Morbid - Episode 577: Listener Tales 87

Episode Date: June 27, 2024

Well- DAMN SAM! It’s Listener Tales 87! This week’s episode is brought to you by WORST ROOMMATES EVER! Inspired by the show coming back to Netflix on 6/26 for SEASON TWO-We pull stories about creepy cohabitators that are brought to you, BY you, For you, FROM you, and ALLLLL about you! This week we hear about ex-roommate parting curses, previous spectral owners who HATE the updated decor tastes, a roomie who whispers sinister things in the wee hours, a horrifying close call, and the ghost story of two ghouls in love! If you’ve got a listener tale please send it on over to [e-mail] with “Listener Tales” somewhere in the subject line :)Sifting through the show notes for "Worst Roommate Ever" information? Check it out on Netflix at https://www.netflix.com/title/81031682?source=35See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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Download Coho on Google or App Store today or at www.coho.ca for more details. Get a $75 eGift card for NBAstore.ca when you sign up with the promo code morbid75. That's code morbid75. Hey, you weirdos, I'm Ash. And I'm Elena. And this is Morbid. It's Morbid. It's a special-o-listen-o-tale. It's a special listener tale. It's a special listener tale.

It's a special listener tale. Brought to you by you, for you, from you, and all about you. I'm always impressed that you remember how to say that. Really? Yeah. It's not that hard. Thank you. And not because I think it would be hard for you.

It's because I think it would be hard for me. I know what you really meant. I knew the underlying message there. I know that you were just being mean. I know what you really meant. I knew the underlying message there. I know that you were just being mean. I know that you were being a fucking hoe. LOL. This is actually like, like special edition of Listener Tales. Like actually special.

It's got a theme. I mean, yeah, they're all special. This has got a theme. It is the worst roommate ever edition because we got to partner with Blumhouse, which is really fucking cool. We fucking love Blumhouse. Yeah, we've been working on like a couple of different things with them. I don't know if you guys remember, we got those like screeners for imaginary. We posted those a couple months ago and now we got to get a screener for the new season of worst roommate ever. It premieres globally on June 26, 2024, but we got to see a little

tidbit and it's so fucking good. It is. It's so different from other like, it's not like the, not that I'm like disparaging true crime shows, but it's just like, it's, it's a unique take on like true crime-y, just strange, unusual, unsettling kind of roommate situations. Yes. And they never go where you think they're going to go. No, because we were all sitting here watching one and I was like, like all of us were like, no, like that's not going to happen.

And then we were like, oh, that very much happened. Not only did that happen, but six other things happened. 45 different things. And the way they do it is fun because they do it, it's like a mix of, you know, the interviews like the talking head interviews, some like real footage. And they also do these like animations. Yeah, which I thought were really fun. They're not hokey.

They're like fun animations that actually like show you what happened as they're explaining what happened. Yeah, it's fun. It's a little bit different. So the new season, like I said, it's premiering globally on June 26th. And there are four new episodes, 60 minutes each. And you guys should really fucking go watch them because the show goes crazy. It does go crazy.

As Caleb would say, the show goes crazy. I love a weekend just like cozying up on the fucking couch and watching some kind of docu-series like this. And this is perfect. I love a docu-series. And for 60 minute episodes. Let's go. That's my day, bitch.

That's my day, bitch. That's my day. Oh man. That's my weekend day. It's my weekend. My weekend. All right, so because we are really excited about the new season of Worst Roommate Ever,

we collected some Worst Roommate Ever listener tales from you guys. Hell yeah. And some of them, they're not just like, you know, run of the mill physical roommates. Some of them are roommates from beyond. Some of them, I think there's like one in here that got thrown in here just because it mentioned roommates and I liked it. Fair enough. What a simple reason. Wouldn't be our show without it being a little off.

Just a little bit. Because I liked it. The person, her and her husband, I can't remember, we'll get to it. Her and her person are ghost fans. So I think that's the reason that you picked it. And they seem so sweet. That's the reason. Do you want to start? Let's start. Do you want to? I do want to start. I want to start. It's like that Alaska song. You specifically. So this one is called, Specifically. So this one is called, let us see, it's called My College Experience of Witchcraft and Attempted Murder. That's different from my college experience.

It is a little bit. A little bit. It's a little different. Moderately. Witchcraft and Murder. Witchcraft was there, murder was not. So this one says, Hi Ash and Elena, here are two tales from my wack ass college experience. The first story is very witchy and the second is very true crimey.

I awkwardly timed myself reading it out loud and it took about seven minutes. I will shit myself with glee if this ever gets told on the show. My birthday is in a few days, the day after Ash's. This is like very recent. Oh shit. Wait, so this is going to come out on your birth month technically. So happy birthday Gemini. Gemini Quinn. And being on a listener tales episode would be the greatest gift.

Happy birthday sister. With spookiness. I don't know if I can say your name, so hold on. Yep, you can. Yep, I can. Hannah. Hannah says, hi y'all. I'm Hannah. Feel free to use my name for this. However, I will be changing all other names since some of the key players are complete cunt buckets and would not be pleased to hear their real names in this story. Cunt buckets is a great insult. Before we get into it, I need to do the obligatory gushing and tell y'all what a bright light you are in my life.

That's such a kind thing to say. I know. That's very nice. I'm a bodybuilder. Girl, yes. Get it. That's cool. And you've kept me company for every long cardio session, heavy lift and meal of dry ass chicken and broccoli. Oh baby. Baby. Chicken and broccolini. I always feel like I'm surrounded by friends

while listening and getting a new episode feels like Christmas morning every time. Oh, okay. Onto the witchcraft. To set the scene, I was a college freshman eight hours from home at a school where I didn't know a single soul. Wow. Now I'm about to, I'm about the least woo person I've ever met. I'm a math major and everything I do requires complete rationality and rigorous proof. But this place is pretty spooky and seems to bring out the worst in people. Nestled in the heart of a bustling city, it's a tiny fencing campus built in the mid 1800s. It feels like entering a different world when you walk in. One second you're walking across the street trying not to get hit by assholes and lifted pickup trucks blaring Blake Shelton. Wow. The description. And next you're staring at Hogwarts-esque

buildings complete with stained glass and gargoyles. Pretty. I would live there. Not the first part, the second part. I was like, would you? This first story is of my best friend's experience getting randomly assigned a roommate who happened to be a kinky witch. A kinky witch?

We'll call my best friend Ella, I love that name. Pretty. And the roommate Molly. Molly was a bit of a character right from the jump. On move-in day, she unpacked about 100 crystals, numerous incenses and witchy herbs, books on magic, you know the vibe, which is like, that's a good vibe. I sure do. Hell yeah. I sure do. You sure know that fucking vibe.

She also unpacked a bunch of outfits that looked like a cross between Halloween costumes and stuff you'd see in a serial killer's favorite detective magazine. Interessante. She promptly informed Ella that she would need lots of alone time and space to film porn for Twitter. All right. And she says, which live your life girl, but maybe not in a college dorm. Like, I feel that. Keep it to your room and I don't care. Yeah, honestly, it's like, whatever. Keep it in your room. Don't do it on the couch. That's not. It is. That's a tough accommodation though. To have a roommate you don't know while doing that.

That's a little tough. That is a hard accommodation. But again, live your life. Ella tried to be accommodating and spent as much time outside of their room as possible, but tensions quickly rose, which of course it is. They're in college too. Because also I'm thinking of like when I used to go visit my friends like in their like third or fourth years of college, when they had like a house or like an apartment. This is one room. Yeah, this is a dorm.

That's a little. Tensions quickly rose when Ella re-entered the room to Molly filming titties flying in the wind in a maid costume with clamps on her nips. Go crazy. I mean, girl, get it. That's a bonding experience. I was just going to say, honestly, I'd be like, did we just become best friends? Because like, I don't know how

we go any further than that. I'd be like, I think you should change your part, put these shoes on and it will up the views. And then just be like, carry on and then just leave. Do you want a coffee? Just step out. Goodbye. It's like Amy Poehler and me. You guys need anything? Some snacks? A condom? Oh, God love you. God love you. Keep me young. I love you so much. Then just leave. Bye. Things finally, but you know what it is, I have no idea what happens here, but I'm just saying like, I feel like this, this is one of those things where she's like, okay, this is what I do. And you have to sit down and you just set boundaries for each other. Or honestly, like make a schedule.

Yeah, definitely boundaries. Set some boundaries. Set some schedules. Yeah, and it could work. Talk it through, you know? Talk it all through. Really get it out in the open. Communication is key with this kind of thing.

And my whole motto is like, live and let live. So I'm like, yeah, sure. Like do your kinky witch shit. That's fucking awesome. But like do it between the hours of 10 and 12 so that I can come home and take a nap. So I can just have something else to do during that time. Right. You know, like I respect your, your need to do that.

As I growing in life, I think you get to a point where you're just like, just let people do shit that makes them happy as long as it's not hurting you. And it's like, so, you know, but this is a difficult situation. Like it's not, it's not hurting you. And it's like, so, you know, but this is a difficult situation. Like it's not, it's not like I've ever been in this situation and I can't tell you how I would totally react. But you know, I feel like this could have gone smoother. Yeah, we'll see. Things finally boiled over when Molly left a handful of sex toys and a Tupperware of

murky water in the microwave. I understand why that would be deeply upsetting. This is where boundaries go. If you're going to put your sex toys in the microwave, you understand why that would be deeply upsetting. This is where boundaries go. If you're going to put your sex toys in the microwave, you know what, go for it, baby. Not the microwave that we shared. Not my microwave. No way. Not now, not never.

Not now, not never. Uh-uh. That's some kind of horrific thing waiting to happen. This is what we call a boundary cross. Okay, you've crossed that boundary that I didn't think I had to put in place to be quite honest. I didn't think that was one I had to clearly state. And Ella got the RA to kick her out of the room.

Oh, she's a witch, baby. Yeah, as she packed up, she informed Ella that she had hexed her and should expect unfortunate events to come her way. Cool of her to be upfront about it. informed Ella that she had hexed her and should expect unfortunate events to come her way. See, that's not good. Cool of her to be upfront about it. I'm kidding. But also not cool because I'm like, you're hexing someone? I'm very kidding.

That's not good witch behavior. But you know what? Cool of her to say, cool. Let her know. Beat your tubs. Yeah. She's like, just letting you know when shit falls apart. That was me, girl.

Yeah, it's fine. No, this is bad. This is getting bad really fast. This is not going to be great. Within the first week of freedom for Molly, Ella contracted the Rona. Oh no. She didn't attribute this to the hex since it was 2021 and getting sick at college seemed inevitable.

True. However, she quickly declined to the point of needing hospitalization and was nearly put on a ventilator. Oh my God. Holy shit. Mind you, Ella was a champion cross country runner in perfect health with no pre-existing conditions. Holy shit.

As soon as Ella recovered and returned to school, she tore her ACL just walking. What? Just walking. Holy shit. The doctors couldn't explain how it happened. She hadn't even fallen. Thank god. While recovering from surgery, Ella fell down the stairs and suffered a brain

bleed. I can't even name all of the misfortunes that have befallen her. Since the initial hexing, Ella has also become deaf in one ear, needed surgery on her other leg, had multiple cardiac events, and more. This got so real so fast. Oh my God. I don't know what that bitch and her herbs were up to other than sexy nurse role play, but I seriously can't explain how LL's health could decline so quickly and in so many ways. Moral of the story, if you're sexually and spiritually adventurous roommate leave sex toys in the microwave, don't fucks with them. Just get a new microwave.

Just don't fucks with that. Get your own microwave. I hope Ls with them. Just get a new microwave. Just don't fucks with that. Get your own microwave. I hope Ella's okay. I know. Jeez. And honestly, I'm of the mindset that whenever you get back, whatever you put up comes back three times three. And I'm not saying like, like I'm saying everything that's happening to Ella. Like if, if that is the roommate that is causing all that to happen, it's coming back. Yeah. I believe in karma. That's I don't do hex magic. No way. Now I have one more story from the depths of my personal hell aka freshman year. So without further ado, here's the time my roommate confessed to a heinous crime, a heinous crime to me and then possibly tried to kill me. Oh, great. One Friday night I

opened my bathroom door to find my roommate, let's call her Sophie, sobbing pantsless in the bathtub with a mostly empty bottle of pink Whitney next to her. I don't even know what that is. Pink Whitney. It's like a pink lemonade kind of alcohol. No, it's incredible. I don't know that I would feel that same way now. I just dry heaved.

I'm 28 years old. That sounds so sweet. But back in the day, it is. I used to love pink Whitney. I've never even heard of that. That's wild. Really? Never seen that.

Huh, that's fun. That's crazy. Do you not like lemonade? No, I do, but just I don't like sweet alcohol. Oh, okay. Like that is not. Are you like a, take my whiskey and be a pretty bitch kind of girl.

That's exactly. Could never be me, baby. I'm not really a drinker anyways. And it's just because I genuinely don't enjoy the taste of alcohol or the feeling of it after. I get a headache. I heard that. But if I was going to drink something, I wouldn't now, because I think it would literally

put me on my ass. Yeah. I like a dirty martini, because I like an olive-y. Damn. Like I like that savory. A dirty martini will literally fuck me right up. It would kill me. I think I'd be gone.

Like I would take three sips and probably be like, whoop, I'm out. I did martinis on the cruise with my mother and mom. But when I was like younger. Oh, that was last year for me and I was feeling woozy, woozy. I'm like, I'm like fucking Rupert Giles of, of teenage drinking. I love it. Sipping on a fucking scotch or twirling your dirty martini. I mean, I was just reckless and did shots of fireball and then like fell downstairs. I was, it was a lot.

But yeah, I'm not, I'm definitely not a super sweet alcohol person. Yeah, pink Whitney was fucking good. ["Wonderful Nightmare"] She was a romance mystery writer. They gloomed on the fact that she writes stories like this. There are murders in all of the books. From Wondery, the makers of Ghost Story and Feta, this is a story about a murder that rocked my little community. Binge all episodes of Happily Never After ad-free right now on Wondery Plus. We've all been there, turning to the internet to self-diagnose our inexplicable pains, debilitating

body aches, sudden fevers, and strange rashes. Though our minds tend to spiral to worst-case scenarios, it's usually nothing, but for an unlucky few, these unsuspecting symptoms can start the clock ticking on a terrifying medical mystery. Like the unexplainable death of a retired firefighter, whose body was found at home by his son, except it looked like he had been cremated. Or the time when an entire town started jumping from buildings and seeing tigers on their ceilings. Hey listeners, it's Mr. Ballin here, and I'm here to tell you about my podcast.

It's called Mr. Bollin's Medical Mysteries. Each terrifying true story will be sure to keep you up at night. Follow Mr. Bollin's Medical Mysteries wherever you get your podcasts. and ad free on Amazon Music. But it says, my first thought was, yeah, this seems pretty college. It does. It sure does. So I tried to back away slowly, as if confronted by a wild animal. I figured if she was Winnie the Pooh-ing it drunk in the bathtub. With no pants. She probably wanted to be left alone. But before I could shut the door, she called my name. I'd be like, fuck.

Au contraire. Even though I had an uneasy feeling and my gut was telling me, as Ash would say, my Uber was there, me and my half-baked prefrontal cortex reluctantly got closer and perched on the edge of the bathtub. Then she said something I'll never be able to scrub from my brain. I won't get into the details because it would require about 10 different trigger warnings, but it was heinous enough to make me nauseous and should have landed her in prison. After spilling her rancid asparagus piss flavored guts to me, She had the audacity to ask, you don't think I'm a bad person, right? Oh God. Now this is the part of the story where looking

back I'm screaming at myself to just appease her and figure out what to do later. But in that moment I let out an involuntary uncomfortable laugh and said, what the fuck Sophie? And then I just left. Oh no. My abject shock and horror certainly gave her the impression that I probably wasn't going to stay quiet. What did she admit to you? Can we get a post script? I know I'm dying to know. We'll leave it to ourselves.

Before we get to what she did next, I do want to say that figuring out what to do with this information was probably the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I hate that it was put on you. Yeah, that's a lot. Like you did not. I knew the victim and I reached out to them to offer support. I told them that I'd be more than willing to testify

at any kind of trial, but they informed me that they wouldn't be reporting the crime or pressing charges. They just wanted to move on and try to forget about what had happened. Oh God. If I reported it, I would be forcing them to relive the events of that night against their will.

And I couldn't do that to them. I think that is a very difficult decision. I think you made the best decision you could have in that moment. Yeah, I agree. Instead, I anonymously reported her to campus police force so she would at least be on their radar. That was smart. Yeah.

I still grapple with this decision and hope I did enough. I think you did. Now back to the story, a few tense days passed where I could feel her watching my every move. I assumed that she would eventually chill out since nobody came knocking down our door to arrest her, but I was very, very wrong. The next Saturday, I absentmindedly told her I'd be out with my boyfriend for a few hours, and she told me she was going to do some cleaning. I returned that afternoon and opened the door to our room like I had a million times before.

Note that these doors are heavy and slam behind you as soon as you let go of them. And ours had a janky handle that made it hard to reopen. As soon as I opened the door, I was assaulted by the harshest chemical smell that I have ever graced my nostrils. It was like dunking my head in a mop bucket from Chernobyl. Jesus. Damn. You're a really good writer.

I like your metaphors. I know, I like your metaphors. I know. I like your metaphors. I managed to catch the door before it shut behind me and stepped back into the hallway coughing. I propped the door open with my bag to let the room air out and then noped the fuck out of the building.

After getting about an hour of fresh air and calling my boyfriend, we donned masks and went back in to investigate. The smell was still painfully strong, but we were able to survey the room for a minute before it was too much to bear. The door to our bathroom was locked, the windows were shut and latched. There were empty bottles scattered across the floor, bleach, window cleaner, nail polish remover, rubbing alcohol, and more. The fuck? She making like mustard gas? Yeah, what the fuck? I hadn't yet told my boyfriend about Sophie's confession, but

I figured now is a good time to explain the situation. After giving him a brief overview without the gnarly details, he told me to call the campus police immediately. The campus police got me moved out of that room and into a new one the same day. I was asked if she had any reason to try to harm me, and I held my tongue since I didn't want to mention the victim's name. Instead, I told them that there was some drama between us, which was the understatement of the century. They were at the door to intercept Sophie when she returned that night. She innocently told them that she was just cleaning and her poor

blonde self didn't know that mixing chemicals was dangerous. In fact, she said it was my fault for spilling a milkshake on the floor and leaving it for her to clean up. This is a strange explanation for two reasons. One, I pride myself on being a very clean person and would never leave a mess for someone else. Two, I'm a bodybuilder on a meal plan that most certainly and unfortunately doesn't have any room for milkshakes. However, the campus police chalked the whole situation up to teenage girl drama and sent us on our separate ways. Yeah, that checks. Weeks later, I filed a no contact order against her,

which prompted the campus police to call us in for separate interviews. She was asked to turn over her phone, which the brazen bitch did voluntarily. I guess she thought it was just a formality and they wouldn't actually look at anything. In a private tab that was still open, she had searched,

what happens when you mix acetone and bleach? The fuck? She claimed that she had searched this after the fact to try to figure out what had happened, but I'm fairly certain the crafty cunt looked it up before to ensure she made something dangerous. Either way, the campus police are about as useless as the LAPD and weren't as invested enough to question her explanation. At the end of the day, I got my no contact order and she got to continue living her life without any consequences. I hope karma is real and one day people see her for the wet

sock she is. That's a great way to describe someone. Well, that's all I have for you lovely ladies. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you take it away, Ash. Well, so weird that you leave your sex toys in a microwave for another person and hex them with all these life altering problems. And not so weird that you create mustard gas in your dorm room to try to kill your dorm mate when she can't even have a milkshake. That's not fair. Much love Hannah, says. Thanks, Hannah. That was fucking wild and insane. Hannah's absolutely stunning.

Literally gorge. Absolutely stunning. And so is your baby child, Arlo. I love your baby child. Your baby child. And is this you and your person because you're both beautiful together. Wait, hold on. Oh yeah, it is. You're gorgeous. Literally gorgeous. And you're hilarious and you're a great writer, Hannah.

You really are. And happy birth month. When you said something, yeah, happy birth month. When you said something about asparagus piss, I was like, I have to go now. Rancid asparagus pissed scented guts, essentially. That's everything. Everything in the world. Everything.

All right. My next one is myopic spooky dookie listener tale. Spooky dookie. Listener tale. Let me see. I can't say your name. It says, hello, weirdos. My name is Sam.

My wife turned me on to you guys and I'm now an avid listener. Jikki Jikki. Listener tale. Let me see. I can't say your name. It says, hello, weirdos. My name is Sam. My wife turned me on to you guys and I'm now an avid listener. I own a construction company and I'm a volunteer firefighter. Look at you. So a hero. Let's just say people who get into my truck often look at me sideways when they see me giggling to you guys talking about bad bitch vibes and no, no, no, bad bitches vibes, Gemini

season, et cetera. That's me. That's actually me. You're welcome, Sam. We hail from the land of Wawa hoagies and cheesesteaks, Philadelphia. Oh, damn. That sounds great. Though I do have a strong connection to New Englanders, my maternal grandmother's family

were the bunkers of Bunker Hill fame. Oh, shit. fame. Damn! Damn, Sam! That's crazy. I'm going to start saying that to everyone. Damn, Sam! Not even named Sam. Consider that my new catchphrase.

I love that. Damn, Sam. Fun fact, the famous battle actually happened on nearby Breed's Hill. Additionally, my great grandmother lived in Brewster out on the Cape in a house that we still have. Oh my God, Sam. And this is where I've spent every ounce of my free time ever since. I can normally be found on Cape Cod and my little Boston whaler, chasing stripers and

pulling spider crabs out of my lobster pots. That's the most New England shit I've ever heard. I love that. You should just stay here. That was the most... You are a New England... What are you doing in Philadelphia? They do have good cheese steaks. Get out of there. And I heard hoagies are like incredible. Get out of there.

Yeah, but come on. Now, with that out of the way, here's my listener tale. I grew up in an old farmhouse outside of Philly, built sometime around 1740. It was a pretty cool place to live, especially for a nerdy kid obsessed with all things historical. Emphasis on the nerdy, Harry Potter style glasses, ill-fitting clothing, the works. The house was steeped in urban legends, which included the Lady of the House launching her dinner at a British officer during the Revolution, a stop on the Underground Railroad, and a storage place for bootleggers during Prohibition. The last one we know is true. We met the bootlegger. But there was one problem with the house. We had to share it. There

were three bedrooms in our house. My parents and my little sister on one side of the second floor. And I was down the hall on the other side. Not a huge distance, but I was certainly a bit on my own. I don't know how old I was when I started noticing things happening, but I was pretty young. And by the time I was in elementary school, I knew I was the main target of something. One could always hear footsteps throughout the house, which my parents chalked up to the house being old. I think not. I think not. I think not. To ease my anxiety, my parents would let me keep the nearby bathroom light on as sort of a nightlight. In hindsight, this was a fucking horrible idea.

Human shadows would frequently walk by my room, only visible because of the yellow light cascading out of the bathroom. This wouldn't be a problem if they were attached to an actual fucking human. Ooh. They would always appear to be walking into the bathroom, but I never remember seeing them leave.

I get the feeling I was haunted by someone with IBS. I was literally just going to say. Did these ghosts have IBS? Were they preparing for a colonoscopy? Or was there a portal in your bathroom? The toilet's actually a portal. Oh no. Doors would open at random and the footsteps always seemed to lead to and end in my room. Oh. To add insult to injury, it seemed as though I was the only one experiencing these events. So every event was chalked up to a draft or my overactive imagination. Oh, that sucks.

That really does. One event really stands out in my mind. Little nerdy Sam was in the bathtub minding his own little nerdy business. The rest of the fam was downstairs getting dinner ready or something. At this point, I'm washing my hair or more likely seeing how long

I can hold my breath underwater. So my glasses are set to the side of the tub. Let's just say I'm fairly blind and in a vulnerable state. At this moment, I hear the door latch and the fucking door swings open. My blind ass shoots up to see who just interrupted my sacred tubby time. And no one is standing there. I know I wasn't being pranked because this is a house in which no one can sneak around without being heard. I learned this as a teenager trying to sneak out. But I digress. At this point, I just dropped a myopic spooky dookie

right there in the tub. My blood runs cold and I'm frozen. What do I do? Do I jump up and yeet right the fuck out of there? No, I'll be forced to run by whatever it was that interrupted my formally peaceful sub-tub time. It was at this moment I knew I had to summon all my courage to do what needed to be done. I filled my lungs and pitifully called, Mom! I did what needed to be done. Yeah, I wasn't

very brave in that moment, but hey, I was like six or seven years old. You're a baby. Naked. Definitely in no condition to be taking on any supernatural juggaloos. This is great. Mom came and the cold seemed to leave the room. Spooky dookie crisis averted. I moved to showers. Feeling I was a crisis averted. I moved to showers,

feeling I was a bit less vulnerable. I moved to showers. That's so sad. That was your last time. The shadows, footsteps, and occasional moving door continued for a few more years. Needless to say, I was afraid of the dark a little longer than I should have been. Interestingly, when I was around 10, my parents put an addition on the house. Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Renovations. Renovations. This moved their room closer to me. And when they moved into their new Interestingly, when I was around 10, my parents put an addition on the house. Uh oh. Uh oh. Renovations.

Renovations. This moved their room closer to me, and when they moved into their new room, most of the spooky events at night stopped. You could still hear weird noises throughout the house, and you could certainly get the feeling of being watched on occasion. Not a pleasant feeling when you're trying your best to pull off some Netflix and chill. While I was still living at home, I had a few friends get creeped out and leave while alone for any period of time in the house. Fast forward about a decade, and my

parents were having some masonry work done out back. In walks this strange guy who looks like something out of a movie. Cowboy hat, shaggy hair full of beads. Wasn't sure if he was going to build something out of rocks or hold some kind of ceremony. As it turns out, it was kind of the latter. Wow, didn't see that coming. Neither. As we got to talking, he made mention he married the daughter of a native medicine man and was somewhat knowledgeable of the supernatural. He said he often used diving rods to locate water and to communicate with the other side, quote unquote.

My dad, Ever the Skeptic, challenged him to find the original well on the property, which he did without a problem. He then asked if we had had any supernatural happenings. I chimed in with my experiences and all of a sudden my parents chimed in with a few of their own. Apparently when they first bought the house, it was in total disrepair and they set out to renovate. Never a good idea in a haunted house. On one occasion, they put up some what I'm assuming to be incredibly tacky wallpaper in the kitchen as people did in the 1980 house. On one occasion, they put up some what I'm assuming to be incredibly tacky wallpaper in the kitchen as people did in the 1980s. Upon returning, they found all the new wallpaper on the ground and it appeared to have aged by years.

I love that the ghosts were like, no. No. Ew. Clearly these ghosties have some taste and they said not in my motherfucking house. Another event happened shortly after they installed a new boiler in the basement and for no reason, it ruptured and flooded the old basement. I suppose in this case, they were envious of hot water and indoor heating.

Probably. Another brief side note, this basement ceiling is completely charred from a fire in the 1800s. Still structurally sound, but very creepy to look at. Especially with the old root cellar as a backdrop. Oh, that's so spooky. ["Skyfall Theme Song"] Scammers are best known for living the high life

until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagge. And we're the host of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of some of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims and what's left once the facade falls away. We've covered stories like a Shark Tank certified entrepreneur who left the show with an investment, but soon faced mounting bills, an active lawsuit filed by Larry King, and no real product to push. He then began to prey on vulnerable women instead, selling the idea of a future together

while stealing from them behind their backs. To the infamous scams of Real Housewives stars like Teresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives stars like Teresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives Hall of Fame. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers early and ad free right now on Wondry+.

Nancy's love story could have been ripped right out of the pages of one of her own novels. She was a romance mystery writer who happens to be married to a chef. But this story didn't end with a happily ever after. When I stepped into the kitchen, I could see that Chef Brophy was on the ground and I heard somebody say, call 911.

As writers, we'd written our share of murder mysteries. So when suspicion turned to Dan's wife, Nancy, we weren't that surprised. The first person they look at would be the spouse. We understand that's usually the way they do it. But we began to wonder, had Nancy gotten so wrapped up in her own novels… There are murders in all of the books. …that she was playing them out in real life? Follow Happily Never After, Dan and Nancy on the Wondery app or wherever you

get your podcasts. You can binge all episodes of Happily Never After, Dan and Nancy early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Looping back to our shaggy white in-law, to a native medicine man, he decides he wants to look around and see if he can communicate with these potential spirits. He starts shouting out instructions to our spectral roommates as to how they will be communicating. His little metal rod started moving with the questions he was asking. We soon deduced that we had two spirits living with us, a man and a woman with no relation to each other. They were not malevolent by any stretch, but they do have a seriously mischievous side.

I kind of love that. They fessed up to the wallpaper incident 25 years prior. Then, as soon as it started, the rods stopped moving. I guess ghosts don't like playing 20 questions. Who does? Say what you will about Medicine Man or their in-laws or diving rods or whatever. Something was there. You could tell by how they moved. It wasn't like they just drifted together. There was something purposeful about it. Now I'm out on my own with my own beautiful family. In my own house,

sans spooky roommates. I married a very beautiful woman. Nerds really do win in the end. My mom is now selling the old house and I wonder what the next stewards of the house will experience from the mischievous duo that reside in the old halls. As long as they don't add any wallpaper, they should be fine. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my long-winded version of my experiences in my childhood home, sincerely. A much larger, but still nerdy Sam, who has since discovered contacts, fitting clothing, and hair product.

P.S. Sorry the whole story doesn't revolve around a nearsighted scary poop. I just needed a good attention grabber. PSS. Still riding high on Super Bowl 52. 41-33. Suck it Tom Brady. Big dick Nick forever. I'm Philadelphia. Of course I'm an obnoxious football fan. Philadelphia's are obnoxious sports fans. Are they really? I didn't know that. Not knocking you because we are also obnoxious sports fans. Are they really? I didn't know that. Not knocking you, because we are also obnoxious sports fans. But like, Philadelphia's got us beat, I think. I'm obsessed with that story. Sam, I love you and I love that you married a beautiful woman.

That you have a family of your own. I love your IBS ghosts. I love your IBS ghosts. I love that they had taste and said, fuck this wallpaper. I just really love that. That's great. That's great. It's great.

You're wonderful, Sam. Fantastic. So this one's called the roommate from actual hell and a human sacrifice. Whoa. Just a little bit of everything. Wowzers. Hold on. I'm going to copy and paste this into place where I can zoom in.

Because you're old. Because mama needs new glasses. But retweet. And I just haven't made an eye appointment. Do you re-ex now instead of retweet? I had no idea what you were just asking me at first. I was like, what is re-exing? I don't do any of it.

Yeah, I don't do any of that either. So you know, that's where we are. Because fuck that shit. Hey, Ash and Alaina. I love the shit out of you guys. I love your damn podcast and seriously laugh myself shitless on a daily basis. During this weird ass limbo we call quarantine and social distancing.

Oh wow, this is from years ago. I wander around and walk my doggo Jacks listening to you guys and chuckling the whole way. Probably terrifying everyone around me who couldn't figure out I have Bluetooth headphones in into thinking I'm clinically insane. To be fair, I do talk more to my dog than I do other humans these days. So who's to say that that's not true? My name is Lizzie and you can use my name and any name I throw in here because I've already gone and changed the names I need to. Thank you for doing the Lord's work.

I know that's really great of you. Disclaimer, I'm a long-winded broad, so this email is a lengthy one. Sorry, not sorry. I love when people refer to themselves and just in general when people refer to other people as broads. Oh, I love the term broads.

It's great. Who's this broad? Who's this broad? It feels, yeah, it feels very gritty. I especially love calling the girls broads. Oh yeah, I love that. It's funny. Come on the girls broads. Oh, yeah, I love that. It's funny Come on, you broads. I'm a little broads. I also love that. My dad calls my mom toots a lot and like the most endearing way Come on, I love it so much. He's like, all right, let's go

It's so cute. That's not like a typical pet name. I feel His time, but it's either Toots or CAAAFF. Come on, Toots. Oh, I love it. So anywho, I have a fun, spoopy story that's a whole hell of a lot funnier now than it was when it happened. But first, just a fun little fact. I was listening to one of the listener tales earlier today and someone mentioned they love Matthew Graygub. Yeah. I always say it wrong. I do too. And fun fact, I know his family super well. Like his character, Spencer Reed, he grew up in Vegas like me and his family went to

the same church my family did. Whoa. Well, I've only ever seen him once or twice when I was young. My older sister, I shit you not, went on a few dates with his younger brother. And now that I'm older and have literally binge watched Criminal Minds multiple times, I'm really pissed my dumb ass sister didn't marry his brother. So that could have kind of been related to boo that whore. Also his sister-in-law and his mom were frequently in charge of watching the children in church. So when I was young, I got to know them really well. That's really interesting.

I love him. So onto my crazy ass story. You know how when you first go to college, one typically rooms in the freshmen dorms and you have no idea who your roommates are going to be? If they're going to be us be psychos or try to strangle you in your sleep. Yeah, my 18 year old self was hella worried about that because I had just found out my best friend since fourth damn grade who had planned with me for years to go to the same school just told me she wasn't going to go to college with me because that shit's expensive. I didn't blame her, but we were going to be roomies and I was hella bummed that she wouldn't be

with me. And also terrified I was going to have a crazy ass roommate who like dealt drugs out of the apartment or something. It's a fair concern. Which like you don't know what you're walking into. Yeah, that's, that's a lot. So it's a legit concern of who you're going to be living with. That's overwhelming. Well, it turns out I had nothing to worry about.

All my roommates were wonderful and we became best friends forever. The end. Haha, just kidding. First year, I actually did luck out and had great roommates, except for that one dumb ass shithead who has never had to be literally and do anything for herself ever and couldn't figure out how to do the most basic adult things like how microwaves work or how melt butter. Like no joke, she almost blew up the apartment putting an entire ass metal pan in the microwave and pressing start.

That's all in parentheses. I love that. I hope you're not listening, but my little sister at like, I think she had to be like 12, 13, maybe 14 and put metal into the microwave. And we all were like, are you fucking kidding? Wow. Is this a joke? Are you?

Are you all right? She's like, I didn't know. The answer is nor nor. Love you. So other than her, they rocked. We had a good time and the girl I shared a room with became really close to me. This is important to the rest of the story. The girl I roomed with, Mandy, wanted to live with me and another girl from our apartment, Anna, the following semester. We decided to

move off campus and find a new place to live because that shit's also expensive. But Anna and Mandy found this place way far away from campus, which was fine for them because they had cars. But my fat ass didn't want to have to walk or bike that shit. So I found a different apartment closer to campus and moved there with a friend I'd met in school and moved in with four other roommates, six people total, one fridge. Like who the hell thought that was a good idea? That sounds horrible. In the end, Anna had to back out of living with Mandy due to financial reasons and Mandy was left with three new roommates who ended up being total shit stains who were awful

to her and gave her crazy anxiety. I'm sorry. I know. So she ended up basically living on my couch and becoming our seventh roommate. Holy shit. Okay, backstory over. Sorry. I'm long winded as fuck and don't know how to make things short and sweet.

I am who I am. I am also Popeye. So in this new apartment, we were a mix of one freshman, four sophomores, one senior, and a sophomore stray we let take over our living room, aka Mandy. I shared a room with my friend Casey, and the only other girl you need to know the name of is the senior Stephanie. She mostly kept to herself. She was an English major, just trying to graduate. Although none of us were ever sure if she was actually attending her classes because we never saw that broad leave her room. Like ever. She was just always there.

I don't know. Maybe she was some Hogwarts reject witch who had figured out how to apparate to and fro. But this, this hoe never seemed to leave. But like you also never knew if she was home. Her door was always closed. And you could be home for hours and be pretty damn convinced you were the only one home. And then this bitch would just waltz out of her room, whistling some weird-ass tune, rummage through the fridge, and then mosey on back inside, not to be heard from again until like

three days later. Up until this point, great fucking roommate. Sounds great. Ideal. Also, this hoe never washed her dishes. And that's where you lose me. And that's where you lose me. And one time I knocked on her door to invite her to come play games with us and her hell room was hella disgusting. There was shit everywhere and who knows maybe

a dead body buried under the mountain of dirty laundry. You'd never be able to tell. Eventually we learned to leave Stephanie alone because she was always grumpy and weird as hell. For the first few weeks, this worked out fine. But one day the other five and a half roommates and I, we always joke that Mandy was only a half roommate. We're just chilling in the living room, getting to know each other better and stuff. When we heard the most haunting ass moan just come out of her room. That's it. Just the moan.

We all just looked at each other, not sure what, I just pitched to you all. Just like laughing, joking with each other. You're just like, oh my God. And everybody just stops and just stares in silence. Then we heard it again. My dumb ass was just about to ask if we should go ask if she was okay when straight up shit hit the fan or the wall. Because this bitch was throwing books and shit against her goddamn wall and yelling

like someone had just come in and stabbed her in the chesticles. We all froze in fear and straight up all went. I love that you guys just dipped. You're like, you know what, sounds like she's going through it. She should have that alone time. Sounds like she's dying. We should dip. We should dip the hell out of here.

She says, our Uber was there yesterday. I mean, if she was already kind of sketch, I'd be like, you know what, that's for you. Things like this started happening on the reg. Her having a complete meltdown and throwing stuff happened at least once a week. And when she did emerge from her lair, she would often be mumbling to herself. And we would occasionally hear maniacal laughter coming from behind her closed door. That'd be so scary. I'm still not convinced that she wasn't possessed by Satan himself, although Satan

probs would have been way more pleasant to hang out with than her. And let's be honest, we would have had way more fun if he was right. I love you. Now remember our half roommate, half adopted stray Mandy who sleeps on the couch because of her no good waste of space dumbass roommates? Well, she probably had the spookiest experience with good old Steph. So one night I was in my room blissfully dreaming about Gerard Butler or some other dreamy ass man. Who knows what I was actually dreaming about, but you know, he's dreamy as hell. And all of a sudden Mandy comes bursting into my room, waking up Casey

and I, locks the door, turns on the light and is whiter than my thighs after winter. She looks me dead in the eyes and said she was sleeping with me. Apparently she had stayed up late, chilling on the couch and reading a book on her Kindle when she heard Stephanie's door open. She quickly turned her Kindle off and pretended to be asleep because no one wants to deal with Steph's crazy ass. And she heard Stephanie walk into the kitchen slowly while quietly singing the creepiest ass lullaby.

I don't remember the exact words now, but it definitely had to do with death and demons. I don't think it was a real lullaby, but she sure as hell was singing it like one. She's like, it was about death and demons. So I don't think it was like a real lullaby you would sing to your kids. Who knows, to be honest, lullabies are fucking weird. Once she reached the kitchen, Mandy cracked her eyes open and could see by the light of the moon that Stephanie had walked into the middle of the kitchen and then just stopped and stood there for five whole ass minutes.

Five minutes is a long time. I shit you not, you guys just stood there like a psychopath staring into the void. And then she turned around and walked her spooky ass towards Mandy. She slowly, for some reason, I think calling people spooky is the funniest shit. Like when somebody's like, that person's spooky. I think it's so funny. It makes me think of Katie Maloney from Man or Couple. Me too, calling Joe spooky. It's just like such a- It's a read.

It's a read. It's a read. It is. So she slowly crept towards her, came right up to the couch and stared straight down at Mandy with her greasy ass hair hanging around her face like the grudge herself just dragged her nasty ass out of the TV to get her next victim. Mandy tried not to scream. She said she was pretty sure she stopped breathing. After a full ass terror inspiring minute, Stephanie looked at her terror filled face

and whispers, trick or treat. Can you fucking imagine? There's an important thing here. It was mid November. I don't care if it was October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June, or July, August, or September. I would be, I would, I don't know. I don't know about that.

That's so scary. It's giving his Tamra home. It absolutely is giving. That was one of my best. I just like you to acknowledge that. Thanks. That was a good one. Then she laughed maniacally and sauntered back to her room. Just like, hello.

And then she said, I shit you not. I cannot make this shit up. Mandy waited 15 whole seconds before sprinting like hell to our room, locking herself in and then spending the rest of the night crammed into my twin size bed with me. And I don't blame her. Me either. She slept with me for the next week, but sharing a twid bed is literally the worst thing ever. And I toss and turn. So after a week of this, I told her that I loved her and would do almost anything for her, but I could not keep sharing that small us bed.

She's like, I would do anything for love. But I won't share my bed. So we kicked her back to the living room couch, informed all the other roommates of this absolutely terrifying story, and decided that we would all be locking our doors from now on. So you're just leaving Mandy in the middle and locking all your doors.

Yep. Damn. And that if Stephanie were to ever go bat shit crazy, Mandy would just have to be the unfortunate human sacrifice that would appease the monster. Hashtag best friends forever. Best friends forever. Just best friendship.

That's the story of my roommate from hell and how Mandy almost became a human sacrifice. Trick or treat. I ended up moving out the next semester and Mandy moved into my room. I don't know why the hell she still wanted to be there, but at least now she has a door she can lock. And I never had to deal with Stephanie, the crazy ass spooky and deranged as hell psycho ever again. Mandy lived to tell the tale and is now happily married to a normal ass man and is expecting her first baby. So yay Mandy. Yay Mandy. Congrats. Thanks so much for reading. I love you guys in your damn podcast. I love that you keep referring to it as your damn podcast. We should work that in some. This is our damn podcast.

This is morbid, our damn podcast. I like it. I like that. I hope you enjoyed this story and I hope you keep it weird, but not so weird that you go to college and don't know anyone and then don't know how to do shit for yourself and try to put a whole ass metal pan in the microwave and then have shitty roommates. So you have to sleep on a couch and have a crazy psycho ass roommate who never cleans and throws things in a room and laughs maniacally and is spooky as hell and whistles and sings creepy ass lullabies and then stalks towards you in the middle of the night with her grudge ass self and whispers, trick or treat, just not that weird. I love, just not that weird.

Just not that weird. That's all I'm asking. You can be weird, just not that fucking weird. That's all I'm asking. Give it weird. Just not that fucking weird. That was phenomenal. So good. So good. Oh my god. Lindsay, you rule.

And I'm glad you lived to tell that tale because I appreciated it. That's so funny. All right. My next Listen A Tale is called Close Call with Death. Oh, Jesus. Close Call with Death. That got you. That was so metal. I know. It was like the mini-morbid theme. All right. Hello, weirdos mini-morbid theme. All right. Hello, weirdos. Hello.

After close call with death. I feel so unhinged today. That's like that meme with the pink house and the black house next to each other. Hello, weirdos. This is close call with death. We also are the human version of that. We are. Like even right now.

All right. My knees turned beyond your podcast and I'm officially addicted. I've listened to every episode, sometimes twice, and I'm now going through all the spooky but hilarious listener tales. Thank you. After listening to a few, I've decided to be brave and share my own close call with death. Ooh, brave.

Ooh, so brave. I have learned that fresh air is for dead people, the woods are for dead people, and sometimes roommates are for dead people. If you read this on the air, I'm not a writer, so please bear with me and edit as necessary. Never. No! You're great. You're awesome, Tiffany.

To start, my name is Tiffany and I made that up. I live in Southern California, that area, where everything costs three times as much as anywhere else, but the weather's perfect. Insert eye roll here. Perfect for some. Perfect. My spooky tale begins when I was 18 years old and decided it would be more fun to move out to an apartment where two of my two guy acquaintances lived instead of going to college.

I was done with teachers and being told what to do, so I was going to prove my independence and forge my own way. Now, I was not just your regular run-of mill young adult living the good life. I was a rebellious little shit who fast forward 30 years has her own young adult little shits. Karma is a bitch. I was living in a ratty two bedroom apartment in the next town over with these two guys that I knew that I kind of knew from high school. Let's call them James and Bill. Oh, I don't really remember Bill too well, but James was great. He was easygoing, fun, looked like the typical SoCal surfer. We spent our time and money on drinking drugs, hanging out and accomplished absolutely nothing in

the couple months that I was there. We were living the dream. There was a time when we spent all of our money on fun, quote unquote, and we had to literally exist on pinto beans for an entire month. That's some real shit right there. Literally. And Lord help anyone who ever came over that month. My mom wouldn't have approved, but what you don't know won't kill ya. Even though my new roommates were great, I didn't know them all that well and slept with a stun gun in case some creepo came creeping in my room.

I'd make sure they got a real shock. Hell yeah. That's bad bitch shit. Get him. Well, one dark night with the usual crowd over at the apartment and after smoking a little weed, drinking a few beers, and feeling pretty good in general, I went into my room and was followed by a friend, Mike. He quietly closed the door to my room, approached me, and put his hands on my shoulders. I could

feel the worried mojo energy coming off of him as I stared into his eyes like a deer caught in headlights. I knew he was going to say something I did not want to hear. And boy did he! He spoke in a low raspy voice and said in a whisper, your roommates are planning to have someone rob your friend Dave and kill anyone else who happens to be in the apartment. What the fuck? I cannot begin to tell you the look on my face. Part shock, part disbelief, part yeah right asshole. Disclaimer, my friend Dave was not an innocent guy. He sold products on a cash only basis,

if you catch my drift. If you catch my drift. If you know what I'm saying. So he always had a lot of cash with him, but surely he didn't deserve to be murdered. Holy shit. At first, my jaw hung to the floor as I processed this information,

and stared at Mike as if to catch the starting of a smile and realize I was being punked. Needless to say, I didn't get the reassurance I needed, and it sunk in that he was giving me a warning and was possibly trying to save my life. My friend Dave was supposed to be coming over any minute that night, so I frantically threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed my stun gun, and peaced right on out of there as fast as my feet could carry me. I ran into Dave as he was pulling up to the apartment. I jumped in the truck and just screamed at him, gun it. Now, Mike might've just been trying to scare me in my vulnerable drug-induced state,

or maybe he was being a douchebag, but it got my attention and I moved out and didn't look back. Thankfully, no one got murdered at that apartment and I decided maybe the straight and narrow path was a better fit for me. Hey, just shook you right into that. I love it. Well, now is where it gets interesting. Fast forward and several years later, a husband and three kids later, I decided to look up some random people on the computer to pass the time. After all, I had three kids and I needed a mind numbing activity. I went down a few rabbit holes, even looked up what Justin Bieber was up to these days.

You know, as everybody does. Of course. I decided to try to find my old roommate James and see what happened to him. I did the usual FaceTime and I think Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn with no luck and then just Googled him. Suddenly there he was, an old picture of him looking like the sweet face surfer kid I knew back in the day, except wearing a prisoner's outfit. Yeah, he was in prison, serving life. Whaaaaat? To my shock, I read the story of what happened after I moved out. In fact, only a few months after I moved out.

Yeah, a few months. Holy shit, just writing this brings chills down my spine. My old roommate James and a friend were working for a man doing odd jobs on his farm when they had the great idea that instead of working to earn the money, they could go ahead and rob the boss instead. One night with plans in place, they drove a few tons over to where the boss lived in a rundown motor home on a few acres. No one around for miles. Fresh air is for dead people. Loaded with a rifle, they climbed to a hill to stake out the place and hide and wait. Seeing another man on the property with the boss, James and his friend decided to wait

it out. After a few hours of waiting and watching, they decided to go ahead and rob both men. They creeped down the hill like your worst nightmare coming true, robbed them, and shot them both in the back of the head. My palms were sweating at this point, as I realized this could just as well have been me laying on the floor with a gunshot to the back of my head. Apparently, James was caught after blabbing to an informant, went to trial, and received two consecutive life sentences for first degree murder. I was stunned. As I think back, I'm always

grateful that I listened to my friend and trusted my instincts and noped the hell out of that apartment while I was still breathing. Anyway, that's my story of a close call with death. Thanks for reading and stay weird, but not so weird that you end up in a shitty little apartment spending all your money on partying, eating pinto beans for a month and living with a future double murderer. Holy shit. Isn't that insane? First of all, holy shit. Second of all, holy shit.

Mike's a real one for pulling you in there and being like, get the fuck out of the apartment. Because at first I was like, what the fuck is this creep about to do? What's Mike going to do right now? Closing the door slowly and shit. But damn. Thankfully Mike was on it. And then for you being smart enough to not, cause we've heard so many stories of like, ah, you're stupid.

No, blah. And it's like you being smart enough to just be like, you know what? I'm out of here. Not chancing that. If you're sleeping with a stun gun at like before that. That's incredible. Good job. Smart. You're a smart gal. You really are Tiffany. Tiffany, you're a smart gal. Tiffany five ever. Five ever. Let's see, should I close it out with the ghost fan listener tale? You've got to.

Because I'm not even sure if it's roommate related, but you guys are just adorable. And I was like, there's a picture of both of them. And I was like, gotta read it. Gotta read it. Gotta read it. So it says, let's see. Dear lovely morbid ladies, my name is Neva and feel free to use my name. I give no fucks. That's a pretty name. That is a really pretty name. I'm so excited to write into you chicks because I'm a 41 year old goth kid who really enjoys the work you two do and I'm grateful to have found your podcast. Thank you. I'm in love with you.

I was inspired to write in because I'm a giant ghost fan. Seriously, I'm on concerts nine and 10 this summer. I'm so jealous. That's wild. And have a ridiculous amount of ghost merch. On top of that, my husband and I have nameless ghoul rings from thegreatfrog.com as wedding rings because it suited us so much more than being boring twats. No offense to anyone who likes to be boring. That's amazing. Anyways, I've included a photo of them and us for your viewing pleasure and apologize upfront if

this is a bit lengthy. No, you guys are so cute. I'm obsessed with it. I'm obsessed with the rings. John and I were talking about it recently actually. So like, I'll be on board with you here that we were like, if we got married now, he was like, he was like, my, my, it's going to be such a different vibe when you get married again to each other again. But he was like, he was like, I feel like you would want like Tobias Forge as papa to officiate our wedding.

Yeah, I could see that. And I was like, yes, full gear. Yeah. Full gear. And like black bridesmaids dresses. It would be so much fun. Do you think you'd wear black? I totally would now.

Yeah. I think I was like much more concerned with like upsetting anyone. Yeah. Back then. But it's hard when you have like, you know. Yeah, you have like grandparents around that you don't want to upset and stuff. And I was much more like not comfortable

with being a little, I don't know how to explain it, disruptive back there then. So I think I like to be- Now you've leaned full fledged into being disruptive. But now I'm very comfortable with being weird. I like it. It would be a different situation now, but he was joking about that and he was like, imagine if you could just have Ghost be like your house band for one day.

You should do like a 20-year, like, what is it called? Vow renewal. Yeah, thank you. Yeah, that would be crazy. Do that. That'd be fun. You get one life. Why not?

You get one life, have another party. What the fuck? That's also my motto. It's a good motto, I think. You have one life. Why not? You get one life. Have another party. What the fuck? That's also my motto. It's a good motto, I think. You have one life. Have another party. Have another party.

I love it. So I'm with you on that for sure, Neva. The tale I have to share is ghostly and fun. And I think back on the experience fondly. I grew up in San Diego, California. And after years of living in the part of San Diego, no one gives a crap about, I was finally able to move into an apartment in the pre-gentrified area of San Diego called City Heights. It was a slightly rundown part of town, but close to the best cemetery, small clubs, the band I was in played at, you're in a band too.

That's cool. And all of my band friends. It was very common for apartment buildings in City Heights to be smaller two to three unit buildings with a main detached house in the rear near an alley. Sorry. My roommate and I lived the second floor unit off 36th and university, which had a delicious chicken and ribs place on one corner and a strip club called Club Fantasy on the other. That's awesome. I use the smaller of the two bedrooms in the apartment and shortly after moving in, I began

to notice some strange things happen. Near one of the living room windows, I would see balls of sparkling light that would get larger and larger, spin around and then disappear. That was me. That was just me. This happened multiple times. My cat Lexington, what an amazing name, would also be caught staring at the same window wide-eyed and bewildered, so I can only imagine what he saw

Things only got more interesting with time for example My bedroom window faced the alley where a bright light was always on and there was no balcony Walkway or anything on the second floor it went straight down to the ground My room was completely dark and the only light that was coming in from was from said alley I was living I was sitting in my living room and had gotten this funny sense that I should look up. I obeyed and what the fuck do I see? A solid black silhouette of a head and shoulders that looked like a young boy with a bowl haircut, LOL.

It literally says LOL. That moved across the window and then disappeared into the darkness. Like what the fuck? That's horrifying. I sat there frozen and couldn't believe what the fuck I just saw. I told my roommate what happened

and she looked at me stunned. Then said she wants to try to make contact with it to see if we can learn anything about anyone residing in the apartment with us. Now don't judge me. We used a Ouija board. I'm not judging you. I'm not judging you.

I know, I know. Always seems to be bullshit, right? Actually, no. I don't, actually no. Actually no. always seems to be bullshit, right? Actually no. I don't actually know. Actually no, always seems to be downright terrifying and people end up cursed for life. I don't normally care for them due to a bad childhood experience, but I said, fuck it. And we busted it out. Within 10 to 20 minutes of starting to ask questions, the planchette started moving.

Both my roommate and I fiercely promised we were not pushing it. I decided to ask, what is your name? It answered, Christopher. I then asked how old he was and he answered 13. Finally, I asked, are you the boy who I saw in my room? And it answered, yes. Both me and my roommate released our fingers from the planchette and screamed

because we both had no other reaction we were capable of. I politely said, good night to Christopher and asked no further no further questions. To wrap up this Bizarro tale, I'll tell you my very last interaction with Christopher. I was in bed with the door shut, lights off and the roomie had taken the cat into her room for the night. I'm the type that likes to leave a leg out of the bed under the blanket when I sleep. Even if the chances of the monster under my bed grabbing me and sucking me into a dark abyss are high. They are. I like to live dangerously. You're a bad bitch.

After I closed my eyes to enter dreamland, I felt something that shook me to my fucking core. Very softly, I felt something graze the back of my calf, like someone had run their hand very gently across my skin. Christopher, that's a little creepy. Christopher. Consent, baby. Christopher, that's a little creepy. Christopher, consent, baby. Christopher, you're getting kanzi. My eyes immediately opened and faster than you can say, holy shitty titty balls. I pulled my leg under my blanket and curled

into the fetal position. I was terrified. Shook was an understatement. I had never experienced anything like this before. But after I calmed my tits, I took a deep breath and calmly said, okay, I understand you're here, but I want to go to bed now so you need to go. And I never saw, heard or felt anything from Christopher again. Wow.

I hope you two enjoyed this and I want to say thank you for all the hard work and dedication you put in your podcast. So keep it weird, but not so weird you keep a leg out while trying to sleep risking eternal darkness in the abyss while a bowl cut having ghosts gropes your leg. Spookily ours, Neva. Spookily ours. I love it. Spookily ours, Neva. Oh my God. You guys are adorable.

I'm obsessed with your rings. I just love it. I'm obsessed with all of these listener tales. We need to do another installment of like worst roommates. Yeah, these are fun. I love making the theme ones. I love making the subject line like nightmare roommates. Yeah, if you have any like crazy ones.

Exactly. And obviously don't forget to go watch Worst Roommate Ever on Netflix. It premieres globally on June 26, 2024. This year, motherfuckers. And in our description for this episode, we'll have like a link so you can go check out and see see what it's all about. Yeah. And for all you weirdos who listen early and ad-free, you can catch up on the first season now so that way you're ready when the new season drops. Hell yeah! Worst remakes ever on Netflix! Do it! We hope you keep listening! Bye! No! And we hope you, we hope you keep listening. And we hope you.

She's not singing. Keep it weird. Weird, but not so weird that you have a crazy college experience of witchcraft and attempted murder because that one was absolutely insane. And I really hope Ella's doing better. Definitely so weird that you and your hubby get matching ghost.

What are they called? Wedding rings. Wedding rings. Nameless ghouls. That's what I meant. Nameless ghoul wedding rings. And definitely don't keep it so weird that a ghost with a bull cut touches your leg because I think you might be cursed for life now. Do keep it so weird that you shit a myopic spooky dookie in the tub because that's fair enough. And keep it so weird that you wake people up in the middle of the night and whisper trick or treat to them but never so weird that you are gonna rob somebody,

but do keep it so weird that you sleep with a stun gun underneath your pillow. Okay, do it! Oh! Woo hoo! Woo! Bye. Bye. See ya. Peace out. Deuces. Arrivederci. Deuces.

I don't know how to say bye in any other- Ciao! Bye! See ya. Peace out. Deuces. Arrivederci. Deuces. I don't know how to say bye in any other... Ciao! If you like Morbid, you can listen early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.