Morbid - Listener Tales 102 Villains

Episode Date: January 11, 2026

Weirdos, REJOICE! It’s that time that's brought to you, BY you, FOR you, FROM you and ALLLLL about you! This week, Ash & Alaina enter their villain era, and  focus on tales from the early oughts! We’ve got haunted plants! We’ve got stories about a break in! We’ve got ghostly babysitters! So sit down, grab a cup of ambrosia and join us as we say farewell to September!LISTEN to this (nearly)Nicholas-free version on all podcast platforms OR WATCH the Nicholas version on Youtube on 9/25/2025!If you’ve got a listener tale please send it on over to [e-mail] with “Listener Tales” somewhere in the subject line- and if you share pictures- please let us know if we can share them with fellow weirdos! :) Cowritten by Alaina Urquhart, Ash Kelley & Dave White (Since 10/2022)Produced & Edited by Mikie Sirois (Since 2023)Research by Dave White (Since 10/2022), Alaina Urquhart & Ash KelleyListener Correspondence & Collaboration by Debra LallyListener Tale Video Edited by Aidan McElman (Since 6/2025) Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey, weirdos, I'm Isma. And I'm Hades. And this is Villains Morbid. I can't stop saying that. It's great. I got the potion. The greatest touchphrase. I know.

You got the lips. The potion was a nice little, like, on the fly. Yeah, your kids. Did your kids make this? They sure did. It's one of the bath time potion. I was getting ready in the bathroom and I was like, oh, let me take that. She just found it in my bathroom was like, this would work perfect.

I was like, could I use this? I said, could I use this? I said, can I tape a llama to this? Sure can. Sure can. So, yeah, we're villains today. Villan-centric. We're villains-centric.

We're villains every day. We're just kidding. We're villains all the time. I can't move if we ask the right people we are. Yeah. If you ask, never mind. If you ask my dog. She says, Mom, where are you?

Where were we before the dog started barking? If you're watching this when it comes out, our live show is tomorrow. It's tomorrow. And we're friggin' stoked to see you there. It's going to be so fun. It's so weird, like, looking at the camera because all I can see is little scraps of construction paper in my eyeballs. And then also I can't move my head too much because this really rolls around.

Yeah, she really committed. I really committed to this one, yeah. Drew said, I sent him a picture and he goes, there's so much to take in. This might be my favorite one yet. I love that. I just love, there's so much to take in. I told John, I was like, I have to paint myself blue. And he said, like Blue Man Group?

And I said, kind of. And he said, okay. Okay. Yeah. I like that he was like, just another day at the office. Yeah. He said it just another day at the office. I was like, sure is.

Yeah. You know, sure is. Well, yeah. So what other exciting things have we had? Yeah, we have our live show coming up tomorrow. We also just had Sam and Colby here in his house. That was super fun. They're the sweetest.

We love them. Yeah, they're awesome and iconic and amazing. We love them. We had so much fun with them. And you'll get to hear it. Yeah. Not only when you get to hear it, We're going to be, if you want to see it, working on editing some of the video footage together

so that you can see our little combo that we had. Because I think you guys saw like a couple of clips, but we're going to be releasing the whole thing, I think. Yeah. Yeah. Shout out to Mikey. For your viewing pleasure. For doing that. Yeah. So yeah, those are very exciting things.

And what's more exciting is that today is listener tales. It's brought to you by, For you, and All About You. And we're blue and purple. Or blue and purple. The lighting is blue and purple. We have a new table. Check out our new table. This doll is haunted and also a sneak peek into something happening.

We have coffee because we got a Nespresso machine. Sponsor us, please. Nespresso. We love your coffee. We do. Cheers. I contact, eye contact, eye contact. That was a very good cheers.

That was. Hold on. I hope this doesn't turn me into my llama. We also, oh, we have a haunted doll and we also have Ruby. Oh, yeah. Rachel Stavis sent us Ruby. And I don't know if we've talked about Ruby on the pod before. Yeah.

Rachel Stavis is your, everybody's favorite exorcist. Yeah, Hollywood Exorcist. Yeah. She's a queen. She's so fucking cool. A literal queen. We've had her on the pod a few times. You know Rachel.

She's wonderful and beautiful and we love her. Shout out to Rachel. But she gave us Ruby. And Ruby has a spirit. Yeah. Ruby is the spirit inside the skull. And she loves jokes and flowers. She does. And we give her plenty. Yeah, she's a good time gal. Yeah, she is a good time gal. All right. Well, yeah, so anyways, it's

listener tales brought to you by you, for you from you and all about you. And today, we have 2000s tales. Hercules was like 90s, right? Like late 90s. He just said move out of my way. Nicholas did. I'm sorry. I don't know where you are, Nicholas, so. It's more polite to say, excuse me. That's very true. But Hercules was. It was 1997. It was almost there. I know Epper's new group was the 2000s because it was one of the first Disney movies I ever watched.

It was 2000. It was 2000, so I'm on the nose. Shite. That was one of the first movies that I remember Papa buying me on VHS. Oh, I love that. Yeah. You know, EZMA, I feel like you have the soul of Isma in there somewhere. Oh, definitely.

Just her fabulosity. Thank you. Thank you so much. That's what my profile is on Disney. It's true. It is. And the girls are always like, what is that? We got to show them Emperor's New Groove.

We got to show them Hercules, too, because we play that, like, Dreamlight Valley game. And that game is sick. That game slaps, like, really good. And Hades is in there, and they love Hades. Oh, so let's go. We got to. We'll have to show them pictures of us later. We do.

All right, so do you want to go first or do you want me to go first? I'll go first. Go first. So I'm going to do one that is called Listener Tales submission. And that's it. That's the listener tale. So this is from Mary. Let me open it. And it's actually called that time I was 13 and talked to a dead guy about maxi pads. Whoa. So this one says, Dear Ash and Elena, first of all, here's the obligatory part where I tell you how much I will shit if you actually read this on the pod. You do be shitting. You be shitting. But for real, hearing you share my

tale would be, what's the word for when something is so exciting that it makes you shit your pants? I just asked AI and it suggested gobsmacked or it made up its own term, thrill spill, a fake but catchy term for involuntary reaction to extreme thrill. I like that. Ah, the magic of technology. Yeah, thrill spill is when you shit your pants because you're thrilled. Damn. Anyways, I just wanted to start off by, of course, telling you how much I appreciate you both and the

many, many hours we've spent together. Like so many listeners, I discovered more. Orbit during the Panny. And listen to you describe unimaginable horrors because a favorite pastime while I completed dozens of adult coloring books, rearranged my apartment 14,000 times, and cuddled with my Panny Rescue, Foster Fail, Pitbull Baby Tino, pictures of him and his feline sister, Louise, attached. Tino and Louise, obsessed. Note, even if you don't read this on the pod, you should take a look because they love cuddling,

and it is so freaking adorable that you will have a thrill spill. I wish that my cats liked my dog this much. How do you, please tell me how you get there. Tell me your ways. You can share the pictures because the world needs that kind of love right now. I agree. But please don't share my actual name. Burp.

Because I somehow have a big girl job that I kind of want a professional reputation to protect. And the powers that be at my organization may not be super pleased if my name became associated with things like thrill, spill, and ghostly possession. That's fair enough. For the purpose of this story, let's say my name is Mary. Mary. Mary. Also, this story involves two other people.

He said, nobody knows. Oh, was he saying like, nobody knows your real name? Nobody knows. Nobody, now they don't know. Nicholas said, your secret's safe with us? He said, I'm in on this. I thought he said Doritos at first, and I was like, ooh, we should get some Doritos later.

I was like, all right. But also, this story involves two other people who I haven't spoken to in years. So Anonymous is probably for the best. So, onto my tale. This is the most unexplainable thing that has ever happened to me. That's so fun. Like a true glimpse that either the paranormal exists or the subconscious

mind with just the tiny window of opportunity is capable of some crazy fucking shit. I think both of those things can be true. 100%. I honestly don't know which is scarier. Both. We begin 20 plus years ago at the start of my eighth grade year. It's September 2002, which means we're smack dab in the middle of such horrors as low-rise jeans, everybody hating on Britney Spears and diet culture run amok. Facts. Truly not a terrible time to be a young, impressional girl at all. No, it's fine. Every weekend met us sleepover at my friend Kelsey's house where we had a ton of privacy because her bedroom was in the basement, complete with her own bathroom and a TV room. Damn, that bitch had an apartment downstairs. This meant we could drink Pepsi and sing Destiny's

child all night without anyone telling us to go easy on the caffeinated corn syrup or to shut the fuck up. So basically a 13-year-old's paradise. On this particular weekend, our friend Emma, was joining us. Now, no shade to Emma, but for context, it's important to know that she was not the sharpest cran in the box. She struggled to, love your directness. She struggled to, in most of our classes. And one time when our social studies teacher asked if anyone knew what country,

Paris was the capital of, Emma confidently replied, London. It's giving one time she asked me how to spell orange. London. London. Good for good. for her. This is an amazing follow-up. So, yeah, a sweet girl, but not exactly a mastermind.

Like us. Again, I'm not telling you this just to be a dick to poor Emma, but because it matters for understanding how strange the following events were. I love that you're like, Emma was a little dumb. So you should know that. But it matters. So sleep overtime. I don't honestly remember what we did the night before,

probably lots of talking about boys and stupid shit. But the following morning, we, for some reason, decided to play with Kelsey's new Ouija board. It's not for some reason. It's always a reason. It's what you do at a sleepover, I guess. If there's a Ouija board around and you're a teenage gal, you're doing the Ouija board. Unless you're me.

That's the reason. Unless you're me. That's, normally that's the region. Although maybe tomorrow that would change. Hmm. Moritz. Maybe tomorrow will be the first time. Maybe.

I decide to use a Ouija board. Maybe, I don't know. I'm not sure. I don't know. Who's to say? Not me. He won't leave. He won't leave.

At first I thought he said, you. At first I thought he said, you ugly. He's talking about Mikey. He's like, he won't leave. Well, I'm trying to dink his ass out of here and he won't leave. It also goes along with like, move out of my way. You won't move out of his way. Mikey's being victimized.

He's like, Mikey has a problem with me and he won't leave. Wow. Nicholas, we're the only ones that have been cool. Please don't change that. Okay, maybe we were scared, and that's why we waited until broad daylight? Who knows? We were 13 and dumb as shit. This was the first time any of us had used the board, and I'm sure it was made by like Milton Bradley, but to us it seemed very serious and important. Like we were about to communicate with the dead.

So yeah. So we closed the curtains in Kelsey's basement bedroom, so there was just the tiniest bit of light peeking through and started asking the board questions. It wasn't long before we were speaking with the spirit of, of course, a teenage boy who had died in a car. crash. Was this real or was this just our combined boy craziness manifesting a male presence in the room? I honestly don't know. He said his name was Justin. That's suspicious. That's suss. I've never met a ghost named Justin personally. And also, it feels very ensign. Yeah. I feel like if I had talked to a ghost, it probably would have been named Justin or like JC. We asked him questions about his life and how he died. It was all rather innocuous. I do recall that Kelsey asked him to

choose two adjectives to describe each of us using funny, cute, pretty, or sexy because we were, as the kids used to say, hashtag thirsty. Oh, my God. He proceeded to tell us that Kelsey was pretty and sexy. Ooh, Kelsey. Here's the thing. Here's the thing about Kelsey. She asked the question.

She was moving that plitch. She asked the question. She was moving that plet. She got pretty and sexy. Emma was cute and pretty. And my awkward ass got funny and cute. If you knew the haircut I had at the time, this made sense. But it's still stung that Ghostboy didn't want to get all up in this.

Now, Kelsey knew how to hypnotize people. I'd seen her do it before at many a sleepover. She would have a girl lay down on her back on the floor and rub her temples while she counted backwards from 100. Kelsey was out here doing some fuck shit. It sounds super simple, but never failed to actually work. So she proceeded to ask Justin if he could speak through one of us if she was hypnotized. The planchette instantly moved to, yes. Ghostboy was ready to talk, and Emma volunteered to be the vessel.

Of course she did. Oh, Emma. Here's where it gets really weird. Emma lay down and began counting backwards while Kelsey rubbed her temples. Sounds nice. A ball of adolescent self-consciousness over not being called pretty or sexy by a dead guy. But I depress. Emma's voice got quieter and lower the more she counted.

and somewhere in the 80s she abruptly stopped talking mid-number. Emma, Kelsey asked. No response. Justin, she tried? Yes. Emma, who normally spoke in a high-pitched girly squeal, replied in a low monotone that sent shivers up my spine. Do you want to sit up? Kelsey asked. Yes, Emma slash Justin replied. Her eyes were closed and she proceeded to just keep laying there. Do you need help, Kelsey inquired?

Emma's Justin's responses were slow, as if she were taking a while to process what was being said to her. At last, they replied, yes, I don't remember how to move in a body. Oh, wow. I don't like that's chilling. I also feel like Emma wouldn't come up with that. I think that's why she was telling us how empty of a vessel Emma was. Yeah, until, well, yeah. You know, being 13 years old, Kelsey and I somehow took all of this in stride and proceeded to help Emma into a sitting position.

Her normal perky posture was now slumped, with her eyes still closed and head leaning forward as if it were heavy. These days, having consumed much more horror content, I would have run out of this room. But at that time, I was like, yeah, let's just sit here in the dark and talk to this dead guy. I love that. You were very talk to me. Yeah. You were just like, let's go. Here we go.

We proceeded to have a conversation with Emma slash Justin that followed up on the things we've been asking on the board, what his life was like, how he died, which he claimed happened not far from where we were, etc. As we talked, Emma had a look on her face. I still closed. That was a mix of sedated and uncomfortable. Noticing this, Kelsey at one point asked if there was anything we could do to make them more at ease. I'm not used to having all this hair in my face, ghostboy replied. So Kelsey proceeded to pull Emma's long blonde hair into a low ponytail.

But we noticed that they still looked a little bit ill at ease. Is there anything else we can do for you, Kelsey asked? Well, I think, I think, is Emma on her rag? That's the grossest way to say that. Why does anybody put it that way? Are you kidding me right now? I wasn't prepared for that. I was not prepared for that either.

Also, that's none of your damn business, Justin. What the fuck? Ew. Justin. God damn. Gosh. Also, good that you're feeling it. Good that you're feeling it.

Yeah, you should. Good that you're feeling it. I hope you have crumbed. Yeah, I hope you have crumbs. Ghostboy asked if she was on her rag. Now, this was 2002. That's the other thing. 2002, I'm like, no one's saying on your rag.

No? That's like from 90s. That's like, like, I think they say it in the craft. Yeah, they do. Yeah. It's such a gross term. Says she needs her rag or something. Now this was 2002 and none of us used the term on her rag.

Also, we knew that Emma was. in fact on her period and would thus have been wearing a maxi pad. We were all too young and scared to use tampons at the time. Justin slash Emma shifted slightly. I can feel this pad thing. It's like a diaper. You girls wear these all the time. Yeah, they do suck.

They do. Kelsey and I genuinely laughed. Ha, ha, ha, dead guy. You're so funny. It was around this time that I realized my parents would be coming home, coming to pick me up soon. And our three-way combo with Ghostboy would need to come to an end. Justin said he would go in that if we,

ever wanted to talk again, we could reach him through the Ouija board. I honestly don't remember how we got Emma out of her hypnosis, but I do remember seeing her eyes open and start blinking rapidly. The first thing she said was, why is my hair in a pony? We quizzed her over everything that was said, but she appeared to genuinely have no recollection of anything that had happened. Whoa. Now back to Emma not being the smartest cookie. She was also a terrible liar. Like face would get red, eyes would dart around, she would nervously giggle, all the telltale signs. But here she was, making eye contact, sincerely curious about everything that was said,

and seeming to have no memory of it. That's wild. At this point, my parents arrived in our good old astrovan, and I excitedly told them all about how I just had a direct conversation with a dead guy. Their response was basically, sure, Jan. I tried telling them it really happened and that Emma couldn't have been just yanking our chain because she wasn't smart enough to fake it. In your parents' astrovan, You're like, Mom, Emma's so stupid. She's too dumb to fake it. Your parents are like, oh, shit, yeah. I bet it was real, then.

Shit, that was real. And coming up with little details, like how, as a boy, he or she was bothered by having long hair and wearing a maxi pad. No way our sweet, simple emba could have come up with that on the fly. Anywho, to this day, I look back on that strange morning and wonder what the hell actually happened. Had a Milton Bradley product and a sleepover hypnosis trick actually opened a portal into the afterlife? Or had our subconscious powers force the plan. to conceive of this Justin character and all his responses. And what about Emma?

Had she been a secret mastermind, an amazing actress the whole time, who was capable of completely fooling us? Or was her subconscious somehow able to play along as this dead guy, even to the point of using dated terms like on her rag? Or was it actually a dead guy talking to us about maxi pads? I... He said, where are we? He was like, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.

Where the fuck am I right now? What is this about? By no means. He said by no means do I want to talk about this. Okay. That's fair. I respect your boundary. Nicholas is a gentleman.

Yes. He's like, this is getting out of my realm. Yeah. I guess I'll never know. Insert shrug emoji. If you've gotten to this point, thank you for reading my long, strange tale. If you read this on the pot,

I will shove it in my mom's face and say, I told you so. And then I'll go to my dad's urn and do the same. Oh. He said, shout out to my fellow hashtag dead dad club members and the dark humor that keeps us going, if you know, you know. That's actually so valid the other night.

Caleb was at my house. And he was saying something about his dad. I said something about my dad. And then we were talking about moms. And Drew just goes, my dad's dead. I was like, oh, all right. Like, damn. Like, just so casual.

That is, it's something about dead dads. Yes, specifically. Like, if you talk, in fact, our friend Walsh, Emily Wall, she's a fucking amazing comedian. Go listen to her. Maybe you'll see her soon. One of her, like, big bits is,

like my dad's dead. Yeah. Like it's like dead dad girl. Yeah. And it's like, she can make it hilarious. Yeah. So grief is funny.

Grief can be funny. It's the only way. Gallo's humor is so necessary. It's just got to happen. We're human. Now, speaking of my parents, they ended up sending me

to Catholic school the year after this incident because I was acting cray craye and going from innocent slumber parties to drug-fueled ragers. A youth. So I kind of just fell out of touch with Kelsey and Emma. Wherever you are, I hope they remember this morning.

and think of it fondly, Justin too, wherever he may be. Okay, that's it. Thanks for reading and keeping on, keeping it weird. Love you guys. Mary. I iconic. Mary on a cross is who that is. I love it. Oh my God, you're puppies and kitties and you are adorable. I know. I just need to know how you get to this point.

My God, I desperately want this to be my life. My cats fucking hate Dolores. I love it. I love Dolores. I love Dolores too, and I love my cats. And I wish everybody just loved each other. everybody love each other. I wish we could all just bake a cake filled with happiness.

We can all eat and be happy. Be happy. All right, mine is called my mom used my toddler, daughter, to get the last word from her grave. Oh, that's annoying, I feel. To get the last word. I know it is. It is a little bit. All right.

So, hey, weirdos, I discovered you two a few months back, became instantly hooked and have been catching up in reverse order. I'm now listening to your 22 archives and want to encourage you to keep being weird. and morbid in your quirky, compassionate way, especially with my two favorite vintage cases and listener tales. Oh, I love that. Okay, the monloing is over. The mom looming. Okay, the lawn mowing is over and we're back.

We're back. We lied. All right, we might be back. We might be back this time. It's possible. Let's hope. So, I'm now listening to your 22 archives, and I want to encourage you to keep being.

weird and morbid in your quirky, compassionate way, especially with my two faves, vintage cases, and listener tales. Hell yeah. How fitting. Those are some of my faves as well. No, ho ho ho. Before I get into my own listener tale, let's get some business out of the way. You have my permission to use real names if you share this story.

My name is B. Tomicelli and, oh, it's not done. B. Tomaselli Tritilli, and I will happily giggle if you butcher the pronunciation on your show. I hope I didn't. I love that name. If it's easier for you, I'll just go by my alter ego, Xenon. I'll tell you about Xenon at the end of this story. Zononon girl of the 21st century?

Duh. Zoom, zoom. Mix your heart go. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Oh, is it two boom-boombooms? No, yeah, it's just boom, boom, boom. Oh, my supernova girl. I don't really remember Xenon.

I know. Anyway. Protozoa was like, you know, NSYNC before in sync. He kind of looks like Spike too. Yeah, he does. And he's British. There it is. I'm into it. All right.

Well, I teach high school science in my day job. Oh, yeah. Generally a logical woman. When I hear about paranormal phenomena, I first look for a scientific explanation. Good for you. That said, I may be skeptical, but I'm also open-minded. And I've definitely experienced phenomena that defy logic. One such instance occurred shortly after we adopted our children.

In the late 90s, before our kids were a thing, my husband had a stereotypically antagonistic relationship with his mother-in-law, my mom, of course, Nellie Tomaselli, who had a name like a little poem. Nellie Tomaselli. Nellie Thomas Selly. I love it. They are slash we're both loving but stubborn people. Mom and dad lived near us, and we'd sometimes carpool to visit my sister Sylvia and her family a few cities away from our southern California home. One Sylvia visit, my mom asked us to drive her newish four-door Camry. My husband Gerald loves to drive.

Mom didn't. And dad has vision problem. Hubby and I were driving cars that were not family friendly. Gerald drove a truck and I drove a two-door that mom found hard to get an end out of. The four of us loaded up in the Camry and mom asked us to lock our doors. Dad and I obeyed, but not Gerald. Not Gerald. Not Gerald. Never Gerald. Never Gerald. He refused for no apparent reason other than to mess with his mother-in-law.

They had an argument about locking the car doors, but my husband remained stubborn and eventually just changed the subject. So we all made it to my sister's health safely, and I would have forgotten all about it. Except flash forward a couple years to late 2001. My husband and I were getting ready to adopt a child from Russia. An orphanage near Siberia had sent us pictures of toddlers approved for foreign adoption, which was legal in Russia at the time, and we had our heart set on a toddler girl who went by the nickname Lusa. Anyways, we kept our adoption plans vague with our families as nothing was in writing at that time.

Thus, the adoption was uncertain. In early 2002, Mom was diagnosed with a very fast-moving cancer. Despite mom and my husband's differences, Gerald is an RN who was there to offer advice, aid, and compassion when mom entered hospice. On her deathbed, I handed mom a photo of my daughter, telling her this would likely be her future granddaughter. Mom clutched it tight and stared at the pick intently for a few seconds before drifting into a deep sleep. Mom slept most of that day and took her last breath just before midnight. Gerald and I didn't have much time to grieve. Shortly after mom's funeral, we were off on a two-day plane trip to the remote, snowy,

of Magadan, I think, in eastern Russia near Alaska. To make a very long story super short, we adopted two adorable Russian toddlers a few months later. Lisa Anna and a sweet boy named Nikolai, both aged two and a half. Nikolai. I love it. We soon found that a two-door car was super cumbersome when it came to buckling squarely toddlers into back car seats. Indeed. Dad was looking to sell Mom's Camry, and we eagerly bought her sedan.

Oh, so there to go. Perfect. Within a few days of the purchase, we were getting ready for our first family outing in mom's old car. Our toddlers at that point were beginning to understand English but could only say a handful of words. You know, the usual first words. Mama, Papa, mine, no, toy, water, etc. Once bundled in, my husband started the engine and began to back out of the driveway. LeSanna immediately began rocking wildly in her car seat. She seemed to be having a panic attack and began chanting, lock the doors, lock the doors, lock the doors. Oh. And didn't stop. until we obeyed. Again, I'm a level-headed, logical person, but Lysana's chanting gave me chills.

Yeah. I'm convinced Mom got the last word with her son-in-law from the grave, and hey, she should have, because it's truly safer to keep your doors locked when you're driving. That's true. For a bunch of reasons I won't bore you with. Over the years, our family has had alleged visits from mom and other spirits, but I say alleged, because again, I'm a skeptic, but an open-minded skeptic. And let me tell you, weirdos, ain't nothing will convince me that mom wasn't in the car with us that day. I know this may not be morbid enough for your delightfully gloomy podcast, but regardless, I do have a PS regarding my xenon alter ego. More than once, I have heard you weirdos complain about your past boring chemistry classes.

I literally just was. Oh, I loved chemistry. That was probably me. Yeah. I would like to think if you had me as your chem teacher learning stoichiometry. Stoichiometry, thank you. And balancing chemical equations. What have been a blast.

I teach high school chemistry. and biology in my day job. But evenings and weekends, I'm an actress and writer for the plot-driven animated chemistry series, Zonin' Friends. Oh, shit. Which uses comedy, music, and real-world scenarios to help beginning chemistry students

visualize the invisible world of atoms and molecules. That's badass. That's really cool. I wish I had had you. Yeah, I could have used that in organic chemistry. I will say. I did have a nice chemistry teacher in case she's watching. Yeah.

Nance, I love you. The Nance. Here are links to a couple of my favorite Xenon and Friends YouTube episodes in case you need a laugh or a reason to refresh your chemistry skills. PPS, I'm flying to Boston this summer to attend my niece's Cape Cod wedding, but I'll be a tourist for a few days ahead of time, and that will include my first ever trip to Salem. Yes. If you have must-see, must-do recommendations for this Massachusetts tourist, please share. This was a long time ago. So I hope you had fun. Yeah,

I hope you had so much fun. That's amazing. That's so cool, Zinong. And what a badass that you're a chemistry teacher and an actress and a writer. Damn. And a mama. Just out here doing it all. Yeah, shit. I love it. And also, I love that your mom got the last word and not only got the last word, but also got the last word and got the son-in-law to lock the doors. Like through the little baby. She was like, you will lock the doors.

You're going to listen to this little baby. I love it. I love that. I love that. I love that. All right, let's see if we can find a truly spooky one. This one's called Spook McFucking Spook. I hope that Ghosts Like. homemade cookies. I hope so too. It says in your best Jack the Ripper police officer voice, hello, hello, hello, hello, you bloody beautiful birds and welcome to my tail. All right. I love it. Honestly, Mikey would have killed that. Mikey, Mikey, can you please do it? Yeah. Hello, hello, hello. There it is. Sickened, did he just say? Me, okay, here's the thing.

Here's the thing. Maybe he's learned. Oh, I'm sorry. Wow. Wow. He said in another place. He hates me. I know. After Mikey did that, he said,

sickened. And then he said, how do you feel? I was about to say maybe he thinks that, like, it's sickening. But then he said, how do you feel? How do you feel? He was like, how do you feel loser? How do you feel? He has gay energy.

Damn. There can only be one gay in the room. Only one highlander. Oh man, so you beautiful birds. Welcome to my tail. All right, I'll start off in the most British way possible by apologizing for apologizing. I imagine this won't be a short read because like an onion, evil or not. This gal has got layers.

Also, I'm currently severely sleep deprived because my dumb bum thought it would be a good idea to rescue two kittens into my already chaotic home. Yes, I've attached pictures as bribery for airtime, so bear with. They were so cute. I've changed names in this story in case they don't want their awesomeness known, but I will not be anonymous myself. Does that make me anonymous? I don't know. Hi, I'm Chloe.

Hi, Chloe. Hi. I'm a beauty therapist from across the pond. What is a beauty therapist? Near Stratford upon Avon, aka thy land of Shakespeare. And if this is read out loud, then there's a rather high chance thou will soil thou's pantaloons. A customer introduced me to your podcast a little while ago, because if you're not chatting spooky shit, while having hair ripped out of your labia, then what are you even doing with your life, bro?

So that's what a beauty therapist is. I don't know if I would call you a therapist, my girl. I like that, though. Have you ever had a wax? But it makes it sound nicer. It does. That's the thing. But it's also kind of like, it's like, yeah, it is a little misleading because

ain't nothing therapeutic about that. For some. For none. But not others. For none. Angels to some, demons to others. Yeah, I guess so. And I have been obsessed ever since.

You guys really are the creme de la crem of all things morbid. Thank you. Thank you, that was so nice. Thank you for all the time you put into researching cases and for caring as much as you do about victims and their families. It really shows in the way you tell their stories. And it also helps that you both are funny as fuck. You deserve every ounce of joy, success, and happiness that comes your way. Thank you.

That was really nice. That was so good. You too. So let's hop into our way back machines to the early noughties before the day of phones, tickety talk and social media. Hell, at this point, we didn't even have MSN. I was young, free, and pretty fucking stupid, and my friends weren't much better.

We were still a few years away from the early grooming days of Habo Hotel. Habo Hotel? What's that? I don't know. Habo Hotel. What was wrong with us? It says, I want to know what that is.

I'm Googling it. So our free time was mostly spent hanging around... Oh, it's like a video game. Oh, okay. So our free time was mostly spent hanging around skate parks, listening to bowling for soup, hell yeah. and occasionally exploring cool shit around the town we lived in.

It was during the latter that me and my best friend Mia discovered that she was slightly more in tune with the other world than we'd realized. Mia's family were strict Christians. The cool kind, though, that thought wine being the blood of Christ was the best excuse to drink a shitload of it and who always forgave our teenage sins. Because of this, Mia hadn't had any exposure to the witchy ways of living. Me, on the other hand, I was blessed with a father who was a proud wicken. That is awesome. I mean, that man really did the shit.

I'm talking bringing me up with tarot cards, runestones, crystals. Hell, on more than one occasion, I found spell rituals set up in the loft. I'm trying to be that kind of mom someday. So being bored teenagers, who couldn't kill time watching people versus helicopters on rotten.com? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with us? I ask to this day. One day, we decided to pay a visit to the local Iron Age hill for it. The site dates.

back to the second century and is essentially haunted as fuck. Fun. I'll attach some info if I can find any, but some of the things it's known for being the site where around a thousand Danish pagan Vikings were massacred by Saxons. That's a lot of Danish pagan Vikings. It is. And the site of one of the last documented human sacrifices in Britain. Oh, just that.

Just known for that. Casual. A couple things. On reflection, the fact that this place was literally a 10-minute walk from my house makes me remember how crazy England is. That is crazy. That really is. Within only a few minutes of being there, Mia went super quiet.

We looked around for a bit, mostly disappointed by the fact that now just looked like a boggy field with a few old cider cans rusting away from end of school parties. All of a sudden, Mia screamed, dropped to the floor, covering her head and screamed, we need to leave. Now, this is my best friend. If she tells me we need to leave, I'm a head out. Correct. Leaving the rest of the guys behind, we fully ran out of the fields back to her house. Once my butthole had returned to regular size, I felt it was finally time to say, Sis, what the actual fuck?

You didn't see it, she said, looking at me wide-eyed. See what? I asked. That massive fucking black bull that ran at us with glowing red eyes. Oh, just that? You didn't see it? That's crazy. Imagine if she was like, oh, that?

Oh, yeah. I just figured we should keep going, you know? I thought you were talking about something else. I'm sorry, what now? I mean, no, I definitely didn't. Otherwise, I'd be in your room helping myself to. a fresh pair of pants right now. We went straight to her computer room.

Remember when that was a thing? Yes. She said that and I said that. We spent so much time in the computer room. I miss a room. Remember when I showed your shoes? Oh my God. Mm-hmm.

And text message breakup. You don't text message break up. I miss the computer room. I know. When it would, the end of the day, the door would close. Yes. And the computer was in its room. Stay in a room.

Get the fuck away from me. I know. That's what I remember. Now it's just sitting on our lap. It's just a... It's not sitting in our lap. It's sitting in our hand in our fucking pants pocket. I know.

Ruining everyone's lives. Let's throw them into the ocean and move on. Just kidding, that would be like so pollution. It wouldn't. Let's find a way... Yes. You are, Nicholas. I'm sorry.

We've talked about this. We have talked about this, but it's okay. It's hard to get through. You know. So we went straight to our computer room, RIP. Loaded up the family PC and patiently waited for her mom to get off. the phone so we could use the internet to look up whatever in literal fresh hell this meant.

We couldn't find a definite answer, but the general consensus with some sort of dark, evil, bad vibes, nope energy existed there and had decided to show itself to my best friend. What a lucky gal. At this point, Mia's brother and his friends came home, and upon hearing our story, suggested we do one of those Ouija board things. Now, I know this is the point where you girls are going to be saying, hell no, stay away from that. Not me.

Not me. Maybe I feel differently. You need to understand something. This boy was the epitome. Yes, I had to Google how to spell that. I get it. Of early 2000s hot. You know before I read the next line, I said frosted tips.

Oh, my God. I mean, that is the epitome of early 2000s hot. Early 2000s hot was frosted tips. I'm talking frosted tips, beaded necklace. Like the pukashel one? Yep. Shorts and a skateboard kind of hot. Yeah, that'll do it.

I'd have laid my... You want it, did he just say? Damn. So that confirms Nicholas is gay. Nicholas said, you want it. He said, I want it. We all did, Nicholas, okay? That's all we wanted in the 2000s.

I'd have laid my basic bare ass down on Lego for that guy. So some simple demon summoning to win his love didn't seem too much to ask. Dang. I get it, man. Well, I'd love to say this was some sort of life-altering moment. It was, in fact, a complete letdown. Nothing happened. Like, nothing.

Me and my girl sat there with our fucking crayon. drawn Ouija board, fingers on the upturned glass for a solid 10 minutes and didn't even get as much as a silent ghost fart come our way. Thinking that it was a complete bust, we headed upstairs, only to be accosted by her brother and his friends demanding to know how we did that. How we did what, we asked. Turn our fucking lights off and make the keyboard start playing. Literal chills ran through my body. Well, I'd love to say I had the magic finger pointing skills of Sabrina or more accurately Matilda, despite my dad's best efforts. I was a pretty skillless witch.

At that point, I set my ringtone to play on my phone, faked a phone call from my mom, and nope the fuck out of there. Iconic. Over the next few years, there was a few spooky occurrences, but nothing we wouldn't chalk up to floorboard settling or dodgy whirring. Why?

I almost said, like what? I mean, whirring would have made sense. Like, whirr. There was one crazy night where during a sleepover, some dude literally broke into our house in the middle of the night. Damn. I don't know if that's spooky or just fucked up. That's spooky and really.

I guess he wasn't counting on finding a group of teenage girls in the living room, so he dropped his bag of stolen shit and ran. Oh my God. This was when we discovered that the only thing he tried to steal was their family photos. Uh, what? I'm going to head out. I don't like that. Family photos? I hate that.

That's so creepy. Who the fuck was that, dude? I need to know more about that. That's giving stalker. It says, I mean what the actual. fuck. The police tried to follow up but found nothing. And while this was honestly a terrifying experience, it definitely was not

the work of ghosts. Just some fucked up shithead. Ficked up shithead indeed. I want to know more about that. I don't want to know anything about it. Now flash forward to 2018. I'd recently birthed my little crotch goblin and Mia had needed knee surgery, so I'd moved back in with her parents for a month while she

recovered. Being a good friend and desperately needing some distraction from cleaning up various small person bodily fluids, I hear that. I decided to pop in and see her with some goodies. I iced my homemade cookies. Get well soon, you old cunt. Loaded the pram and headed over.

I love that they called the baby carriage the pram. And I thought you were going to say what I was thinking. I love that you guys use the word cunt so indefinitely. Yeah. Because like we try to do that over here. Everybody gets so mad at us. But some people get so fucking mad. And it's like, just call people cunts.

Yeah, it's the same as bitch. Just, yeah. And some people get mad at bitch, too. If you're getting mad at bitch, get out of here. Well, no, so just love your fucking life. Just call people what you want to call people. Let me live and we'll all just live. If I call you a cunt, it's because I love you.

If I call you a fucking cunt, it's because I hate you. Yeah, you'll know. And if I call you like, bitch, that's because I love you. If I call you bitch, that's because I hate you. Sometimes you say it sarcastically, though, like, bitch. But like, you'll know. Yesterday at the Starbucks drive-thru, I realized I called you a bitch. Like, while the window was open, I literally went, you're such a fucking bitch.

I was such a fucking bitch. But I was like, well, hopefully the Starbucks girl didn't think that was for her. And I was like, hey! She comes over here like, you're such a fucking bitch. Honestly, she probably loved it. I would love it. I'd be like, yeah. Sisters being sisters.

It is what it is. So as I walked up her drive, I spotted her in the bedroom window upstairs. She opened the curtain and waved down at me. I gave her the finger and waited to open. I love England. Waited for her to open the door. I love England. Five minutes went by and there I was, still standing on her doorstep like a twat.

So I called her. Look, I know you're messed up, but it's cold out here. Let me in. said, sorry, I didn't hear the doorbell. I'll come now. She hung up and opened the door. I didn't ring the doorbell, I said, when she opened the door. You saw me out your bedroom window. She looked blankly at me. Chloe, I've just had knee surgery. How the fuck do you think I'd be able to get up or downstairs? Fair point. She'd got me there. Okay, well, at least I thought your mom would have yelled down to let you know. Chloe, there's no one else here. I'm in the

house alone. Mom and dad are at work. I looked up at her waiting for her to laugh, but she didn't. She just stared confused. At that moment, her mom pulled up into the drive, confirming that Mia wasn't fucking with me. She really had been home alone, downstairs watching TV. That's horrific. Sensing the vibes were more than off, her mom to suggest we load into her car and go for coffee. We were about a month away from getting my daughter christened, and I certainly wasn't going to let some demon-ass curtain twitching care and steal her soul,

no matter how much I wanted to catch up with my bestie. So we agreed. I love that you're like, I can't bring my baby in there. she's not christened yet. Yeah, we can't have that to happen. In the car, and obviously confused by the fact her daughter and friend had seemingly turned into quivering extras from Scooby-Doo, Mia's mom asked what was going on. We told her what happened, expecting her to laugh at us for being wimps as she had done

so many times in the past. But instead, she said it was probably time to tell us the truth. No. You don't want to hear that. Imagine she's just a well guess I should tell you the truth, though. You don't want to hear that. The story went like this. They'd moved into the truth.

house just before Mia's big brother had been born. As a baby, they would often hear him crying through the nursery baby monitor, only to check on him and remember he was in fact in the crib downstairs. They'd hear footsteps in the room at night, sometimes with soft singing, and one night they woke up to find the entire contents of the room on the floor. Nope. Being new parents, money was tight, and they couldn't afford to just move. They never felt threatened by the presence, and so decided to live alongside it, asking

only that it never harmed them. After Mia was born, the room became hers. Apparently, she was often heard talking to people that weren't there and would ask about the lady that sang her to sleep. What? I got chill. I got... Ew.

She was never scared, though. And her parents were just glad of a good night's sleep. Honestly, hell yeah. As long as she wasn't scared, yeah. Like, my youngest wasn't scared of skeletal. So we were like, all right. We were just hanging out. Hang out, I guess.

I guess so. It was only at a street party years later that her mom would meet a previous owner of the house. once a widower but never now remarried and she'd find out that this sad story that could explain what had been happening for all those years also newly married and with a baby him and his wife had moved into the home in the 70s he'd worked for a local car manufacturer and would work a lot of nights leaving his wife and child at home home at dinner time and returning to smiles and breakfast in the morning one morning though he came home to no breakfast just the sound of the baby crying upstairs oh that's horrifying he ran up to the nurse and he ran up to the nurse and and found a heartbreaking scene. While no exact cause was found, the report showed that during a midnight feed, his wife had suffered a medical episode and died. Luckily, the baby was unharmed, still lying in his mother's arms. Oh, my God, I have chills.

The man was too heartbroken to stay in the house and moved out soon after, leading to a string of very short occupancy from various residents, until Mia's family, that was. It turns out we hadn't been imagining things. growing up. Mia's mom hadn't wanted to traumatize a couple of teenage girls with what might just be one of the saddest stories I've ever heard. Now my best friend likes to tell people how she was raised by her adopted ghost mom, although she doesn't stay at her parents' house anymore. So there's my story. I'd apologize for it being long and rambling, but I know you ladies will tell me to shut up. Keep it weird,

you guys, take it away, Ash. But not so weird that you think that you're going to just do a Ouija board one day after a break-in and figure out what the fuck is going on, but then you find the saddest story ever. The saddest story ever. Oh, no. But I love that her, like, she's singing these kids to sleep and, like, trying to comfort them. I know. Like, damn. I love that. She's mama through and through. Oh, that, like, breaks my heart, though. And Mia clearly has been, like, seeing her through her whole life and then saw that thing on the, uh, at the fort. Yeah. Like, she's, like, clearly more in touch. She absolutely is. Like you said. That's crazy. That was unbelievable. And also, if this is your daughter,

oh, wait, cutest little thing I've ever seen in my life. Oh my God, what a little bean. And if it is it your daughter, still cutest little thing I've ever seen in my life. Also, fantastic shirt. Bluey. We love Bluey. Love it. So cute.

And the cats are so cute. So adorable. All right, our next one is listener tale. I don't know why I said, listener. Listener tale, paranormal plantivity. Oh, grandpa's ghost and the haunted house plant. I love that. I thought you were going somewhere.

No. I'm just leaving. Bye. Bye, everybody. I'll finish this out. Yeah. All right, ladies, first and foremost, thank you for reading my story. Feel free to use any names or photos from it. My name is Adam, and I'm living my best life in Springfield, Illinois, with my two cats, Alfie and Gladys. I love Alfie and Gladys. I'll be turning the big four-o in October of this year, and I have fully embraced my spinster cat lady, cat-lady man lifestyle. I'm a Libra, and I knew Ash would want to know that. Libras are great. Mikey is also a Libra.

Yes. Yes. My grandpa is haunting my house plant and we'll get there. Okay. But first, let me start off. I trust. Perfect way to start. But first, let me start off by saying that I think you both are the tits.

I'm basically obsessed with your podcast and feel like we're besties already. We are. We are. I started listening about a year ago and quickly abandoned all other podcasts. All your Tales of New England actually inspired me to book a bucket trip list to Salem. Hell yeah. A bucket list trip, I mean. We're just bringing people to Salem.

We love it. I can. your Salem's like, damn it, guys. Salem's like, Jesus Christ, Ash and Elena. I convinced my gal pal Ashley to join me on a New England tour in October of 2024. It didn't take much to twist her arm. All it took was dinner at our favorite dive Chinese restaurant and a conversation about witches. She was sold.

We studied up on Salem by listening to your Salem-themed episodes. Love that. By the time we arrived for our walking tour, we considered ourselves total experts on all things Salem. In fact, the tour guide asked us, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much we knew about Salem, and we confidently answered, Hell yeah. The guide was skeptical, but ended up being impressed with our knowledge. I mentioned your show to her, and she's also a fan. She even said she'd seen you in Salem before. I bet it's Sarah from the Salem podcast. It probably is who we literally just saw last time

we were in Salem. Hell yeah, Sarah. Hi. We saw several other cool New England-y sites and ate all the seafood. Ten out of ten, I recommend. Speaking of seafood, Elena tried this much of an oyster the other day, and she spit it all the way out, and I'd love to post the video if you'll let me. I'm going to post it. You're like, if you're like, if you're let me. I'm going to post it. Well, you nodded yes. Anyway, I know she wouldn't try lobster, but she said in the future she will. In the future, I will. I think you'll have a better time with lobster. Oyster is a no-go for me. Oysters are so good. One, I'm scared of Vibrio and two, they taste and feel like snot. They don't. Bugs. You're, no. Boogies. Anyway, on to my spooky

story. Growing up, I spent a lot of time hanging out with my grandparents, Dawn and Diane. Dawn and Diane. Dawn and Diane for life. Why don't I just, stop there. I love Don and Diane. What can I say? Kicking it with the olds is just a great time. It is. It really is. I affectionately refer to my grandma as granny. I always have and I always will. Granny is not your typical grandma. She's free-spirited, cusses like a sailor and gives zero fucks. Oh, I want to be that grandma. Fun fact, she used to read me children's stories at bedtime, but would insert curse words frequently referring to Goldilocks as a little whore. She's a great time if you aren't one to embarrass easily.

She is a great time. I love that she called Goldilocks, a little whore. My grandpa was more reserved, which worked out well since somebody had to put up with granny shenanigans. They balanced each other out. Yeah. He grew up on a farm and worked in a factory. He was never without his flannel, cowboy boots, and full grandpa mustache.

Oh! A very blue-collar, country-type grandpa. He taught me everything he knew and loved me with all his heart. He could be grumpy at times. That's grandpa. Shit, you know. But he had a great sense of humor. He was my guy and we were always very close.

One of my favorite early childhood memories was going antiquing with Granny. We had several local shops that we would visit regularly. I enjoyed browsing but hardly ever found anything that stood out until one day. When visiting one of our favorite shops, I found this old-timey ceramic figure of an old man playing a cello. Honestly, it was creepy as fuck, but I was into it. I was a strange child. It's fine. I turned out okay.

This is the best. I love how you write. Anyway, the old man stood about 10 inches tall. He was wearing a red jacket, seated on a bench, holding a cello in his right hand and a detachable bow in his left. Yeah. The old man had seen better days. His paint had clearly faded, and the cello was missing a big old chunk.

If you turned him over, there was a spot for batteries, a volume knob, and on and off switch. There were openings around his head and hands, almost like he was a bobblehead doll. Clearly, he was supposed to move like one of those animatronic Santas and play music. I expected the tune to be something super creepy and couldn't wait to try it out. However, the shop owner stopped me and said she had tried everything and it just simply didn't work. It wouldn't play music. Even so, there was something about the old man that intrigued me and I just knew I had to have him. I got to have him.

I knew Grandpa would love him too. The old man reminded me of Grandpa. Only it looks. Grandpa had no musical gifts. I asked Granny to buy him and she responded swiftly. We don't need that broken up old bastard. I was disappointed, but we set our goodbyes to the shop owner and we left. Once we got to Granny's minivan, I asked again if we could get the old man.

After some light pouting, she regrugingly agreed to go back for him. Granny headed back inside, haggled with the shop owner, and came back out with the old man. That's a granny right there. That is a granny. We went back to the house. I showed the old man to Grandpa. He loved him just as I had anticipated. We spent the whole day trying to repair the old man and get the music to play.

Grandpa was usually very handy and could fix anything, but not this time. We eventually gave up and moved on. The old man stayed in my grandparents' square bedroom slash office, a spare bedroom slash office, sitting... I know, I don't know what's wrong with me. Sitting on a shelf above their 70s-style faux fireplace where the bricks were made of styrofoam. When visiting over the years, I would occasionally look in on the old man and continue to be pissed that he never worked. Fast forward to 2006 when I was 21 and had moved from my small hometown to the big six.

city of Springfield. When I say big city, I mean a population of 100,000. Damn, that's a lot, but much bigger than I was used to. Around that time, my grandpa suddenly became sick and was quickly placed on life support. We soon had to make the difficult decision to end life support, and grandpa passed away. Oh, grandpa. I'm sorry. Granny and I were with him holding his hand as he left this world. That was the first time I had ever lost someone close to me. I didn't get to say goodbye, at least not when he was conscious. But they, people passing do hear you. Even if they're not conscious, I fully believe they hear you. A short time later, I was helping Granny go through grandpa's things. As I was alone, reminiscing in the bedroom office, I spotted the old man. I hadn't thought of him in years. He looked exactly how I remembered him from childhood, only covered in layers of dust. That was when shit got weird. The old man came fully alive. His head began to turn, his hand began to move the bow across the cello, and the most haunting tune you've ever heard began to play at

full volume. The lights in the room began to cast a beam directly onto a photo frame of me and my grandpa from when I was about three or four years old. This continued for what seemed like forever, but was probably only 30 seconds. I immediately started to cry. I don't cry because I have a black soul, but what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do? What was I meant to do? In that moment, I remember wondering why I wasn't scared. I wasn't. I felt oddly peaceful, a warm thrush over my body like grandpa was giving me a big hug. I felt comforted. I told grandpa that I loved him and that I would always miss him. It was so surreal like a dream, but it wasn't. I figured Granny had heard the creepy tune or my blubbering and would rush into the room, but she didn't. I began

calling for her. And by the time she came, the old man had returned to his dormant busted up self. Granny being the open-minded chick she is didn't doubt my story for a minute. For the sake of my own sanity, I picked up the old man, turned him over, and there were no batteries, and the switch was set to off. Before I left that day, Granny insisted that I take the old bastard home with me. I was in no condition to pick a battle with Granny, so I obeyed. No, you got to take that old bastard. You got to, Granny says. Yeah. This was the one and only time the old man came to life, but I've kept him with me ever since. He proudly sits on my bedroom shelf today, motionless, but filled with special memories. But wait, there's more. Grandpa has since moved on

to haunting house plants. Not knowing anything about plants, I snatched a peace lily from Grandpa's funeral back in 2006. Risky move, but it turns out I have a green thumb. Bold. I know. I love that you stole it from his funeral. And I just love risky moves. Risky moves. But turns out it's great. I've now kept this thing alive for almost 20 years. Holy shit. Wow. I've since acquired about a million more house plants, but I digress. Good for you. I am fully convinced that the plant is haunted by my grandpa. It is. The plant blooms randomly, sprouting white flowers that look like balloons. Sometimes it will go years without blooms then bloom. Grandpa has something to say. It could be wishful thinking or a weird coincidence, but it only blooms when I need Grandpa. He throws up balloons to show he's around or to provide

comfort. I now call, I now call the plant grandpa like a full on weirdo. I think that's beautiful. I was waiting this entire time to hear that he refers to the plan as Grandpa. You just knew it was coming. I just knew it. I get it. Because that's only right. It's Grandpa. It's only right. There have been several examples over the years. In 2010, my brother had a kidney transplant and my dad was the donor. This was obviously a very scary time for my brother, dad, and our entire family. Out of nowhere, Grandpa's plant sprouted a balloon the day before the surgery. Everything turned out fine. The surgery was a success. Grandpa was letting us know that everything would be okay. Grandpa. Grandpa. Several years ago, my mom, his daughter, reconnected with her high school sweetheart and they got married.

Oh my God. I wished more than anything that Grandpa could be there on this special day. What do you know? Grandpa's plant sprouted a balloon the day before the wedding. He was there. In 2003, my two 16-year-old cats, Samson and Annabel, whom I had since the day they were babies passed within three weeks of each other. Grandpa was there to comfort me. Grandpa's plant sprouted several balloons this time. Oh, my God. I've been experiencing some health problems over the past few months.

I blame it on being almost 40. Don't worry. It's nothing too serious, but it's caused loads of stress, and I've been anxious as I navigate various testing. Just a few days ago, Grandpa spreaded a balloon to let me know that everything will turn out okay. As long as that plant holds up, I know Grandpa will be around. And in case you were wondering, Granny is still here, causing a scene anywhere she goes. Oh, hell yeah. We lovingly threatened to check her into shady pines any chance we get.

I couldn't possibly wrap this hope up without a Golden Girl's reference. You're welcome. Thanks for listening. I've included some pictorials for your viewing pleasure. The shady puns. Keep it weird, but not so weird that your granny calls Goldilocks a whore and your grandpa haunts an animatronic old fan figurine and then a houseplan. Or maybe do keep it that weird because who wouldn't want a Fiesta Granny and a guardian angel grandpa houseplant? A Fiesta Grandi. Oh my God, you're adorable. Look at your Salem pics. Oh my God. I need to see this. Oh, I love you guys. I'm literally obsessed. Oh, I love Grandpa. He's exactly how I pictured him. I need to see Grandpa. And Granny is exactly how I pictured her. I love all of this. Oh my God. Oh, and your mom's wedding was so beautiful. I love her dress. That is literally how I pictured Grandpa. Yeah, no, me too. And the houseplant is gorge and something fell over there. So maybe Grandpa's

here right now. Oh, that really does like the little figurine really does look like your grandpa. I understand why you wanted him. I get it. Oh, and your cats. I would have wanted him too. And whoever the orange one is. Look at Grandpa Houseplant. He's so pretty. The orange cat has the biggest, most beautiful tale I've ever seen. Oh my God. Oh, I love these cats. Wow. I love you guys. That all of you. That was everything. That was a beautiful tale. Adam. Adam, forever. Adam, we loved that and we love you. That might be everybody else's tales were wonderful, but that's my favorite one so far. So far, I love it. I love it. Um, all right. So I guess we can probably do one more. Yeah, I would do the last one. Maybe one more. Yeah. All right. So this one's called listener tales,

My Sorority versus a Shit Biscuit Ted Bundy wannabe. All right. Oh, my God. All right. So, let's open this up. So this says, Hello, my lovely, spooky friends. I've been enjoying your podcast for years,

but recently my daughter, Sawyer, has become a fan as well. I love that name. That's such a cute name. Listener tales are her absolute favorite, since the regular episodes run too dark for her age, and she enjoys the lighter side you bring to true crime. All right. I know some listener tales can also be on the mature side,

but she's old enough to know which words are okay to say at home and not at school. That mom may hit fast forward when Ash and Elena say trigger warning. And more importantly, to be aware that while most people are good, some can be very, very bad. You sound like a fantastic mama. Your great mama.

Your stories provide a reminder to always be aware of our surroundings, trust our instincts, and that it's okay to share our experiences both good and bad. Hell yeah. Now when Sawyer gets in the car, instead of, can I play Taylor or Sabrina, it's mom, morbid? We love your senses of humor and the quick listener

tale anecdotes that can start and wrap up in one 20-minute car ride. Sawyer told me she wishes she had her own listener tales to submit, but thank God she's about a happy and uneventful childhood so far with no stories worthy of a podcast called Morbitt. Let's keep it that way. So instead, she begged me to share my own creepy, scary story, C, puttafa. While using our names, Christy and Sawyer, is perfectly fine. I believe my college and sorority would prefer to remain anonymous. I've attached a few photos of us, one at our last concert, and one at a trunk or treat last spooky season. You guys are awesome and I love you. You are? Oh my God, you're adorable. Also, you have great hair. Holy shit. You guys are gorgeous. All right. So, in the fall of

2000, I was a sophomore at a large university and a member of a sorority with a house near campus. A few weeks before the new school year began, everyone was settling back into the house after a summer away and welcoming a new class of freshmen moving in for the first time. about 50 of us that lived in the house together. I was chatting with friends in the living room after dinner when all of a sudden, a dozen or so panicked girls flooded down the staircase and one screamed, there's an attacker in the house. A friend and I ran into the nearby phone closet because even though we had cell phones then, the house still had a landline tucked away in a small room.

Early 2,000 things, I guess. We locked the door and did the best a barricade what we could with the only piece of furniture in the space, a small wooden chair. Oh, no. I called 911 and quietly relayed the limited information we had, hoping my voice didn't carry outside the door. I remember the look of panic on my friend's face and realized my own must have married hers. A tiny room with one exit may have not been the best place to hold up. But it's overwhelmed.

But it's where we fled for better or worse. I didn't always have my phone on me back then and wanted to hide and call for help. After the police arrived, we were able to get the full story. We find out a man had been hiding on the third floor of the house. Oh, it's like Black Christmas. I hate that. They believe he was watching as a girl, let's call her Liz, walked from her room to the shared bathroom in the middle of the house,

wrapped in a towel with her shower basket in hand. He waited in Liz's room for her to return, at which point he attacked her, striking her in the face and breaking her fucking job. Oh, my God. The level of violence it takes to do that, that's horrific. He was wearing pantyhose over his arms and legs and a fencing mask straight out of a bad horror movie over his face. It really was out of a horror movie.

Urban Legends Final Cut was in theaters at the time with a fencing mask face killer that most likely gave him the idea. Oh, and that's the worst of the Urban Legends. What a loser. Like, fuck that shit. But fortunately, a couple of badass girls in the adjacent room heard the assault and immediately ran inside. One of them jumped on the attacker's back and he then fled the room and ran out the back steps to leave the house. What a badass. Yes. All three of these girls were freshmen around 18 years old and living away from home for the very first time.

As I mentioned earlier, school had not even started yet and they'd all just moved into the house that week. Wow. The man didn't seem to have a weapon at the time, but police later found T-shirts identified as belonging to girls in the house in the back stairwall that must have been methodically ripped into strips by a knife or scissors. Ew. He must have had plenty of time alone in the house without anyone noticing. That is so scary. That would fuck me up. How would you ever, like, feel safe again?

Truly. Liz was taken to the hospital and then went home to our parents to recover. She eventually came back to school later in the semester and did a man. amazingly well despite what happened. Wow. Some girls offered to move her belongings into a new room in the house so she wouldn't have to return to the same space. But she said it was okay and that she was fine.

Wow, good for her. That's a brave lady. There were no leads until about a month later when a 23-year-old man was stopped for suspicion of driving on a suspended license near campus. Police found reason to search his car and discovered duct tape, handcuffs, leg shackles, panty hose,

and a loaded pistol with the serial number filed off in his truck. Like, holy shit. The news article I will link below noted, according to the police department, the suspect lived in an apartment about five blocks from the sorority house where investigators found Ted Bundy memorabilia scattered around his room.

Ew. He had told his roommate that he was a law student, like Ted Bundy, at the university, but no records were found of his ever being enrolled. according to police at the age of 18 the suspect was tried and committed of charges that accused him of slashing the throat, wrist, and forearm of a woman. And he was acquitted? What?

Along with the Bundy memorabilia, a different news article stated he told people in his building that his name was Ted, even though it was not. What the fuck? Ew. As his truck was being searched by police, he was able to escape the back of the police car and flee while still wearing handcuffs. Shut the fuck. Which is all crying. Crying indeed.

And he was also like Ted Bundying by like escaping custody. Yeah. He was found and arrested the next day at the airport attempting to fly to Houston. Holy shit. Police believed this convicted felon was responsible for the attack on Liz. But there was not sufficient evidence to link him to the crime. Wow. His name was never released and no charges were filed.

Who knows how long they were able to keep him for escaping the police and a fire violation, but certainly not long enough. No way. I hate to think of the atrocities this garbage human committed from them on. Then on, listening to Morbid has taught us this wasn't the first or last time. He would cowardly attack innocent women.

Keep it weird, ladies, but not so weird you and your friends have to fight off a Ted Bundy impersonator with a murder kit stashed in his truck that may not be, but really should be put in jail for the rest of his pathetic life. Honestly, I'm horrified by that. That is so scary.

Like, truly horrified. And even just the way he like broke into a college, like, sorority? Oh, what the fuck? Just so many. He was literally doing the exact same thing. He was trying to, like, relive and, like, copycat his total crimes. Ew, what a fucking creeper. What a fucking loser.

That's disgusting. That's so scary. Oh, your poor friend getting her job broken. I know. Like, holy shit. Fuck that. Damn. Wow, those were some crazy listener tales, you guys.

We ended with a bang. It does. Dang. Yeah. Well, thank you so much for listening. We hope you keep listening. And we hope you keep it weird. But not to worry that when you try to film listener tales, the lawnmower people and the monloor people come and they ruin your whole fucking listener tails. But don't worry, we prevailed. It's fine. And you prevailed. And you should

send your listener tales in to morbidpodcast at gmail.com. Bye.