Sightings - Three Terrifying Locations: Listener Stories

Episode Date: September 29, 2025

Some places harbor secrets that aren't meant to be discovered, while others harbor terrors that want to be found. Find out why as we bring to life three incredible and extra-creepy listener stories. Story Music tracks used by kind permission of CO.AG Sightings is a REVERB and QCODE Original. Find us on instagram ⁠@sightingspod Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Some places feel ordinary at first glance. Old houses, schools, or quiet apartments. but step inside and you sense it, the chill that lingers in the air, the silence that presses too heavily, the feeling that you are not alone, because sometimes places become more than just buildings, and offers shelter for both the living and the dead. Welcome to sightings, the series that takes you inside the world's most mysterious supernatural events. Each episode brings you a thrilling story that puts you a the center of the action, followed by a discussion that dives into the accounts that inspired

the story and our takes on them. I'm MacLeod. And I'm Brian, and it is the last Monday of the month, and we are back to listener stories for everyone. And since we are just days from October, we wanted to share some of our favorite spooky stories. So journey with us as we explore three peculiar places and learn what really lurks in the dark. Will it terrify you as much as our listeners that experienced it, find out on this episode of sightings. Time for another exciting episode of Creep Out McLeod. Oh, our favorite time for another exciting episode of Creep Out McLeow. Oh, our favorite time of the moment.

My favorite time of the month, in which our listeners creep out McLeod with their personal stories of terror or just strangeness. Yeah, so I picked out three really cool kind of haunted place stories for this episode. The first one is by someone who wished to remain anonymous. Okay. So all I can say is that this happens in Reno, Nevada. In Reno from Anonymous. So give us your best anonymous voice, McLeod. During our final year of college, my boy,

and I moved into an old condo tucked in a fading. Just like that. That's the one. So for our listeners who are joining us on a listener's story for the first time, McLeod has not seen these stories. And we're just going to lay down some music. Let's get that going. All right.

And whenever you're ready, McLeod. During our final year of college, my boyfriend and I moved into an old condo tucked in a fading corner of downtown Reno. A neighborhood caught somewhere between nostalgia and neglect. The place had a strange charm, like it had once been something great. But time had settled thickly over it. Wow, this person's a writer. Come work for us.

Yeah, that's right, right. Somebody is an English major. The place had a strange charm like it had once been something great, but time had settled thickly over it, an eerie, heavy kind of charm. From the moment we stepped inside, we felt like we'd walked into a time capsule from the 70s. The shag carpet, the amber tinted glass in the kitchen, the dark... I feel like, you know what? Now that I know that this person's like swinging for the fences and bringing it, like, I need to get literary with it.

No, literary away, McLeod. All right, from here on out, we'll get a little bit more in it. From the moment we stepped inside, we felt like we'd walked into a time capsule. from the 70s, the shag carpet, the amber-tinted glass in the kitchen, the dark wood trim, it was all too perfectly preserved. The upstairs loft bedroom had these massive creaking wooden blinds that slid open to overlook the living room below. The light never seemed quite right in that room. Shadows always lingered in the corners, even in the middle of the day. and the kitchen had cabinets with doors that opened on both sides one side into the kitchen the other into the dining area like something out of an old mystery novel it felt like a place with too many ways in and not enough ways out from the start something was off the day i called the internet company to set up service they couldn't find our address they found the condo to the left they found the condo to the right but out

Our hours simply didn't exist in their system, like it had slipped through the cracks of reality. I should have taken that as a sign. We tried to make the place ours. I suggested painting the bedroom wall a dark red, something warm and bold to liven up the gloom. That night, I had the first dream. In it, I woke up in our room, but it wasn't quite our room. The air felt thick like it was underwater. Next to my side of the bed, there was a girl, no older than 12 or 13.

She was tied to a chair in an old, soiled white nightgown. Her wrists were raw, her eyes wide with fury and terror. She was screaming at me, not with fear, but rage, like I had brought her there. But I couldn't move. I just stared, frozen, as her screams grew louder and more desperate. I woke up, soaked in sweat, heart pounding. My boyfriend said I thrashed all night. Things only got worse.

The next morning we went downstairs to leave for work and found every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen wide open. The sink was running, overflowing onto the floor. We thought maybe one of us, bus had forgotten to turn it off until it kept happening. Once, twice, then almost daily. Lights began flickering, then shutting off entirely. Our phones would die without warning, even when fully charged. We started losing time, hours passing in what felt like minutes. Once, we both woke up at 3 a.m., standing in the kitchen, the fridge door open,

neither of us remembering getting out of bed. I stopped feeling safe. I started picking up a bottle of whiskey on my way home from work. I'd sit in the condo complex courtyard, sipping from the paper bag like some character in a noir film, waiting for my boyfriend to get home. I couldn't go inside alone anymore. Not sober, anyway.

We stopped inviting people over. We stopped talking about the strange things. We were scared to even acknowledge it. It was like the more we noticed, the worse it got, and we noticed everything. The final straw came when I found muddy footprints leading from the loft to my side of the bed. They were small, barefoot. I hadn't dreamed that girl. She had been there.

That night, we didn't sleep. We packed what we could before the sun rose and left before it could set again. we never went back the condo still doesn't show up on internet service maps it's like it never existed maybe it didn't maybe some places aren't meant to be lived in maybe they remember things maybe they wait but whatever was waiting in that condo it wasn't waiting for us anymore and I pray it never finds someone new. Holy what? Okay.

Uh, anonymous. You moved to a condo that doesn't exist, had a dream about a bound little girl who has clearly been there for a while because her nightgall was soiled who was screaming at you. The water kept turning on and off. You would wake up in the middle of the night and basically sleepwalk along with your boyfriend and lose time. And then there were muddy footprints leading to your bed.

I'm amazed she lasted as long as she did. Yeah. And so well written. So well written. Wow. This is one of those stories. Like, I wish this person was not anonymous. It came from a, like, a nondescript email, too.

Okay. All I know is there was a first name on it. I don't remember what it was. And even if I did, I wouldn't say it. because they ask to remain anonymous. Okay. But because they're anonymous, like, I'm like,

I don't now know where this apartment is so we can tell people, don't move there. Wow. Okay. Let's just move right on from that one as fast as we possibly can. I agree wholeheartedly.

So we'll be right back after this break, everyone. Okay, flights on air Canada. Oh, wow. Mayorka, that's new. Oh, nice. But Vienna is a classic Mozart, Palaces and Schnitzel. Mm-mm, now you're cooking.

If you're hungry, deli brings the heat. Heat. Cartagena's got sun and the sea to cool off. So does Martinique. Mmm, and that French cuisine? Book it. Yes, chef. Wait, what about Lyon?

Choose from our world of destinations if you can. Air Canada. Nice travels. And we're back from the break where you listen to commercials. Amazing commercials that make you want to. buy stuff maybe or just annoyed you possibly which is why you should join q code plus i want to put that after every single ad break now put that after every ad break who cares about maintaining the mood man all right well uh after that first horrifying story uh let's do

another one yay um this one is from uh not anonymous person this one's from braden from texas bradden was the name of one of my best friends growing up oh really kid yeah i lived in my neighborhood Braden. Well, it sounds like this didn't actually happen to Braden, though. He says, this story comes from his buddy, Zach, back when he was in law enforcement. Oh, right. It involves time dilation, a possibly malicious entity, and a vanishing house. Given that it's law enforcement and that it opens with, it was a very cold night, it like immediately makes me want to go noir voice.

Do it. It was a very cold night in the winter of 2015. He's from Texas, though. Fair. I think just hardened Texas cop like Central Texas It makes it like once we're going to go Like McConaughey

Like what's True Detective Yeah give us McConaughey and true detective It was a very cold night In the winter of 2015 The thing that's crazy about McConaughey is his rhythm Is all over the place

Like if you listen to a little bit Of his audio book He's got the craziest rhythm You cannot anticipate How he's going to say Any given sentence Which I don't know if I want to do that That could be bothersome

But, or maybe, why not? This is our show. We can do whatever we want. Sorry, Zach. It was a very cold night in the winter of 2015 in a small town called Coleman. I'm the only officer out in the county, and it's just about 3 a.m.

Now, it's been a while since I received any calls or made any kind of traffic stops, and I'm patrolling the residential streets and spotlight and houses. I get to the 600 block of West Fifth Street, and on the south side of the road, in the middle of the block, I see a small, yellow house with white trim, tall grass, and large brush obscuring the front of the residence. I couldn't make out any kind of number or address for the house. From the road, I can barely

see the front door, and I can see it slightly open, so I decided I was going to check on the house and make sure there weren't any intruders or an emergency present. While walking to the door, I had to crouch under the brush to get to the front porch. Upon reaching the door, I knocked and announced police department. Is anyone in the house? After several attempts with no response, I turned on my flashlight and drew my sidearm to clear the building, make sure everything was okay. When I first walked into the house, I immediately noticed an old piano standing right beside the door a little way. off the wall. While looking around the living room, I noticed a lot of dust in the air

and old furniture, seemingly from the late 1950s to early 60s, all of which was in disrepair. There were stains on the wall where picture frames used to hang and had since fallen to the ground. In some places the ceiling had caved in and I could see moonlight coming in through the roof. I again announced myself and again asked if anyone was home. receiving no answer. I began searching the residence, moving right down a narrow hallway. About halfway down the hall, as I come to a doorway on my left, I hear a low, faint,

grower. Almost a growl, but not quite. It was a little distant as if in another room. I turned my flashlight off, put my back against the wall, opposite the door, and listened for any kind of indication as to where the noise came from. After what felt like 10 to 15 seconds, I turned my light back on, thinking I may have imagined the noise and decided to move into the room. Inside was a child's bedroom, toys scattered around, and as cliche as it sounds, an old wooden rocking horse in the corner. Everything in the room had that

same 1950s style. Other in my flashlight, there was a small amount of moonlight illuminating the back of the room with still no sign of anyone being home. I continue down the hallway, coming to the back of the house, and my radio lets out a quick bit of static. At the end of the hallway I find a big kitchen. I see a very old refrigerator on a kitchen table that was fully set for dinner with plates filled with old rotten food like someone had left in a hurry years ago as i'm walking through the kitchen i see a door leading to what i thought was another bedroom i approached the door and i hear the same growl but this time much louder and much closer i ducked down with my back against the counter and i started scanning back and forth from left to right try to

trying to make out any shapes in the dark. At this point, I was breathing very heavily and decided I don't care anymore if anyone is in the house. I'm just ready to get out. I sit there for what feels like 45 seconds, trying to control my breathing while still listening for any other noises. I stand back up, regain my composure,

and turn my flashlight on. Very quickly I check the second bedroom, then start moving back to the front door, much faster than before. When I got back to the front room, I felt relief and started to feel a little silly for how scared I'd gotten myself while searching the residence.

And I don't know what possessed me to do it. But I reached down to the piano to hit the lowest key. As the piano sounded throughout the house, I heard the growl again, only this time it was extremely loud and I felt breath on the back of my neck. I leapt to the front door,

opening it and slamming it shut behind me. I sprinted back to my patrol car and drove away from the house and contacted dispatch to let them know everything was Tim 4. Immediately after sending my broadcast, my dispatcher responds. Stand by for telephone call. I get a call from her. She asked me where I've been. I told her I'd just finished searching a house.

And she asks, why I hadn't been responding to any radio traffic? I had my portable radio on me, and while in the house, I'd only received static. I told her I'd only been in the house for maybe five minutes at most, to which she tells me she hadn't been able to contact me for over two hours. I looked down at my car stereo, and the clock said 5.24. Later that morning, I met with my sergeant, who asked me where I'd been and why I'd been unresponsive, and I told him my story. We then reviewed my dash cam video, which showed me at exactly three,

walk in front of my patrol car towards the residence, and nothing else until 524, when we could see me running past the front of my car and get back in. The last audio recorded before I went into the residence was me saying, Police Department, is anyone home? The very next recording was me crashing through the brush running back to my car and checking into dispatch two hours later. after that my sergeant told me to take him to the residence we spent somewhere around an hour searching the 600 block in surrounding areas and we couldn't find anything matching the description of the house i received a verbal reprimand for not responding to my radio and i was advised if it ever happened again the punishment would be much more severe over the days and weeks that followed i would return to the 600 block of west fifth street and never saw it

any houses matched in the description and no overgrown brush. In the years that followed, I began training new officers and put out a sort of bounty asking anyone to find that house anywhere in Coleman. It's become somewhat of an urban legend within the department, with some people just not believing, while others are still searching to this day. As of December 20th, 2024, nothing matching that house has ever been seen again in Coleman County. Oh, ho, you ate that up, McLeod. That's a pretty awesome story. I know. I love this one.

It's not only creepy, but then was the house even real? There's the time dilation aspect. Yeah, that's awesome. That's just an awesome story. We just got two stories with the vibes. Yeah, we're getting hit with some heavy vibes Oh man, well that's why it's almost spooky season Spooky season, I'm feeling it, guys, guys, yes This is making me want to blindfold myself

And put my hands in some spaghetti And feel around some peeled grapes Brains and eyeballs Brains and eyeballs Is spaghetti supposed to be brains really or is it supposed to be like I think it's supposed to be brains, maybe intestines I don't know Or worms or just worms

No, because worms Well, I don't know, who knows, it's just supposed to feel weird Nikki. Yeah, yeah. Haunted houses. Yep. All right. Well, we got one more story coming your way right after these advertisements for very

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Hope you bought some blankets, everyone. Ready for story number three, McLeod. You seem less terrified. You know, these are really scary. you seem less terrified than usual. Maybe you're just becoming acclimated. The vibes are just such that I'm in it. I'm just like, I'm just, yeah, I think one,

I've been a little bit acclimated to this now. Here we are, what, like, a year later. Yeah. Almost a year. Guys, is it a year? This is our, this is our anniversary episode. Guys, we did, this is our interview. Send us cake.

Send us cake on Instagram. Some, yeah. Sin us cake. I won't eat it because that doesn't seem like. a safe, smart thing to eat Stranger cake. Beware strangers, you guys. If these stories teach you anything, beware strangers and cake. Yeah, yeah.

Sorry, everyone, I'm not eating on cakes. But send them anyway. But let's get the story number three here. Tom from New Jersey. Tom from New Jersey. Yeah, I had to tone his story down a little bit because it was a little bit curse wordy. So let's get some music going.

Okay. I was a suburban kid now attending a slightly less suburban college in northern New Jersey. I hadn't acclimated to being away from home, so I took regular trips. And by regular, I mean, every weekend, either back home to central Jersey or further south to stay overnight with my high school sweetheart, Whitney, at her much more prestigious school, Monmouth University. And I didn't know this at the time, but most students and alumni there will immediately tell you the first rule of Monmouth. don't mess around in Wilson Hall at the center of the campus green

officially named Shadow Lawn due to frequent ghost sightings sat Wilson Hall a mansion turned classroom named after President Woodrow Wilson who summered there this sprawling estate was preserved almost exactly as it had been built

yet still functioned for daily classes and campus life I'll never forget my first visit touring the building in broad daylight with Whitney. I stopped to use the bathroom, which was completely decked out in marble tiles and still had an actual porcelain clawfoot bathtub. One time Matt, the manager of the place I worked, asked how I was adjusting to college life. I told him I actually spent most weekends at Monmouth with Whitney and asked him if he'd seen the clawfoot tub in Wilson Hall since he went to Monmouth.

Matt went quiet, then emailed me a Vimeo link. He said that for his communications final, they let him and two classmates stay overnight in Wilson Hall, and they got some weird footage. So when I got home, I opened the link to Shadows of Shadow Lawn, a documentary about the building's history and ghost stories. As an overly cocky 19-year-old, I rolled my eyes at the tails. When Matt's crew claimed the antique elevator's mirror slammed toward them at a 45-degree angle, I laughed. But as the documentary continued, my confidence wavered. They'd captured audio of the

broken piano playing itself in the distance, lights flickering on in empty rooms, and in the B-roll, a statue outside the mansion winking at the camera. But I dismissed it as sensational editing because ghosts aren't real, and I was determined to prove them fake. In December, I was crashing at Whitney's dorm as finals were ending, and I suggested a ghost tour of Wilson Hall with Whitney and her roommate Gwen, and surprisingly they agreed. We trekked through four inches of snow to the mansion. Inside, the moon cast dim shadows. There wasn't much else in terms of lighting. First, we found the piano, locked and quiet. Me? One. Ghosts zero. The elevator was a rickety closet with a collapsible grate. As it creaked upward, I poked the haunted mirror.

Solid. Me, two, ghosts, zero. Unrelated, I used the bathroom again. Me, three, ghosts, zero. We made our way down the dimly lit stairs. At this point, more afraid of tripping and falling than of ghosts. We found ourselves back in the foyer. I was proud of myself.

I had soundly proven that ghosts do not exist. but overconfidence made me push further. Let's check the antechamber. The room I'd come to call the antechamber, because antichamber is a cool word, didn't seem to have much purpose outside of being pretty. The room didn't have much going on aside from the glass doors, just an ugly fountain on the east wall and to the west,

a regular-sized glass door with a vintage brass push-bar jutting out. We arrived in the room, and I sensed an immediate drop in temperature. I figured the huge glass doors might have been drafty, but I would soon realize that something else had entered the antechamber with us. Whitney and Gwen wandered across the room to peer at the garden. At the same time, I approached the fountain on the east wall. I'd never seen it running. It was adorned with two angelic cherubs holding a fish, its mouth wide open but dry. In the darkness, the details were hard to make out. I squinted. straining to see the cherub's faces. That's when I felt it, the prickle of being watched,

as if the cherubs were staring back. Suddenly, the cherub's face began to glow, a bright, bluish-green light illuminating only its face. My bravery shattered. I wanted to scream, but no sound came. I stood frozen, locked in a silent gaze, being stared down by a little. its haunting, glowing smile. Was this the shadow of shadow lawn? Was it done with my grandstanding? My use of the nice bathroom? The glow lasted maybe ten seconds,

but it felt like an eternity. The light faded. I turned to Whitney and Gwen. Had they seen it? No, of course not. They were still gazing out the window. My eyes darted around the room and garden, hunting for a light source,

an emergency light. A passing car, anything. But there was nothing. Just us in that cold, cold room. Us and whatever had joined us. Then Gwen's phone rang, max volume, of course. My heart leapt. She answered.

Her dad was almost at the dorm to pick her up. Time to go. So we took one big step towards the door when, bam! I froze. What was that? Bam! Bam! Bam! The door rattled with each slam, like someone pounding.

The wind? Impossible. The tree beyond the glass door stood still. So did we. I opened my mouth, no clue what I meant to say, but got no further. The brass pushbar began shaking violently, slamming in and out as if an invisible man was desperately trying to escape. The noise was deafening. I glanced back at the fountain. The cherub's face glowed again, even brighter than before.

Its smile seemingly mocking me. All three of us stood paralyzed. As the banging reached a crescendo, I screamed the first words that came to mind. Soinx! Yes. Yes, really, my brain chose that in the scariest moment of my life. I'm sure even the ghost cringed. Amazing. But the power of Zoinks freed us. Yes! Amazing!

We bolted for the exit, Whitney and Gwen screaming, as I mentally wrestled with what I'd seen. It was all true. There was a shadow overshadow lawn. We raced through the snow back to the freshman dorms. Gwen's dad waited outside. We tried explaining what had just happened, but he, a Monmouth alum himself, simply answered, Why'd you mess around in Wilson Hall? I never returned to Wilson Hall. I still missed that bathroom. As for Whitney, after the zoinks, she never saw me the same.

And we didn't last much longer. Oh, no. But the whole thing led me to discover who I am. and I am a man who zoinks awesome story Tom I really love this one and everyone he does have a little post script here he said this story is all true

I didn't embellish anything although I did truncate some of the ghost stories and stuff in the documentary to save time yes I really yelled zoinks yes I am ashamed of it no no shame do not be ashamed of your zoinks I'm proud of your zoinks to my beautiful partner

who I recently married congratulations and is now stuck with me. If you're listening to this, I promise that if a ghost ever attacks, I will never yell zoinks again. Whoever your partner is, please turn to Tom and say, promise me that you will zoinks.

And then boop his nose. Like, honestly, if ever there was something to dispel a ghost, it's got to be zoinks. Like if the priest in the exorcist film had just gone, Zoinks! Like, I feel like,

we're going, I thought I was just going to scare you. You're a silly person. Well, hopefully that got everyone in the spooky mood because next week it is October, and we've got so many fun, extra scary episodes coming your way. But where are we going next week, Brian? Well, we are heading to a place that has one of the most terrifying names I think I've ever heard in my life. And I won't say much other than to say that it is in the Western U.S.

And it is a ranch. I'm not going to say anything, but get ready, everyone. We'll see you all next week, same time, same place, right here on sightings. Okay, thank you for the stories, everyone. Bye. Sightings is hosted by McLeod Andrews and Brian Sigley. Produced by Brian Sigley, Chase Kinzer, and McLeod Andrews. Series music by Mitch Bain.

Mixing and mastering by Pat Kicklider of Sundial Media. Artwork by Nuno Sarnatus. Sightings is presented. presented by Reverb and QCode. If you like the show, be sure to subscribe on your favorite podcast platform, so you're first to hear new episodes every week. And if you know other supernatural fans, tell them about us. We'd really appreciate it.