Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep173: Episode 173: Terrifying Ghost Stories

Episode Date: June 28, 2024

Our first ghostly tale this evening is ‘Call My Name’ by ShadowsintheLight23, shared via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Call_My_Name https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:ShadowsintheLight23  Our next offering is ‘Can I Stay in Your Room?’ by TheWizardOfTheWoods, again shared via the Creepypasta Wiki and once more read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Can_I_Stay_in_Your_Room%3F https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:TheWizardOfTheWoods  Today’s third story is 'I Used to Think that Ghosts don’t Exist', an original work by Mammoth Formal 1, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/MammothFormal1/  ‘The Case of Toll Number Two’ by Thenumberochentayseis is our penultimate tale this evening, 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  Tonight’s final fantastic story of ghostly horror is 'Molly, Molly' by Jaime A. Heidel, again kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:  https://www.reddit.com/user/_itoldyouiwassick_/ 

Hey Ontario, come on down to BedmGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BedMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge.

BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. We're so scared of ghosts because they embody the unknown and the inexplicable, challenging our understanding of reality. Ghosts represent a bridge between the living and the dead, stirring deep-seated fears of mortality and the afterlife. Their presence suggests unfinished business and unresolved emotions, invoking anxiety about our own life's meaning and what might linger after death.

Additionally, cultural narratives and personal experiences amplify this fear, making ghosts a powerful symbol of our deepest, most primal anxieties, as we'll see in tonight's collection of stories. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales 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. My name, the house had an uneasy feeling about. Mark had seen it first and he'd fallen in love with him she knew that any house she

showed him after that wouldn't have match up to the chocolate box cottage on the outskirts of the small old-fashioned village the quirky wooden beams in the rustic lounge the quaint thatched roof the overgrown bewitching garden with its secret hideaways and colorful flowers he'd fallen for the house the moment he saw it And from that day on, Sophie knew her fate was sealed. It was inevitable, and her husband always won. They moved in on November 11th. All their modern things looked strange amongst the old brick walls and the looming ceilings.

Sophie put her juice mixer on the stone kitchen counter and stared at it, thinking how displaced it looked, and then how displaced she was herself. She'd always wanted to live in the city in a modern apartment, but they couldn't afford to live in the city unless they sacrificed comfortable living for squalor, and all the apartments she'd shown Mark had failed to impress. Deep down she too knew that they were horrible. So here they were, in the desolate countryside with an hour's commute to Mark's job every single day. Sophie was still searching for employment, and she thought glumly of how she'd be on her own

day after day until she too found a soulless office job still they soleless office jobs surrounded by other people had to be better than life in the country by herself without even a pet to keep her company due to mark's allergies they began to settle in over the next few days unpacking boxes putting up pictures they met some of the neighbors mostly retired couples who would be mused that two twenty-somethings have moved out to the back of beyond and come voluntarily of the that. Sophie took an immediate liking to the woman who lived next door, an old lady in her 80s who was virtually housebound and had a dry sense of humour that reminded Sophie of her own diseased grandmother. Sophie decided that she'd be neighbourly and offered to bring the woman groceries,

even take her out once in a while, but it appeared quickly that the woman had several friends in the village who had already cheerfully taken on these burdens. Regardless, Sophie went to visit her often anyway, as she enjoyed listening to her stories. The old lady had lived all over the world, and her husband had died a few years back. It emerged that after he died, they were almost destitute financially, and so she lived in her little cottage with no heating and no electricity, and survived almost completely on the kindness of friends and neighbours. So if you like listening to her talk about her experiences, it made her feel like she was worldly herself, even though Mark never expressed an interest in going abroad.

The old woman painted a colourful picture of the most exotic places Sophie could imagine, of cows roaming the streets in India, of African tribes dancing to the beat of a drum, of people more rural than they who lived off the land and were at one with nature. I've seen real-life voodoo dolls. I've danced naked around trees. I've participated in animal sacrifice. The strange practices of others have always fascinated.

The woman said to her, perhaps sometimes to my detriment. One day, however, they got on to discussing the village. Are you enjoying it here? The old lady asked. Sophie wasn't sure how to answer. She'd been living in the village for about three weeks by this point. Most days Mark was out, even on some weekends, and whenever he was home, he was absolutely exhausted and locked into his own world. She felt very alone, but then she'd felt like that in her

marriage for a very long time now. I'm getting used to it, she said truthfully. How's the house? It's, well, it was spotless. She cleaned it every single day, for lack of anything else to do. But it was also cold and dark, and as the night started to draw in earlier and earlier, She found herself hurriedly shutting all the curtains and turning on the lights for fear of what she might see out of the window. She had no idea why. The old woman waited for her answer, but she trailed off, leaving the sentence dangling in the dank air. Sophie thought of something to say. Did you get on with the people who lived there before?

Did they come round much? A dark look passed over the old woman's face. She twisted her leathery fingers and copped. I didn't like them much, she admitted, looking away from Sophie. We were friends once, but I didn't always agree with the things they did, so we weren't friends anymore. They passed away there, didn't they? The estate agent had been required to inform them of this.

The couple who lived there before had passed away in quick succession, one after the other, within the week, both from husband. conditions the deceased wife was found cradling her even more deceased husband on the sofa in the living room sadly he died seven days earlier she hadn't thought to inform the police his decomposing body had been found in her own lifeless arms by a neighbor concerned about the smell while Sophie was repulsed by this mark was thrilled death made houses cheap cops were found there yeah the woman said so he thought her phrasing was interesting but she couldn't put her

finger on why it's terribly sad the old woman then pursed her lips and the conversation moved on mark didn't get home until late that night Sophie had made spaghetti but he called to tell her he was delayed and had already eaten at work she spooned the congealed misshapen lumps into the bin trying not to cry or to rekindle the old familiar a feeling of suspicion. It was the fourth time that week got home as she was going to bed. This was her life now. As she cleared up the mess in the kitchen, she heard an odd sound, like a floorboard creaking. She paused, stock still, like an animal sensing prey is near.

She breathed out, trying to pull herself together. It was common for floorboards to creak or radiators to gurgle as the house was old and it often made strange noises and then she heard it sophie she froze someone was calling her name the e sound was elongated like they were taunting her in a game of hide and see she stayed as still as possible waiting for it to come again it did not cautiously she crept out of the kitchen into the hallway. She wondered whether she should arm herself with something and grabbed a pot plant. What she'd do with a pot plant she didn't know, but she felt better for holding it. Who's there? She called out. The house lay silent before her, giving nothing away. Who is it? She searched every room, but no one was there. She breathed out as she got to the

bottom of the stairs and put the pot plant back in its place. Nobody was hiding. Loneliness did strange things to one's imagination. Over the next three weeks, she heard to sound twice more. The first time Mark was in the house as well, having a bath upstairs. She was in the kitchen again, making brownies to see if it would appease his bad mood. It was Sunday afternoon, a day of rest. Mark's work phone and his laptop lay across the kitchen table and it had buzzed three times already in the time she'd been out of the room. Sophie wouldn't have been surprised if he needed to go back to the office today. She stood there over the stove. She heard it again.

Sophie. The sound was far away yet she knew it was her name. At first she thought it was Mark and went to find him. He was lying in the tub, reading the news on his iPad. Did you call me? her heart was pounding a little what i asked if you called me no don't think so she nodded and left him to it she felt a prickly feeling crawling up her arms it had to have been the house the sound was coming from far away and was most likely just the pipes gurgling the second time was a couple of days later this time she and Mark were lying in bed she was lying unsatisfied in the scratchy sheets trying to sleep after their all too quick love-making mark was already snoring soffy she definitely heard it this time the sound had been close like someone was standing outside the door and she shook mark awake

what he grunted in his sleep irritated by her hands grappling at his back. I heard my name, she said. Someone's outside the door. You're just dreaming, self. I'm not asleep yet. How can I be dreaming? Go and check what you, please.

He grunted. Mark! Fuck's sake. He heard himself out of the bed and flew in the bedroom door open. His creaky hinges groaned at the sudden movement. There's no one out here. She heard his voice as he padded around the landing. There's nobody here, Sophie.

He stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking most of the light behind him. For a second, Sophie thought she could see a figure advancing up the stairs, something dark and slow. But then he moved and there was nothing. You're just imagining things, he told her, turning off the lights and clambering back. to the itchy sheets. I'm not, Mark. I heard someone. I've heard it three times now.

Sophie, you know what you like. You make things up. None of it's real, is it? She knew what he was referring to. The last time she'd made things up, as he put it. Mark, this place frightens me. But he wasn't listening anymore. In other couple of minutes, he was back to sleep.

Sophie stayed awake the whole night, staring at the door. A few days later, Sophie went on another visit to see her elderly neighbour. Today she didn't find her in good spirits. The old woman sat hunched over the fire, her wispy hair poking out at the bun she'd tied at the back of her head, her face pale and sickly. What's wrong? Sophie asked her. I'm not feeling very well, she replied.

Why? What's happened? I'm old. I'll get older and I'll get sicker. And then I won't get old anymore. Her voice was resigned in a way that conflicted with her usually positive spirits. How are you getting on? She asked Sophie, changing the subject. You feel more at home yet? Sophie sighed, wanting desperately to confide in someone. She sat down on the armchair opposite, ready to relinquish. her woes. No, if I'm being honest, she said.

If anything, I feel worse. I've been... I've been hearing things. What kind of things? The woman's attention was pricked. She tilted her withered head away from the fire in Sophie's direction. Sophie suddenly noticed how blue her eyes were. She would have been pretty once.

I've been hearing someone calling my name, but nobody's there. Is that so? The woman didn't look surprised, just sad, like what Sophie had said was as inevitable as her own ill help. I know it's an old house, Sophie continued, but I know what I'm hearing. Last night it was completely clear,

like it was just outside the door. A neighbour nodded her head, drinking in the information. I'm sure I saw a figure, moving behind Mark on the landing. I know it sounds crazy, but there's something in that house. The old woman sighed. You shouldn't be afraid, Sophie. It's just an old house. We can twist sounds to what we want to hear, or rather what we don't. You're very isolated. Just put it past you. But I think I'm sending myself crazy. I know I've imagined things before, things which nearly

destroyed our marriage because I was so paranoid but this feels real to me like someone's trying to get my attention so if in all the years i've lived next door to that house i've never heard anything strange going on there honestly we do this to ourselves when we don't have much else in our lives i'm not trying to offend you or upset you but that's what happens when our minds are not occupies take it from someone who knows what idleness is so if he nodded feeling a little better perhaps her neighbor was right it was just her imagination she left the house a burden feeling a little lighter now she confided in another soul the old woman watched her go a feeling of dread creeping upon her was it better that the girl didn't know was it better that she lied that she'd lied that she

kept from her who those awful people really were the ones who'd lived there before yes their bodies had been found they could not torment the old lady anymore they couldn't blackmail her for the thing she'd seen go on in that house but darkness never truly dies she knew that the kind of sins that went on in that house rituals as they call them they would never really die to think that she'd once been a willing part of it she shuddered hearing the door click as the girl left the old woman knew that she would be subject to the same fate when it was her turn bodies can die other parts of you never will they've been living in the cottage for three months when sophie found them the underwear with a lipstick mark on them what a cliche she was almost embarrassed She wasn't angry because she'd known for a long time. Yet she'd hoped, perhaps naively, that moving to a new place meant it would have stopped.

She'd obviously been wrong. She confronted him that night. He denied everything at first, before breaking down. Yes, he'd been seeing her on and off for a year now, yes. He loved the other woman, sir. No, Sophie wasn't paranoid after all. Yes, he'd carried on life. even when his wife confronted him with her suspicions. Sophie left the house and was enveloped

by the night. She let the darkness carry her through the village lanes, round the church, through the graveyard. She allowed herself to be invisible. After all, in Mark's eyes, she already was. Mark splashed his face with cold water in the upstairs bathroom. Have he really been so stupid? He always checked his underwear. He showered after every encounter. He kept his condoms hidden in the boot of his car. He'd obviously been tired after he got in and flung them in the laundry hamper without thinking. He'd got away with it last time. He'd talked her out of it.

Made her think she was just paranoid. He destroyed his marriage. He cursed himself. It was then, as he was standing in the cool of the bathroom. But he heard it. The voice was soft and playful, almost a sing-song. "'Sophie?' "'He stepped out of the bathroom, onto the landing.

"'It came again.' "'Mah!' The voice was louder, "'more insistent this time in a rasping, desperate way. "'A chill ran through him when he remembered "'that Sophie had gone out, "'that he hadn't heard her return. "'Yet it sounded like her voice.

"'Was she calling him for forgiveness?' "'He skulked down the stairs, following the direction of the sound. Marr was coming from the lounge. He was quite sure of that. He walked into the gloomy room, lit by an orangey lamp in the corner, and saw his wife sitting bolt upright on the sofa.

The sofa faced away from him so he could only see the back of her head. Her long brown hair gushed over her neat shoulders, though he was sure she'd worn it up today. There was something. wrong with what he was seeing her hair didn't look real it almost looked like doll hair made of straw the head was too large to be his wife her position bolt upright felt like he was looking at a corpse and was she cradling something as he drew closer there appeared to be another figure on the sofa when it was covered by a blanket it was then that he saw the gnarled hand

resting on the arm of the sofa where his wife's long fingers and chip nails should be were white wither digits with blackened fingernails as he got closer the hand clenched up sophie he prayed she was playing a trick but as he stood behind it a feeling of pure dread came upon him his breathing quickened he could hear the beat of to his own pulse. The figure, hearing him approach, began to slowly turn its head. Sophie was walking back to the house and deciding whether or not to go back in or just keep walking in the other direction. She had been crying and her face was bloated from it. Though she couldn't feel anger anymore. She was just tired. It was as she was passing the front garden of the cottage that she heard the scream. It was a shrill, pit.

screaming, tortured, and it seemed to go on for minutes. So if he stopped, knowing that it was coming from inside her house, knowing that it was her husband. Yet, what was she thinking? He told her that she'd been imagining things, hadn't he? That she was just paranoid? She hovered at the gate, debating whether or not to go in and investigate. All the lights seemed to be off. The house was still. Sophie kept walking down the lane, whistling as she left the little cottage in the distance behind her, and the echoes of the scream, died in her ear. Can I stay in your room? Mommy, can I stay in your room tonight? The walls won't stop staring at me.

I sigh and roll out of bed. There's nothing in your room. Go back to sleep. But they won't stop staring. Come on. I take Will by the hand and guide him back to his room. Walls can't see, Will, they don't have eyes. Mine do. They do.

They keep looking at me. We crossed the threshold of his doorway, and I set him up on the bed. Pictures of family past and present are hung, clustered around the room. See? Look. Will points to one of the pictures. across from his bed a large portrait of his great-great-grandmother long deceased due to the way the picture was taken she seems to stare at whatever the picture faces in this

case will's bed that's just an old picture I can't change that it looks like she's staring you take it down please please my sigh sure I reached to pull down the old portraits and her eyes slowly lock with my ghosts don't exist it all started a month ago when we went into that god-damned house we all grew up being told that the house was evil forsaken touched by the devil's hand or whatever other synonyms for bad juju you can think of i guess we were just dumb kids because one month ago today we decided that we'd finally go to the old Combs mansion. Oh, what in God's name would compel a group of three 19-year-old guys to do this? I don't know, call it skepticism, or maybe a macabre curiosity.

You see, we never really believed the stories we heard about the house. We'd all heard them growing up, yeah, you know, the stories of abuse and rituals that allegedly went on in that place. but we had to see it for ourselves just to prove that it wasn't true oh i wish now more than anything that we hadn't a month ago on a clammy overcast night i sat around a bonfire in the backyard of my parents house with my two childhood best friends Alex and Phil we're enjoying a few beers and telling college stories since we all went to different campuses but we were all home for spring break that seemed like the thing to do

Alex was telling a story about a fling that he'd had before coming home for spring break, and he'd broke it off because he was into some kind of witch shit. Phil and I laughed at this absurd story that he was telling. A witch? You're a right, man, Phil said. Alex responded by saying that she was crazy. Allegedly, she'd sacrificed a dog to Satan before. We all know that witchcraft garbages of hugs.

Just scary stories of our parents. told us to make us behave when we were five. Alex quit back by saying, That's bullshit, man. You remember that old Combs' house? The only were always told to stay away from us, kids. Oh, that place still gives me the creeps. So replied.

What? The witch house? This is why you got bullied in high school, while laughing, obnoxiously. I could sense the agitation between my two friends at this point, so I said, well, if it'll shut you two up, why don't we go check out the house? Phil replied immediately with, uh, dude, hell yeah, and pulled out the keys to his Subaru. At this point, Alex looked concerned, all colour draining from his face.

He weakly said, you know, guys, well, it's getting late. I think I'm going to go home. Ah, you're such a girl, Phil exclaimed loudly. Dude, come on, why you being such a bitch? I rolled my eyes. Phil is always such a clown. Fuck you, man. Alex exclaimed in an annoyed voice. I'll go to the stupid house.

After a few minutes, we all piled into Phil's car, throwing a twelve-pack in the back seat for good measure. We drove for what seemed like in eternity, even though it was only about a 20-minute drive. naturally we drank the entire time the old combs house was only 13 miles from town and it was allegedly haunted by the ghost of a long-dead family member who was rumoured to be a witch back in the day as we drove it got darker the further we got from the street lights we also got quieter the closer we got to the house eventually all we heard was the rattle of the old car going down the back road finally

we got to the house and began driving up the long, crumbling cobblestone driveway. The driveway seemed to go on for a mile, but maybe that was just because we got to go two miles an hour not to blow out a tire. On the driveway is shrouded in trees, half dead from the winter that had just ended. Yo, Phil, why's your car such a piece of shit? Alex Yeo from the backseat. It's better than yours, bicycle boy, Phil retorted. And then we saw it. The house. The depressing-looking stone and log structure stood two stories tall.

Most of the windows had been broken, and half of the roof was caved in on account of the large tree sitting on it. Dude, let's turn around. Alex said in a nervous tone, his voice cracking slightly. I was silently thinking the same thing when Phil let out a cry off. Oh, that driver was about 80 miles long, and I almost lost a tire about four times. I'm not leaving until I see a witch. And I told Phil, Erlan Combs has been dead for almost a hundred years, dumbass.

Don't you remember any of the stories that our parents told her? Phil responded with a snarky attitude. She's a ghost, dumb ass. He finally parted the car and began the trek up to the house. It was pitch black inside. the only illumination coming from our cell phones. We could hear the gravel crunch under our feet when suddenly Phil let out a shrill sounding yell.

Oh, it twisted my ankle. I turned to look at him and saw that he was fine. He'd been a baby, come on, let's get this over with, I said in a short tone. As we approached the front door, which was caved in almost completely, but chill shot down my spine but like any self-respecting college-age guy I ignored this feeling not wanting to be called a bitch by Phil yet again

we had to climb through the caved indoor and when we got in we were immediately faced with a shroud of blackness I can't see shit Alex said hold on I have a flashlight on my phone I said as I pulled out my phone and turned it on the others all did the same holy shit how long has this place been abandoned phil asked as he moved his

light across the room illuminating a dusty moldy living room that was littered with broken furniture well don't know maybe 75 years i said despite being completely clueless he kept looking around the room in the surrounding hallways it was just a dusty old house no penthouse no penthouse grams, dead ghosts, or sacrifices to be seen. Phil began to rummish through the cabinet, and Alex looked at some of the old-timey portraits on the wall. Yo, guys, check this out, Phil said while holding up a small doll that he'd found in a cabinet.

I knew something was wrong with this doll, as soon as I laid eyes on it. It was stained brown, almost like blood had dried on it. Um, is that real hair? I asked sheepishly. I don't know, Phil replied, sounding almost as nervous as I was at this point. There was a single, long needle going through the doll's head. Something was wrong with this place.

Very wrong. It was quiet, and the air around us felt heavy. What the fuck is that? Alex said nervously as he pointed to an old family portrait. of a family who must have been the combs. Those are witches, obviously, Phil declared obnoxiously. No, I mean, why is the little girl scratched out of the picture? Alex said, a nervous tone permeating his voice.

I'm not sure. I didn't think the combs had a daughter, I said, as I was overcome by an uneasy feeling. Hey, guys, I think we should go now. We saw the house. It's just an old house. No witches, I said. Yeah, maybe you're right, Phil said. Phil then reached into his pocket to get his keys so we could leave. Um, we have a problem. Where the hell are my keys? he asked, while sounding extremely tense. You probably dropped him while you're rummaging around in that stupid cabinet, I said.

Phil wet down and began looking around on the floor, his flashlight illuminating the damp, mouldy floorballs. "'What is that?' Alex asked as Phil's light floated over a handle on the floor underneath the cabinet. "'Hmph looks like a trap-door,' Phil said. And then, out of nowhere, a sickening feeling of dread mixed with an insatiual curiosity hit me. as if there was some kind of terrible secret I just had to know, hidden underneath that door. I'm going down there. Help me move this cabinet, guys, I said. No chance in hell, Alex exclaimed in sheer panic at this point.

I was getting angry at this point. God, well, we should have just left. What I remember saying, Alex, you better fucking help me or else. Phil just stood there quietly, looking very nervous, until finally he chimed in. All right, man, just calm down. We'll help you. I heard Alex exclaim under his breath. What the hell is the matter with you, man? I didn't know. Something had just come over me.

A horrible feeling. Rage. Disgust. I finally mustered up the courage and replied. I don't know, man. There's something wrong with this place, and I think we'll find out if we move this draw. We moved the dresser, and what we found, dear God, I wish we hadn't. Upon opening the trapdoor that was hidden underneath the cabinet, we found human remains, partially skeletal and partially preserved. Oh my God!

Alex yelled. That's a fucking corpse. Phil screamed. I panicked. Overcome by a sense that something truly horrible had happened here. I illuminated the body with my flashlight. It appeared to be a girl, a small girl, maybe five-foot tall, wearing a grey, tattered gown, with the same brownish bloodstains that were on the doll. It looked just like the doll, Phil had found earlier. What is that? Alex said in a terrified voice, while motioning to the doll. a small leather-bound book next to the body i don't know i said phil proclaimed again oh that's a spellbook oh we need to leave and call the police dude it was at that moment i knew

that we had to read that book hold on we need to read it well they had a look of sheer panic drawn on their faces but for some ungodly reason we didn't run then we didn't run when we could have i opened the book and began to read aloud it's my dearest daughter i'm so sorry but you had to be kept away from the world i felt my heart sink this was a diary the diary of elena combs the stories had been true at least partially elena was a story elena was a diary wasn't the witch. She was, I said, gesturing towards the skeletal remains we just unearthed. Dude, I told you so, these people were supernatural lunatics, Phil exclaimed. Hold on, I said, as I continued to read. The diary outlined how, after Susan, the name of the girl whose courts were just unearthed, the entire family died, one by one, with Angus Combs, dying of a gunshot wound to the head while hunting, and Samuel Coombs, the son, dying during World War I. The needle threw the doll's head. Phil's voice cracked. No way, man. I continue to read.

Eleanor had gone mad in her grief. She locked her daughter in her room for years until finally she made a tree fall on the house when she caused a terrible storm. Following this, Eleanor Dunbickland, she let her daughter starve to death in her own home, and buried the body under the floorboard. But according to the diary, it took a long time for Susan to die, because she'd eaten her fingers and parts of her flesh. Her tree, Alex muttered, looking up towards the ceiling which had a massive hole in it with the limbs of a large dead willow dangling through it.

I then looked down at the hands of her. of the corpse. She had just one finger. I took a deep breath before I finished reading. I felt as though I had an obligation to tell the poor girl's story at this point, but also I was full of a sense of dread. He concluded, thus, he finds this diary. You have found her. May God save your soul. We left shortly afterward and called the please. once we got back into town. We were all in shock from what we'd seen. After giving statements and being told that we'd be facing trespassing charges, we vowed to never speak of this again, to anyone. I'd hoped, we'd all hoped, we'd be able to forget about what we'd seen.

Alas, no. The night after we'd returned home, I struggled to find any sleep, but when sleep finally came, it was interrupted. I heard a nauseating sound. The kind of sounds you'd hear when stripping a deer, crunching of bone and squishing of flesh, coming from the corner of my bedroom. I could see the outline of a figure, curled up in a fetal position. I picked up my phone and used the flashlight to see better. There was nothing there. It must have been a figment of my imagination, most likely a similar from what we'd discovered in that house. God, what had we found? I thought to myself before falling back into a feverish sleep.

This sleep was plagued with terrible dreams, dreams of animal sacrifices and silhouettes of demons dancing on a wall, illuminated by candlelight. The next day when I told to Alex and Philip, they were exhausted. They'd experienced the same disturbing apparition and the dreams. It must have been a dream, Alex said in a shaky, nervous tone. Yeah, right. You heard what the diary said. We're cursed, Phil said in a panic voice.

Haven't you guys taken psychology yet? The brain can do crazy things when stressed, I tried to explain. Well, I hoped it was just our minds playing tricks on us. But secretly, I knew it wasn't. I knew that whatever we'd uncovered was now haunting us For a few weeks we continued to have the same visions and disturbing dreams at nights We continued to talk about it every day

Despite saying we would try to forget about it We couldn't She had latched onto us One night About two weeks after the first apparition It started getting worse As I slept the same uneasy sleep That had become the norm

I saw the same silhouette again, except this time it was standing. It was closer to the end of my bed this time. I heard the same disgusting sound, almost as if, oh God, no, I thought. I picked up my phone off the nightstand and used it to illuminate this figure in front of me, and I wish I hadn't. There she was, in her tattered clothes, the grey, rotten flannel. flesh peeling off her bones. She looked down at the floor, her long black hair partially obstructing her face. I threw up all over my sheets at what I saw next. She was gnawing through her fingers and swallowing pieces of them, thick, black blood dripping onto my floor and fling up her rotten mouth. I screamed, petrified of the horror that was sitting in front of me. What the hell's going on?

my mother screamed as she bars through the door and turned the lights on the apparition had vanished what happened are you sick my mom said in a panic tone upon seeing me vomit on the floor nothing mom must have had some kind of fever dream and then threw up upon hearing this my mom calmed down and finally left i cleaned up my vomit but i wasn't able to fall back asleep I just couldn't see her thing again. The next day I told my friends what had happened. The same thing had happened to them. What does she want? Why is she here, man? Alex said in a shaky voice.

I don't know. I wish I did, I said. There's nothing we can do. She won't leave us alone. She's a ghost. We should never have gone to that damn. house, Phil said, following up with an apology. I'm so sorry, this was all my fault. I just wanted to see the witch house. It's okay. We all thought it was fake, I replied, feeling smitten. I got all,

unsure, and very afraid. What is she wants? How would we make her stop? A few nights passed with nothing happening. And whatever we disturbed, turned its gaze away from her. I wish, but sadly things only got worse from there. I don't remember how many days had passed, but I was once again awakened by the sound of a gnashing flesh and crunching bolt. The stench of something long dared assailed my nostrils. I sat up immediately and looked around my room, but I didn't have to look far.

She was standing right next to my bed, less than a foot from me. I tried to scream, but no air escape my lungs. There I was looking directly at her. Her matted black hair no longer covered her face. I could see the coagulated blood on her face. Her eyes, or lack thereof, stared into my soul. I looked directly into her cavern-like eye-sockets and was overcome by fear.

There was a literal, dead, witch right in front of me this encounter felt like an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds it ended when she lifted her mangled rotting hand and pointed at me with one finger the one finger she had left blood dripping all over me at this point i was frozen she opened her mouth and let out a groan as if she was trying to scream, but her vocal cause had decayed away. I knew that I was going to die at that moment. But then, she vanished. The following day we all met again.

We had to do something about this. We had to find out what was afflicting us. Alex's parents' kitchen made a strange venue to discuss the entity that was haunting us, but, well, there's no way I'm going back to that house. Alex exclaimed. I explained to him that we had to and that we'd be no worse off than we are now. Phil was silent, a miracle considering we could rarely get him to shut up,

but we could tell something was wrong. What did you see? I asked, confused at his silence and lack of emotion. I don't know what happened, but that thing crawled on top of me last night, Phil said his emotionless face contorted into one of repulsion and fear. We looked at him, concerned in what he was telling us. But before we could speak, he followed up with a shaky voice. She's evil.

She wants us to suffer the same way that she did. Our conversation fell mute after that. Just abject silence. But I could tell that we all agreed. We had to go back to the house. It was settled. We returned to the house, hoping to find more clues as to why this was happening to us. We agreed to meet back here at night because we might have to sneak back to the house.

It was too risky going in broad daylight, with it now being a crime scene. I returned home and tried to go about my day. I researched witch-hunting and how to exercise a ghost, but it was all clearly bullshit. The entire day, I could hear it. That sound of flesh and bone being gnawed on and the groan of decayed vocal cords. But I didn't see her anywhere. I decided to head back out as it got darker. I could smell the stench of rotting flesh coming from behind me.

But there was nothing, and yet she was stalking me. When I arrived at Alex's house, he was already ready to leave. Dude, let's just get this over with, he said, in a rushed, nervous tone. But where's Phil? I asked. He should show up soon, he said. We waited. Five minutes passed, and then 30, and then an hour. We tried calling our friend probably a dozen times, but it always went straight to voice-mail. We need to go to Phil's house, I said, and Alex agreed.

We were hoping that he'd just fallen asleep, but, well, we knew that something was wrong. as we drove on the back roads that led to his house. It was dark and clammy out, and it had started to rain. As we drove, we had to keep the lights off, because we could see her standing along the road, pointing at us with her one remaining bloody finger. We didn't speak for the entire car ride. There was nothing to say. What was happening was impossible. Ghosts aren't real. Neither are witches. yet here we were seeing the ghost of a witch finally after what felt like an eternity of driving we saw it my heart sunk sitting in a ditch crushed against a tree was Phil's beat-up car the light still on shit we have to help him I exclaimed loudly as I slammed

on my brakes and stopped the car. We ran over to the car. Phil was in it, but he was gone. The steering wheel had punctured his chest cavity, and his head was smashed into the windshield. Oh, what the fuck, man? Alex said, screaming at this point. Our friend's dead,

or because we wanted to go to some fucking house. We don't know that. Maybe you just lost control, I replied, knowing that I was just lying to myself. I knew that he had seen her. But then it hit me. Phil's hands were wrapped around the steering wheel. His fingerless hands.

Well, all except for one, which was outstretched and pointing to a small clearing. There she was, staring at us. She was illuminated by the headlights from Phil's car, and I was terrified. This thing had killed our best friend. She smiled a sickening, twisted grin, black blood flowing out from her mouth of rotten teeth.

We ran and got into my car and sped off, almost going off the road at several points. Finally, when we got far enough away, we called 911. We found a spot to pull off the road and wait for the ambulance. Finally, we saw the line. of the ambulance coming our way. Once they passed us, we followed them to the crash site. When we arrived, we were horrified to find that Phil's body was gone.

Do you think that she took him? Could he still be alive? Alex whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the paramedics. I didn't know. I had no idea what could have happened. Did Phil somehow survive the crash? No, that was impossible. He was dead.

anyone with injuries like that would be dead i don't know i said trying to sound as collected as possible after being questioned by the medics the police arrived and asked us even more questions well we answered them to the best of our ability but we had no real answers for them we need to go to the house this has gone far enough i told alex yeah right let's go he replied The drive there was tense, nerve-wracking. So much had happened in the past month. What are we going to do, man? We're fucked.

I mean, she's going to kill us, just like she killed Phil. Alex led out, yelling from my passenger seat. We don't know if Phil's dead. Maybe he was able to walk away, I replied, knowing that I was wrong. I was just trying to cling on to any semblance of reality. no one can walk away from that his fucking chest was caved in Alex screamed now sounding angry and frantic i didn't say anything but i knew he was right

this ghost or which or whatever the hell it was had killed our friend he finally arrived at the house the drive took what felt like an eternity when we arrived the house was dimly lit as if by candlelight. She's waiting for us, Alex said, staring at me with transfixed eyes. What the fuck are you talking about? How do you know that? I asked.

Why else would there be lights on in that place? Alex yelled back at me. He was right. But we had to go inside. We needed answers. I mean, what other hope did we have? We sprinted up the dilapidated cobblanked, stone driveway, not caring if we fell or broke our legs. We dove through the broken front door

and were greeted immediately by the stench of decay. I looked around the house. It was lit dimly by candles, but it was what was in the center of the floor that made me lose it. Laying in some kind of sigil on the floor that was drawn in blood was Phil's body, heart sank. Standing directly above Phil's corpse was the ghost, groaning in a haunting, rhythmic manner, as if saying some kind of incantation. Alex yelled as he lunged at Herbie, ended up stumbling over Phil's body and passing directly through the apparition, but she vanished at the very least. We need to get out of here. We need to get his body out of here too. I'm not leaving him behind, Alex said, still frantic after what had just happened. You're right, let's go. Let's go.

I said, as we grabbed Phil's remains and carried him out of the door. Alex tried desperately to call the police after this, but it was no use. There was no signal. Fuck, fuck, Alex let out a cry, bursting into tears and falling to the ground. I wanted to curl into a ball and let that thing take me at that moment. None of this could be real. This just couldn't be happening. You need to get help.

We have to get out of here. I told Alex. We finally got up, and we did the only thing that we could think of. We put Phil's remains in the trunk and tried to leave. But the car wouldn't turn over. Had I left the lights on? No, we were only in there for a few minutes. And then, in my rear-view mirror, I saw her,

sitting in the back seat, reaching up to grab Alex, who was sitting next to me. I cranked the car one more time and stomped on the gas. The motor roared to life and sent us barreling into the house. When I came to, everything was on fire. Alex was on the floor of the burning building, around ten feet from me. Next to him was my car, completely engulfed in flames. I couldn't feel my legs.

I had to drag myself over to him, but as I did, that thing crawled on top of him. He was thrashing and screaming, but it was as though she was. weighed a ton. He just couldn't move. She took her one rotten, twisted finger and put it over his face. Thick, black blood was dripping all over it. Next, she shoved the finger down his throat as he tried to scream. He flailed and twisted violently, letting out muffled screams as he was choked and suffocating on her tainted, vile blood. Next, she led out that same hellacious groans. I come to know, and extracted her hand from Alex's mouth. He went limp instantly, as she pulled a black, hazy mist from his body.

There was one last gasp as she pulled the soul from his body. She proceeded to open her decayed mouth wide, her jaw seeming to unhinge, and devoured the black mist that came from Alex. He was dead, and let her cry. Oh, God, help me, I screamed as the building burned and the world went black. As I slipped into unconsciousness, she started to crawl towards me. The last thing I remember was her gangly, rotten limbs crawling across the floor. A decaying mouth opened wide with her hand outstretched towards me.

I woke up four days later, in the hospital. I was badly burned and I'm now paralyzed from the waist down. I guess part of the ceiling fell on me as the building was burning. The firefighters aren't sure how I survived and they say I'm very lucky to be alive. But I'm not. I'm not lucky to be alive. She comes and goes just standing in the corner, sometimes even in broad daylight.

She just stares at me and smiles that twisted, bloody grin as she points at me with her mutilated hand. She just wants people to know that she is real. So, if you're listening to this, now you know. I'm sorry, it's the only way. The case of Toll No. 2. 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 in the picture taken had provided.

Normally thousands of cars per day are fired 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 point this case out. This bead 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 tickets, 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. cases like this the superior advisor is notified and the phone associated with the license place is 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 and the only phone provided by the account Mandy the other one in charge of toll number two 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 so it's Metro Pistas. I suggested to Mandy that we should go to the address provided 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 neighborhood called Piedras in the town of Camois. 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 with a 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 I might be using this address for some toll-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 the house.

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 worse than mine. Jose Mojica 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 316 a m the tall camera snapped a picture but with no car passing under it until 318 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. Molly, Molly. Geraldine Farmer stared out the window over the kitchen 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 sides 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 trees surrounding the sun. house whipped against the darkening sky like subjects bowing to an invisible goal. 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 street 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 fire shot up her neck into her head. She staggered backward, only vaguely aware that her vision was becoming incredibly blurring.

June. Her daughter. Turning, she reached for the warm-mounted telephone, dialed 911. 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 grey 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 burn. Geraldine shot her daughter a look, but June just rode her eyes and sagged into the love seat with her son. Molly hung her hand. 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 tie swing still left, June said. I remember when Dad put it up. Geraldine took a seat opposite her daughter in a warm, hazily 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, Mom. 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 would become.

The soft cotton dress that would have hugged an hour. glass figure just a year ago, now hung limp as a dish round. It looked as though somebody had picked June up and simply rung around. 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 role? 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. Well, she always spends a month here each summer, right? What a 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. Gerardine turned and smiled as she watched her granddaughter play on the tire swim. 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 in octaves. She gave an uncertain little love.

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. Really? June regarded her mother quizzically. What brought this off? 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 coming to 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 them. Geraldine's frowned 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. I really thought I was a goner. Yes, I was so worried about you that it brought on my labour a few weeks early. Mike and I hadn't decided on a name yet. She was just baby girl laughing 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 once. Marley, Geraldine finished. Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, dear, I completely forgotten that. June shrugged their small shoulders.

I took it for a sign or something. It's a beautiful name. Geraldine forced to smile. Yes, it is. The pose is. The sing-song melody floated on the wind. It mingled so perfectly with the ambient noise of the birds, rustling leaves and June bugs

could have been there all along as 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 nearby. Somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower started up. 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 breeze. A 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. Allie, 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, and the thin white hand came down on her shoulder. She screamed. How's your grilled cheese, sweetie? Geraldine asked Molly washed down a thick water

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 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 recognize it as her grandmother's, and she'd shriek like a baby gazelle being mauled to death by a lion. I wish Allison 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 show. No, they saw the house months ago, I'm afraid. An elderly couple lives there now. They have no grandchildren. It looks like it'll just be you and me this summer. Molly Fran. There are no other kids in the neighborhood.

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. Oh, he must have imagined it. Molly chewed on her lower lip.

Yeah, I guess so. You be careful around the woods, Mom. You understand? Molly was startled at the sudden snout. in her grandmother's voice. Okay, I will. You're not to go into those woods alone. Molly nodded.

I used to go with Ellie 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 quiet. She stared down at the table and sighed. 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 mill. Hey, Geraldine spoke generally. 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 her.

She felt a surge of renewed hope when her fingertips brushed once, and then twice around the fruits. 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 glowed at the apple as it bogged in the slight breeze he might as well have been laughing at her need a hair 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 small baskets 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 shot i'm adam molly you live round 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 purple dress and grey 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. 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 toward 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 begin to flush

at being scolded in front of a boy, almost a teenager. I'm sorry, Graham, Molly said. I thought you're 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 softly. That's a lot. That's a lot. 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,' Geraldine parented. 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 agree. 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 tone. His dark eyes were dancing with mischief. What are you doing?

talking about. Harper's Woods is haunting. 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. 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 some weird kid looking to scare people had done little to stop the nightmare 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 Allison, 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 from 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 Molly Molly wants her darling three twelve year old girl stood in a circle around a fourth child a thin blonde who appeared younger than the rest The old 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 treasure 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 off. Poor little Molly, want a lorry? Marianne, the tallest of the girl, produced a dumb, dumb lollipop from her pocket in her overlords. Sarah had the doll 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 ann 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 heads making a loud thwock in her head 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 rogged the trees in the woods around. 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. Thunderstorm, Sarah announced, tossing the doll to marriette. 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 plowing into Marianne and Sarah, who had begun to dance amidst the sudden rain shower.

A deafening boom of thunder followed a street. 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 mine. 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. 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, 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 thick. 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 staff, her hand clutching at her sweat-soaked chest. As she struggled to ride herself on the sofa, she was seized by a sudden coughing fix, 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 raindrops through the canopy of dense forests. 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 had just been spoken. Marianne, Sarah and Geraldine had all made it out of the words, woods unscayed that day. 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 tell. to anyone who would listen 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 home. 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 grandmother. grandfather's obituary out of the paper and 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 around in territory much changed since her childhood

they found her car parked 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 that. 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 it. 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 things. 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 tan. 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 front. 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

and 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. 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 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 slum.

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 lake house? Molly laughed.

I thought me and grandma had the old lake house. The other one, Claire said. Molly's mouth formed an, 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. 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 side. 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. The voice was a deafening whisper all around her. Somewhere in the depths of the woods, Claire laugh, a maniacal giggle that reverberated off the trees and seemed to chase the falling rain deep underground. Molly ran. A 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 howled 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 in not so distant memory. Fifty years to the day. How would she not realize the day? 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 leaves,

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. forming the CPR she'd learn 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, 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! 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 eye. They were green. All pretense gone. The strange child's

mouth twisted into a wicked smile. Hello, 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 mind.

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 and line. Your eyes, June will know that you're not her daughter, Geraldine Crowe. Molly from fifty 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 gray blue as those of her late grandchild, whose body was now being piloted around by a vengeful spirit. Mommy June and 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, Baritza. 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 wrong, 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.