. They were on the wrong side of your body. She was stabbed below the heart.

Your cut is on the right side. Sally didn't speak. You're not ghosts. Jeremy said. Feeling very clever. You're just pretending to be. Yes. Sally admitted.

You're right about that. Even though he knew the man was there. Jeremy jumped a bit as the man walked around beside him. The man was dressed in a rugged tuxedo. His left hand, gloved in white, gripped his lapel, while his other gloved hand held a black cane firmly. It clicked and clacked as he strolled by Jeremy. Every laboured breath he took hissed through his bloodied nostrils.

What are you? Jeremy asked. no reply. The man had reached the girl, and they shared some muffled words. She nodded in response to what was seemingly a question, and the man in the tuxedo chuckled. They shook hands, and he turned to take his place at her side. A pleased smile shone across his face. Please, Jeremy said. His tone is almost pleading, drew their attention, Please? Sally asked.

I need to know. Sally chuckled as she looked at him. My boy, you'll find out rather soon. I deserve to know. Jeremy snapped. He was tired of the dark. You deserve nothing. You will get nothing.

Now, the man stated in a suave tone. I believe the poor thing deserves a little. It can do no harm. Besides, his sentence trailed off as he leaned down to whisper in Sally's ear. Jeremy couldn't hear a single syllable, but whatever the man uttered in her ear caused the young girl to tremble. She nodded in agreement. Sally obliged to Jeremy's request.

I'm just shopping, dear. She said, with a smile. Shopping, Jeremy said, confused by her response. Yes, I suppose that's what you call it, and I believe we've just closed a deal. To this, the man in the hat literally grinned from ear to ear. His mouth stretching across his face. A chuckle escaped his toothy more as he took the young girl's hand and offered a firm shake. the deal was done.

Pity. She continued. I know how many were looking at this place. At that the man in the hat bowed. He bent down low behind the girl, and into the shadows. He didn't come back up. I do enjoy this place.

Sally said, clasping her hands behind her. back. The pain is so fresh. My house? Jeremy asked. No. Sally said with a chuckle. All of it. There was a flicker of the lights and Jeremy thought he felt the house quiver. Why Sally? He asked of the girl. No, the thing. When you've stabbed something. She began, licking her lips. You damage it irreparably. Sure, there'll be a scar.

That scar is a weak point. This house, the events here? Before Jeremy's eyes, the scene changed. In the end of the attic where Sally had been standing, he saw her on the ground. Sally, the apparition, was on the ground. as she was gasping her final breaths. Then, behind her, a shadow emerged.

Sally's voice, or whatever had been pretending to be her, spoke again. It's so easy to see the scars. That's where we come through. The shadow reached into the light, and a clawed hand gripped the young girl by the throat. The memory of that event? The scar tissue gives us all we need to blend in. We wear the memories like clothes.

Your superstitious nature does the rest. The shadow pulled, and Jeremy had to look away as it pulled the skin from Sally's body like a tablecloth from a table. He couldn't bring himself to watch as the shadowed thing filled the empty husk that was once that girl. It's not always perfect, as you pointed out. Memories are blurry and fleeting. There are always flaws, but they're superficial. Who will care? It's always the non-believers versus the fools.

Always so willing to label what you don't understand. You made it too easy. The lights flicker again and again. The thing that was pretending to be Sally walked forward. Jeremy started to back away. It worked here. It worked everywhere. You were clueless. No, Jeremy said, concerned.

Not me. I wasn't. You got close. The house trembled and the roof shook as if barraged by a fierce hailstorm. The noise and she was a noise and shone. shaking escalated until it felt like the roof would give in and the house would fall. Jeremy fell to his back, almost straight down the ladder that led to the attic. What is that? He asked. Opening the scar. She said, smiling. She was right above him, and as the noise reached its climax, Jeremy asked his final question. Who are you? The silence that followed, gripped.

his throat. She leaned down. It felt like a dream she whispered in his ear. I'm the new tenant. With that there was a blinding light from the back of the attic. Pieces of wood peeled away, strip by strip. From them peeled the paint and the nails, and from the wood every single fiber came undone and was ignited by flame. The pieces all burned away, but left in their wake wasn't ash. No, it was as if their burning tore through the air and revealed what was behind it. As the entire back wall burned, Jeremy looked through the hole in space. Another world lay before him.

A world of nightmares. Plains and hills of scarlet. grass lay as far as the eye could see. Beyond it, more firings, like the one that had engulfed his house, raged on. They all pulsated and crackled as giant clawed hands tended to them, and moulded them like they were clay on a pottery wheel. It was impossible. In the distance, rings taller than skyscrapers roared. They looked large in the large, and they looked large in to swallow whole cities. Through them worlds scorned by fire and blood lay ravaged. Cries and screams echoed on the wind like bird calls. By each ring stood a man,

a man in a top hat. As the ring grew around him, Jeremy saw whole worlds come into view. They fell, and the red plains absorbed them. The ground came alive, and it gripped the worlds within earth and tendrils and spines. They reached through the fiery portals, and ensnared everything in their path. Every world, every universe, was strangled into submission. What happened next? Jeremy could only dread. The men in the top hats looked on in joy

as thousands perished beneath the living ground. Around them, creatures indescribable gathered and bartered. They all fought for the chance to see. The men in the hats smiled. They were the purveyors of worlds, and business was good. Jeremy knew then who the girl was. As the wind from that terrifying world coursed in,

and the house succumbed to its flame. The thing that had worn Sally's visage, her memory, smiled and basked. Powered by her native land, her body formed corporeal, and her ethereal disguise was shed. The skin sagged from her face and hands, and from within her mouth protruded spider-like limbs.

Those legs proceeded to pull free her skull from the clutches of her mandible and neck. As the monster reformed its ghastly exoskeleton before Jeremy, he could only chuckle. As the visitor in his room had been, so had all the other ghosts been before. They weren't lost spirits. No, they were just disguised wanderers. They were just looking.

Sally was different in only one regard. Sally had decided to buy. Not him, not his soul, not his home. His reality, as his world fell into the moor to become part of the one below. Jeremy knew Yes He was right There were no such thing as ghosts

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Again, that's 20% off plus free shipping with the code C-R-E-E-P at Manscape.com. Your balls have been through enough this last year. Treat them with the best tools for the job from Manscape. Geraldine Farmer stared out the window over the kitchen. in sink, hands clutching a dish towel. The thunder clap came again, followed by a streak of lightning. She started and backed away, well-worn slippers scraping against the linoleum. The rain began to fall, coming in erratic drops that beat against the window and the

size of the house. After another rumble of thunder, the sky opened up and the rain poured down in sheets, groaning on the roof, slapping the glass. The wind howled, and the trees surrounding the house whipped against the darkening sky like subjects bowing to an invisible god. Geraldine's fingers fumbled behind her and gripped the back of a wooden kitchen chair. Without taking her eyes from the dramatic scene just outside her window,

she sank into its cushioned seat. As the storm rolled on, Geraldine's focus on the backyard softened. The woods behind the swaying trees on the perimeter of her property were thrown into sharp relief as another streak of lightning lit the sky. It was in that split second that Geraldine saw the face. The face was young and pale with a glimmer of a smirk playing on blue-tinted lips. A rushing sound to her left tore her attention away from the horrifying visage. The calendar had fallen off the wall, grateful to be busying herself with anything other than the

face in the woods. Geraldine rose and crossed the room. It was as she was pushing the thumb-tag back into the wall, that she saw the date. June 30th, 2008. Her left side jerked spasmodically, and she gasped in pain as a hot lick of a fire shot up her neck into her head. She staggered backward,

only vaguely aware that her vision was becoming incredibly blurry. June. Her daughter. Turning, she reached for the warm-mounted telephone and dialed 9-1-1. When the operator answered, Geraldine Farmer uttered only one word before collapsing into unconsciousness. Molly Larson slammed the door to the sedan and flew up the pebbled walkway. Her grandmother stood just inside the screen door and bent to embrace the child as she bounded up the steps. Hi, Grammy, Molly said brightly, her blue eyes dancing.

Hi, Mom. As Molly's mother plodded up the walkway, Geraldine noticed how deflated she looked. Hello, June. They embraced, and Geraldine stepped back, allowing both of them to enter her small, cottage-style home. How are you doing, Molly? Geraldine asked as they stepped into the living room. Did you have a nice drive? It was all right, Molly said, twirling a long strand of blonde hair between her fingers.

Her gray blue eyes sparkled And she lowered her voice to a whisper We got lost a couple of times though And somebody caught Mommy off on the highway She gave them the bird Geraldine shot her daughter a look But June just rode her eyes And sagged into the love seat with her son

Molly hung her head I'm sorry It's all right sweetie Her grandmother told her We all get angry sometimes And do things we later regret, right? Molly nodded, making a point to avoid her mother's eyes. Oh, can I go outside and play on the tire swing?

Geraldine nodded her approval. Just don't wander off, June called, but Molly had already disappeared out the door. Well, I can't believe the tire swing's still there, June said. I remember when Dad put it up. Geraldine took a seat opposite her daughter in a worn, paisley-printed chair. June, things are getting worse, aren't they? The younger woman's dark brown eyes instantly swam with tears. Mark served me with divorce papers, Mum. It's over.

Geraldine sighed. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. June ran thin fingers through a short tangle of honey-colored hair. Honestly, I'm not. For the first time, Geraldine noticed how thin her daughter had become. The soft cotton dress that would have hugged an hourglass figure just a year ago, now hung limp as a dish rack. It looked as though somebody had picked June up and simply rung her out.

He's happy with Marcy, June told her mother. Happier than he ever was with me. Molly and I are better off. Well, good reasons to him then, Geraldine replied, a snap in a voice. You can do better. You're still young. You'll find somebody else. At age 32 with a 10-year-old, she didn't exactly feel still young. If anything, she felt double her age most days. The affair and subsequent divorce was taking a lot more out of her than she wanted to admit.

I'm not concerned with that now, Mom. I just want to get myself back together so I can be a better mom with my little girl. She's only 10 years old and she's already seen way too much. Geraldine nodded Do you think this spiritual retreat will help you? June favored her mother with a rare smile. I'll make it work. For Molly.

Thank you for taking her for the summer mom. I'm not fit to be a full-time parent in the state I'm in here. Well, she always spends a month here each summer, right? What are two more? She's safe here, June said, glancing over her mother's shoulder to peer out the window. nothing but woods and streams, townhouses and cottages. There aren't any freaks or child molesters running around like there are in the city. Geraldine turned and smiled as she watched her granddaughter play on the tire swing.

She was on her stomach, and she wound up the rope as tight as her legs would allow, and was letting its unraveling spin her around. Why did you name her, Molly? What? June's voice rose an octave. She gave an uncertain. little laugh. Mom, that was out of the blue. Besides, you know why I named her mom? Geraldine turned back, a small frown furrowing her brow. I do. Mom, really? June regarded her mother quizzically. What brought this on? Geraldine shook her head. Ah, humor, an old woman,

will you? Mom, you're only 62. June protested. Then, seeing the strange look at it come into her mother's eyes, June relented. All right, I've got the name from you. And yes, I can see you really don't remember, though. Geraldine's frown deepened. Do you remember the stroke you had right before I gave birth? Oh, yes, of course. We were in the hospital at the same time.

Oh, I really thought I was a goner. Yes, and I was so worried about you that it brought on my labour a few weeks early. Mike and I hadn't decided her name yet. She was just baby girl last in for almost a week. Geraldine nodded, listening. I brought the baby in for you to see. I sat on the edge of your bed and showed you your granddaughter. You've been dozing, but you opened your eyes for a second and looked at her.

The first word out of your mouth was, Marley, Geraldine finished. Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, dear. I completely forgotten that. June shrugged her small shoulders. I took it for a sign or something. It's a beautiful name.

Geraldine forced a smile. Yes, it is. Poses, a pocketful of posies. The sing-song melody floated on the wind. It mingles so perfectly with the ambient noise of the birds, rustling leaves and June bugs. Could have been there all along. ashes we all fall down the familiar words fell from molly's lips in a whisper she wriggled out of the tire swing and glanced around hey who said that

molly stood by the swing one hand on the tire to slow its movement she looked around but saw nobody else near by somewhere in the distance a lawnmower started up A movement out of the corner of her eye turned her attention to the woods. The tall thicket of grass at the edge of the property began to ripple, even though there was no breeds. The hint of a giggle coming from that same direction made Molly move closer. She began walking towards the woods as though her small, bare feet had a mind of their own. "'Ally?' Molly asked uncertainly. "'Is that you?' The movement in the grass stopped, and Molly too halted.

She was standing just at the edge of the woods now. The grass came nearly to her shoulders in some spots. It was then that Molly noticed the change in the atmosphere. The sound of the lawnmower and the beetles were muffled now, as though too thick wads of cotton had been stuffed into her ears. Shaking her head, she took a step forward, reaching out both hands to part the blades of the grass. When the thin white hand came down on her shoulder,

She screamed. How's your grilled cheese, sweetie? Geraldine asked. Molly washed down a thick wad of bread and cheese with a swallow of milk. The glass had begun to sweat, and it slipped in her hands, making a loud thwop against the table when she tried to set it down. She jumped at the noise. It's good, Granny.

I didn't mean to scare you outside, honey. Geraldine said, "'It's just I've been trying to call you. You didn't seem to hear. I'm sorry.' Molly felt her inside squirm at the recollection of the incident by the woods. Why had she been so scared? Molly prided herself on never being afraid,

especially since mum always seemed to be. When the hand had grabbed her shoulder out in the backyard, Molly didn't immediately recognise it as her grandmother's, and she'd shrieked like a baby gazelle being mauled to death by a lion. Embarrassing. I wish Charleston and her family hadn't moved away.

Geraldine went on, sipping a glass of ice tea. You and she always liked to play together in the summer. I thought maybe she'd come back. Geraldine's smile was tender. She placed a hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. No, they saw the house months ago, I'm afraid.

The elderly couple lives there now. They have no grandchildren. and it looks like it'll just be you and me this summer. Molly frowned. There are no other kids in the neighbourhood. Geraldine shook her head. Not that I'm aware of. That's weird.

How so? I heard a girl in the woods today. Geraldine flinched, drawing her hand away. He must have imagined it. Molly chewed on her lower lip. I guess so. You be careful around the woods, Molly. You understand?

Molly was startled at the sudden snap in her grandmother's voice. Okay, I will. You're not to go into those woods alone. Molly nodded. I used to go with Ali sometimes. We took a shortcut to her house. Well, it was all right with Allison. She grew up in these woods.

She knows them. I knew them. molly grew quietly she stared down at the table and sides at first when her mother had told her she'd be spending the entire summer at the cottage molly had jumped at the chance of being able to be free of her parents constant fighting She'd imagine long days with Ali, playing in the woods, swimming in her pool and having fun. Ali had written to Molly right before she moved. Her mother had misplaced the letter and the bad news that had come with it. It had only surfaced a couple of days before the trip to Grandma's house. Molly hadn't made a big deal out of the letter in front of her mum,

but when she was finally in bed, she cried herself to sleep. She loved her grandmother, but the thought of being her only, playmate through the whole summer made Molly's chest feel heavy. She didn't want to cry in front of her grandmother right now, so she grabbed the slippery glass with an iron grip and chugged what was left at the milk. Hey, Geraldine spoke gently. Why don't we go to the orchard tomorrow and picks an apple? If I could just get a bit higher.

Molly spoke through gritted tea. She stood under a small apple tree, one arm stretched so high, it felt as if any moment it might come out of the socket. She was pushing so hard to reach the shiny green orb above her head that her toes hurt. She felt a surge of renewed hope when her fingertips brushed once, and then twice around the fruit. Then a sudden cramp in her left leg sent her sprawling to the ground. Damn it!

She brushed sweat-soaked hair off of her forehead. She glowered at the apple as it bobbed in the slight breeze. He might as well have been laughing at him. Need a hand. Molly turned to see a tall, dark-haired boy beside her. Though she hadn't answered his question, he was already stooping to pick up the apples that had spilled out of a small basket. Molly guessed him to be about twelve.

Oh, thanks, Molly said, getting up and brushing off her backside. The boy smiled shyly and returned her basket. No problem. He said with a shout. I'm Adam. Molly? You live around here? No, Molly said, shaking ahead.

I'm visiting my grandmother for the summer. Oh, come to think of it. Where was her grandmother? Molly scanned the rows of trees. She could have sworn she was just beside her only a moment ago. Is her house here in town? Molly had been concentrating so hard on trying to locate the familiar. familiar purple dress and gray hair, that she started at Adam's words.

Um, no, Molly said, shifting the basket. She lives in a college out at Bridge Creek, right by Harper's Woods. Adam's mouth dropped open, and he took a step backward. He seemed to be about to say something when he was interrupted by a sudden yell to their left. Molly! Geraldine, face flushed, hair askew, came panting towards, the two children. Her eyes darted back and forth between them. She laid a hand on her granddaughter Sean. "'Where have you been? I thought you were right behind me.' Molly felt her face began to flush at being scolded in front of a boy who was almost a teenager. "'I'm sorry, Graham,' Molly said.

"'I thought you were right behind me, too.' "'Hello, there,' Geraldine said stiffly, nodding curtly to Adam. Hello, I'm Adam. I'm here with my dad, but he knows where I am. Molly suppressed a giggle. The kid obviously thought he was about to be scolded as well. All right, Geraldine said. Her expression is softening. That's good to know.

Sweetie, your arm's ready to get going. We need to stop at the grocery store before we go home. Sure, Molly said. Nice meeting you, Adam. Nice meeting you, Adam. "'leading you, Adam,' Geraldine parroted. Molly and her grandmother had made it most of the way out of the orchard before Adam bounded back into sight. He tapped Molly on the shoulder and greeted her startled cry with a wide grin.

In his hand he held the elusive fruit that had caused their meeting. "'Oh, um, decided you might want this,' he said, topping off her basket. "'Oh, thanks,' Molly said, glancing backward to be sure she didn't lose her grandmother again. Hey, listen, I guess you haven't heard her. Molly frowned at Adam's sudden change in turn. His dark eyes were dancing with mischief. What are you talking about? Harper's Woods is haunted.

Oh, come on, Molly began, but he cut her off. No, seriously, he said, stepping back. It's really weird that you're staying there for the summer too. what's so weird about that adam gave her a long look before speaking again i can't believe you don't know adam said shaking his head the ghost in the woods her name is molly molly stared into the woods and bit down on a tart green apple defiantly she hated that stupid kid adam it had been three days since he told her that dumb story about a ghost with her name trying to convince herself that he was just a little bit of her just some weird kid looking to scare people had done little to stop the nightmenes. Her grandmother kept asking Molly why she looked so tired at breakfast,

but Molly didn't want to say. She was sure her grandmother would think the stress of her parents' divorce or loneliness was bringing it on. Besides, Grandma hadn't been feeling too well herself for the last couple of days, and the last thing Molly wanted to do was make her feel worse. After a third night of bad sleep, Molly made a decision.

she was going to go into the woods she'd been in it a million times with alison and her best friend had never told her about a ghost in the woods also she knew as long as she avoided it she'd probably keep having the nightmares when she walked towards the edge of the property line she threw a guilty glance toward the house when she left grandma had been sleeping on the living-room sofa bundled under a blanket tissues and hot tea at hand Molly convinced herself that it was because she didn't want to wake her grandmother up that she hadn't asked for permission. Yeah, right. Molly adjusted the small pack on her shoulder, stepped past the tall blades of grass, and walked into the woods. I'll just walk to where Allison used to live and walk back. If no ghost gets me, then there is no ghost. Molly set off down the small, worn path.

oblivious to the presence taking shape behind her. Marley, Marley wants her dolly. Three-twelve-year-old girl stood in a circle around a fourth child, a thin blonde who appeared younger than the rest. The older girls tossed a doll between them, sticking out their tongues and making faces at the girl in the middle. The little blonde jumped up each time the treasured toy flew overhead, and though she stood on tiptoes, she couldn't come close to reaching it.

Don't pick on me. Despite the defiance in her tone, her trembling lower lip egged the bullies on. Poor little Molly. Want a lolly? Marianne, the tallest of the girls, produced a dumb, dumb lollipop from a pocket in her overalls. Sarah had the don now,

his short red hair tangled up in her thick fingers. She swung it back and forth like a pendulum, a sour expression on her pudgy face. Don't swing raggedy hands. like that. Give her back. Why don't you run and cry to your Grammy, Molly? Jerry, the third girl chimed in. Yeah, Marianne agreed.

She looked to her friends. Her mommy doesn't want her. Dropped her off on the doorstep and ran away. How come your mommy doesn't want you, Molly? Jerry asked. Yeah, Sarah agreed. Is there something wrong with you? Why'd you spend all your time in the woods, Molly?

Jerry asked, scornfully. I hear you talk. to yourself. Sarah jeered. The lollipot Marianne had been holding hit Molly on the side of the head, making a loud thwock in her ear. Leave me alone, Molly shrieked. Her fist clenched into balls at her side as tears poured down her cheeks. Just leave me alone. Just then, a sudden gust of wind rocked the trees in the woods around them. The sky, which hadn't held even one cloud only moments ago, was suddenly grown dark as though an unseen hand had reached out to block the sun. Thunderstalk, Sarah announced, tossing the doll to Marianne. Jerry seemed to be the only one to notice

the sudden change in Molly. The young girl was no longer crying. She wasn't even moving. She was glaring, emerald eyes darting methodically from Marianne to Sarah and then back to Jerry. Jerry felt herself taking several step backwards, nearly ploughing into Marianne and Sarah, who had begun to dance amidst the sudden rain shower. A deafening boom of thunder followed a streak of purple lightning that painted the sky. Hey, watch where I'm running, Marianne laughed, shoving the doll into her friend's hands. Let's get out of here. Jerry yelled above the storm. Her gaze still on Molly. Those eyes. They just kept moving. No, ticking. Jerry realized with a crawling shudder,

the eyes reminded her of one of those Kit-cat clocks ticking off the seconds. Tick. Yeah, let's go, Sarah agreed, pushing a wet tangle of hair from her face. The two girls took off down the path, shrieking with delight. Jerry watched them go. I'm going to get lost in the woods. The voice was so close to her ear that Jerry screamed and jumped back. Though Jerry had only looked away for a moment, Molly had somehow managed to cover the ten or so feet between them in that time. Her face was only inches from Jerry's, her green eyes dark with rage and still red rim from crying. She snatched the raggedy Ann doll from Jerry's loosening grip with animal ferocity. A smile on Molly's pale face was pure rage.

But I'll come back for all of you. Geraldine worked with the start, her hand clutching at her sweat-soaked chest. As she struggled to ride herself on the sofa, she was seized by a sudden coughing fit. Grabbing a cushion for support, she reached for a tissue and waited for the fit to pass. Damn it! Geraldine cursed. She could still see the cold eyes locked onto hers, still feel the sudden shock of cold rain-drops through the canopy of dense frost. I'll come back for all of you.

That whispered threat, uttered nearly five decades ago, still echoed in her mind as though the words have just been spoken. Marianne, Sarah and Geraldine had all made it out of the woods unscathed that day, and Molly had stayed true to her word. She disappeared. The search party had been sent out to look for her when Jerry, despite the protest of her friends, told Molly's grandmother, that they'd last seen her playing in the woods.

Neither Molly, nor the body of the young girl, was ever found. Jerry had been terrified to knock on the old woman's door. For decades she'd held the title and reputation of town witch. Though she had been polite, Molly's grandmother had stared coldly at young Geraldine throughout her well-rehearsed lie as though she could see straight through her. She knew what the kids in the neighbourhood said and did to her grandchild, though she passed away long before she ever saw what Molly had in store for them. Ten years later, on the exact anniversary of the day Molly disappeared,

then twenty-one-year-old Marianne Hutchins decided to go for a walk in the woods, though she hadn't entered them in a decade. She got up early in the morning, left her newborn son with a neighbour, and vanished. The neighbour would later report that Marianne had looked almost as if she was sleepwalking. The neighbour also noted that she thought it odd that Marianne was not wearing a coat as it had been pouring rain. They found her body by the river three days later. The papers hadn't been specific, but the ranger who'd found her began telling tales to anyone who had listened

that the young woman had been found with her eyes wide open. Face contorted in fear. Ten more years were passed before the death of Sarah's grandfather brought Sarah, her husband and two children back to her hometown. By this time, Geraldine had all but forgotten the strange incidents of Harper's Woods. She'd been married, and she and her husband were expecting what would be their only child. June. Geraldine had been sitting at the kitchen table the next morning,

cutting Sarah's grandfather's obituary out of the paper when the phone call came in. Sarah's husband could only conclude that, in her grief over losing her grandfather, Sarah must have woken in the night to take a walk and had perhaps gotten turned on. around in territory much changed since her childhood. They found her car park just outside of Harper's Woods, and the body only 20 minutes later. Though the coroner had proclaimed accidental drowning as the cause of death, Geraldine knew better. It was then that Geraldine made peace with the fact that she only had one decade left to live. But death instead came to claim the life of Geraldine's husband during the span of that ten years.

and she didn't come in the form of an angry child on a specific anniversary day. Walter had simply stepped off the curb, and had been hit and instantly killed by a drunk driver. Though Geraldine spent some time worrying over June, she soon convinced herself that nothing supernatural had ever had designs on them. The strange deaths of Marianne and Sarah were just creepy coincidences. The insurance money Geraldine had come into from her husband's death had helped her and her young daughter more than either of them had

expected. June was able to attend a private boarding school during the fall and spend each summer at an exclusive summer camp. Geraldine closed her eyes now and forced herself to take a deep breath. Picked up her mug of cold tea and took a long swallow to further calm her throat and prevent another coughing fit. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the tissue she still clutched in her hand. She rose from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. Selecting a glass from the cabinet, she turned on the tap. As she passed by the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye.

She frowned at the calendar that hung on the wall by the phone. Its pages were fluttering as though caught in a breeze, but a quick glance around the kitchen told her no window was open. Geraldine's heart raced as her feet moved her

toward the fluttering pages. She felt the glass slipped from her hand. It hit the linoleum and shattered. But Geraldine, didn't hear. She didn't even feel the glass shard that penetrated the thin sole of her house slipper when she staggered backwards. A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Geraldine gasped, and turned a face drained of colour to the window and the woods beyond. Oh, no, she's.

The voice was a whisper. Molly whirled to face the sound but could see nothing but forest. She licked dry, chapped lips and swallowed her. Who's there? She'd heard a twig crack a few minutes ago. Had somebody or something been following her? When the shape appeared from behind the gnarled old oak tree, Molly gasped and took a step back. The little girl smiled.

There's a storm moving in. You should go home. Molly's chest tightened as she stared at a young girl who appeared to be about Molly's age, with a long, stringy blonde hair and a tattered dress. The only thing that stood out were her eyes, green and almost unnaturally bright. Who are you? Molly asked.

I'm Claire, the little girl said, stepping forward. It seemed to Molly that with each step she took, the little girl seemed to glow brighter somehow, as if bathed in her own private sunshine. I bet you thought I was a ghost, her? Molly surprised herself by giggling. Yeah, well, somebody told me a ghost story about these woods. Oh, I come here all the time, Claire said.

I've never seen a ghost. When Claire reached out her hand, Molly felt the slightly cold but solid presence of bone and skin when she shook it. She felt her muscles relax. The girl was just as real as she. Where do you live? Claire pointed. On the other side of the woods. You know the old lakehouse?

Molly laughed. I thought me and Grandma had the old lake house. No, the other one, Claire said. Molly's mouth formed and, oh, of surprise. You live where my best friend Allison used to live. Blair smiled. I do. Yeah, and Grandma told me there were no other kids there.

Claire shrugged. Oh, I'm staying there with my grandparents. for the summer. A sudden rumble of thunder caught their attention. Molly looked up. Why hadn't she noticed the sky getting so grey? Do you want to come over, Molly? I'll tell you the real ghost story if you come with me.

Molly felt a spidery shiver crawl along her spine. Claire, I never told you my name. Claire turned back, frowning. Yes, you did. Molly shook her head. She stared back. No, I didn't. Thunder clapped again.

Molly looked up as the lightning flashed across the sky. When she looked back, Claire was gone. Molly gasped, turning right and left as large drops of rain splashed on her head and arms. Ring around the rose, he. The voice was a deafening whisper all. around her. Somewhere in the depths of the woods, Claire laughed, a maniacal giggle that reverberated off the trees

and seemed to chase the falling rain deep underground. Molly, Rha! Molly! Molly! Geraldine screamed as she slid down the embankment. A sharp pain shot through her leg, and she prayed as she tumbled and rolled that it wasn't broken. Nobody knew where she was. She could die out here. She landed on her hands and knees in the deep puddle of muddy water.

Molly! She'd been curming the woods for nearly an hour, but so far had seen no sign of her granddaughter. The rain poured down in sheets. Geraldine lurched blindly into a tree and held on. For a moment, she was twelve years old again, helping her friends pick on a helpless little girl. She saw the rage in the eyes of the girl,

not so distant memory, 50 years to the day. How would she not realize the date? Lightning flashed and lit a streak of blonde in the distance. At first, Geraldine was struck by an urge to scream. Then she recognized her grandchild. Barefoot, both slippers lost long ago under muck and leagues, Geraldine staggered barefoot towards Molly's unconscious form. Molly! Geraldine slid down to her knees and cradled the rain-soaked head in her arms.

Oh, God, please don't be dead. Baby, honey, wake up. But the face was grey. The blue lips parted. Geraldine put her hand to those lips and felt no breath. Molly! Geraldine pushed Molly onto her back and began performing the CPR she'd learned from a YWCA course over 30 years ago. Though she had no idea if she still remembered what to do, instinct took over. She pressed on the small chest and blew frantically into the child's mouth. A strong gust of wind picked up, wailing through the trees and nearly knocking Geraldine to the mud-soaked forest floor.

She looked up, gasping, momentarily distracted from her task. And she just heard her voice. Something moved in the distance. A figure. Was somebody out there? "'Help! Help! Over here, please! It's my granddaughter. I think she's drowned!' Something moved, an amorphous figure melting into the trunk of a tree. Geraldine squinted, shook her head and resumed the chest pumps on her grandchild. An explosion happened beneath Geraldine's hands as Molly sat bolt upright and gasped for air.

She fell onto her side and began coughing up water. "'Molly! Molly! Molly!' Geraldine cried, holding her granddaughter close. You're all right. Oh, you're all right. Grandma? That's right, honey. Grammy's here. Geraldine pulled Molly away and held her at arm's length, checking her over for any injuries. The child's face was still pale, but the colour was quickly returning.

Geraldine smoothed her hair out of her granddaughter's eyes. Her granddaughter's eyes. They were green. All pretense gone, the strange child's mouth twisted into a wicked smile. Hello, Jerry. Geraldine staggered backwards with a shriek. No, no, where's my granddaughter? Where's Molly? The little girl shook her head slowly,

looking down at Geraldine as though she were a slug beneath her feet. crossing the short distance between them with unbelievable speed Molly knelt down and pressed her face close to the older woman's I am Molly silly No no you're not my Molly Geraldine yelled trying to pull herself upright in the mud The sudden pain shot through her arm and radiated upward through her jaw The crushing chest pain soon followed suit

Geraldine knew she would never make it out of the woods alone Your eyes June will know that you're not her daughter, Geraldine crows. Molly from 50 years ago smiled again, moving away from the older woman who lay dying in the rain. She closed her emerald eyes,

and when she opened them again, they were the same shade of grey-blue as those of her late grandchild, whose body was now being piloted around by a vengeful spirit. Mommy June and I, I will have a wonderful life together, don't you think? Those were the last words Geraldine Farmer heard as the darkness closed in.

The woods finally claiming her for its own. The case of toll number two. I work at the Auto Express Violation Division of Metro Pistas in Puerto Rico. My job is to take the license plates of the cars that pass the auto pay tolls without funds in their accounts to later process the infraction of the mail that the license plate and the picture taken had provided. Normally thousands of cars per day are fined by this system. That's why my job is to look only at the violations at toll number two, located in the city of Verisibo.

It's come to my attention that there's a car that's been pictured every day at 3.16 a.m. for the last three years without funds in its accounts. I've been working for seven years already, and it took me three years to, to point this case out. The speed limit of the toll is 55 miles an hour, and this car has passed every single day at 120 miles an hour. The same procedure is always followed with the administration of the ticket, yet none of them have been dealt with in the past three years. All of them stacked up to a total of $36,000 in auto express fines. In cases like this, the superior advisor is notified, and the phone associated with the license plate is produced.

provided in order for my department to make the call and look for a solution. Yet after ten days of calling the residents, we had to report that we couldn't reach anybody in the only phone provided by the account. Mandy, the other one in charge of Toll No. 2 and I were puzzled with this issue. For a debt like this in our department to be unsolved for three years made us look bad. We could even lose our jobs at Metro Pistas. I suggested to Mandy that we should go to the address provided in in the account to see if anyone lived there.

If not, we might be dealing with a case of vehicle corruption. The address took us to a small neighbourhood called Piedras in the town of Kumwai. These days with a GPS, addresses are easy to find, so in about an hour and a half we arrived at the house. What we found were the remains of what was once a house, for it didn't have doors or windows, all stolen throughout the years of non-habitation. It was obvious that the location hadn't been lived in for years, and so one might be using this address for some tall-free drives on the highway.

As we're about to leave, Mandy saw in the back of the house the remains of a crushed car covered in grass, buried by time and moths. It took a while to distinguish between the front and back of the crushed metal in front of us, but Mandy finally found the VIN number and license plate to the vehicle, along with a rather disturbing realization. The 1986 Toyota Corolla, that was decimated before our eyes, had been off of the road for exactly three years.

With a disturbing sensation in my entrails, caused by an unexplained fear coursing through my veins, I managed to get in the car and told Mandy to drive us back to the office to search for the records of the last owner of the car. Mandy's face upon reading the file was even worth, Worse than mine, Jose Morgica crashed against toll number two in October of 2010 at a reported 120 miles per hour, dying in the act at 3.16 a.m. After some time of thinking, we came to the conclusion that somebody's using the deceased license plate and VIN number, and then Mandy saw the

time, and had the idea to go this night to toll number two just in time to capture on video and cameras additional to the one that had taken the exact same picture for three years. What happened that night convinced me to stop addressing this matter ever again, after the official release from the case. At exactly 3.16 a.m., the tall camera snapped a picture, but with no car passing under it until 3.18, when it took the picture of a car that passed by normally. After the picture was presented to our superiors,

We had orders to file this case in an archive, along with the ones that will appear every day at 3.16 a.m. Presented with this text is one of hundreds of pictures that still take place every day at precisely this time. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.