Morbid - The Unsolved Murder of Melissa Witt

Episode Date: January 23, 2025

On December 1, 1994, nineteen-year-old Melissa Witt planned to meet her mother at a Fort Smith, Arkansas bowling alley, but by all appearances, she only made it as far as the parking lot. Two days later, investigators discovered Melissa’s car abandoned in the Bowling World parking lot, a trail of blood leading away from the vehicle. Six weeks later, animal trackers located Melissa’s nude body in an isolated part of the Ozark National Forest and the hunt was on to find her killer.In the thirty years since Melissa Witt’s murder, a number of strong suspects have popped up on investigators’ radars, including serial killer Charles Ray Vines, yet to this date no one has been charged with her death. After three decades of unanswered questions, Witt’s family are desperate to know, what happened to Melissa on the night she went missing, and will detectives ever be able to hold her killer responsible for her tragic death?If you have information regarding the murder of Melissa Witt, please call the Fort Smith Police Department at 479-709-5116 or email them at [e-mail] you to the Incredible Dave White of Bring Me the Axe Podcast for research and Writing support!ReferencesAlvey, Tina. 1995. "Fort Smith teen's body found near Turner Bend." Madison County Record, Janaury 19: 4.Associated Press. 1995. "Man questioned about girl; police say he's not a suspect." Batesville Guard, June 14: 6.Cavallier, Andrea. 2024. "A teenager was snatched from the parking lot of a bowling." The Independent, August 10.Kilby, Brenda. 1996. "Long-sought man awaits questioning ." Tulsa World , May 6: 29. 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, this right here, is morbid. It's a listener tales episode. Which means that this is brought to you, by, you for you from you, and all about you. Yay. For you from you from you. Wait, did I fuck it up?

No, it sounded great. Yeah, I loved it. I was a viving over here. For you and All About You. Yeah, you did it. No. Brought to you by you for you from you and all about you? Yeah, you just keep saying it.

I do. You're like, I'm not. I don't know. It's not changed. I don't know. It feels wrong. It feels right to me. So here we are. We're back with another listener tales episode. I hope that you guys dug Brad's listener tale.

How could you not have? It was our honor to give him a full ass episode. Our straight up honor. Because that was a harrowing tale. And it was beautifully crafted. It really was. I just, I have to tell you, Brad. Thank you so much again because that was great.

But Brad made me very afraid of my basement, though. Yeah. I will go down there to feed the cats at night. Yeah, no. I'm like, no, thank you. No, thank you. Drew. Thank you so much, bad. What if somebody growls at me? Yeah, I don't want that. Uh-uh. But that was a fun one. It's been fun being able to do so many listener tales, and we got some dozies for you today. We do. Brought to us really from Deb, Deb, Deb. Oh, Deb, Deb, shout out to Deb, Deb, Deb, doing the most. Forever. And the first tale she picked for us today comes with an attachment that broke my heart. I know. But the headline is, my 70-year-old mother, fought off a homeless man who stole her quote unquote god damn purse. And she like really fought because

she is like covered in black and blues all over her face. But she's got a smile on her face. She's cheesin. Yeah, she's chees. There's also a photo of a beautiful child with a Ziggy Star-Dust, like Aladdin'sane like a lightning bolt across the face. And it's amazing and wonderful. And there's a cat that looks like Lux. There you go. Cute. Beautiful family over here. All right. Well, I said the electric lines. Let's get into it and says, hello my loves. I'm singing it like Lloyd Christmas. Hello my loves. I don't know if I did that right or not, but I hope I did. Real quick, and you can FF. Fast forward through this if you want, never. I adore your podcast so, so much. I'm always listening to it and relistening. Even my daughter Addison Love listens with me. Addison Love. What it. Wow.

Beautiful. Wow. Love you, love your kid. And this person said, but only after carefully previewing lives in her tails. Very smart. She especially likes it when, quote, the mom tells ghosts that she's going to throw hands if they try to scare her kids. Yes. Anyway, as my mother would say when I started to ramble as a child, okay, kid, 25 words or less. Amazing. My dad always says land the plane, Elena. Yep. He says land the plane to anybody. And I also say that to people, so, you know, family. Nope. Which would actually immediately silence me as I cataloged the number of words I had already used. I was working a few years back when I got a frantic call. for my dad that my mom was attacked by a homeless person and then was rushed to the hospital.

Since this was during COVID, we basically had to wait with binoculars outside the hospital to find out what happened. We were in that position too. We had to call the hospital and be like, hello. Is everything okay? It's the worst. When she finally came home, she said some homeless man was walking through traffic, dragging a street sign, as you do. Yes. He let go of the sign and started banging on driver's doors. As traffic started to move, my mom's car moved closer to the light, but it turned red before she could leave the road that this man was on. Oh, that's scary. Wonderful, she thought.

The man locked eyes with my mom and started banging on the hood of her car and screaming. Oh, my God, I would be so fucking pissed. My mom looked up at the man and was like, in like the true New Yorker she is, she said, get the fuck out of my way, asshole. Your mom, legend. He then walked along the passenger side of the car, ripped open the door and screamed, what are you going to do? Oh, so scary.

Run you over, literally. He also noticed my mother's purse on her passenger seat. and decided to snatch it. My mom called the man a son of a bitch, put her car in park in the middle of the highway. Oh my God. And took after the man. When the homeless man got to the sidewalk,

there were two other men that had noticed his less than normal behavior and were trying to de-escalate the situation by kind of sheepdogging him in one direction. My 70-year-old mom with her cat-like reflexes thought this was the moment to retrieve her belongings. She noticed the man was holding her purse behind his back, so she lunged for it.

They engaged in a bit of, tug of a war, tug of a war, tug of war for maybe half a second. She's 70 y'all and clearly something was going on with him. Yes. And then he sort of flung her down a ravine along the side of the road. Think princess bride, but more, oh, we owe unless as you wish. Oh my God. I'm both horrified and laughing at how you just described it. He just threw your mom down a ravine though. He just flung your seven year old mother into a ravine and the fact that you just compared that to the as you wish is killing me iconic by the time my poor mom had climbed back from the gutter the police had arrived and were taking statements with blood pouring down her face she asked them if she could trouble them for a car ride to the hospital after i moved my car amazing they immediately called for an ambulance and she was able to contact my dad with the details of what had happened and give him a heart attack on her way to the hospital meet me there babe Jesus When we asked her what she was thinking going after him like that, she said, he stole my goddamn purse.

There you go. Un-fucking believable. She got away with quite a bit of bruising, but no broken bones and no serious injury. Anyway, the guy was charged with disturbing the peace, theft, assault, and solicitation because he asked the policewoman who arrested him for a blowjob, L.O.L. Jeez. This guy was going through it. Yeah. I have included photos of the wounded warrior, which broke my heart. I know.

Thank you for all. all that you do ladies for the victims, for their families, and making their memories and initiatives for change are spoken out. Oh, sorry, and making sure their memories and initiative for change or spoken about. Many who have lost their voices have been restored through the courage and authenticity of your words. We love you. That was like really sweet at the end there, man. That was like such a nice way to say that. You just like touched my soul with that. And also, who attacks a 70 year old woman in her car? Seriously. Who does that? Your mom looks so sweet. She looks adorable.

And even if she wasn't sweet and adorable, you can't just do that to people. She just looks adorable, though. Oh my God. Oh, my God. If this is her and your dad together, like shut up. You guys are adorable. I can't. Your whole family is so cute.

But you know what a badass your mom is? She was like, no, that's mine. Yeah. She got flung down a ravine. Seriously. As you wish style. Ah, too much. Wow.

What a way to tell that. I appreciate it. You killed it. So my next tale is called The Boots. A tale of haunting, sleep deprivation, and being made for walking. Because even demon boots need to be comfortable. I mean, they do. For some reason, deprivation is it, it's deprivation.

Okay, thank, okay. I just said that three different times and I was like, this isn't the right word. And it's, and you wrote it right. Yeah, you did. Like, listener, you wrote it right. Yeah. For some reason, my brain just would not come out with that one. Thank you for saying that.

I just was going to let me. it slide but then you ask. I'm going to say it again for you because you know, you wrote it right. My brain just like would not shit out that word. It was like, nope. You don't know that word. It's because you're also sick. I was just going to say, you know, funny enough, I'm very sleep deprived right now because, you know, we moved the almost three-year-olds into a big girl bed trying to get this shit moving. Yeah, she still doesn't want to sleep. It's going backwards. So, you know, we're going to get there. We're going to get there. I'm working off of like 45 minutes of sleep, but here we are. You know, You know what her motto is?

It's, I want to rock and roll all night. That is her motto. It's party every day. That's her whole last motto. She certainly rocks and rolls all night. And parties every day. And parties every day. She does.

So, yeah, we're going to get there, though. We're going to get there to any other, you know, parent or parental figure that is also sleep deprived right now. I feel you. I'm going to read this again. The Boots, A Tale of Haunting, Sleep Deprivation, and Being Made for Walking. because even demon boots need to be comfortable. Nailed it.

There you go, girl. Hello, my morbid ladies. See my attached putifa, 12 point font, 1.5 space for a truly spooky tale from my family to you. Titled The Boots, The Tail of Hunting, Sleep Deprivation, and being made for walking because even demon boots need to be comfortable. Love you both. And so excited to share this with you and the rest of the morbid family. XOXO, Lauren. What's the title, though?

The Boots. I want to do it to you guys guys. I'm joking. All right. It says, Ash, Elena, my lady's in spookery. It's your girl, Lauren. You can use my name and please wear it out. I will.

Okay, Lauren. I will. Sounds good, Lauren. Thank you, Lauren. It was almost two years ago now that my lovely co-worker Hannah brought you to my attention. We love Hannah. A kind, nerdy, and compassionate friend. Everyone needs that kind of friend.

It's true. But I also must give credit to my saucy, badass mother who introduced the podcast to me during a puzzle and wine evening. This is amazing. Your mom sounds like a badass. Since then, a tradition and my family has been born. An evening of morbid puzzles and booze. Iconic. The fact that there's puzzles involved in this, you don't even realize how on the nose that is. We love a puzzle. We love a puzzle in my family now. And I used to, me and my friends in high school were like super nerds. And we used to do puzzle nights of like 5,000 piece puzzles in my parents' house. They did. So you know what? You're right on it. You're right on it. Puzzles are where.

it's at. I didn't find my love of puzzles until after high school. That's okay. You found it. Yeah. So key bonding moment, gasping in unison at the wild twist of tall, hot, blonde, murder episode. Wanted you to know we all love you guys and thank you for being part of our holidays now. I love that we're part of them. Absolutely. Lauren. Warren, thank you. Now, before we start, you must know. Your storytelling, research, and comedy skills are exquisite. Oh, so are you. Thanks, Lauren. You are my internet pals and fellow psych fascinated queens in true crime. Sorry, I can't speak. Me either. I also had oral surgery, and I still have the stitches in. So every once in a while, like a stitch, because they need to be, they need to come out in like two days.

And every once in a while, a stitch will just like graze my tongue. So I'm like, ah. So I'm sorry about that. I'm also sorry about that visual. I just gave you. I've been waiting for the right moment to compile this story into a nice put-of-a for Ash. And the time has finally come.

So buckle up, ladies. This is a story of creepy occurrences throughout childhood that came colliding together one evening. Only three years ago. Ooh. To set the scene. I grew up in the Oregon countryside where it's more forests than farmland. Did you go on the Oregon Trail? I won't say it again.

My parents moved us from the city to the country when my brother was six and I was nine. And our house was pretty rad. It was built in the 70s and surrounded by trees. But it had a couple, let's call them, unique features. For one, it was built into the ink. of a hill. That's amazing. So my brother and I's rooms were downstairs at the end of the house that was into the incline. What that means is our windows were window wells, aka we had small stone stairs that went down to our windows. What? That's badass. That's really cool. We had natural

light, of course, but that was spooky feature number one. Next, the house had a really weird hidden interior room. Like the only way to enter this room, which had no windows, was a window door that was older than all the other doors in the house that was tucked away in the laundry room. A wooden door. I'm obsessed with this door. That's really cool. It had a deadbolt lock on the inside, as well as a wall of mirrors. My mom's intuition and small smarts came in clutch. Or small smart. I cannot today. My mom's intuition and street smarts came in clutch when the first thing she did was add French doors to the room and remove the debault lock and mirrors.

It's basically become a makeshift home office, but no one really liked to spend time in there anyway. To this day, I have no idea why a room like that existed in the first place besides having nefarious purposes. I digress. I also agree. Now, let me just say that this is where being the older child that has plot armor against goats.

Wait, excuse me. Let me just say that this is where being the older child that has plot armor against against ghosts was kickass. I don't know if I read that right, but. Sorry to all the youngest children out there that bear the brunt of spooky experiences like my brother Todd, and yes, you can use his name too. Now, Todd had a couple of run-ins with sleepwalking prior to us moving into his house. But it hit an all-time high once we lived there.

It was so bad that my mom would prop chairs against doors downstairs so he couldn't walk out into the forest. And even at the small ponds around the garden filled in out of fear, he would sleepwalk into one of them and drown. Oh, it was pretty severe. What a good mama. His room was at the end of the hall, and he would have to pass my door to reach anything else.

I kid you not when I say that I would catch him sleepwalking numerous nights a week. I would be awoken by his movement and intercept him before he could reach the end of the hall most of the time. Then redirect him slowly and quietly back to his bed, so to not wake him up and scare him. I would say that my success rate for catching him was pretty good, But he told me later that he once woke up outside in the woods. My mom once heard him from upstairs and met him at the stairway where she asked him, What are you doing?

And he replied in his monotone sleepwalking state, something I shouldn't be doing. Oh my God. Talk about creepy, Todd. But I also felt bad. He did not like his room and got scared in there a lot. The nights he didn't sleepwalk, he slept in my room. I had a trundle bed, which I would pull out whenever he was too scared to sleep in his own room. Can I get some big sister kudos right there?

Yes, you can. Cudos, Lauren. You know what, Lauren? Cudos. Good job, Lauren. My mom once tried putting our two childhood dogs, Luke and Leia, because hell yeah, we were all major nerds. I love that for you. In there to sleep with him.

But the next morning, Leia had crawled so far under his bed to hide in a corner that it was hard to get her out. I have to wonder what she saw. Oh, no. I also wonder that. I will say that while I was never very scared in that home, it always felt a little off like you were being watched. I have only had sleep paralysis once in my life, and it was in that home. I remember seeing a tall, dark, swaying figure in my doorway that slowly moved towards me.

It gives me the chills to think about it still. Years later, Todd is an avid collector of scary stories. We were talking about the country house when I finally got to ask him what about that room scared him so badly. He told me it was The Boots. What? Oh, man. When I asked him what he meant, he said that at night he would see a pair of blue. blue old leather working boots standing at his window.

What? Shifting slowly back and forth like the wearer was rocking. No. No. There was a small quarter window on the wall left of his bed. It was only 12 inches high and was right above the ground. Remember, the house was built into an incline. So while we were not totally underground on the bottom floor, it was still ground level

towards the back of the house. He never saw legs or more of the individual wearing the boots. just boots facing the window. I don't know what I thought he was going to say, but that was not it. No, I don't, yeah. I did not see this coming. Nor did I. He told me he had tried replicating standing there where the boots were during the day,

but he was just staring at the side of the house. I thought it was creepy, but there wasn't much else to say about why he saw them, and he hadn't seen them since he moved out of that home. Three years later, I was home for the holidays from college, and we were sitting around the kitchen with my dad, when Todd brought up the country house, not the boots, but more about how we all felt weird in that home. We talked about how we all had recurring nightmares and wondered if they meant anything. When we asked my dad if he had a recurring nightmare from childhood, and without hesitation, he told us that when he was a kid,

he used to have a recurring nightmare of being followed by a pair of boots. Is that genetic? What? A tall figure without detail wearing a pair of boots that followed him constantly. Silence. My stomach plummeted through my body, and I remember looking at Todd, who had got a little pale. Todd immediately asked, what kind of boots were they? Dad said, worker-type boots, like what construction workers wear.

It was unreal. Todd followed up again, what color were they? Dad replied, blue. Why? No. And blue construction boots are not everywhere, I would say. I know. I'm trying to picture them and I'm like, what shade of blue were these? I know, because I just keep thinking of like the yellow or like khaki colored construction boots.

Yeah, like I'm thinking of like Tim's. Mm-hmm. Todd and I sat there just dumbfounded and absolutely spooked. What are the odds? But then, my morbid ladies, a realization hit me that I've never shaken to this day. If someone wearing boots was standing at Todd's window, they would be looking directly into mom and dad's bedroom. My chill bumps have chill bumps. and those chill bumps have chill bumps to...

Stop it. Stop it immediately. What? You see, when Todd stood where the boots were as a child, he was too short to reach the height of the window to my parents' room, which was located above ours. An adult of average height standing in the same spot would be staring straight at their bed.

Ew! Even weirder, that window is the only window in the house my mom put a half curtain. Knowing we didn't have neighbors or concerned for people to look in our windows being in the countryside, died, it never made sense to me why she only put curtains on that one window. When we asked her later, she said it felt unsettling to not have a curtain there. In fact, she insisted on having curtains there. Mom intuition.

Yeah, she knew what was up. When we connected the dots that night, we all sat in disbelief for a moment. Because after all these years, the boots that scared Todd and stood in his window were never meant for him. It was the boots that followed my dad staring at him at night. What? Luckily, none of us have encountered the boots since. Perhaps they just need to get a good creepy stair session in before moving on to torment someone else. But the haunting is terrifying nonetheless.

I guess the moral of the story is that when moms want curtains, you trust that intuition with your life and that trundlebed should never go out of style. Agreed. And with that, take it away, Ash. I've always wanted to write that. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you have boots that haunt you for the rest of your whole entire life and they stand in like the part where you have the cool windows that lead into the stairs. but like they're staring at your dad sleeping and it's really creepy and then I'm happy that your mom put a window there.

Yeah. And what's even weirder is the fact that it's like those boots weren't even meant for Todd. And they weren't even meant for walking either. Yeah. They were meant for staring. They were meant for hanging. His boots are made for residual hauntings. I also love.

Exactly. I love that the moral of the story too is like always trust mom's intuition on curtains. Yes. And Trenelbed should never go out of style. I agree with both of those things. Damn. Also, X-O-X-O-Loren. Wow.

Thank you, Lauren. Lauren. It was so great talking to you. Lauren. Lauren. Thank you. Lauren. Lauren. Lauren, Lauren. Lauren for the win. Yay.

All right, pal. Let's go. My next listener tale is called Where's Mario? Where is he? I don't know because I haven't read this yet. But it says, hey, weirdos. Beep.

In 1987, I was a senior at a small Midwestern University. It was my last semester and I had finished all my degree requirements and just needed elective credits. So I was pretty free to pick and choose which classes I wanted to take. I had two requirements.

One, it had to be something that I was actually interested in. And two, it had to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That second one was important. I really felt like I needed a four-day weekend with another day off in the middle of the week. Don't we all? Yes.

So looking through the course selections, I came across a couple of classes. that fit the bill. I honestly don't remember what one of them was, but the one we're concerned with here was crime and criminology. That sounded really interesting. Little did I know. On the first day of class, I sat in the back next to a window. I have a, excuse me, I have panic disorder and being able to look out a window and focus on whatever is going on outside is always a better alternative than having to leave the room, especially in a classroom full of people. As other students drifted in, a guy sat in the desk next to mine, and he immediately stood out because he was older than everybody else in the class.

Where most students were late teens to early 20s, this guy looked to be 40-ish. Once the bell rang, signaling the start of the class, the instructor said, since it was the first day, that he wanted to call roll to make sure everybody was where they were supposed to be. He called everybody's name, and we all responded here when we heard our names. Afterward, the instructor asked if there was anybody's name who he didn't call. The 40-ish guy next to me raised his hand. And when the instructor asked him what his name was, he said it was Mario. Hey, Mario, welcome to class. The next time the class met, Mario didn't sit next to me.

He took a seat right in front of, excuse me, in the front row right in the center. And from that day forward, he proceeded to be a huge pain in the ass. Oh, no. You know the guy in every class who asks nonstop questions and who you always want to throw a punch when the instructor finishes early and says, unless someone has a question. And this dude can't even wait for the end of the sentence before he launches his hand into the air.

Yep. I fucking hate that person. And you know the other guy in every class who's a know-it-all and always has some sort of comment or additional information about everything the instructor says? Yep. Well, Mario was both of those guys rolled into one big jackass. Wow.

That's the worst. Well, that was my opinion and that of the others who sat in my back corner of the room based on all the eye rolling that went on in that section every time Mario's hand went up, there were others on the other side of the room who were clearly impressed by his erudition? Wow, that's a fun word. These were mostly jocks and cheerleaders and others of the hard-thinking crowd and could be seen asking him instead of the instructor questions after class.

Mario clearly enjoyed this fan club and invited his minions to a weekly evening study session at his house. I don't know how many went regularly, but I know at least a few did. As the middle of the semester approached, the instructor informed us that we had to write a midterm paper. I would have cried. Everyone groaned and the instructor said that if we didn't want to do that, he would give us the option instead of giving an oral presentation to the class. Now, write a paper. Harder, yeah. Well, no one in their right mind wanted to do that.

So we resigned ourselves to the idea that a midterm paper was our collective future. Well, most of us did anyway. Imagine my shock and disgust when a few weeks later I walked into the classroom to find Mario in a suit and tie setting up a slide projector. Oh, shit, I thought. Of course this asshole is going to do an oral prosecution. Remember when I said, no one in their right mind? Yep. My first impulse was to turn around and leave, but the instructor, I can't say that word.

We're having a time to know. Our instructor had walked in right behind me. Damn it, I was trapped. I begrudgingly went to my seat and sat down, wishing that I was anywhere but about to listen to Mario's self-aggrandizement. Yeah, see, I was of the cheerleaders and jocks of the minded people, sorry, for the next 90 minutes. So class began, and Mario proceeded to tell us that he was a former police officer from Florida and a former professor of criminal justice at a university in Florida. Well, that explained how he knew all this stuff. but it did not explain why, having said all that, he was in this class, which I immediately thought was weird.

I also immediately thought that was weird. Yeah, I would say so. But then again, I thought that Mario was weird in general, so whatever. He then told us that he was going to show us some actual crime scene photographs. Oh. And use them to illustrate what detectives look at for one investigating a crime scene. Okay, I had to admit that this sounded like it might be sort of interesting. But in typical Mario fashion, it went way too far.

He started showing us pictures of people with their throat slashed, their faces shot off, all sorts of horrific stuff. And while it was sort of interesting hearing how they looked at blood spatter and other things like lividity and cadaverick spasm and that sort of thing, it was just too graphic. With each slide, people were fleeing the room in disgust and terror. I kept my focus as much impossible at looking out the window. Finally, the instructor told him to stop. It's too much, he said. Well, Mario was clearly offended and not happy at all that he didn't get to finish his presentation. As he was packing up his slides, he offered to give the full uncensored presentation one evening at his house

for anyone who wanted to see it in its entirety. This is so weird. This is so weird. I don't know if anybody took him up on that, but I'd be surprised at least some of his, I would be surprised if at least some of his study buddies did not. The second half of the semester went pretty much like the first, with Mario never shutting up, asking too many questions, making way too many comments, and just generally making a nuisance of himself. Finally, the end of the semester arrived, and it was the day where we were to take our final exams.

I arrived early and I took my seat. Other students filed in, as the top of the hour got nearer and nearer, there was some concern among team Mario that their mentor had not yet arrived. When the bell rang, there still was no Mario. Surely he's not going to miss an opportunity to show how much he knows, I thought. as the instructor started handing out tests. Where's Mario? Someone asked the instructor as he returned to his desk. How would I know?

He responded. And then added, he knows what time our class meets. Typical college instructor. Yep. I quickly forgot about Mario when I started on my exam. When I finished, I handed it in and I left the campus. On my way home, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a snack. And as I walked in, I happened to glance down at the newspaper dispenser.

I stopped dead in my tracks because right there, on the front front door, page was a picture of Mario in handcuffs. Oh my God. Surrounded by the police. What? What the hell? I said out loud. Same. Me too. As I leaned in closer and read the caption. However, the name under the picture was not Mario's. I looked again. It wasn't exactly a close-up. The photo had been taken at a distance. So I sort of shrugged it off and wrote it off as just being somebody who looked like Mario. Typing that last sentence, all these years later, I wonder why my brain didn't process that the photo. and the fact that Mario had missed class, the final exam, no less, had to be related. Seems like a pretty easy two plus two to put it together, but somehow it didn't register with me at that moment.

Because why would you assume that this is real? Yeah, you're in shock. I got my snack and I went home. And when I got there, the newspaper was in the driveway. So I picked it up. It's following you. I sat down, it's like the boots. It's like, just look at this picture, man.

It's a pick-me newspaper. Yeah. I sat down and I opened it again, seeing that photo on the front page. Damn, I said, that really looks like Mario. So I read the story and I just about lost my shit. It was about a guy who had been arrested the day before. He had been wanted by the FBI for a year and a half for an execution style slaying in Florida. He was a former police officer in Florida.

Stop. And a former instructor of criminal justice at a community college in Florida. And who had been attending our local college under the assumed name Mario Blank. I left out the last name because the identity he assumed was that of a child who had died, and I would hate to see that cause that family any unnecessary pain. My goodness. What a horrible person. Monster.

To say I freaked out is an understatement. Indeed, I'd even say I was traumatized to some extent. For years, I had nightmares about those photographs that he showed us in class, and I can still see a couple of them vividly in my mind, even 35 years later. I despise him for that. Still, it makes it for a great story to tell, and in a group it can be pretty much, it can pretty much chop anybody else's story. I would say so.

Flash forward to a decade, a flash forward a decade or so to the mid-90s when the internet became a thing. I was telling somebody about this guy, and they asked if I ever wondered what happened to him. I hadn't, but after they asked me about that, I did begin to wonder. So I got online and I did some searching. Basically, he pleaded no contest, no contest, excuse me, and was sentenced to 40 years, 20 years jail and 20 years probation. Since he was so knowledgeable about the justice system, he was one of those guys who filed

lawsuits trying to get out of serving his time. Unfortunately, he was eventually successful in finding a loophole and had his jail time reduced to 10 years in prison with the same 20 years probation. Jeez. That 20 years span of probation saw a wild ride of him being re-arrested a couple times for breaking the terms of his probation and threatening the victim's family, as well as him, as well as him complaining that his probation, an ankle bracelet, prevented him from becoming a nurse, or living a normal life, or some nonsensical bullshit like that.

Oh, my God. One article I read reported that the judge told him at some point that he didn't seem very, he didn't seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation he, oh, my goodness. He didn't seem to comprehend the gravity of the crime he had committed. Regardless, his probation eventually did end. And that's why I didn't give my real name or mention his, other than by the alias that he used because this shipbag is still alive and outloose amongst the public. What?

That's fucked. That's terrifying. Anyway, that's my story. Oh, just that. I have attached a newspaper article for your off podcast enjoyment. I have tons more info. Who knows? Maybe this will turn into an episode.

Thanks for taking the time to read about this freak who is in my criminology class. Until next time, keep it weird. But not to worry that you have a murderer sitting by you in class and you don't even realize they're saying a cut photo in the newspaper. why he missed the final exam that's wild holy shit and isn't it just like so funny like you just like really didn't like this guy and something about him was just off to you yeah like there's just something about him you find that out i'd be like wow my radar is phenomenal look at me and my intuition look at me damn and the fact that he was showing everybody crime scene photos and shit he was probably

like loving that yeah and seeing people like be disgusted and like run out of the room I'm also like, how do you only get 20 years for shooting somebody execution? Exactly. What the fuck? Wow. Okay. That was a lot. Thank you for that, anonymous.

Wow. Okay. So this next one is called Man Lived in My Basement Walls. No, thank you. So there's that. So it starts off. Hello, ladies. I just wanted to start by saying I love your podcast.

I'm active duty military. Thank you. Thank you. And recently decided to move one and a half hours away from base to live with my wife. So with a three-hour daily commute, you guys keep me laughing and sane. So thank you so much. You're welcome. You're welcome.

And again, thank you. Okay, so this all happened when I was 16 years old. I am now 29, and it still sends shivers down my spine. I will start this by saying, I'm far from an author, so bear with me. I'm sure you're going to do great. You are. I will explain the setup of the house as I personally love to visualize stories when I hear them. It's a single floor house located in a very rough side of town in Birmingham, Alabama.

It was white with a somewhat enclosed porch, typical southern-style house with a swing and shrubbery. I can picture that. I can't too. It sounds beautiful. The side of the house had a carport which led to either steps going up to an elevated back porch. I would say about 10 to 15 feet above ground level and a second path which led down into a fenced backyard. Under the porch was a door to our basement. The only access to this huge basement was through the backyard and that door.

When we first moved in, I walked down to check it out, and when I opened the door, it was like a fucking treasure room. Old antiques, tools, shelves lined with all kinds of awesome shit. That sounds amazing. It does, but also I'm like a little scared. I'm terrified for you, but I still love it. This basement was the size of the entire house, so the backside was very dark, and my scared ass never ventured further than about halfway. I don't blame you. At first, I would explore all the random items and look around, but I always had an awful feeling.

that one where the hair stands up on the back of your neck, like your body is getting ready for fight or flight. Yep. I was raised by a single mother and a sister, so I'm used to being the man of the house, even at a young age, checking the scary noises, running people away from the house, etc. But something about this fucking basement terrified me, so I started avoiding it at all costs.

Fast forward about two months, we got a family dog who would go in the backyard and then comes inside with us at night. He was supposed to be our guard dog, but holy shit did he fail at his job. Anywho, as I would go down to feed my dog, I would notice the basement door would be open. Okay, Alabama is windy and it's an old door.

Ooh, I just lost my place. I'm sorry. It's an old door, whatever. I would close it, and the next day, it was open. So much that my mother started telling me to stop leaving the door open because she didn't want animals to get in our basement. After the eighth time of her telling me this, she started getting angry, and I was pleading my case, telling her, I'm not leaving the damn door open.

So I came up with a plan. I found an old wooden dining room table chair someone had left on the street. I took it home, closed the door, and propped it against it. Boom. Suck on that, shit wind. The next morning, I walked my dog down to the backyard.

And when I turned the corner, I shit you fucking not. The fucking chair was placed beside the basement and the door was open. No. Now, I will start this by saying myself and my family do believe in the supernatural to a certain extent. And for some stupid, ass reason, that's exactly where my brain went right off the bat. I flipped my ass around and sprinted to my

house borderline panic attack setting in. I called my friend who lived across the street and asked if he would come take a look with me. When we arrived, we smoked a joint on my front porch, sorry, mom. So now we were feeling good and decided to go check it out. I love that you did that before. You got to chill first. We grabbed a flashlight, yes, an actual flashlight, and went to the backyard. We stepped into the basement, walked two or three steps in on the support. beam of the house. Someone wrote, Ratman with a marker. We nope the fuck out and never return again.

So they see Ratman and they're like, nope. Five months later, my family moved out of that house and some single gentleman moved in after us. My grandmother still stayed in that neighborhood and became friends with her new neighbor. Well, as it would turn out, six months after that man moved in, he heard noises from the basement. And apparently has balls made a fucking titanium because he decided to go

into that dark area in the back and check it out. There was a fucking man living in the walls. No, no, no, no. He had cut out portions and could somehow move along parts of the house in the wall. So every time I was exploring or heard noises coming from our walls, that eerie feeling I had was because my body knew a fucking crazy man was staring at me from within the darkness. What the fuck, bro? Hopefully you and the listeners can get some kind of entertainment about that terrifying moment in my life.

I still hate basements now. Love you guys. Oh my God. My God. What the fuck? Matthew. What the fuck. That's so creepy and I hate it.

So you were living. So when that door was opening, it was him going in and out of the house. Oh. And when that chair was gone, it was because he moved the fucking chair. I hate it. Was he the rat man? Yeah, he was. Who wrote that?

Did he write that? Did he leave high ratman? was here. It's also a little, so many questions. A little silly goofy because it reminds me of Bruno. Oh, yes. We don't talk about Bruno. I know. I hate that. I hate that. Hate that. Also, Deb made sure to write a little note on it that said, this is one of my biggest fears. So, Matt, thank you for sharing that with us, because holy shit. Oh, gee. That was like terrifying. I hate basements as well. Absolutely hate it. All right. Well, my next one is called Listener Tale, How Rex Allen Krebs built my bunk bed. Oh, that'll change you. Okay.

Hey, weirdos, my name is Amanda Adams. And please use my name because I'm a freak out if I hear my story on your listener tales. Amanda, freak out, Amanda. I just wanted to say that Morbitt is my number one favorite podcast, and I'm also excited for Alina's new book. Yay! The Butcher and the Wren at tiny URL.com. slash the butcher in the rent. I preordered it as soon as I heard it announced, and you can too by going to tiny URL.com slash the butcher and the rent. Thank you so much, Amanda.

That's amazing. I've probably watched too much ID channel with my mom growing up. Never. And most people would find it odd that we share a passion for true crime, but you guys just get us. We do. I feel I've probably, oh, no. I, ah, you know, when your eyes go to the same line you just read,

yep, that happened. It happens. I feel like the way you talk about cases is more. relatable and real than other podcasts, and I can still have a little laugh at times, too. It's the perfect mix for me. Thank you. Thank you. A little tidbit about myself, I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. Whoa. I left the religion quite a few years ago, but in the last year or so, I have realized the impact it made on me. One thing is, it made me feel bad for being interested in true crime. Now that I'm recovering from a cult, I'm starting to embrace my passion and have recently started

an online school at the Arizona State University for Forensic Psychology. Get it. Amanda? At the age of 29. Hell yeah. Not going to lie, you two have been a huge inspiration for me. That's amazing. Thank you. That's wild.

You've taught me not to care what other people think and that it's okay to like the morbid side of things, as I like to say. Okay, enough gushing. I have attached to put a foot and it is double spaced. Thank you. I hope you enjoy. And I know you always say, not to apologize, but I am not the best writer and can overthink what I say and have like five

rough drafts typed up. So here we go. You're amazing and I love it already. It's already. It's going to be great. It's going to be amazing. Okay. It says Rex Allen Krebs built my bunk bed and thank God for mom's intuition. This is like a theme. Mom's intuition. It is. Yeah. It's so funny. It happens like randomly. Yeah, it does. All right. I live in the beautiful county of San Luis Obispo. Did I say that right? You did. All right. Cool. Slough. Or SLO. in the Sunshine State of California. We are known for our beaches and forests all within a 30-minute drive. I just burped.

I don't know if you heard that. It was embarrassing. Sorry. I was just like, I just ripped. I didn't know if you guys heard it or not, but if you did that, that's what that was. So as you said. But also, we are known for our cases such as Ed Camper. Camper.

Who am I? Kiamper. And Kiaprith. Scott Peterson, Kristen Smart, Rex Allen Crubs, and many others. Wow. Ed Kemper was held at, why would you do? A Tascadero. Oh, good. State Hospital, which was a five-minute drive from my first home.

Scott Peterson murdered Lacey, and I had a sister named Lacey. I remember people calling our house asking if that was my sister who was missing. Oh, wow. Then there was Kristen Smart, who went missing in 1996. Her case has recently been re-examined due to another podcast, her own backyard. Yes. And the alleged killer is being tried in court in April of 2022. I highly suggest listening if you're interested.

The trial begins this month, and it's been a long time coming. My tale focuses on Rex Allen Krebs, who confessed on April 22, 1999, to abducting, raping, and killing two college students. Their names were Rachel Newhouse, age 21, and Andrea Crawford, age 20. Rachel was kidnapped on November 2, 1998, and Andrea on March 11, 19, 191. I feel it's important to know the true victims in this story. My sister and I were the lucky ones. Rachel and Andrea, I hope you have found peace and are no longer suffering. Oh, same. Yeah, me too. So here's the story of how he built my bunk bed. My sister and I were super excited to get our new bunk bed set. We had been sleeping in beds that were side by side for many years and we were so ready to have a cool new bed set.

The first thing I remember is two men standing at our front door and my mom greeting them. She seemed okay in that moment. I explained okay in that moment. I explained. excitedly watched as the two men came in and started assembling our bed piece by piece. I noticed one man writing on the outside of the bed in a black marker and wondered why he was drawing on my new bed. And then I noticed my mom seemed panicked or worried. She had a terrible feeling about one of the men. She told my sister and I that we needed to lock ourselves in her bedroom and not to come out unless it was her at the door. We sat by the door and listened, wondering why she had said that. That's terrifying. My God. I've asked my mom her side of the

story and this is what she said. When the men greeted her, she was okay with the first guy, but the second one had a hollow look to his eyes. The two men started assembling the bunk bed. The first guy had to step out for a moment, and my mom went in to see how it was coming along. She noticed the other guy, Rex, looking around and not working. He didn't catch that my mom was watching him just yet, so she just sat and observed him. He started to look out our bedroom windows and back door, being sure to peek at corners. The fuck? We had two big windows, one on each side of our room and a door to our backyard. My mom instantly got chills and knew what he was up to.

He was plotting how to break into our home and steal her babies. Oh, my God. My entire stomach just dropped into my toes right now. That's, I can't imagine being in that situation. Oh, my God. He then noticed that she caught him and his stare was pure evil. Like, you caught me, so what? Her words.

She said he looked at her like a dog. that's ready to attack, and that's when his co-worker happened to come back in. After the guys finished our bunk bed and they were gone, my mom let us out of her room, and that's when she told me about intuition for the first time. She went to our neighbor who worked at the local sheriff's office and told him of her concerns. He got the name of the company and noted the man's physical appearance and said that he would look into it. He even told the guy not to come back and that we were watching him. A few days later, our neighbor came back to our house to inform us that he couldn't give us all the details, but that my mom was absolutely right to be concerned. And this man,

Rex Krebs, was a really bad guy that was being investigated for something. About a month or so later, we were all watching the news about a man who had abducted and raped two college students. And my mom kept left saying, that's him, that's him. That's the guy that was in our house. Stop it. I will never forget this. It's one of my most vivid memories as a child. We all sat there on the couch shocked. This man could have taken one of us. And I truly feel like my mom saved us. She got an intuition, listened to it, followed through, and showed no fear. Fuck yeah, she did. We found out later that Rex Krebs got the addresses of his victims from work. That's horrifying. I literally got chills typing that last sentence. I strongly feel my mom's presence

and awareness is what saved us from this. Yes. Totally did. A little side note. On the side of bed facing the wall, there were handwritten numbers and letters. I'm assuming model number or something. I would get a strange, distant feeling every time I looked at them. And for some reason, always felt the urge to trace them with my index finger. Now that I know this was the handwriting of Rex Krebs, it gives me the hebe-gebys, aka whatever words you use for creeps me the fuck out. Oh my God. That's absolutely terrifying. I seriously love you guys and I hope that my tail was good enough to tell. It was. It certainly was. I've had about five rough drafts and finally decided to send it. I have some spooky ghost tales too, but that's for another time.

Hell yeah. Yes. Thank you guys for being there and creating the best true crime, ghostly, creepy, weird podcast that I've ever listened to. Thank you. That was so nice. Keep it weird. But not so weird that an actual murderer builds your bunk bed, tries to find a sneaky way in and then gets scared off by your mom, although keeping it that weird helped me with intuition and what bad vibes to look out for.

So, you know. Wow. That is fucking terrifying. That one made me, like, sick to my stomach. Dude, see, I swear, like, that is why we have intuition as, like, humans, you know. Oh, we got to listen to our intuition. I don't, it's, I second guess my gut a lot. Like, that's one of my, like, fatal flaws.

And I need to stop doing it because, like, it's always right. But, whoa, scary. That is really scary. I would have hated sleeping in that bed, too. I would have been, like, mom, can we get a new bunk bed? I'd be, like, new bunk bedtime. Yeah, like, let's put them together together. instead of having anyone come in.

And that's the thing. You don't even think about that. Like, you're just having a company. They have workers. They come in. Sometimes they'll put a piece of furniture together and then they leave. Yeah. But she was, thank goodness, she went back in there.

She just had a feeling. And thank goodness she went back in there just to check on the progress because she never would have seen this. Right. Mom intuition, man. That's really scary. All right. Wow, Amanda.

So we're going to leave this off on a listener tale that's titled, hope in the Valley of the Sun. Ooh, beautiful. All right. So this said, let me see. I got to open the putafo. You're the best. Hey, besties, because we totally are besties, whether you knew it or not.

I knew it. And now you do. I found y'all last week and I've been getting caught. Wow, damn. I've been getting caught up at light speed, currently in the 190s. Jesus. I'm pretty sure at this point my hubby knows your voices better than my own. I've been dying to share some of my own spooky stories with you all since I

heard the very first listener tales. My only hang up was trying to pick just one. So today you're getting a story with a little bit of crime and a little bit of paranormal. There you go. Perfect. Because these types of stories are delicious and feed both sides of my weirdo brain. That's how we feel. That's how I feel. I'm a mom and have been living off true crime and all things creepy for as long as I can remember. So much so that when my kid's sweet elderly piano teacher passed away, my then five-year-old son's first thoughts were, wow, mom, I can't believe she made it so long before getting murdered. Oh my God. Wow. Wow. I hope she didn't actually get murdered. I know. I hope she actually didn't. I asked what he meant and it turns out all of my true crime shows, movies, books, and podcasts had led him

to believe that everyone at some point or another will be murdered. Oh my God. Oh my goodness. And that's how we die. Oh my God. Oh, my God. So I may not be winning any mom of the year awards anytime soon, but at least I can rest a bit easier knowing I can send my kids out into the world just as hypervigilant as myself when it comes to trusting your instincts and avoiding murder. Ooh, instincts. Instincts. There's a theme. Speaking of children, grab your glutes, ladies, because this one's a ride.

Just grab your glute. You know those friends that are more like family? Of course. They kind of just walk into your home, raid your fridge, shit in your toilet and dip out, leaving you to face the stank alone type of friends. I'm that type of friend. Mine and my siblings grew up were, wait, hold on. Mine and my siblings growing up were these Skid kids derived from their last name.

Names will be changed a bit to respect their privacy. You can call me Cece. Hi, Cece. Hello, Cece. We first met the Skid kids at church and learned they lived on our street just a handful of houses away. Now, this family was just about as different from mine that you can get. Both of my parents worked full time and were reserved serious people. Nothing wrong with that.

Whereas Ma and Pa Skid were bohemian types. Hippies, L.O.L. Hell yeah. And we're free with their friction towards everyone. They had the kind of hallmark home where you can swear you feel a warm blanket of love and kindness, wrap around your shoulders just by stepping through the front door. That is literally Monpapa. Yes.

And they're also hippies. There you go. We basically lived at their house all summer, and during the school year, we'd hang out until the streetlights came on each night. So our first stop on the way back machine takes us to October of 1986. This was a few years before we knew them, but their story was well known among Arizona. throughout Arizona by the time we moved into the neighborhood.

Being the glorious 80s, the best damn decade to ever exist, fight me. We lived the majority of our adolescents unsupervised and who the fuck knows where. Our block was our kingdom and we were hecken royalty. We lived by the sun back then. We picked grapes off the vines in other people's yards and we drank our water from rusty garden hoses. I'm looking at you, Tetanus. We were free in a way that today's kids may never understand. But loki, like, how did we not all get murdered?

Honestly. That's all I was thinking the entire time you were saying that. And so it was on an ordinary Tuesday. Mama Skid got a call from the school nurse saying that her second oldest, Bobby, who was in kindergarten at the time, had an accident and could she please drop off a pair of clean clothes for him. She threw her two younger daughters, Alice age three, and Lucy age two, and a younger neighbor boy she was babysitting into her wood-paneled station wagon and made the trip to the elementary school. No major streets, just a few blocks through the neighborhood, and she was there.

She pulled up and parked in the front office, left the car running with the windows down, and dashed in to drop off the bundle for Bobby. As she's leaving the office, she hears the sounds of children crying hysterically and screaming. Oh, no. She runs to her car to see what the matter is and finds only the boy she was babysitting and two-year-old Lucy. Where is Alice? Alice was gone. Oh, oh no. After calming the kids down, she was. was able to get a story out of them. Once she had gone into the school, a large man with a beard and hairy arms approached their vehicle and reached into the car, grabbed Alice and pulled her out through the passenger's side window, and was nowhere in sight. Oh my God. My heart is literally about to burst.

Police were called, roads were cordoned, a rough sketch was quickly done and plastered on every news station in the state. Thousands of flyers were distributed in record time. The entire Phoenix Valley was on the lookout for this creepy-ass motherfucker, and no one could find him. being the true crime addicts that you are, you know that the first 48 hours after an abduction are the most crucial in terms of ever getting that person back alive. So when night came and went and came and went and came and went and there was still no sign of Alice or her abductor, her family began to despair. Three days in and nothing, the family was just about out of hope. When the skid parents weren't aiding in the search, they were spending a lot of time on their

knees praying to God to bring back their baby girl. Oh, I can't even imagine. My heart. It was on the third day that while praying, an overwhelming sense of common peace settled over them, and they knew somehow it was going to be all right. Whoa, I just got chills. Alice would be found and returned unharmed. As you can imagine, not many others held that same belief and were preparing for horrific news or even worse, no news ever again.

The odds were very bleak. Meanwhile, about 30 miles north of Phoenix, three men were out hunting in the desert. They had taken dirt roads for miles and found an area far away, from the highways where no one better, where they could better find the quail they were hunting. One of the men walked ahead a bit to retrieve the quail he just shot. And as he bends over to pick something up, something catches his eye. It was a three-year-old baby girl walking barefoot right towards them through the rough and savage terrain.

They had found Alice in the middle of the fucking desert. My God. And she had been there for a while at this point. My God, she was calm and shockingly only had a few superficial scrapes on her arms and legs. Of course, they rushed her back to the truck, gave her some water and soda they had on him, and comforted her on the long drive back to civilization. Her kidnapper, unfortunately, was never found. Never found?

Ma and Pasquid were obviously so overjoyed and grateful to have Alice home again. After the excitement died down over the next few days, Alice was able to tell them details about her abduction. She told them that after she was dumped in the desert, another little girl found her. She didn't know this girl, but with blonde hair and blue-green eyes, she looked a little like her sister Lucy. She said the girl was wearing a big white t-shirt and was glowing a little. She followed the girl the entire time she was in the desert, eventually losing her on that third day just before she was spotted by hunters. Wow. Upon re, I have entire chills are radiating up and down my body.

Me too. The warm. Literally. Upon reuniting with Alice, Pa and Maskid said they weren't surprised. They said they knew she was still out there and had felt a higher power had been watching over her and guiding her to safety.

As Alice grew older and her language skills developed, she told her family that the little girl in the desert had held her hand and told her to follow her and she would take her somewhere she could get help. Oh my God. As she walked barefoot through the desert, she said that the ground underneath her was smooth dirt, but ahead of and behind her

were bushes and thorns and cacti. Everywhere she stepped with the little girl, the ground was clear. What? It had rained one of the nights she was out there, and she said when she sat with the little girl, the rain didn't touch her, and she stayed dry. I've attached news articles about her kidnapping and subsequent rescue. So now, like, let me take a moment for that.

Holy shit. Whoa. Just like, just her being led by like a little girl who was like glowing a little bit is wild, but then you add the terrain in front of her when she was with. The little girl was smooth and she didn't get rained on. And that this three-year-old was alone in the desert. But luckily had this like friend and that it rained one night.

Like that must have been so scary. I know. Okay. I'm like, who is this little girl? My God. So now let's hop into the a few years later machine when we moved to Phoenix and meet this amazing family. Over the years, they had more children and ended up with six kids total. I'm so glad for Bon Puskid.

I know, me too. As a part of their faith, every Monday night was spent with friends and family playing games, teaching moral principles, and eating sweets, and just generally doing their best to strengthen their family's ties to one another. That sounds lovely. It's freaking adorable. Well, a new habit was adopted. That one of the Mondays each month would be dedicated to teaching the kids stranger danger. A problematic term, but it was the 80s, and that's what they called it. Why is it problematic?

I don't know. I honestly don't know why that is, but I'm interested now to find out. because that's what I always heard it being. I've always heard it. Yeah. They would thoroughly go through many different emergency scenarios and what to do in case of them, ranging from a sibling choking to a fire in the home to car accidents. They really covered everything.

Most of the time, the appropriate response was run like hell, find a trusted neighbor, and call 911. Yeah. But always, run, was the most important message of these meetings. One such meeting, Bobby, now 11, asked, what if something happened to mom, pa, skid? What if they were hurt or in danger and he could help them? To which they emphatically replied, nope, the answer is run. Always run.

Well, Bobby, having the heart of a lion, didn't like that answer. When his parents weren't around, he called a meeting of his own with just the kids. They talked about what they should do if one of their parents were hurt somehow. They all decided that if something horrible would happen to any of them, that they'd stay and fight. Are these kids real? Is this family real? Yes, they are. Fight?

A bunch of children? Yep, you heard it. Fight. They would run through scenarios of fighting bad guys and the best ways to go about it. Bobby said he'd tackle the bad guy and the little kids all volunteered to play their own roles. This is like cheaper by the dozen. This is amazing. Molly, the eldest, would call the police, while Alice would kick. Lucy would scratch and even little Kate, only four at the time, would scream and bite and pull hair. Their drill practices looked like kids just play fighting in the yard, but to them, it was training and deadly serious. One day, not many months after they made this plan, a man broke into their home and began attacking their mother. Papa Skid was at work, but all the kids were home. She told the man she'd do whatever he wanted, but begged him to please not hurt the kids. Thankfully, the psycho perv left the kids alone, but dragged Ma into a back bedroom and was attempting to assault her when the door was kicked open. Get the fuck out. These kids are like, get the fuck away from my mom. Five, very pissed.

pissed off children charged in and beat the ever-living fuck out of this creepazoid. The man probably could have done a lot of bad shit to them, but he must have been so caught off guard that he just panicked because he jumped up and fled. They chased him through the house and out the front door, which they promptly slammed and locked. Mama Skid was okay, though not happy her kids had this secret plan and had put themselves in danger for her. Everyone knew that this could have been at a very different ending and we were all very grateful

again for their safety. For real. That is fucking wild. I'm obsessed with a family. This really is only a few of the Skid Kids stories, but I figured it was a good place to start. If you'd enjoyed it, I have others. Please send them all in. You should also literally just fucking write a series on these kids.

Honestly, can you please send us these stories and just say like Skid Kid Kid Story number three? Legit. Side note, these kids were very sensitive to all things spirit, and we've had many spoopy adventures together. Yes. These kids are fucking rad. They're amazing. I'd also love to someday tell you of the week-long haunting that me and my kids suffered through a few years back. Yes, please.

Damn, Damans. Or the story of how a dear friend of mine was the last victim of a serial killer duo, Dale Hausner and Sam Dyettman. Oh, man. Holy shit. Whose reign of terror in the Phoenix suburbs claimed the lives of nine people, attempted to claim 19 others, committed numerous aggravated assaults, slaughtered dozens of pets, and racked up over $7 million of Dan.

damage through arson between the years of 2005 and 2006. I'm so sorry about your friend. I am too. Please add this case to your list. Robin was a beautiful soul and didn't deserve what happened to her. We will add that. We absolutely will. Oh, I'm so sorry.

So my dear morbid mavens, if you've managed to get this far, thank you for sticking with me. Of all the praise I could heap onto the two of you pages and pages, that's so nice. The thing I wish to convey to you the most is how I appreciate when you gals talk about the victims. They always begin as strangers. Their death's sad, but a bit removed. Then for the length of a podcast episode, you breathe life back into them as you celebrate the people they were behind the missing photos

and news reports. That's really nice of you say. Thank you. The way you honor them and make them real to us is one of the best gifts you ladies can give to the world. There's a whole lot of ugly out there. The most we can do is hold on tight to our humanity and love all the louder for it. I fucking love you, man. Hugs or high fives, ladies.

Keep up the good work. and as always keep it weird. P.S. one day, many years after the abduction of Alice Skid, she was playing in the living room with her sister Kate, her little sister Kate, who had not been born at the time of her kidnapping. She was watching her little blonde-haired, blue-green-eyed sister Kate play

when she abruptly gasped and ran to her mother, shouting, Mom, it's Kate, it's her. At the confused look on Mama's face, she explained, Kate was the little girl, mom. The girl in the desert, she saved me. It was her. I am completely ruined.

I could literally cry. Physically, financially, emotionally, mentally, ruined. That I'm, that, you buried the lead on that. Are you kidding me? I'm, I was wondering if you were going to say that. Carrie. Holy shit. Are you shitting me?

What a fucking story. Also, I love you a lot. Like, I just, I just love how you wrote that. Truly, I, funny. Like that was the, you're the best. Oh my goodness. Wow, guys. You just continue to deliver.

That's just like, that story. Wow. Just the fact that it was like her little sister. Who wasn't even born yet? I think that's so beautiful. This little sister that was just like twinkling up there somewhere waiting to be born. Dude, this is a wild world. And there's so much more to it than what we just like see with our two eyes.

There is. And that we won't know. But it's okay. But that we might know someday. But fuck. Wow. that was like my kind of story. That was really why.

And you know what that was? That was like the kind of story where it's like that family seems like a family that just like did it right. Like they just like loved each other and taught each other to be kind and like to love each other and to take care of each other. And then that's why like that I feel like they got what they deserved from life. Because it's like, damn, whatever you put out there comes back to you three times three. And Carrie was right. There's a lot of ugly in the world, but we just got to say, fuck off, man. Just everybody be cool. Don't be all like uncool. You know? Just be cool. Don't be all like uncool. I have wine glasses that say that. Countess Luann. Forever and always. Guys, wow. I'm so glad we get to do listener tales whenever the fuck we want now because like, I love it. I love it so much.

What a shot in the army these are. Friday listener tales give me absolute just an adult. rated fun life. It sends me into the weekend just being like, fuck yeah. Yeah. Like that's just, you guys are insanely awesome. And we appreciate you. Keep sending them in because we're going to keep doing these forever if we can. And

you guys keep getting better and better. Yeah. So we appreciate you. And we hope that you keep listening. And we hope you keep it weird. But that's not weird that you attack a homeless or no, that's where you attack a 70 year old woman like and throw her off of a cliff into a

ravine because what the hell are you doing if you're doing that? Honestly, I'm going to tell you to keep it so weird that you get haunted by a pair of boots for the rest of your life because that honestly sounds pretty fun and interesting and it's a good story to tell at parties. Um, you should definitely not keep it so weird that you have a class with Mario because it's actually not Mario. No. No. Don't keep it so weird that you actually move into the basement walls of somebody else's home. That is probably a felony and you will probably get in trouble. The weirdest. Don't keep it that weird ever. Never ever keep it so weird that you are a serial killer who builds bunk beds for children, because I don't think I have to explain that one.

And do keep it so weird that you're like Carrie and the Skid Kids. Yeah, and the Skid Kids. And also keep it so weird that you trust your intuition and trust Mom's intuition. The end of the stories.