Morbid - Ricky Kasso: The Acid King

Episode Date: January 15, 2026

In the early summer of 1984, seventeen-year-old Gary Lauwers was murdered by his friend Richard “Ricky” Kasso in the small Long Island suburb of Northport, New York. Lauwers was stabbed more than thirty times in the attack and his body showed signs of what appeared to be torture. The death itself was shocking to the tiny community of Northport, but the details that emerged in the wake of Kasso’s arrest would shock the entire nation.ReferencesBreskin, Davkd. 1984. "Kids in the Dark." Rolling Stone, November 22.Cassidy, Jerry. 1984. "Cops say 2 teens sought corpses for satanic rites." Daily News, April 26: 352.Gruson, Lindsey. 1985. "L.I. jury acquits defendant in killing of youth in woods." New York Times, April 26: B2.—. 1985. "L.I. murder trial opens; confession is described." New York Times, April 5: B2.Maier, Thomas J., and Rex Smith. 1984. "2 teens arraigned in murder." Newsday (Suffolk edition), July 7: 3.McFadden, Robert. 1984. "Youth found hanged in L.I. cell after his arrest in ritual killing." New York Times, July 8: 1.Newsday. 1984. "Police reports; Grave robbing." Newsday (Suffolk Edition), April 25: 33.O'Neill, Jim, and Dennis Hevesi. 1984. "2 Northport youths charged in 'Satanic' killing of teen." Newsday (Suffolk edition), July 6: 3.Pollack, Jesse P. 2018. The Acid King.  New York, NY: Simon and Schuster. 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 Ash. And I'm Elena. And this is morbid. More bed. More of the bed. Here we are. Here we are. Sorry, my chair is making a really annoying noise.

Like, what else is new? But this one's new. Like, I told you guys last episode. So I don't know what that was, but I think I fixed it. You were probably just scooping against the side of the table. Yeah, you're going against the side of the table. Sorry. I can't stop moving.

Can't stop. Walking to the rhythm. It's true. Ash literally never stops moving. I've never seen someone get into more positions while telling a story. Like, legs down, legs up, legs crossed. You think I'd be thinner. Like, what the fuck. I love it. I love it too. I just love moving, grooving, and juvederming. I don't know. I don't even do juverderm. I thought it was going to rhyme, but it didn't. And it didn't even rhyme. I love it. Moving, grooving, and smoothing. My wring. There you go.

There you go. My wrinkle. You know what today is? I bet you can tell. I'm sure you can. It's fucking listener tales. Listener tales. Brought to you, buy you, for you, from you and all about you.

This one is not intentionally themed. No. It's just listener tales. Boop up. That's a theme. Boopop. It's just not a, it might. I feel like even the ones that aren't themed end up having a theme.

Always. You guys are in sync. We were just talking about how Insink our offices right now. Yeah, I am J.C. Chazé. What? Oh, Insincke. I was like, what? I said Mikey nod.

I'm Lance Bass then. I had the biggest crush on Lance Bass. And then it turns out neither of us were going to work out. Neither one of us were going to go for the other one. Nor. Nor. All right. So should we stat this listener tale?

Yeah, I just had to get into another position. You did? I just saw that happen. And you know what this one is called? It's apt. because I just said should we start this listen to tale. This first one is called Listen a tale. That's the subject of it.

Listen a tale. It says, ghost story from a mana. Ooh, why is there a ghost in my boyfriend's bed? Double space put a fuck. We love to see it. Why is there a ghost in your boyfriend's bed? In your boyfriend's bed. With your boyfriend.

There it is. You knew it was coming. I did. This one says, hello, you two wonderful humans. My name is Skyler. I like that name. I did you and I like how you spell it. And yes, you can use my name if you choose to read this on your podcast.

Thank you. Guess what I did. If you do, I may actually shart myself. You did it. I wish that was better. Hold on. There you go. The amount of bodily functions that people say happen if we read these out loud is quite

concerning. Concerning, but like I love it. But great, great. But yeah, just clean yourself up and we're ready to go. I usually listen to your podcast on my long commute to work or at work. Or I hope I have a, oh, whoa. So I hope I have a change of pants handy. That's insane.

I didn't even read this. JC, look at you. You and me are J.C. Shazette too, lady. Skyler, love you. Mean it. Hope you have a change of pants handy. If you do so choose to read this, you can use all the other names in this as well. I want to say that I am a person who hates silence.

And you're beautiful, that's very foreign to me. And your beautiful banter in well-written episodes fill the gross silence void in my life. So thank you for everything that you do. We all love you. Now on to the story. That was really nice of you. That really was.

So nice. Thank you. Oh, you have to say rural. Rural Jor-Rour. The story takes place in rural Maine. I'm talking moose country. Ooh, Elena's Inn. I am so jealous right now.

Do you understand that it is my one purpose on this fucking planet to see a moose, my one purpose. I know, I've never seen a moose either. I haven't lived it yet. No. I haven't lived my one true purpose. I'm almost scared to live that purpose because there's nothing that tops that to me. I saw a black bear this summer across the street. It was cray cray, and then he was just like in someone's front lawn. Yeah, black bears are like, whoa. Like that's a bear. They're thickums McGee. But nothing. Nothing as thick as a moose. And I mean, nothing will beat seeing a moose go charging down the street. I know. Are there like a lot of moose? Yeah, they're just like, They're all over.

Yeah, why don't we see them that frequently? Well, we don't have them. Well, but I know, but we go to places that have them. That's true. Come on out, Moose. Come on, Moose. Well, you know what? Skylar's talking Moose County, country.

Yehaw, not a lot of reception main. That's what it's called. Moose country, yehaw, not a lot of reception main. Have you ever been there? I almost got moved there. Do you recall? I do remember that. Where there's quite literally nothing to do other than hunt, hike, boat, or fish.

You want to go shopping? Okay. Maybe the next time. Downover has a dollar store. That's what you get. But hey, I love my state and rural Maine nonetheless. Look at you. I know. My boyfriend Matt and I began dating in late February of 2022 and we fell hard. I love love. I'm talking holy guacamole hard. Oh my God. That's so cute. We moved in together shortly after, what do you call it? U-Haul. And have been living together ever since. We have now been through, we have now been through now three different rentals together. Damn, look at you guys.

When I first met Matt, he was renting a very old log cabin on a lake with two of his other best friends. And they loved it there. A log cabin on a lake? That's pretty dope. With your two best friends. What more could you want? They would wake up on weekends and go walk out onto the lake to go ice fishing immediately. It was a dream.

That sounds like a nightmare to me, but I'm so glad that he was living a dream. Now, this cabin was old. I'm talking built ages ago old old, old. It was a peaceful, small, and homey one. But something always felt off. could say. Now my boyfriend and his friends had already been living there for six-ish months before I came into the equation and some happenings had definitely occurred at the cabin during that time. They would joke about the happenings, but deep down I knew they were scared,

unwilling to admit it because they're manly men, blah, blah. But they were definitely bothered deep down and didn't especially like being in this cabin alone. And that says something. The first sleepover I ever had with my boyfriend at this cabin was on a beautiful quiet night. Matt and I, Matt had a bedroom in the second story of the cabin with a big window right by his bed that gave you a view right out onto the lake. Ooh, that sounds beautiful. I know. I can see it. And I remember just staring out and admiring the moon, highlighting the snow-dusted frozen lake. Oh my goodness, Skyler? You know what's crazy actually is this kind of sounds. I think the movie was called Black Bear with Aubrey Plaza. Remember I told you about the glass deer? I didn't see it. It was like a cabin in the woods on a lake. It sounds like this. Black bears. Weird. You know. I think that's a little. I think that. That's what it's called anyway. Matt quickly went into a deep slumber as he falls asleep quicker than a bat out of hell.

Same. And I began to try to sleep as well. But it was my first night with him and I was doing the usual giddy stuff. Am I too close? Am I making him too warm? Does he like me as much as I like him? Oh my God. Oh my God.

Remember that just like in the beginning and you just have all the butterflies? You know, anxiety shit. Anywho, around midnight I heard steps going up and down and up and down the stairs. Slow, creaky steps. I didn't think much of it at the time. because I didn't know about any of the other happenings yet that I would learn about later. I thought maybe it was one of his roommates,

but why on earth were they just repeatedly going up and down the stairs past midnight? Odd. Very, very odd. It was my first night sleeping there, so I just shrugged it off, and I was also a little weirded out. Not going to lie. Fast forward to a couple weeks later,

I said something about it to my boyfriend, wondering if one of the roommates likes to get a stair workout in the late at night or something, L.O.L. He jokingly, but not so jokingly, said, oh yeah, that's Betty. And pointed to a picture they had taken off the wall that was now leaning against the wall on the floor and facing inwards towards the wall. So I could only see the back of the picture frame. I think that's the whole problem here. Betty put her back up. Betty's like, put my ass back on that wall. She said, you've seen me? Who are you? I'm a beauty of Betty. I looked at him blankly for a moment while internally thinking, excuse me who? In real life, I said, what do you mean, Betty? I instantly got the shivers. I got up, grabbed the frame, and turned it around to look at the picture.

It was a fuzzy old photo containing a little girl and a white dress, creepily staring into the distance and holding a balloon. You mean Elena's home artwork? Holy shit. That's awesome. No, thank you, says Skyler. Yeah, Skyler's like, that's not awesome. Matt went on to say that Betty was the name they had given the little girl in the picture,

that they definitely had not felt alone at the cabin since they moved in, and the other two roommates have had paranormal experiences, but that he hadn't had that experience yet. Not much came with the cabin, but that picture of that little girl did. So the two other roommates that had those paranormal experiences decided it had to be her. My boyfriend went on to restate

that he hadn't experienced anything yet and that he felt lucky. He told me the other two roommates had experienced multiple stints of doors slamming when they're alone and footsteps going up and down the stairs. Now that sounded familiar. I looked at Matt dead in the eyes and my heart sank to my butt.

the literal first night I had stepped at the cabin, I had heard the same footsteps. Good Lord. Now when my boyfriend said he hadn't had an experience with Betty yet, I knew he was in for one soon. It's that sort of feeling you get when you know someone is jinxing themselves. I could just picture little white dress Betty listening in on our conversation and going, oh boy, here I come. I know she's like a little girl too. Yeah, just rubbing her hands together, plotting as soon as those words left Matt's mouth. She's going to mess with you.

I quickly changed the conversation as I didn't especially want my boyfriend to have a Betty experience. That stuff is a fat no-thanksies. About a week later, I was spending the night at my parents' house, a good two hours away. Matt and I sent our goodnight text. I love that you are holy guacamole in love. I know. And snoozed it away. The next day went by fast, and that evening I was back at the cabin about to eat dinner with Matt. We sat down to eat and he said to me, I think I was visited by Betty last night. I immediately thought to myself, oh, good heavens above, here we go. I asked him to tell me about what happened.

He quickly began to tell me the events that unfolded in his bedroom the night before. Matt told me the night went on like normal at first. He went upstairs, shut his door, cozyed in a bed, and went to sleep. Around maybe three in the morning, Dun dun dun. Witching hour. He was awoken by steps going up and down and up and down the stairs. He was half asleep at the time so he could barely register what was going on.

He just assumed it was one of his roommates, you know, the stairmaster roommate. He then half opened his eyes and realized a bright light. was shining into his room. Now this shouldn't be happening as his room is always pitch dark. It's like that that shouldn't be happening in the middle of the night. No, no.

This light was coming from a night light in the bathroom at the end of the hall, shining directly into his room. In order for this light to be reaching his room, his bedroom door had to be open. Now that's funny, he thought, because he definitely closed his door before he went to bed.

He always does. Just as he had mentally registered his door being open, it creeped open a little more. And more light shone into his room. He felt to be, a breeze by the end of his bed, the kind of breeze you feel when someone is briskly walking by you. He could hear the floorboards creaking as someone was moving around his bed to the empty side

that he was not occupying. No, no, no, no, no. In his sleepy mind, he thought, did Skyler travel all the way back here in the night to surprise me in bed? How sweet. Oh, sweet, sweet summer child. I was going to say, you naive, naive boy. How sweet. But then he thought, no way, it's too late.

and she's two hours away at her parents. Is one of my buddies playing a prank on me? But then he thought, no way, it's too late again. He began to become paralyzed with fear. Who could it be? Who was in his room? Suddenly to the other side of him, the bed sank in as if it was bearing the weight of another body.

Goodbye. And he could hear the crinkling of the blankets as the mattress caved in under the pressure of whatever weight was now on top of it. No. He was rolled over facing the opposite wall, unable to see what was possibly causing this. He noted the presence did not feel human to him, but it did not feel vicious.

He was still too scared to move, but he knew he had to. Everything about this situation was off. A few minutes later, after laying there and analyzing the situation and feeling the weight of whatever was next to him, he decided he needed to turn over. With the count of three, he quickly turned his body in bed, ready to face whatever was laying next to him. Upon turning, nothing was there. This made no sense to him as he felt the press. in the weight in the bed just a few seconds ago. Shortly after he turned over,

he heard creaking of the floorboards going down the stairs. Whatever was in his bed now seemed to be going downstairs and somewhere else in the cabin. What the fuck? He let out a big sigh of relief that even though there was something there before, it was at least no longer in his freaking bed, but he did not feel alone still.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling, scared to go back to bed. He got up, closed the door, and decided there was nothing he could do about any of this. So he just went back to bed. Although not even, easily this time. Okay. At least there's that. In the back of his mind, he knew he had just had his first experience with Betty. Far worse than what anyone else is living in the house had been, though. Yeah. When Matt told me this story, I was an utter shock and fear for him. I think I quite

literally would have wet the bed, then packed my tings and noped right out of there if I was in this situation. Retweet. I knew as soon as he had told me he had never had an experience with Betty, that one was on the way for him. I could feel her plotting as soon as he told me he hadn't had an experience. She's like, I don't want anyone to feel left out. Some ghosts are just funny. He-he-s-silly like that. But I could never have assumed she would cook up something like this. Betty was working. She's like, well, fuck, I never knew Betty was so wily. I didn't know what Betty was capable of. I could have never known she was cooking up something so crazy. Getting into bed with my man. Getting into bed with my man.

Betty. I don't threaten. The going up and down the stairs and slamming doors, harmless. Getting into bed with my man's, girl, you crazy? I hadn't even run that part yet. Now you're insane. My poor boyfriend was a little on edge sleeping for a while after this. I can't say I blame him. Me either. Anyways, keep it weird, but not so weird you remind a little ghostly gal that you haven't had experienced her wrath yet like your friends. Skyla.

Oh, there's a little bit more. Oh, there is? Like your friends have. So she decides to play a fun game of let me climb into bed and have a quick snuggle with you at 3 a.m. Bye. Oh, thank you. That cut off for some reason for me. Skyler.

Silly computer. A ghost gal tried to get with your mans. How do you feel about that? How do you feel about that? Sorry, I nicknamed you. We named you Sky. We named your name is Sky now. That was a really good one. That was such a good one.

Do you want to vamp for like a quick sec? Yeah, I put this one into a little dock because I'm blind. Look at me. I'm vamping. Skyler. This was recent. This was in January that you sent this. Oh, really?

I hope that you're still holy guacamole in love. And I hope you remain holy guacamole in love forever and always. I also hope that. And I hope that your life is beautiful and that Betty is the flower girl. at your wedding. I think that would be beautiful, but instead, a flower, she should throw balloons at people. There you go. She likes balloons. Just like unblown-up balloons, just like whacking people in the face. I love it. I think it's great. People are like, are these balloons? What is this? It can get weird. All right. My next one is called, or my first one, I guess, for this installment,

is called That Time I Got Kidnapped While on Vacation. A Listener Tale. Oh, that one. You're not really burying the lead. Hey, weirdos. I just want to start off by saying you guys are the real chesticles. Hell yeah. Hell yeah. Thank you. A friend at work recommended your podcast to me when I mentioned my love of true crime. And now there are four of us that are obsessed. I love you.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. That was really cute. You, Jordan. We are constantly discussing cases and having our minds blown together and it's fucking awesome. Anyway, my name is Jordan.

and I'm from Weatherford, Texas. I'm 24 years old and I'm a photographer. I usually blur music when I'm doing a shoot, but the whole time I just can't wait to be able to sit down at my desk so I can listen to Morbid while I edit pictures. I love that. Thank you. I hope you guys enjoy my first of many listener stories

because, guys, I have a ton. Hell yeah. Well, in 20, oh, this is the second time we've heard about Disney Cruises today. In 2014, my family decided to take a Disney cruise, wait for the shutter on Elena. There you go. Because we are serious Disney freaks. Me too, Jordan.

Oh my God. Like I said, I'm from Texas, but my aunt and my uncle on my mom's side, my mom's older brother and his wife, moved to Florida to live 20 minutes next to Disney World. I mean, Disney World is cool and all, but like, damn, guys, it's not that great, but whatever. So naturally, we were always taking Disney vacations of some kind. My favorites happen to be Disney cruises, which is like a million times better than walking around a crowded theme park for $400 a ticket. Standing in line for three hours to ride a kitty ride, yeah, true.

And spending $100 on two chicken strips that comes with four fries and a teeny tiny coke, but to each their own. True. I've been on five Disney cruises throughout my life, but let me tell you, I never expected this vacation to turn into this. Ooh. My mom has two brothers. The oldest one is the one who moved to Florida because his wife wanted to live next to Disney World. And she was the one that is 10 years younger than her and 10 years older than me. He passed away five years ago

and he was like my big brother. Literally was my best friend on the planet. I'm sorry. He was six, seven, skinny and so handsome. Oh, that sounds like my thing. It certainly does. He was the funniest person I have ever met. Anyway, I really relate to Ash on the whole shit mom thing.

So she happened to be in prison at the time of this crew. So it was just my little sister, both my uncles, my aunt, my cousins, and my Grammy. My uncle and I used to have been huge potheads. It made my Grammy crazy. We were always on her shit list. and as we would often leave for hours while visiting Florida to find us some weed until I finally figured out I could go on Tinder and look for people that say 420 friendly in their bio and that made it

much easier. Wow. Honestly, that's like, that's on some G shit. So naturally, when we booked the cruise and Grammy let us have our own room, we were pumped. So fast forward to the day that we ported in Nassau Bahamas, also known as Atlantis. We slept in that morning and woke up to find out everyone had already gone to the beach and were back in their room. for a nap. So we decide that all we wanted to do was go lay on the beach and drink. That's literally all we wanted to do. That is not what we wanted. Spoilerly. That's what we wanted, but that's not what

happened. We got off the boat and we were immediately bombarded with 10 to 15 natives surrounding us, begging us to take their tour. We weren't very interested until one of them mentioned a smoking tour. We were in. We discussed him taking us to the beach, but on the way, smoking and enjoying some sightseeing. We were stoked. I go to the ATM and pull out $300 and give it to this man. And my uncle tells me he really wants me to rent a moped scooter and he's just going to follow the car. Big mistake.

I'm sitting in this guy's front seat in front of a moped stand watching my uncle talk to the tour guide. After a minute, the guy walks around and gets in the driver's seat. I expect we're going to just wait until my uncle is ready and then we all take off together. Wrong. Oh. He gets in and just drive.

vibes away. Oh my God. That's terrifying. I look in the rearview mirror and I see my uncle turn around and start yelling and freaking out. Mind you, all we planned on doing was going to the beach, so I have nothing with me. Oh my God. No purse, no phone. I'm wearing nothing but a bikini. I'm terrified. I'm terrified. Same. I'm so scared I'm going to piss this guy off by asking too many questions. So I just ask, um, are we not going to wait for my uncle? He replies, oh, didn't you see us talking? He's going to meet us there. Little backstory on my uncle. We grew up in a very wealthy family, and you know sometimes when a kid is rich and bored that turns into a drug habit. He was a super smart guy, but I knew for a fact he didn't know where anything was and wasn't going to be able to figure out where we were

going even with directions. So the tour guide asks me to get his weed from the glove box and starts rolling me a blunt after blunt after blunt with one hand. Damn. I got to say, I was kind of impressed. I'm same. I can't even do it with two. Same. So I'm worried now if I refuse. I'll piss this giant dude off. So I just light it up. Oh my God, I'm so scared for you. I'm really scared for you. Mama, that is vitamin A, vitamin B,

vitamin T, H and C, and also a little bit more. Yeah, I'm scared for you. Like I said, I was a huge pothead and I have been on a cruise for three days and haven't smoked. So if I needed to calm down, it would be right now.

So I finished the blunt by myself, damn, girly. And I'm really starting to think this situation about the situation. That's what I started thinking about this situation. One blunt deep. And I start to feel super nauseated. After driving around for what feels like hours, I ask him where we're going.

His answer is, you're so beautiful. You should be taken to the secluded nude beach we have here. No one will be able to see us. You don't have a boyfriend, do you? No. I have to go. I say, uh, no, but my uncle will be looking for me. I'd rather just go back and find him.

No, just say yes. Oh, we say yes. He then makes an abrupt stop in front of an ATM and says, I need $300 more. Oh my God. Oh, no. So I reluctantly get out and take out more money and give it to him. He then gets super happy and says, I need a beer. Do you want one? And I said, sure, I could drink a beer. He then pulls into a little grocery store and goes inside. I'm looking around and I have no idea where I'm at, but anywhere would be better than this cringy, shit-smelling creeper car right now. Oh, my God. So I jump out and just start running. Hell yeah. I ran and I ran as fast as I could in my flip-flops. Oh my God, you're

stoned out of your face too, running and flip flops and a bikini. Like, Lord. I don't know what Guardian Angel was giving me directions in my mind, but somehow I managed to get back to the stand where we signed up for the tour. Wow. That's impressive. That's insane. Like, damn.

Really. I'm crying at this point because I literally despise any kind of physical activity, retweet. And I just got kidnapped and I'm probably still in shock. But I run and ask one of the, excuse me, but I run up and one of the guys asks me if I'm okay and that I looked white as a sheet. At this point, the boat was about to leave us. We had an hour until we left. I asked if they knew where my uncle was and they said they didn't know. I told them that if they saw him to tell him, I'll be in our room on the ship. I go back to our room and just sit on the bed and I cry. The boat is moving at that point. I'm not sure where my dumb

out, oh, excuse me, I'm not sure why my dumb ass didn't tell anyone, but I honestly didn't think it would make a difference. The boat's leaving. When it leaves, it waits for no one. That's like literally true. I'm very stressed out. The boat, like when we went to Bermuda with Drew's family, if you're not back on. If you're not back on, they don't give a shit. Yeah, they're not going to do roll call. Like, you're either there or you're not. Yeah. So a few minutes pass and I'm bawling and I have no idea what to do. Suddenly the door opens and it's my uncle who is uncontrollably crying. He's covered in blood and scraped and his clothes are torn to shreds. He sees me and instantly grabs me and hugs me for a long time. Finally, he lets go and asks, what the fuck has? What? He's happened to you. I explain everything that happened and then return the question. Now what the fuck happened to you? He explains that when the car took off, he tried to take the scooter to chase us without paying for it and wrecked it because he didn't know how to drive it, which is hilarious to me now and does not surprise me at all. They made him come back with them to the repair shop and pay for all the repairs and made him walk the 10 miles back. What? Once he made it to the tour guide stand,

they told him that I was in our room. He was so relieved but knew we needed to get some weed after this horrible day that we had. So he found a guy selling weed on the street. Wow, priorities. After he buys it, the guy pretends to be an undercover cop and throws his hands and handcuffs. He tells him that he's not unlocking them until he gives him the Rolex off of his wrist. So, of course, he gives it to him and he lets him go. That night, we waited until 3 a.m. to roll up a joint and head to the smoking section.

It was a nice reward after this shit whole day. The next day, we tell our crazy tale in the smoking section while enjoying a cigarette. A few hours later we return and one of the couples is telling us this crazy story about a couple that left the boat and the girl got kidnapped because the guy wrecked a scooter and got arrested and we were like, yeah, that was us. We never did make it to the beach, but we definitely had a crazy story to tell. I basically paid $600 just to get kidnapped and run a few miles. Wow. That was the last vacation we ever took together and I love telling any story that includes him, but that one is my favorite. Oh my God, I love it.

Thank you so much for reading my story. are maze balls. Don't forget to keep it weird, bitches. Love y'all. Your uncle loved you so much. So much. He jumped on a scooter. It was just like, I'm coming to get you. He was like, I, do you think you would hop on a moped for me, Elena? I would. That's good. I would do that for you too. But that's some love. That is lir. That is some love. Oh my goodness. Oh, man. I love this so much. All right, let's look. We have, oh, we have two tales from one listening. A two for one. This one is called listener tales from a psychic stripper.

I'm obsessed. And there's two listener tales. After I wrote the first and mentioned the second, I knew that you would just say, send it in. Yeah, we would. Good. I love that people are now doing that. So the title implies I am a former stripper, current psychic, and these are a couple of my brushes with true crime. Add it with a little paranormal.

I hope you all enjoy them. I will. I love that. And her name is Jewel. Ooh, pretty. Let me open the first one. I had to take out a cough drop And I apologize if you heard that

I was like, what do you doing? I was just spitting it into my hand And putting it into a wrapper Cute It's so I don't cough in your ears You know? It's kind I'm just thinking of you guys

That's all Throat coat, it's really good Throat coat, it's really good Throat coat, huh? Yeah, it works I love throat coat Listener tale The time my neighbor was murdered

And I should have known Because I'm a psychic Wow Failing All right, hello ladies I love the podcast And I'm so glad I found it I love to listen to you ladies and watching you grow as creators has been really amazing.

Thank you. I have laughed and cried with you both as your lives have expanded and changed over the last few years and feel like we are family. Oh my God, I'm going to cry right now. Like God, you are family. So like true family, you now get to hear about the craziness that I experienced in my younger life. You can call me Jewel and it's okay that you say my name because I changed it. And I've changed the name of everyone else or just didn't include them. I can't.

You're a G. So to give you a little background about me, my life has been unique to say the least. As the title says, I'm a psychic. And sometimes I get feelings or I just know stuff that I have no reason to know. Gift or curse. I would say both. By the end of this story, you will decide. At the time that this happened, I was also a stripper.

Don't at me, bro. I was 21 and getting money, yo. Good for you. Do what you got to do, girlfriend. Pop off, sister. It was about 2007 at this time and everyone was in love with a stripper. I'm in love with a stripper. My sister and I were roommates and we moved into an apartment building near

the strip club that I worked at so I could be closer. This was in Minnesota. As soon as we moved in, nothing strange happened. We lived on the third floor, and we were queens of the night. I love that. We rarely ever saw our neighbors. When we did, it was in the laundry room. It was on the first floor and the whole building shared it.

A true pain in the ass. Either way, we almost always saw the same lady there. She also lived on the third floor at the end of the hall and had two kids. The boy was maybe 10, the girl was maybe five. The little girl would sometimes come and knock on our door Because she loved our two cats We would always let her in And she would chatter away

About how she loved cats and wanted one too She would pet and play with them Her mom would then come and get her Her mom was a really petite lady With frizzy hair and thick glasses Very quiet At some point I started noticing That there was a white entity

At the end of the hallway It was just this bright white light I knew that it was a lady angel And I knew it was there to protect something I didn't realize what it was though I just got chills I never tried to ask her why she was there. I was always too afraid. I told my sister and my friend Ivy about it. Ivy was another dancer at the club with me. She would stay with us on the weekend to be closer to work, so she was there almost every weekend. At first I would tell her the angel is there again. The crazy thing was we literally had to walk by it to go down the stairs. We would both be talking about it and I could feel the calming presence as we walked by. That's beautiful. I love that. After a while, it was a little. It was a while. It was a little. for so long, I just didn't question it anymore. I just knew that it was there and I felt safe.

I thought that maybe it was because we were strippers, you know, protecting us from the creeps that may follow us home or whatever. Ivy, my sister and I had several conversations about it. It was there for at least six months and maybe longer. One day, Ivy and I were on our way to work and we were chatting as we headed out the door. As we walked by the ladies' apartment door, there was a brown smear at the bottom of the door. It almost looked like a handprint. For some reason, that we were chatting. didn't really register to me. I smoked a lot of pot back in the day, and I think I might have been stoned.

A theme has emerged. Later when I was at work, my sister called me to let me know that the cops were at our house because the lady down the hall had been murdered. Oh, shit. And she's a mom. Her terrible boyfriend had beat her in the head

with some type of hammer. Oh, my God. It was Mother's Day. And her kids came home with their grandma to be dropped off at home to find their mother bludgeoned to death on the bed. Oh, my God. Such a tragedy.

Yeah. I told Ivy, and we then talked about the brown smear on the door that was more than likely her blood. She had also seen it, and it then registered that it was probably a smeared bloody handprint. Once I got home, it was a full-on crime scene. Yellow tape everywhere, no one was allowed in the building. I was questioned before they allowed me in the building, and then again to even get to my apartment. I don't remember when I put two and two together about the angel, but many years later, I now realize that it was protecting that lady and her kids because of her boyfriend

and maybe trying to let me know something was going to happen there. And in my gut, I know it. No one else could see that angel except for me. I've told people things that I knew before, but some never believed me or took my advice anyways. I was just a weird stripper girl that smoked a ton of weed. Maybe not the most reliable source, L.O.L. In my opinion, the most reliable source.

Either way, nothing like this has happened to me again. and now I trust my gut a lot better. But many mother's days have passed and I think of those kids and the mother that they lost. Oh, that's awful. Anyways, I'm not sure if this will make it to a listener tale episode, but maybe you two can read it for yourselves. Or everyone else.

Hell yeah. I also have a story about giving lap dances to a possible killer. Pretty strange indeed, L.O.L. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you are too scared to tell a lady that a guardian angel is posted by her door and then she gets murdered because you didn't know why the angel was there. Bye. Oh, that's so sad.

That's so sad. That's crenching. Oh, good. You did include that one. All right. Okay, I'm glad that. Listener tale number two, the time I gave a lap dance to a possible murder. Wow. Hey, weirdos. I decided to just send the second one at the same time. I'm a huge procrastinator, and if I don't do it now, I'll never do it. I love you. I know someone out there understands, we all do. The first listener tale has been saved on my computer since last Mother's Day. And after listening to the Yorkshire Ripper episode, I knew it was my time to send those in. I just wanted to say thank you for always portraying the sex workers in your cases in a positive light. So many times they are treated as forgotten or less dead by the police or press. As someone who worked in the sex industry for many years, I've seen too many times firsthand what it feels like to be treated badly because the job I did at the time or I did in the past. People don't forget.

You both make it a point to portray these women as exactly what they are, beautiful human beings. You almost made me want to cry. Oh, my goodness. I want to give you a hug. I do too. Air hug. Now that I got that last sappy bit out of the way, on with the story. So after my neighbor was brutally murdered, my sister and I moved out of that.

place. Good idea. Along with everyone else in the building. I started to work in South Dakota and see what other strip clubs had to offer. Turns out, I liked the country strip clubs where they let me take shots with the customers while I was on stage. Fun fact. Those country boys liked it too and they tipped me more.

Win, win, win, win. For the record, I never fell off the stage or the pole while I was hanging upside down drunk. I was a true professional. Yeah, you were. Get it, girl. I love you. You're an icon. Anyways, one of the regulars to the club had a history.

I was told the story as soon as we started to work there because some of the girls avoided this guy like the plague. Allegedly, he was a murderer who had gotten away with it. I basically ignored all this. I love that. Yeah, I'm not going to be anything. You're like, I really don't have time for that. Whatever.

He always bought lap dances with the black girls and I am a black girl. I walked up to him and offered him a lap dance. He said yes that time and every other time I asked for five years. He became one of my regular customers until the time that I retired from dancing. If a guy becomes your regular for that amount of time, you talk about a lot of different things. I have a hard time believing this guy is a murderer. But then again, people don't always say that when a murderer is caught.

The guy was so polite and friendly. He was quiet, never got drunk or handsy that I can remember. Some strip clubs let you touch the girls and some did not. This one did not let you touch the girls. And a lot of guys still tried to cop a feel. Fuck those guys. In my eyes, he was a true gentleman and never made me feel uncomfortable. He had told me his wife passed away, but never.

elaborated. In fact, after I stopped dancing, I got a regular job, quote unquote, where I also ran into him. He was always nice and polite, never blew my cover and told people I used to be a stripper, which I greatly appreciated. Fast forward to about a year ago. I still live in the same town as that strip club. I met a guy in the club and fell in love. Oh my God, that's beautiful. I love that. I love that so much. I moved here and we have now been together 11 years and have three kids. A swoon Magoon. That holy guacamole. Holy. Holy. Holy, holy, a book came out about the murders that my regular supposedly did oh no after never looking into the crime i bought the book and could not believe it oh god supposedly he murdered his wife and two young sons while they slept in their beds he was put on trial

and the jury decided he was innocent well shit but there are so many strange things in the case that point to him either way i couldn't finish the book because i felt guilty for defending him for years if he did do it and guilty for wondering if he really did it if he wasn't a murderer. You don't have to feel guilty. You did nothing. Also, it's still unsolved and it happened in the 1980s.

After listening to my first tale about being a psychic, you probably wonder why I don't know who did do this murder. I only know what the universe wants me to know. I guess on this, I am left to wonder. That was beautiful.

That must, like, suck. Because you, like, you said, you know things that you don't want to know. And then it's like, but you want to know this. I'm like, I wish there was a way for you to know. Like you're blessed with information.

that you want to know maybe sometimes, but then you're cursed with the information you don't want to know. It's like you said, it's a gift and a curse. Yeah. So if you made it through both of these, thank you. I love you both and can't wait to see what you have in store for us next. Keep it weird, my friends. And may the universe bless you with all the great and spooky things that your heart's desire.

Wow. Jewel, I fucking love you. I just went, wom. Whom. In like a kind way. You're fucking great. And holy shit. I want to know what that case is.

I know. But maybe I can like. narrow it down perhaps i'm not really sure but you did nothing wrong you were just he came off like a gentleman oh he was nice to you he was like very normal it sounds like you didn't do anything wrong yeah i think you're fine but holy shit that first one about the mom i know that was so sad i don't understand people i really don't me either this one has a wild title this is called when a serial killer left a post-it note on my forehead. Wow. Which like we are in sync, guys, because I was just talking about the burger

post-it in the last episode. There you go. Sorry, I can't. Don't. Don't hate me. We do. We do. We do. Hello, you beautiful, brilliant, bombastic bitches. Bombastic. I like that. I would have continued the alliteration, but I couldn't find B-words for funny. We're bashful. I'm not going to gush about how much I love your podcast and that I read The Butcher in the Run in one night, missed my morning dental appointment, Oh my God, I love you. So I'm just going to say, you guys are fucking awesome. You're fucking awesome.

You are too. Anyway, this read may seem long and, oh, boring. But it has a killer ending. Seriously. If you read this during a listener till episode, I will probably pass out and have to replay it. Wake up. I hope you're near a soft surface. Some smelling salts.

What is it? To wake out. Oh. I didn't know what I was like. What? So, for the purpose of this crazy-ass mind-fucking share, please call me Edward. Hi, Edward. Hey, Edward. Although, my name never comes up again. My friends who listen to your podcast will recognize the story, but I don't want to make any new friends. I feel that. People can get

fucking weird. Yeah. Tell me about it. Yeah, we know. Yeah, I know. Yeah, I was going to elaborate, and then I was like, let me not. Let me not. And this is just the story to bring the not, the not the good kind of weird folks crawling all over my email and social media and shit. Maybe I'm paranoid. Nah. Nah. Anyway, it was, oh, it's the 80s. It's the early mid-80s, two years after I had moved from the Big Apple to Los Angeles to be with the man of my dreams and pursue a career in film promotion.

Well, that dream melted like a damn cake in MacArthur Park. He left L.A. to start his own fashion label in San Francisco, and the film industry went on strike. Bullshit. I was single, had a decent paying temp job, and ready to mingle. Somewhat relevant historical note. AIDS wasn't yet known as AIDS and was being called the gay cancer. Oh my God.

Yes, it was during that time that I was sowing my oats, so to speak. Wow. I'm lucky to be alive for more than one reason. Yep. Oh, boy. I cannot believe that they used to call it that. The gay cancer. Fucked up thing.

Oy. Wow. I was hanging out at Studio 1 in circus disco and enjoying the eye candy on Santa Monica Boulevard. Sorry, New York. L.A. men are far more hunkolish. One evening, a couple of guys visiting from San Diego started chatting me up. They were witty and charming and flirted shamelessly, but neither were my type. But we were having so much fun, we agreed to get together on their next visit.

A week later, Mani and Lewis called and they said they were in town with a friend. Would I mind if they crashed at my place? I had a spare room and a comfy couch, so I said, sure. Cue for boating music. Dun, done, when they came by and I first laid eyes on their friends, I knew I was in trouble. He was dark, exotic, sexy, and had a knockout smile and eyes I would have written bad checks for. He would have written bad checks for? His name was Drew De Silva. Drew.

Drew. We love a Drew, except not this one. I already feel that we don't. Yeah, I feel like this is not going to be a great Drew. Yeah. Lewis saw the sparks and whispered in my ear, he's a bad boy in all the best ways. Lewis is a true friend. Lewis is a true friend.

I was smitten. This is literally a movie. I love this. movie. Over drinks, his friend totally spilled the tea on Drew, who was dancing shirtless to do you think I'm sexy? And smiling in my direction. I'm so obsessed with this. This is iconic. This is so like 80s. Oh, 100%. Drew was independently wealthy, having inherited millions from his grandfather. Oh, Drew. Sounds interesting. He dabbled in Spock. He dabbled in Spock's. He dabbled in stocks and owned several hair salons.

He has the magic touch with money, Manny confided. Mani and Lewis. Yeah, I fucking love them. No matter. I was enchanted. Yes, a part of me doubted the story. But I quickly and brutally bludgeoned the rational part of my blame with alcohol and my lurid imagination. The only way to live.

Hours later, we all dragged into my apartment above Sunset Boulevard. Manny and Lewis closed the guest bedroom door behind them. Drew wasn't ready for bed and with his shirt still tucked in his back pocket. He moved around my living room. looking closely at my books, my artwork, and even turned over a candy dish to look at the bottom. Monix, nice. He approved. This is literally a movie.

I'm watching this in my head. So am I. You're writing this like incredibly. Wow. I just, I believe it, but I can't believe it. The rational part of my brain was still bound, gagged, and unconscious. As Drew dropped on the couch and had patted the seat beside him, he motioned to the gas fireplace and asked if it worked.

I nodded and he turned it on. Wow. Set in the scene. The conversation seemed to focus. More in my personal details. New York, my family, career goals, blah, blah, blah. He didn't appear to be listening. In fact, I felt like a bug under a microscope being studied by an entomologist.

How much would you pay for a kiss right now? Before I could respond, he planted one on me. I loved the way you said that. How much would you pay for a kiss right now? It just came to me. Like, how else do you say that? This is amazing. How much would you pay for a kiss right now?

I feel like he was trying to be like sexy about it. No, oh, I know. You know. Like, I can't say that sexy. Let me try. No, I can't. No. Let me try. Your way was better.

How much would you pay for a kiss right now? There you go. I don't like it. I love it. I just loved the axe I chose to go with. I made him like, I don't even know. He was like a carnival. He was like, how much do you pay for a kiss right now?

Step on up. We're a kiss right now. Step on up. How much can he kiss? Before I could respond, he planted one on me. Consent. Let's just say, yeah, consent. Let's just say there would have been bounced checks a plenty before morning.

Oh. As we say in New York, oi. I woke up. I love you. I woke up in my bed to the sound of my apartment door banging shut. Shit. I had promised the guy's breakfast and, wait a second. My forehead felt weird.

I reached up and pulled off a yellow post-it note. Sleeping Beauty, call me. Drew, sent a note. Oh, my God. and had a San Diego phone number on it. I jumped out of bed to find that they had all left. Manny and Lewis had left a post-it note too. Thanks, and you're welcome.

I fucking love this. I happened to notice my wallet on the floor and panicked. To my surprise, there was a crisp Ben Franklin tucked inside and another post-it note. I needed the change, thanks. Whatever had been in my wallet, maybe $30 was gone. Wow. Wow.

Damn. I smiled until my face hurt. It took me three days to discuss. My candy dish was missing. What the fuck? What? I pulled his phone number off the fridge and crumpled it up. Just fuck, fuck, fuck. I owed my rational brain an apology, some bandages, and a game of word search. Several years later, I was in a relationship with a cat named Spooky. A healthy one.

In a healthy relationship, excuse me. And studying to be a family therapist. Oh, go you. Watching the news one evening, a familiar face flashed on the screen and my heart dropped. It was the guy who stole my candy dish. Only he was in far worse trouble. No. His name?

Oh, no. Andrew Cunanan. Oh, no. Yes, the Andrew Cunanan who killed his boyfriend before going on a murderous rampage across the country and before gunning down Gianni Versace on the steps of his Florida home and then committing suicide on someone's houseboat. That Andrew Cunan, holy hellfire. I am shook. Oh, my God. What?

My first reaction, after the disbelief, I threw up. I don't blame you. Nope. When my hand stopped shaking, I called my mom. I didn't mention anything about Drew. I just wanted to hear her voice and tell her that I loved her. Oh. She thought it was sweet of me to call, but she was in the middle of having a bunion shave off her foot.

Yeah, perspective is everything. So, my pretties. That is the tale of when I had a serial killer stick, a post-it note on my forehead. Oh, God. So keep it weird, but not so weird that you let a killer smile bludgeon in your instincts and have somebody study you like a bug. You wind up with a sticky note on your face, $100 in your wallet and a missing candy dish.

Oh my God. I have more stories about apparitions, orbs, messages from spirit, and ghostly encounters if you'd like to hear them. Love you. Yes. Of course I would like to hear them. Send them.

I'd like to hear them so much. Oh, my goodness. That is wild. Also, I can see your little picture and you're the cutest little nugget. The cutest nugget. Wow. That's wild.

Edward. Edward. I I'm speechless. Like that was a movie with such a shocking, and by no means was that you were like, it's going to be snoozy till the end.

No. It's not snoozy. I was riveted from the second U.S. From the jump. Riveted. Damn. Man. I'm really glad you lived through that.

Can you imagine? No. Right? Woof. Damn. All right. So let's see. We've got two more left here.

One of them says, Deb, you're going to want to read this one. It says, The Demon of Honest Abe is haunting me. You have to read that. Yeah. I'm going to go with this one. Hello, I hope you're well. I finally wrote my first listener's tale. I have attached the story in Times New Roman, font size 14, double space, pedophore for your reading pleasure.

You're a fucking icon, thanks. I love this. Hello, ladies. My name's Stephanie. Yes, please use my name. Stephanie. And I've been listening since I started going on my hot girl mental health walks during the Panera bread. I love you. I've never heard it called the panera.

And I'm finally writing my own listener tale. After much pestering from my boyfriend to stop talking to him about this, because it scares him. I'm not sure if you're still taking ghost stories, always. Always. But the last spooky season is year-round. So here we go. Always taking ghost stories. A little background about me to start.

I'm extremely analytical facts-based person, same. So much so that I graduated from college with a degree in behavioral neuroscience and a minor in forensic anthropology. And I work, I currently work for the government. doing HIV-AIDS research. Hell yeah. I know, I know. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and still don't.

I think you're doing a pretty good job so far. I think you've covered a great span of things. With that being said, I also love to read tarot cards and have many experiences with Ouija boards. You're like me. Yeah. Like I'm very analytical. I'm very fact-based, but I love a good tarot card.

Yeah. And I love a good spooky spooky ghost tale. Mm-hmm. I love that. Like the great prophet Hannah Montana once said, you get the best of both worlds when it comes to me. The later is most likely the reason why I've had several encounters with spirits in my very short 26 years of life. You've done all that in 26 years.

Way to make me feel like shit. I'm sorry. I thought you were like almost 40. I was like you have to almost be 40. You've done so much. Me also. Damn. I'm also the only child of two very religious people who was taught from infancy age that

ghosts, schools, demons, etc. Not only were exclusively evil, but that anyone who claimed that they were real were mentally disturbed and or possibly possessed by the devil. Well, count me as mentally disturbed and fucking possessed. There you go. Very interesting to tell this to a child whose frontal lobe isn't anywhere near finish developing, but I digress. I can write a short book on all of the encounters, but I'll spare you the rambling

and focus on the one that to this day sends chills down my spine. Disclaimer, all names have been changed. Picture this. Sicily. It's the first day of, it's the last day of first grade in 2003. You're celebrating finishing the perils of phonics By eating pizza at a friend's house While your prospective adults drink wine in the kitchen

Where we were could be described as somewhat of a Florida room Where the entire back of the house was glass Overlooking the backyard Which contained a small swing set And a small dilapidated shed It's important to note that my friend Allison And her mom, whose house this was, made it a point on many occasions

That we were not to go anywhere near the shed. I don't like that. The small structure had been, been there since the house's inception was no bigger than an outhouse and was locked by a rusty padlock that Allison's parents had never received a key to when they bought the house. I'd be like, hey, I'm going to need that. You got to knock that down. They were planning on demolishing the shed over the summer and replacing it with something that could potentially not cause injury for five very mischievous seven-year-olds. While playing outside, I being the little

shit I was, pestered Allison about the shed nonstop, asking her if we could just try to open it. Having read one too many Nancy Drew's, of course, I had to know what was inside the shed full of mystery. Despite much debate myself and another girl, Amy, braved the looming structure and examined the lock trying to see if it could be opened. To our surprise, the lock was open and hanging on the edge of the loop,

begging to be pulled off. I mean, yeah. When we yelled this to the other girls who were taking shelter on the swings a mere 15 feet away, I saw the color drained from Allison's face. The girl was pale. The kind of pale a kid gets when they realize they just broke their mom's favorite base.

Amy and I decide that we still needed to find out what was inside, but didn't want to risk touching the lock in case there was a vampire or some other type of monster taking shelter in there, obviously. I mean, duh. Instead, we found a long stick inside, decided to simply use that to knock the lock off. So in case Dracula himself was hiding out in a shed in Old Bridge, New Jersey, we wanted to be far enough away to make a quick exit back into the house. Good planning.

Branch in hand, now just as internally, terrified as the other girls. The two of us fueled with the determination that only childhood ADHD medication can give. Somehow knock the padlock off the door. We start to celebrate when suddenly the door swings open without any provocation. Looming inside the doorway, we see what can only be described as the shadow of Abraham Lincoln. What? What? I know what I'm about to say is going to sound made up, but I confirmed you meant to put that in the line before. I can This story with the five of them prior to writing this, and every single girl described the exact same thing. A dark figure, maybe six feet tall, wearing a top hat, stood before us in the darkness of the shed, staring at us with unnatural glowing green eyes.

Just like Abling is. I was like, I think that's where it trails off. For a second, all we could do was just stare at stare at what we were all looking at. After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality was most likely five seconds. Our fighter flight instinct kicked in and we ran as fast as our little legs could carry us back to safety of the house. Screaming bloody murder. Finally, back into the safety of the Florida room, the five of us watched through the massive windowed wall as the door of the shed slammed shut. Abe said, leave me the fuck alone.

I'm living in this outhouse. Go away. After attempting to compose ourselves as we were, understandably sobbing, we decided that someone needed to go back outside to put the padlock back onto the door so Allison's parents wouldn't find out that we broke the one rule that she had given us. And so Allison wouldn't get in trouble. Despite my arguing, I was elected as the sole individual to go back outside to check because it was my idea in the first place. Like, what the hell, girls?

I thought we were all on this together. At least make Amy come with me. But no, I had to go back alone. I slowly make my way back outside to the shed ready to bolt the second the padlock was back on the door. Looking around on the ground, I couldn't find the padlock and started to panic. Finally, I look back at the door of the shed to see that not only was the padlock back on the door, but it was locked. No. I am not a runner, but I think I could have beaten Usain Bolt with the speed I ran back into the house, crying all the way.

She's a runner. She's a track stall. Of course, we didn't tell anyone about this at the time. But eventually years later, we told Allison's mom about this. She then told us about how she had also seen the figure standing in the house at night, mostly in dark corners of Allison's room, but she stopped seeing it after that day. It was like, you know what, you're brave. You confronted me. You're good. I'm Honest Abe.

I don't tell a lie. Unfortunately for me, that was not the last time Honest Abe reared his big ass shadowy head to me. Oh, no. I've seen those glowing green eyes in the doorway of my own house after using a Ouija board for the first time, after which my cousin was pushed down two flights of stairs with no one near him. He's okay. Oh, good. Good to know. In the woods at soccer camp as a teenager.

And once in high school again. Again, I know. using a Ouija board to try to talk to ghosts in my friend Michelle's house. Stop that. The last time at Michelle's house, something grabbed my arm during our seance and left me with a handprint-shaped bruise. That one was hard to explain away to my parents. It was a ghost.

To this day, the girls and I are all still friends. I love that. You're like now and then. More likely than not bonded by the trauma of seeing a straight demon from hell together. Thankfully, I haven't seen it in recent years. Maybe because I'm a bit stronger mentally. or maybe because I've distanced myself from religion. Begone thoughts.

And that's T-H-O-T-S. I love it. I'll never really know. Let me know if you want to know about the ghost family that lives in my garage. Or the imaginary friend that turned out to be a little girl that died on my property before my house was built. That's a good one. Sounds like it. Regardless, thank you both for being my beacon of light in the pantheon.

My being for road trip buddies and for constantly putting a smile on my face. Seriously, I still say that mock. man has Zaddy energy whenever people bring him up. Thanks, Ash. You're welcome. You're welcome. Stay lovely and stay weird, but not so weird that a demon version of Abraham Lincoln haunts you for your entire life.

Love stuff. That was incredible. I'm dying. The Pantheon. Wow. The Panera bread. That's what I really loved. I love it.

All right, folks. Last listen a tale. Last listen to tale. Coming in hot. It says, listener tale, don't believe it. ghosts. I can help with that. Hell yeah, you can. Hello, Deb, Deb, Ash, and Elena. I submitted this in late 2020,

but when I started getting sad that it wasn't getting red, I went back over it, and I realized your girl's nerves were shot, and there were a lot of typos. It's cleaned up, and it's ready for a second try. I know it's long, about a 14-minute read, so I understand if you don't read it, but it would be cool if you did. We're gonna. We're gonna. It's just loading. Give me one second. Oh,

it's a video. Tis loading. Please hold. Hold on. It's a video. It's a video. Where's them? Dapidda. Bishima. What about the?

Okay, there it is. It was my song. I liked that. I'm not going to have vamping. All right. Hi, my name is Casey. Casey. You can use all the other names in these stories as well.

I'm a long-time listener. I've hooked my mom, friends, and many co-workers over the years. I could go on and on about how much I appreciate your research. It's also Dave's now. Time, dedication, and production of your podcast. I know you guys. hear that every time, but hey, who am I to break tradition? Just for a little extra flattering. You've both helped me through some crazy hard times. I'm glad to hear that. I just had my first baby.

A little boy, his name is Luke? Luke? Yeah, Luke in 2021. Congratulations. I know, congratulations. Between a horribly rough pregnancy, my mom having serious health issues the last few years, getting engaged, trying to afford to buy our first home in this insane economy. And most recently, my brother and grandfather passing away in 2020. you. I'm so sorry. Your girl's been going through it. Yeah. To say the least. I listen to you guys to escape the stress and my fiance thinks it's insane that I find solace in hearing insanely gruesome and sad stories. But what can I say? I'm a weirdo. So thank you, thank you, thank you for being such bad bitches. Thank you for being such a bad bitch. Alana. Congratulations. Thanks. I pre-audit the butcher

and the rent as soon as I saw you post. Cof, cough, koff, tiny URL.com slash the butcher in the run. How did you keep that a secret for so long? I had to. I didn't, I didn't want to. Get ready for the second one though. It's because she watched, um, uh, fucking fucking, goddamn it. Sabrina for a long time. That's true.

I learned how to keep us. Secret. Yeah. I am an aspiring writer myself. Hell yeah. I just lost my brother on June 19th, 2022. He was only 29. I'm so sorry.

And he was an incredibly talented writer as well. He was my very best friend in every sense of the word, excuse me, and we shared so many passions. writing was one of the many, but also being haunted through our childhoods. So I'm writing this in memory of him. He was fucking amazing. His name was Matt, and I will miss him for the rest of my life. Oh, Matt. I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry. So enough sadness, because I can't type through tears. We had a real spooky childhood. I was convinced at a very early age that I was haunted. So to put this in chronological order, I'll start with a few stories I don't personally remember, but we're told to be many times as I got older from many different family members. When I was first born, my older brother Matt was five. My parents went to church back then.

It didn't save them. We're all sinners in some way or another, and none of my grandparents could convince us to give our lives away to the white guy sky wizard. Sorry, Nana. Sorry, Nana. My mom was in the front seat of our weathered and rusted maroon Nissan. I love how you guys were right. I know.

My brother was sitting in the back with me. We had a one-level house with a basement. My dad was chasing our family cat who had gotten out the front door around the house to get him back inside. As we're all sitting in the car, not so patiently waiting, my brother's docile voice sliced through the silence. He innocently asked my mom, Mama, who's that man that just went in our house? Oh, goodbye. Oh. My mom, as she watched my dopey father, he smoked a lot of the devil's lettuce.

There's the theme. Seriously doping. Running through the trees of our backyard, attempting to catch her our tiny tiger, was confused to say the least. She asked my brother if he was talking about my dad. He said, no, mama. the tall man with a beard and a hat. Oh. Well, to my father's dismay, he could never, he never could and never has been able to grow a beard.

So she immediately knew it wasn't him. She yelled to my dad for him to go back to the house and check because Matt saw a man go inside. That's terrifying. Locking the car doors and waiting for what probably felt like hours, my father emerged and dismissed my young brother after confirming no one was in the house. Except a ghost. Mm-hmm. Well, at the time, my uncle rented the basement of our house. house for my parents. While we were at church, my uncle came home from his job at the local

firehouse and found that the back basement sliding glass door had been completely and utterly shattered. Glass everywhere. What? He stayed outside and called 911, assuming there was a break-in and or an intruder inside. When the cops, fire trucks, and paramedics showed up a few minutes later, the detectives at the scene were visibly puzzled. One man then asked him if anyone had been in the house when he left. He told them yes. However, the only other people in the home were my parents, me and my brother, and we'd all gone to church that morning. We hadn't told my uncle about the man that my brother saw entering the house yet. The spoofiest part was when the officer stated the obvious, the glass all being on the outside of the doorway, none inside of the basement,

which strongly suggested someone was breaking into our house. Out of our house, not into it. When we got home and my uncle explained what he had come home to, my parents explained to my uncle what Matt saw that morning and everyone came to the same conclusion. My dad's haunted ass had brought some weird shit into this house again. Again. I'd have to put the house up for sale the next damn day. But nope, we stayed for a little while and weird shit kept happening. Kept. Kept happening.

That was a soul. A few weeks later in that same house, they began hearing the sound of a needle scratching on vinyl. records and then music playing in the attic. I kind of love that. I was going to say that's kind of fun. A ghost just set in the mood. Oh, old jazz. Specifically old jazz music. Oh my God. It was the good ghost and big mouth. Oh my God it was. Duke. Duke Ellington. Duke Ellington. That's who it is. That would abruptly stop the moment my dad dropped the old wooden ladder attached to the ceiling to climb up and investigate. He always ascended the stairs regardless, more balls than me, but never found anything or anyone. No record player or music player of any kind. No dusty collection of records or tapes from

previous owners. Nothing but insulation and likely a healthy dose of asbestos. Yeah. Yeah. So there isn't even a record player. No. So weird. My mom regularly would see our golden retriever that had passed away just roaming through the house or sitting at the back door as if waiting to be let in. Oh, let him in. By the time she'd call for my dad and tell him what she saw, she'd be gone. Weird shit, man. That is weird shit, but great shit. I love it. A year or two later, they moved us to a new home, a newer built townhouse in the middle of our small town. The day we moved in, we were all breathing the smell of fresh paint and simultaneously thinking to ourselves,

there's no way this place was housing 100-year-old spirits with unfinished business. No way. We were safe. So we thought. My mom and dad, sadly, both had alcohol dependencies and fought like wild bears when they would drink. They weren't getting along one night after Jim Beam had possessed my dad's usually charismatic. and funny personality. And my mom decided to sleep downstairs on the couch that night.

I was only laughing because you wrote it funny. I'm sorry. Into the wee hours of the night, I'll guess around 3 a.m. because nothing good happens then. Nope. My mom heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Another theme. She assumed it was my angry, drunken father and ignored them

while she laid there on the couch pretending to still be asleep. The footsteps approached her, stopped for a moment, then went back upstairs. The next morning, my dad came down as she was making coffee. In the kitchen, they were both quiet, stirring their creamer and expelling their frustration with each other through stiff body language and rigid side glances. Oh, we've all seen that. We've all been there. Until my dad softened and said,

Thank you for coming up and snuggling me last night. I needed that. Dumbfounded, my mom stared at him. I didn't come upstairs. Her voice stern, but curious. It quickly became like, yes, you did. No, I didn't, spat. Until they both realized, no, she did not.

No, she did not. Oh, no, she did not. Oh, no, she did not. And was it really my dad that had walked down the stairs in the middle of the night? If it wasn't, who the fuck was it? A ghost. Okay, now to my own memories. Oh, quite cool.

If you've read this far, Deb-Dub, thank you with all of my bones. She did. She did, indeed. I had some really scary experiences living with my parents, but this is already getting way too long, so I'll just share a few. The first one that comes to mind is the time when I was maybe seven or eight years old and was told to go upstairs to bed. We'd moved again.

This time the house was huge, with tons of land and very, very old. I liked it enough in the daytime, but once the sun sank behind the tree tops, it never felt safe. I was utterly terrified of being in my room alone, to the point that I used my dad's screwdriver to poke a hole in the drywall between my closet and my brothers so I could see him whenever I needed to. I love you, Matt. Oh, that's so cute. That's adorable. I was quite a problem, child. I'm better now, I promise, but I hated to follow the rules.

That did not come to my advantage, but I was truly scared shitless, and this house scared me shitless. I was finally forced to tread up those creaky, those steep creaky stairs. At the top of the stairwell, there was an octagon-shaped window. I love that. I know. Didn't you say they do that to, like, confuse witches? Oh, there's a different kind of window that does that. It's like slanted.

Oh, okay. Yeah. That night, I saw the white reflection of a man and a cowboy hat staring back at me. I tumbled back down the stairs, mumbling and bumbling through cries, telling my parents there was someone up there. After clearing the upstairs floors, they confirmed that there was no one upstairs. I was being a nuisance and in their minds procrastinating a much-needed date with soap and shampoo. I was forced to go take my shower and go to bed. I didn't see him again that night, but that quick meeting kick-started years of me seeing this now.

Standing over my bed when I woke up randomly throughout the night, I saw him while playing soccer with Matt in our yard before dark. He became less of a stranger. He didn't feel threatening are dangerous, but always startled me. After we moved out of that house and my parents finally divorced, this was good for everybody involved, so no sad tears there. My brother had gotten curious and done some research. I was in high school when I got a random call from Matt. It was his, you'll never fucking believe this excitement.

A man who had lost his wife and children had hanged himself on the property right between the two trees that marked Matt and my soccer goal. The obituary photo of this man, he is well. wearing a goddamn cowboy hat. Holy shit. Fucking spoopy. That's crazy spoopy. That's a lot. Years later in another house, my dad was renting at the time. I went to spend the weekend with him. My parents were doing the unfortunate teeter-totter game of whose weekend is whose. My dad, my uncle, and a few of their friends were all outside by a fire pit doing what good old country boys do, drinking cheap beer and talking way too loud. I was about 13 and I had my friend,

and excuse me, I was about 13 and my friend was spending the night with me. We had stolen in similar lights from dad's fridge and ran off to the barn to drink them. Icons. But like, don't drink that young. When we came back, everyone was talking about how creepy that house was. The deep feelings of fear and desperation it gave you when you spent the night. As everyone shared their weird encounters and spooky theories, my dad became entranced, staring up at the second level window, his bedroom window. As I caught his glare and I followed his stare, I saw him, a man in the window looking down at us. Just a large silhouette. My dad quickly fell out of his trance and bursted into the house. We could hear him bounding up the creaky green carpeted

stairs from the outside, and then the light flicked on. He was gone. But when my dad came back outside, anger plastered across his face. I don't know what happened there. A soul. It took him a few minutes to say anything to us. My uncle and their buddies were throwing questions at him. I just stared at him, waiting for some kind of comfort or it was nothing. I mean, shit, we had to go to sleep up there at a couple hours, and the crappy beer wasn't helping settle us at all. Then my dad told him. Then my dad told us what he walked into. His closet door was broken off his hinges, off its hinges. His clothes were strewn across his bedroom and most of his photos from his bedside tables and walls were scattered across the floor in all directions. Like a savage ghost tornado touched down in just that room.

What? And somehow, standing right outside the house, no one heard any of it happen. Spoo P. That was an angry ghost. That was a pissed off ghost. That was a diamond. Literally. I moved to Austin, Texas. with my mom and stepdad after that summer. Nothing related to the crazy weird shit that had been happening all my life. My stepdad's job had transferred down there, and it was just the next season of life for us. After I moved, I never experienced anything like I had living with my dad. My brother was in college at this point, and his encounters came to a...

Relieving. Thank you. I don't know why I couldn't say that. Relieving halt, too. All those years were convinced, all those years we were convinced we had some kind of diamond following us. It wasn't us. I'm pretty sure it was following my damn dad.

I think so, too. I do too. My dad and I have an incredibly close relationship. He finally settled down with the woman of his dreams. I love her so much. Oh, I love it. And they bought an insanely nice new house and a cute suburb, and nothing has been happening to him lately either.

We've talked about these crazy spirits many, many times over the years. The absurd stories we can't help but recite when someone declares they don't believe in the paranormal. Becoming part of the histories of each of the houses. And we've come to the conclusion. that my dad is just a magnet for this kind of shit. His sister believed that she was a medium. His great aunt was hospitalized for visions in the 30s. He has a big, he has a big, spooky welcome sign on his forehead.

Hell yeah, he does. Although nothing supernatural had been going on in my life for quite a while now, that all changed just last week. And is the reason I wanted to write to you guys. The night he passed, I was suffering from crazy insomnia, which hadn't happened since I'd been pregnant. I was wide awake all night long, anxious and feeling out of it. To the point where I woke up my fiancé with how many times I went to the bathroom, got water, or grabbed a snack.

He ended up waking fully around 4 a.m. talking me down because I just couldn't sleep through the anxiety. Then my phone rang. I was told he was gone and I haven't slept through the night since. Oh, I'm so sorry. A couple weeks later, my fiance and I started season four of Stranger Things. Seriously, Ash, if you still haven't yet, you need to. You do need to. I know, I do. This had been pretty fucking hard for me because my brother absolutely loved this show. His wife actually shaved her freaking head a few years ago for Halloween. That's fucking amazing. For them to be Mike and L.

Dedication. Dedication. But it was one of his favorites. The last season was phenomenal. The last time I saw him, he had just finished episode seven, but passed before the season finale came out. I'm so sorry. When I got to those episodes, I broke down. He deserved to watch these.

It felt unfair to watch them without him. He was watching them with you. At one point in the last episode, no spoilers, I promise. They're using music to communicate. One character, my favorite actually, Eddie, I love you. Yay! Began playing his guitar. Matt was also an insanely talented guitarist.

He could play absolutely anything and played anywhere and everywhere throughout our childhoods. I'm now teaching myself to play so I can teach my son one day and hold on to that piece of him. Oh, I love that. That's beautiful. But in the episode, he begins to play Master of the Puppets by Metallica. Excuse me, Master of Puppets. One of my brother's favorite songs by his awesome. all-time favorite band. When I say I lost my shit, I mean I have never broken down and cried to

the point of thinking I needed to go to the hospital. It was too many things coming all together. It wrecked me. You loved that. That would have been like his favorite episode. I know. The next day I was at work. I'm almost done. I swear, thank you for reading this far. You don't have to worry about it. I'm a nanny, so I bring my son to another home and watch their son during the day. Both boys were asleep, so I was journaling to Matt. When I need to talk to him, that's how I do it right now. I feel that's like a really good idea. I was writing to him about the night before. How much I missed him and how much he would have loved that episode and how much it hurt to know he wouldn't see it. The lights above me started to flicker. I was sitting in the dining room and I looked up. They flickered again. Then I noticed

the lights in the living room from a few feet away were still so bright and no flickers. I watched them for a while, only the ones above me dimming and brightening. Then it hit me. Was it him? Yep. I began talking to him and they flickered back. It felt like a response. I flipped to a new page in my book and began trying to make dots to the flutters of the lights. Was it Morse code? Big leap, I know. But I told you. I was going to say you were just watching stranger.

Yeah. I was just watching stranger things. I quickly started feeling crazy. So I just grabbed my phone to record it. It's somewhat difficult to see the smaller flashes. But at the end of the video, I asked him, Matt, is that you? And a few seconds go by and then an entire light goes out and back on. It was him.

I know it was him. He's with me. 100%. Right. We loved all things horror and spooky. We bonded over goosebumps as little humans, and his wedding was themed after the movie It's. That's awesome.

I told him the day I found out he had passed that, if he could, to haunt me. I love that. Slam cabinets. I don't care. I just need to know that he's okay. I think he was telling me that he is okay. I've told him since that I really can do

without the cabinet slamming, scaring the piss out of me part. So far he's listened. I've attached photos of me, my brother, some of his it themed wedding because it was just as weird is all of us, if not more. And the video of the lights.

Thank you for reading this far if you did. Sorry, thank you for reading this if you did. I'm definitely still listening and keeping it weird. I will pee my pants if you read this on the pod. I hope you got new pants. Love you ladies. And you, Deb, Deb, Deb. Oh, my God.

You guys are so cute. Oh, my God. Oh, my God, the L. Oh, my God. Holy shit. An icon. You guys are so cute. Oh, it's a cat.

Oh, my God. Oh, man. I know. Oh, man. Oh, my God. Did you see them as little babes? I just saw that. I feel like it's Easter.

I can tell it is. I feel like it's Easter. I just feel it. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. That was a really intense tale. That was, but it was like so beautifully written. All of you guys are just the fucking tits.

Seriously. Wow. I'm killing it. I feel like Florida and weed became themes. Florida and weed. It's true. Hand in hand. Yeah.

It really did. Well, guys, guys, if you. have a listener tale that you would like to send in. You can go on and send it into morbid podcast at gmail.com and make sure that you put listener tales somewhere in the subject line. Do it. And we hope you keep listening. And we hope you keep it weird. But not so weird that you are kidnapped in Florida, not so weird that you see white lights and get scared. Well, you didn't even get scared. I don't know, just keep it weird, guys. Just keep it where you're like, I'm not even going to go. I'm not going to do it.

You know what? I'm checking out. You know, keep it so weird that you're a psychic stripper. Please keep it that weird. Yeah. Keep it so weird that honest Abe haunts you for a little bit, but then stops. I don't even know if I want to keep it that weird. I don't need to see Abe in my sleep or in my wake. No.

Bye. Bye.