Full Body Chills - The Story Of Vera Valentine
Episode Date: October 1, 2021A story about a school girl and her unusual dormmate.The Story Of Vera ValentineWritten by Laurie Faria StolarzYou can read the original story at http://fullbodychillspodcast.com/ Looking for more ch...ills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck
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Hi listeners, I'm Samantha Ware and I have a story I want to tell you.
A story about a schoolgirl and her unusual doormate.
So, gather round and listen close. You probably wouldn't know this about me, since I never really talk about it.
I mean, to this day, it's probably the freakiest thing to ever happen to me.
But I once attended boarding school.
And believe it or not, that's actually not the freaky part.
But it happened while I was there.
Let me back up a bit,
to the summer before my junior year of high school.
My parents were at a rocky point in their relationship,
fighting all the time.
They loved the idea of me getting away,
not having to witness how ugly things were getting at loved the idea of me getting away, not having to witness
how ugly things were getting at home. Plus, with me away, nearly a hundred miles from home,
they could try to work things out, get back on track. So, they made it happen. I enrolled that
fall at Briar Mayfield Academy, home of the Bulldogs. And admittedly, I was kind of excited.
I mean, here I was on a whole new adventure in a new environment with a whole new menu of classes to take.
Plus, the campus?
It was absolutely stunning with its sprawling green lawns,
ivy-covered brick buildings, and a state-of-the-art gym.
It also had the cutest frog pond with a footbridge
and telescopes for stargazing
In some way, I felt like I was going on vacation
Rather than to prep school
But then I met my roommate
And yes, I know
Who doesn't have a roommate from Hell's Story, right?
And to be honest, she seemed perfectly normal at first
Quiet, soft-spoken.
Not exactly like some of my hilarious friends back home, but still.
She was really sweet.
Hannah Rice was her name.
She was a junior too, or so she said.
She looked barely old enough to be in high school.
I remember she offered me first dibs on which side of the room I wanted. She also insisted I take the bigger closet because I had more clothes, and she
promised not to take any of my snacks without asking. I mean, how could we not get along?
But I noticed something. As we were unpacking and arranging our sides of the room,
a suitcase at the foot of Hannah's bed.
It looked like an antique with its wooden surface and leather straps.
Every few minutes or so, Hannah would squat down to get the cover of light packed.
At first, I thought maybe it was a good luck thing or even a nervous twitch.
Like, I went to elementary school with a kid who used to tap his pencil against the side of his head five times before he was able to start a math question.
But then, I saw Hannah giving the suitcase a weird rap as though in code.
Tap, tap, tap.
Knock, knock, knock.
Tap, tap, tap.
Knock, knock, knock.
She did that same rap over and over again.
I asked Hannah if everything was okay.
I mean, it was just so weird.
She told me she was fine, then stood up like nothing happened.
After dinner that night, everyone in the dorm convened in the rec area for a back-to-school game
where we constructed towers out of toothpicks and marshmallows,
which didn't really go so well, because everyone
kept eating the marshmallows.
It was actually pretty funny.
But not to Hannah.
I mean,
she didn't even participate.
She just stood there with a scowl on her face
as if we were acting like animals.
And admittedly,
maybe we were.
But honestly, who doesn't love marshmallows?
Especially when there's a chocolate fountain involved.
Which there was.
Anyway, she went back to our room, without a word.
I had no idea why.
Was she not feeling well?
Had something bad happened?
Maybe one of the girls had said something rude.
I still hung out for a bit,
playing ping pong and getting to know the other girls,
half hoping that Hannah might come back and join us.
But she didn't.
And so, around 10 o'clock, feeling guilty,
I went back to the room to check on her,
nowhere near prepared for the reaction I would get.
Hannah was sitting on the bed with the suitcase open in front of her, and like a reflex, she drew the lid closed, fastened the latches, and snapped the lock shut.
What do you want?
She asked me.
Seriously?
I don't want anything, I told her.
I just came to check on you.
Is everything okay?
Did something happen back there?
Her dark eyes narrowed into slits as if maybe I'd been the one who'd done something wrong.
Still, she didn't answer. Instead, she patted the suitcase and did that weird tap, tap, tap,
knock, knock, knock thing, but this, I wasn't going to let it slide.
What is in there? I asked.
She set the suitcase on the floor.
In doing so, something toppled off her bed.
I moved to pick it up.
It was black and rounded, smaller than the size of my palm.
But Hannah snatched the thing before I could grab it.
Was that a shoe? I asked.
Because that's sort of what it looked like.
A shoe for a baby, or toddler maybe.
But once again, Hannah didn't answer.
Instead, she just said how tired she was.
She dimmed her night table lamp, saying she had a hard time falling asleep in total darkness.
Then settled in for bed.
I went to bed too, still curious about the suitcase.
I mean, what could be inside it?
Drugs? Weapons? Body parts?
Maybe term papers for sale that she couldn't risk my finding.
And what was up with all of the wrapping?
What would happen if I wrapped on the suitcase too? and what was up with all of the wrapping.
What would happen if I wrapped on the suitcase too?
I waited for Hannah to nod off.
Once I was sure she had, could hear her subtle snoring,
I called out of bed and across the floor,
accidentally knocking over my water bottle.
It made a plunk sound against the hardwood,
which radiated to my heart.
But luckily, the sound hadn't seemed to wake Hannah up. The suitcase was within reach now,
but still, it was right at the side of Hannah's bed, positioned at her arm's reach as if she wanted to keep her eye on it. My fingers shaking, I rapped on the side of the suitcase, ever so lightly.
Tap, tap, tap.
Knock, knock, knock.
Tap, tap, tap.
Knock, knock, knock.
Then, I placed my ear up against the side.
But nothing happened.
I didn't hear or feel anything.
A moment later, Hannah stirred in her bed.
Her hand reached out toward the suitcase, though I was fairly certain she was still asleep.
Maybe she was dreaming about the suitcase?
I'm not really sure, but I scurried back into bed,
feeling silly for wanting to tap the thing in the first place.
I mean, what had I really expected?
And so,
I went to bed, for real this time. But I was awakened later to the sound of that rapping.
Tap, tap, tap. Knock, knock, knock. It brought chills to my skin. I rolled over and looked toward Hannah. But she was sound asleep, with her eyes closed and her hands clutching her pillow.
The sound was gone now.
So, had I only dreamed it?
I went to turn back over.
And that's when I saw it.
Sitting at the foot of my bed.
A doll.
I know, it sounds totally crazy,
like maybe there was something a bit stronger than sugar and gelatin in those marshmallows.
The doll had long, golden blonde hair.
It was wearing an orange dress and looked to be about 10 or 12 inches tall,
though sitting.
The dim light of the lamp cast over the doll's face, revealing amber eyes.
On its forehead was a gash, a sideways slit about four inches long. The thing is, I was so beyond
exhausted, I fell back to sleep, which I know sounds suspect, like maybe I dreamed the whole
thing. I even wondered that too, especially because when I woke up the next
morning, the doll wasn't there. The suitcase hadn't moved. Hannah didn't mention a word about
anything from the previous night. The whole next day though, I felt like I was being watched.
Like everywhere. In my classes, while I was eating my lunch, walking back and forth between buildings,
I kept looking over my shoulders and checking the corners of various rooms.
But there was never anything to explain the sensation.
The feeling followed me back to my room.
I closed the door, locked it behind me, relieved to finally be totally alone, where I could have a little peace.
But when I turned toward my bed, I wasn't able to help notice. Hannah's suitcase was just sitting there, unguarded.
This was my chance. I tried the latch. The suitcase was locked, of course. But it was an
antiquated lock. Nothing that a hairpin couldn't pick. I'd had my fair share of practice breaking into my parents' antique liquor cabinet.
It took practically nothing, just a bend of the pen and a few jiggles from side to side.
The latches flipped open.
I lifted the lid as chills ripped up my arms because inside the suitcase was the same doll from my nightmare.
No joke.
With the golden blonde hair, the quack forehead,
and the orange dress. My head started spinning. I mean, how was this even possible? Was I totally
losing it? The shoes were shiny and black with a strap across the top, exactly like what I'd seen
topple from Hannah's bed the previous night. I lifted the doll out of the case. In doing so, the eyes tilted open.
They were the same amber color. It appeared that someone had drawn slash marks over the forehead
gash to make it look like hand-drawn stitches. Totally creepy. I went to check the back,
wondering if there might be a hidden compartment. At the same moment, the doorknob jiggled. A key
was inserted into the lock. I hurried the doll back inside the suitcase and drew the same moment, the doorknob jiggled. A key was inserted into the lock.
I hurried the doll back inside the suitcase and drew the lid closed, catching the dress.
My pulse racing, I poked the fabric back in and went to shut the latches.
I managed to click one of them closed, but the other one kept snapping back.
There wasn't time.
I stood the suitcase up anyway, just as the door swung open.
Hannah was there, staring straight at me.
What do you think you're doing? She asked. Without waiting for my answer, she stormed across the room, slid the suitcase toward her, and opened it wide. She took the doll out and inspected it all
over. The dress, the hair, the shoes, the rubbery skin. She sniffed it too and tested the eyelids, making sure they opened
and shut. I'm really sorry, I told her. I had no excuses. I was just curious. Well then,
can I be curious too and go through all of your stuff? She snapped. I'm sorry, I told her again.
She was quiet for a while, but after a moment, it looked like she had calmed down.
That's when she started to explain.
About the doll.
That it was extremely sentimental.
Hannah grew up in foster care and didn't have much of a family.
But I have Vera, she said,
pointing out the embroidered V's on the pockets of the doll's dress.
Vera Valentine.
She's vintage, delicate, at least 60 years old.
Is that why you're so secretive about it? I asked.
Why you keep it locked up in a suitcase?
I keep Vera in a suitcase because of stuff like this, she said.
People going through my stuff, not understanding the value, not understanding me.
Hannah explained that she'd bought the doll online, on a website for haunted doll collectors.
Who knew such a thing existed?
Dolls like Vera, Hannah continued, "'they have a history.'"
According to Hannah, Vera was owned by a girl named Rebecca
whose father was a general contractor.
The contractor built the family's home on land
where there had once been a hospital.
One of the patients who died from the flu in that hospital,
years prior, inhabited Rebecca's doll.
"'Wait,' I said, unable to resist.
"'Are you trying to tell me that Vera is like Chucky and Annabelle? I mean, it was just so crazy. Hannah rolled her eyes. This isn't Hollywood, she said.
Some spirits who don't manage to pass on use objects like dolls as vessels to communicate.
It made no sense, but she still kept going, telling me that sometimes
the dolls make whistling sounds or leave trinkets behind. Look, I know it sounds unusual, she said,
but when you're forced to move around as much as I have, having a spirit doll is the closest thing
I've got to real life family. My eyes slammed shut. I mean, it was just too much. Way too out there. I didn't
believe in ghost or spirit energy of any kind. I mean, yes, it was sad that Hannah didn't feel
close to any humans, but this spirit doll stuff? I wasn't buying a word of it. And so, I put it
right on her. Why had she put the doll on my bed the previous night?
Hannah gave me a confused look, as if she had no idea what I was talking about,
which was really kind of irritating because I hadn't made it up.
The doll had been on my bed.
I was sure now than ever.
It hadn't been a dream.
I didn't, Hannah insisted. Vera was in the suitcase all night.
My face flashed hot. I got up, not wanting to argue. I had no idea why she was lying.
All I knew was that I wanted a new roommate. And so, after dinner that night, I went to talk to
the resident advisor, but she was in a meeting, so I had to make an appointment for the following day.
That night, as I sat on my bed doing my homework, I watched Hannah tend to her doll, brushing out her hair, reading the doll a story, and changing the clothes.
One of the compartments of the suitcase was devoted to Vera's wardrobe and accessories, stuff like storybooks, watchcloths, jewelry, and playfood
items. So weird. Anyway, I went to bed, telling myself that by the end of the week, this would
all be over. I get switched to a new room. I would never have to see Hannah or Vera again.
Sometime that night, I got up, having to use the bathroom.
There was about ten of us on the floor of that dormitory,
and we all shared a communal bathroom with showers and toilet stalls.
I crept down the hall, which luckily stayed lit up at night.
Still, it was pretty eerie.
The building was quiet.
No one else was up.
It was just past 2 a.m.,
and you could have heard the drop of a pin.
The bathroom had about six stalls in total, four toilets, two showers. After I was done,
I went to the sink to wash my hands. That's when I heard it. The whining of one of the stall doors.
I peered over my shoulders, feeling the same sensation I had before,
of being watched.
But no one else was in there.
I was totally alone.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the sink.
At the same moment, I heard it,
a giggling sound that sent shivers all over my skin.
It was coming from the last stall.
My heart pounded, but still, I told myself it was just my imagination,
despite the goose flesh on my forearms and the tightening of my chest.
The giggling sounded like it was coming from a child,
like someone was hiding, playing a joke.
I approached the stall, my limbs trembling, my inside shaking.
The door was only partially closed. I kicked it open.
It made a loud heart thwack against the wall, rattling me to my core. I peered inside,
holding my breath, but the stall was empty. The giggling had stopped now too.
I turned back towards the sink, spotting something small and pink by the faucet. It hadn't been there before.
I would have noticed.
I took a few steps closer, able to see what it was.
A plastic baby bottle.
As though for a doll.
I hurried back to my room, down the hallway, tearing the door open only to find the doll again sitting on my bed,
its eyes gaping, its mouth curled into a grin. my room, down the hallway, tearing the door open only to find the doll again sitting on my bed,
its eyes gaping, its mouth curled into a grin. I let out a loud, thirsting gasp that woke me up.
I sat up. I was still in bed, like I'd never gotten up. I dreamed the whole bathroom scene.
Everything. The stall, the giggling, the door at the whack, the baby bottle.
Hannah was still asleep.
Her suitcase was closed.
There was no doll on my bed.
Silently, I counted to ten, trying to catch my breath, desperate to get a grip.
I mean, what was going on with me?
A chirping sound made me jump.
My cell phone, by my bed.
My mom's picture flashed across the screen.
Mom? I answered.
She was absolutely hysterical, talking a mile a minute, telling me that I needed to come home,
that there'd been an accident involving my dad.
My dad's family has a history of heart disease, so my mind just went to the worst possible scenarios,
picturing him in a hospital, all hooked up to machines.
Please, just come, my mother insisted. Call a taxi.
I flew out of bed, threw some things into a bag.
Hannah woke up in the midst of it all, and I explained what happened.
She tried to help, asking if there was anything she could do.
She was actually pretty sweet, but
honestly, no one could do anything. I just needed to get home.
I took a cab, got there around 6 in the morning, just as my parents were getting out of bed.
My dad was gearing up to go for an early morning run. Mom was making coffee. The morning news
was on. It was just like any other day, except for my parents' reaction.
They were completely alarmed that I'd come home.
What happened, honey? Mom asked.
What do you mean? I asked them and checked my phone.
But there was no trace of my mom's call,
and neither of my parents had any idea what I was talking about.
There was no accident. My mom swore she never called me. Basically, I freaked them out,
so much so that my mother made me stay home that day, figuring the stress of the new school and
living away was wreaking havoc on my mental health. And honestly, I couldn't really argue because I was feeling pretty freaked out too.
Later that afternoon, after some rest, I called my resident advisor demanding that I get assigned
a new roommate. But you don't even have an old roommate, she said. What do you mean? I asked.
You're in a single, she said. I mean, yes, there's an extra bed in there, but you don't have a roommate.
For now, anyway.
Of course I do, I insisted.
Room 19, I'm with Hannah Rice.
Room 19 is a single, she assured me.
Still, I made her double-check her records.
Hannah Rice, I repeated two more times.
My resident advisor responded that no one named Hannah Rice attended Briar Mayfield.
She checked the student directory and, upon my insistence,
she also called the registrar and checked out my room,
reporting that only one half, my half, appeared to have been decorated.
My stomach twisted up in knots, like I was seriously going to be sick.
I grabbed the sides of my head.
Was I totally losing my mind?
After I hung up, I lay down in my bed,
feeling so cold and terrified I couldn't stop shaking.
Wanting to feel some kind of comfort, some warmth,
I searched for my backpack where I had packed away my travel clothes.
I pulled out my sweatshirt and slipped it on,
but as I did, I felt something inside the front pocket.
I reached in to see what it was.
My fingers curling around something palm-sized and rubbery.
I plucked it out.
The doll's shoe.
The shiny black one
with the strap on top.
To this day,
I still have the shoe.
I came across it last week
in the back of my closet,
which prompted me to do
a Google search of Vera Valentine,
remembering how Hannah said
she'd purchased the doll
on a site for collectors.
I came across a website with a database of haunted things.
It listed the Vera doll as having been purchased years before.
It also listed some of the physical details,
like the gash on the forehead and the ink marks on the face.
But even creepier than that,
the listing included info of the supposed spirit that inhabits the Vera doll.
The girl died at age 12, in a hospital, victim to the flu of 1918.
She was a foster kid with a love of dolls.
And her name was Hannah Rice.
This series was produced by Ashley Flowers and David Flowers.
This episode was written by Lori Stolarz and read by Samantha Ware.
This story was modified slightly for audio retelling,
but you can find the original in full on our website.
Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production.
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