The Tape Library - Archive of the Paranormal & the Unexplained - Night Drive Paranormal 19 | True Paranormal Encounters From Around the World

Episode Date: January 29, 2026

Tonight’s episode of Night Drive Paranormal brings together true paranormal encounters from across the globe. These are firsthand accounts of unexplained experiences, strange presences, and moments that linger long after they’ve ended. These are real stories, submitted by listeners from different countries and cultures, each describing encounters that defy easy explanation. From quiet hauntings to unsettling late-night experiences, this episode is designed for slow listening, something to play on a night drive, in the dark, or as you drift off to sleep. As always, this is not sensationalised horror. There are no jump scares, no loud interruptions, just the stories told as they were experienced. Drive safe. Keep the volume low. And if something feels close… don’t turn around. Sign up to Patreon for early access and shout outs - www.patreon.com/thetaplibrary Subscribe now for more terrifying tales of the paranormal. If you have a story to share then you can email me at [e-mail] Additional footage and audio from Evanto, Artgrid, Epidemic Sounds, Singularity, Midjourney and Pexels. Music by Karl Casey @ White Bat Audio and the youtube audio library. All other footage used under fair use. CHAPTERS 00:00 Night Drive 01:22 Henry 09:47 The Beat of Brazil 33:30 Goodbye 38:59 The Top Floor 43:55 Her Face 48:05 Whistle and I'll Come To You SpectreVision Radio is a bespoke podcast network at the intersection between the arts and the uncanny, featuring a tapestry of shows exploring creativity, the esoteric, and the unknown. We’re a community for creators and fans vibrating around common curiosities, shared interests and persistent passions. spectrevisionradio.com linktr.ee/spectrevisionsocial Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Spectre Vision Radio I invite you to be a tourist and step into the minds of those people lost to the unknown. When I was five years old, I became terrified of something in my room. There was a disembodied voice sighing, and I moved around the room, and the boys moved with me. When I was a little kid, I used to see, like, the medicine men have to go outside and chase away skinwalkers. Clairvoyance is seeing mental images, symbols. Why is it that so many DMT experiencers report being pulled into... alien realms. We have hundreds and hundreds of people who have seen these UFOs. I am desperately

afraid of being seen as crazy. The weird borderline between dream and reality. We're at the cemetery. There's something moving through the woods that stand right outside of our lights. From behind the fridge door comes a big, dark figure, and I could just see the small red beady eyes. He got really close to my face, and he said, stay away from things you don't understand. The paranormal consciousness, folklore, the occult, quantum physics, UFOs, hauntings, psychedelics, nightmares, creativity, philosophy, ghost doors, mysticism, big foot, epistemology, high strangeness, the supernet, the cosmic joke, non-human intelligence, intelligent, haunted objects, human potential intelligence, the other.

Spectorvision Radio, a strange podcast network for strange times. Well, hello there. Thank you for tuning in at this late hour, wherever you might be. I know a lot of you are just out there, staring at the dark road, travelling all alone, and wanting a little company for that long journey. Well, don't worry, I'm back. And I have a whole host of real-life paranormal experiences to share with you. There's a bit of international flair to this one, from the south of England to the streets of Brazil, Mexico. Just remember, whatever you do,

choose to believe. The people who submitted these stories to our little show all claim that they believe these events truly happened. All stories are read in the words of those who submitted them. But you didn't come here to listen to me ramble on. You came here for some ghost stories. So let's get into our first case tonight. My name is M Fuji. I'm a huge fan of your show and tonight I was listening to one of your fan submission episodes and thought maybe now is the time to break the silence on this. Though it's not my first or only ghost experience, it's the one that scared me the most.

I hope you enjoy it, and maybe someone in the comments can help me figure out what the hell it was. When I was a boy, I spent almost every weekend at my grandparents' house. A beautiful brick home, early 20 of San. century type deal in High Park, Toronto. It had this beautiful Japanese maple out front. My grandparents bought this house in the 70s and lived in it for the rest of their lives. So one weekend, my aunt and uncle, who were my grandparents' caretakers at the time,

stepped out to grab a pizza from the bakery down the road, meaning it was just me alone with my grandparents. I was walking downstairs into the basement. when I saw a man speaking with my grandmother. I didn't hear the doorbell, so this caught me by surprise. He wore a tweed suit and was so incredibly tall that he had to slouch his neck to the side to fit in the basement without his head whacking the ceiling. He would turn the television off my grandmother when she fell asleep on the couch and run the water when she wanted to make tea. I never heard him speak,

but I knew in my stomach he was, was a good person. When I spoke to my grandmother about it, she said, oh, that's my friend. His name is Henry. He is kind. The next time I saw Henry, he was gently moving through the halls of the house, but that's when I noticed his feet, like a mist, transparent. I came to the realization at that point. Henry was a ghost It's hard to believe that ten years had passed since then But sometime in November 2016 When I was fresh out of high school

I decided to move into the basement to my grandparents' house Which was subsequently passed down to my aunt After they had died a few years earlier I wanted to be closer to the city to get a job or go to university The move went really well, and after having built all the furniture, I laid back on my bed and enjoyed a hard weekend's worth of work. But it was not a restful night. The occurrences started off slow, a television turning on here, or a tap turning on there. Though these were weird events, they never really scared me, not with me practically growing up with these events.

I just thought to myself That's just Henry doing his thing But weeks later I would learn of something darker That lived in the basement with me Something that makes my skin crawl Even thinking back to it now Coming home from my friend's house

I passed my uncle's truck Parked at the curve out front of the house I grabbed a handle to make sure the door was locked We'd had a series of break-ins the past week, which left me short one Canon 5D Mark 2, so this became my coming home ritual. I went through the side entrance and peered up the stairs to make sure the door to the main house was locked. I wanted a game in my boxes and didn't need someone bothering me. I threw my street clothes into the hamper and, in my boxes, plopped onto bed, and loaded up a game on my 3DS in silence. but that silence was broken by a scream from upstairs.

The scream turned to yelling. My aunt and uncle were having an argument when, in a crescendo of noise, the front door slammed shut. The moments following were filled with a deafening silence, and that's when I heard it. From the top of the stairs leading to the main house, my uncle called down to me. Emphagy, can I come down?

Ah, shit, I thought to myself. This was going to be a super awkward conversation and I didn't want to deal with it. So I did what any person were doing that position. I pretended I was asleep. Quickly I pulled the blankets over my head and stayed quiet. Slow, methodic and booming footsteps, moved further down the stairs as my uncle had now entered my apartment.

Can I come in? he said. But my stomach sank when it spoke. It sounded like him, almost identical. But it wasn't him. That little voice of reason inside my head said, Whatever you do, do not talk to it. That's not your uncle. What could I do at this point?

I heard the footsteps nearing the edge of the bed, and then it walked over to the side. I could feel it right on the other side of the blanket. Its lips almost next to my ear. Everything went silent when I heard it say. I know you're awake. Without warning, I felt it walk through me. And my body turned to ice. Fueled by adrenaline, I shot up from the bed,

ran towards the stairs to leave. The closet door, the bathroom door and the laundry room door all slammed shut at the same time. I swung the side door open and sat on the curb in front of the house, catching my breath. I sat there for almost half an hour before I realised. My uncle's truck wasn't parked in front of the house. I was the only one home. But the story of the thing doesn't end there. You see, I kept that story to myself for months since I didn't want anyone to think I was crazy. That was until April 2018. My family and I had gone to Florida to surprise my dad for his 60th birthday. My girlfriend stayed at my place to play video games on my gaming PC. Two days later, I got a call from her. She sounded panicked, scared.

She was laying on my bed when she heard my aunt called down to her. She pretended to be asleep. She told me she could feel the weight of my aunt sitting at the edge of the bed in silence. Eventually broken by my aunt asking her, Are you okay? My girlfriend told me she had this gut feeling not to speak back to it. And after five minutes of silence, she peered over the blanket to find no one in the basement.

She was really creeped out but left the house once I told her. My aunt was sitting next to me in Florida. We moved out the next year and my aunt and uncle sold the house the year after. No paranormal activity has happened to any of my family since. I hope the family that lives there now hasn't met Henry or whatever else lived in that house. Do you want your story read out on Night Drive paranormal? If you ever want to send me your own experience, then you can find my email in the description. You'll all be excited to know the next story.

Features a whole bunch of names and places that I will undoubtedly butcher. On to case two. I grew up in a very conservative community in Utah. My family was very religious, especially my father. In fact, he was a bishop for nearly half of my youth. I never paid much attention to spirits or the paranormal, outside of fiction and movies, until I was about 11 years old. It was early autumn, cool enough for the leaves to fall and blanket the yard, in their beautiful death throes, but still warm enough to leave the large wooden front door open and allow the closed-screen door to let in the fresh air.

My father and I were alone in the front room watching the television. It was MASH if you were old enough to remember. It was quiet as my father didn't like loud noises, so it made for a tranquil evening. The tranquility was interrupted by the screen door, whipping open, and despite the lack of any wind, it stayed open. It was dark outside as Mash was the last show I could watch before I had to go to bed. It was also plain to see that there was nobody there, who could have opened the screen door, let alone held it open. My young and naive mind found it funny, so I decided to invite our invisible guest into the house. Hi, I called out.

Come on in. I thought it was rather clever. My father, a clergy and an engineer by trade, reacted in a way I had never seen before. and never saw again. He immediately stood up, a nervous and slightly angry look on his face, and strode quickly over to the doors. He closed the screen door, closed and locked the wooden door, and turned to face me.

I was the oldest child and through experience I knew I was in for a chat. Zach, don't you ever invite anything into the home like that ever again? Do you understand me? My father said. I didn't. Honestly, I thought the spirit stuff he talked about on Sundays was all there was to the unseen. So there would be no need for any fear. But Dad, there wasn't anyone there, I protested.

He calmed down and sat beside me on the sofa. Just because you can't see anything doesn't mean there isn't anything. There are things out there that aren't good. that can't come into a home unless there are already bad things in the home or they've been invited into the home we were never allowed to talk about it again this blew my mind

I have always been taught about the devil about his angels the third of all the angels of heaven that were kicked out and damned but I never thought there would be a way for them to reach out to us here on earth this conversation did two things for me It opened my mind to the potential reality of the paranormal, but it also birthed a desire in me to know more, to understand these forbidden topics. From that point through the rest of my teenage years, I continue going to church with the family, believing, but also going to the local library to devour any information I could find that are related to dark spirits, the paranormal, the occult.

or quite simply, to the race or kind of thing that opened the screen door that fateful night. Now for the meat of my experience, where desire to learn turn to experience and dreadful knowledge. I was just under 19 years of age and had moved to Brazil as a Christian missionary and immediately fell in love with the people, culture, language and food. I spent most of my time in the state of Minas Gares, in the capital city of Bello Horizonte. The longer I lived in Brazil, the more exposure I had some of the more exotic forms of spiritual worship. One of those was frequently called Macumbar. Many people in the part of Brazil I lived in talked about Macumbar,

even though it isn't really a single religious group. Most of the people I talked to broke it down into white-table Maccumber, and Black Table McCumber. White Table McCumber was a combination of African Yoraban religions and some Catholicism that was forced on them during the Portuguese slave trade in the 1500s. Black Table McCumber is considered black magic

and it is more often referred to as Quimbanda so it doesn't get confused with its tame cousin. To be blunt, Quimbanda is used by folks that have decided that evil spirit are a better fit to help them with their desires, justice, or simply the desire to worship, and gets help from King Exu or Lucifer. There are a number of Exu or evil spirits that Quimbandar, practitioners adore and worship, each with their own speciality, but none of them are very friendly.

A smart person or more pious person would steer clear of this kind of thing. But ever since that evening with my father, I had developed an unhealthy interest in the subject matter. This was about to become problematic for me. During the kind of mission I was on, we all had a companion or two we went out with, safety and numbers. My companion was a massive guy that stood nearly six feet eight inches, or just over 203 centimetres. Before his mission, he was a start defensive lineman for American football. He wasn't someone anybody mess with, so I felt comfortable going anywhere with him. Luckily for me, or unluckily, as things would soon turn out, he had a mild interest in spooky stuff too.

We took time away from our missionary work and visited places in the area that were connected to the supernatural, including a marvellous little town called Sao Tome Das La Tras. It was an amazing place that more people should visit. Google it and see if I'm playing. Anyway, after spending some time there, we decided to go north a bit and find a nice town to rent a place in for a few months before we headed back to the capital.

We found the perfect town and settled down for a bit. The idea was to relax, prepare ourselves mentally so we could get back to doing God's work and leaving behind the things that we should have shown less interesting. The plan backfired, spectacular. During the middle of our second night there, I was ripped out of a deep sleep by drums that immediately made me think of voodoo. The sound felt primal.

It felt like a rhythm that exuded waves of pleasure and nausea simultaneously. This was in 1991, and to this day I clearly remember my heart pounding as if in sync with the drums, both dreadful and exciting. I felt almost spellbound, drawn to it. There was also a clear feeling, almost as if spoken within my mind, warning me. The heavy thumping of my heart and something in the sound pulled me closer to the window. Not physically. I was still in control, but it was a struggle between two different sets of desires. I knew deep inside that this sound was profane, hinting of things forbidden.

but my will to speak with what I couldn't see when I was eleven was stronger. I knew I needed to open the window and look. Just look. Harmless enough, right? I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, all my movements seemingly slow and groggy, and I walked to the window. Have you ever felt like you were standing at a precipice, not a cliff of rock and stone, but a cliff of consequences?

This was such a moment, although only the second largest of such thing I would face in Brazil. The windows latch wind as I unlocked it, and opened the glass to the hot night air. What before had been faint beating of drums was now vibrant, melodic thunder, that I felt more in my soul than my ears. There was something else that I hadn't noticed earlier, something that had been weaved unnoticed beneath the tapestry of drums, chanting, yelling, although not the yelling of fear or pain, but yelling that I couldn't put an emotion to. Beyond that, there was something else. I don't know if I heard it or felt it, but it was as if there were unrecognizable noises that felt macabre and

dark. I was spellbound, interested and repulsed, curious and more frightened than I had ever been, but there I stayed for more than an hour. I kept thinking I needed to pull myself away from the window and close it, cruelly into bed and pray for sleep, but I was helplessly drawn to whatever was happening in the building next to ours. Against my common sense, I stayed at the window. The hesitation vanished, leaving only curiosity and yearning. When I tried to concentrate on just a drum, something felt out. out of balance. When I tried to ignore the drums and listen only to the other noises, I became uneasy and felt way down. However, when I let go of my focus and just took it all in,

it was in frouling and touched me with a clearly distinct feeling of mingling with the unseen. Eventually the drums and the other sound stopped. I closed the window and crawled back to bed, utterly exhausted. But sleep a looom. mooded me for hours. The next morning finally arrived. I asked my friend about the drums. He slept in a bedroom that was on the other side of the apartment and said that he heard them, but it was creeped out and did his best to fall asleep. He bugged me about it through the day, but I didn't want him to think I was crazy. That night we went to a small bar near our place and ordered some drinks. I had a kashasa, a kind of Brazilian rum, and decided to give in.

We started talking about what had happened to me. We had both been in Brazil long enough that we were comfortable speaking Portuguese, so an old lady that was sitting at a table by us, slowly stood up and walked over to us. Without asking for permission, she sat down at the table with us and spoke. You shouldn't talk openly about this, she said as she poured the little cigar out of her mouth. out of her mouth. That was Quim Banda. It's dangerous. I was intrigued, as was my friend. So we started asking her questions and paying for a few drinks for her, so she had no reason not to talk to us.

As I'm sure she has long since passed, I'll share her name. Regina was surprisingly willing to talk to us openly about all of this, after she had just said we shouldn't talk so openly about it. Her husband had been what she called a Macumbrio, a sort of priest in the group. Regina told us of the dark spirits that she had seen frequently in her home, the ritual sacrifices at altars, and the power and respect that followed those who walked this path. She talked about sacrifice and magic and the ritual use of possession to worship and perform special deeds. I told her about the drums I had heard the previous night and how I had opened my window to listen to the chanting.

Regina grabbed my hand faster than I thought a fragile thing like her could and gripped it tightly. Don't be interested. These dark beings, things of the night, demons and spirits, they listen. If you show interest in them, they will show interest in you. If you reach your hand out into the darkness, don't be surprised if something takes you by the hand. I don't know if I was smiling out of curiosity or from the drink,

but she looked offended and hurt that I didn't take her warning seriously. She released my hand and stood up from her chair. Regina started a leave, but turned back to speak one last time to us. We have a saying in Brazil, she said in broken English. Falado diablo, It ela moster, see or rabble. She repeated this two more times and then left. The saying is simple.

Speak of the devil and he will show you his tale. Those were wise words, but like many young men, we paid little attention to the voice of experience and soon left the bar with darkness, still rolling off our tongues. The drums didn't play that night, so we sat around the kitchen table and drank a local table. tea, and talked brazenly about everything we'd experienced and heard.

The feeling in the kitchen quickly filled with angst and heaviness. We allowed ourselves to look beyond our walls of comfort and understanding. I felt like a young boy that had found his first nude picture, and was giddy with excitement at the possibilities that played on the fringes of my recently opened mind. My friend and I talked, speculated, continued refilling the table. tea with our boiling pot of water, probed the darkness of our understanding, and then we wished aloud that we could actually see something. Not just tales, no folklore, but something real. That wish changed us both, our friendship, and impacted me in ways I wasn't ready for.

In one moment we were filled with the euphoria of discovery of the unseen, the giddiness of forbidden exploration. And then in the next, my heartbeat abruptly increased dramatically. My face felt hot. I felt myself on the precipice once again. Only this time it felt much more dangerous, almost lethal. I heard a voice so clearly that I wanted to turn around to see you spoke, but I knew we were alone. Stop talking about it. The voice was soft but urgent. It wasn't loud, it wasn't quiet, but it was unmistakably there. My friend must have seen the changed look on my face.

He stopped immediately and asked me what was wrong. I couldn't tell him what I was feeling. I was a small guy, never popular, and didn't want to appear weak. But I knew I was on the verge of something. So, I took a step. Nothing's wrong, I said. We kept talking about the darkness, Quimbanda, spirits and demons. My unease grew, and I heard the voice one last time.

Stop. This is your last chance. I don't know if my friend heard the voice, but he must have felt something because he suddenly looked nervous and almost scared. There was not a single positive feeling or a bit of energy in the kitchen. The whole room felt like a vice squeezing down on me. Despite the warnings, I continued to talk about it. I walked over to the stove to put up the pot of boiling water for our tea.

My friend was still sitting at the table, looking at me with an odd expression on his face. My feelings of anxiety began to be replaced by excitement, almost a perverse joy. As I put my hand on the handle of the pot of boiling water, I picked it up and turned to my friend. I don't remember having any emotions at that point. I was going to walk over to the table and fill the teagord with hot water. And that's when it all went black. Have you ever passed out or gone under for surgery?

There seems to be no break in time. You are awake somewhere and then instantly you are awake again. No sense of the passage of time. That didn't happen to me. I was aware of time passing. Not how much, but there is a blank chunk of memory that has been lost forever to me. My friend wasn't so lucky.

The first thing I remember after that empty chunk of memory was seeing my friend cowering against the kitchen cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen where I had been. This mountain of a man was pressed against the cabinets, cringing and as pale as if he had died. I noticed my vocal cords were sore. There was a strange noise that stopped coming out of my mouth. And then I realised in horror that I had been laughing.

I felt my mouth relaxed from what had been a grin. As I regained more and more control over myself, I finally was able to speak and my voice felt dry and weak. What's wrong? What happened? My friend's face didn't change expression at all, but his eyes did move. He had been intensely focused on my face, but his gaze adjusted and moved over to my right just over my shoulder.

As his eyes moved, I clearly felt something lifting from me, like dark clouds. The lighting in the room suddenly normal, and I felt weak and spent. At this point I realised my friend was looking at something to my right. I turned, afraid of what I would find, and saw what he was staring at. It looked like a shadow, but it wasn't on the wall. It wasn't something two-dimensional standing on the floor. It had depth, and for a lack of a better word, some kind of ethereal matter. It stood in the middle of the kitchen.

It was darker than a shadow, darker than under your bed in the middle of the night. and it was humanoid in shape. This thing remained there for a few seconds, as if to burn his existence into our minds, and then began to move backwards. It went quietly, calmly, almost tauntingly, and then stopped when it appeared to be right up to the kitchen wall.

I looked in awe as it simply slipped through the wall and was gone. I glanced down at the floor, becoming more adjusted to the change in the surroundings and realised I had moved quite a bit from where I was last standing the pots I picked up was laying upside down on the floor the spilled water already cool I realized I was holding something else and looked down at my hands

I was holding one of the apartment's kitchen knives I dropped the knife and turned around to face my friend his face was a mixture of shock terror and blame. I told him the last thing I remember was standing at the stove and grabbing the pot. He quickly left the kitchen and went to his bedroom. It took me ten minutes to convince him to come out and talk to me. I begged for an explanation because I had no idea what happened. He finally came out looking both angry and scared and told me what happened. I wrote this down shortly after it happened so I wouldn't miss anything. This is what he told me.

You were standing at the stove and you started to pick up the pot. I told you that maybe we better stop talking about all of this. That was when you stopped. You were holding the pot when you changed. Everything around you went dark. It was like your aura turned black. Even your eyes changed. You looked at me and said,

No. You dropped the pot. Boiling water went all over the kitchen. all over your legs, but you didn't even flinch. He stopped, lowered his head, and then looked at me again as he continued. His voice grew angrier. You started to laugh.

It wasn't your laugh, though. It was different. You kept laughing, and then you started to walk towards me. You picked up that knife and started walking towards me. Your eyes were dark, I didn't see any colour in them. but there was hate in them. Does that make sense? I told you to stop, but you wouldn't.

Whatever the hell was inside of you were scaring me. You backed me up against the counter and started a laugh, louder and louder. I was sure you was going to cut me up. My friend went over and picked up the pot and angrily threw it in the sink. I told you to stop, but you didn't listen. We shouldn't have been talking like that. He walked around to the other side of the table, shaking with emotion and pointed a finger at me.

You were possessed. We didn't talk to each other the next day and it took almost a week before we were almost normal. But there would never be a normal again. We didn't talk about that ever again. He left Brazil two weeks later and I stayed for another year. To this day I don't talk about this experience often. In fact, I've only ever told this story in person to four people. On my life, this is real.

Do with it what you will. Believe it or not, it won't affect me. Let me leave you with a warning. We all have beliefs. If we act against our beliefs, we become vulnerable. We open ourselves to that which we fear. I was possessed. My body has been taken over.

without a memory of my actions, yet aware of the emptiness where memory should have been. Darkness entered me because I invited it in. Don't reach out into the darkness and unknown. For something often, we'll reach back. Don't forget if you enjoy these tales. I'm back here every month with more brand new cases. So please be sure to subscribe so you don't miss out. let's get into case number three and for that we're going back to Brazil. I'm from England but now I live in Brazil. In the early months of 2015 my mum was filling the resurgence of a cancer

that she had beaten 13 years previously. She was now 78 so this was nothing to be dismissed. I returned to England twice in 2015 before my final visit. The first because my sister was concerned that the end was coming, and the second to take my kids back to effectively say goodbye to their grandmother. In October 2015, my mum said she wasn't feeling like she was going to make it, much longer, and wanted me back. I had work stuff going on and said I'd be back as soon as I could.

I was torn between thinking she was making a bit too much of it and desperately trying to get my stuff finished. so I could get back to be with her. I eventually managed to get back on November 11th, 2015, and spent a couple of great days with her. On November 13th, her body couldn't take it anymore, and she passed. People said that she was waiting for me to say goodbye. That happened to be the same day as the terrorist attack

at the Bata Clan Theatre in Paris. Just as an aside, this was strange, as there had been a connection between my dad's death and Paris as well. He died in August 1997, a few days before Lady Die died in Paris, which meant that whilst our family was in mourning, suddenly the whole country was plunged there too. Following my mum's death, I stayed on at the family home with my sister to arrange the funeral and stuff, you know.

At the time my sister was seeing a bloke a few miles away and would spend Thursday nights over at his place. I think it was about three weeks after my mum had died when I was alone in the house on a Thursday night with just my sister's dog, Tibby, there with me. She'd instructed me to put the fire guard in the section downstairs, separating the lounge and dining room, and to leave Tibby in the dining room.

She also told me to close the door from the lounge to the hall, so the lounge was totally isolated. I went to bed at about midnight, but at around 2am there was a massive explosion of noise from downstairs. I was half asleep but leaped out of my bed and raced downstairs. As I opened the door to the lounge, I realised that the noise was coming from the television. As I frantically searched for the remote control to switch it off and silence it, I saw a dark figure in the shadows, sitting on the sofa. In my confusion I thought the dog must have jumped the fire guard and planted himself on the sofa.

At this point I found the remote control and as I tried to find the off button, in the light from the TV, I distinctly heard the announcer say, and a very Merry Christmas to you all. At this point I managed to switch the television off and the room was plunged into darkness and silence. I switched on the light to get the dog off the sofa and back to his bed in the dining room. But he wasn't there. I went to the dining room and found him sitting motionless, looking at me, in the corner of the room. The room was normal and quiet, like nothing had happened. I went back to bed but couldn't sleep.

When my sister got back the next day, I asked her if it was unusual for the television to switch itself. fond in the middle of the night. And she said that no, it had never happened before. I'd never had any experiences of the other side before and always thought that any so-called sightings or experiences were flights of the imagination. But I really do believe that that night my mum was back in the house to say goodbye. I've never experienced anything like this since and I don't know if it was simply my imagination in the days following the death of my mum and the need to make sense of the world. But I'm sure of what happened that night. I told my sister what had taken place, but she was sceptical. A few months later, back in Brazil, I told a friend who I wasn't

that close to about it, knowing that I probably wouldn't see them much in the future. They shrank from me immediately upon hearing the story. I don't know if they thought I was crazy, whether they were shaken by what they believed was an experience from the other side, or if perhaps they were religious and wanted to distance themselves from the spirit world. This is Brazil after all, where evangelism, spiritism, and candombole, the Afro-Brazilian religion, are to some extent part of the culture. Thank you for your stories and accounts of the beyond. If it weren't for you, I may never have decided to sit down and set out the story that has been haunting me for years.

For case number four, we're heading over to Mexico for a brief but disturbing incident in a school. I feel like everyone at some level wants to have a paranormal experience. The chance to say that something truly out of this world happened to them. To know there's more beyond what we can see instead of just having faith. But once you actually experience something, you kind of wish it hadn't happened. I'm from Mexico and I went to a pretty strict Catholic school. Most of the teachers were nuns from a convent next to the school, which also had a nursing home. As you can imagine, a place like that comes with its fair share of classic school ghost stories.

Rumours about a ghostly nun, a haunted priest, bathroom mirrors and so on. strangely enough I never saw anything like that but I did see something once a month our parents had meetings with the teachers to discuss our progress most kids went home but a few of us stayed behind so we could leave with our parents afterwards my best friend and I were among those who stayed

it was always eerie seeing the school usually so full of people completely silent The school had three floors, the top for the high school, the second for middle school, and the first for elementary. Since the place was empty, my friend and I, both in elementary at the time, thought we were cool hanging out on the top floor. We sat on the stairs joking about how weird the school felt when empty. That's when we suddenly heard it. From one of the high school classrooms, completely empty, a deep guttural voice shouted angrily. It basically said, a son of a whore in Spanish.

At first we laughed, thinking it was just some older student messing around. I even called out, sorry, we didn't know you were there. Do you need help with anything? But there was no response. I was curious we stood up and peaked inside the classroom where the voice had come from. No one was there. We looked at each other, confused. My friend suggested maybe it came from another floor.

I was about to believe him until the same voice, now much closer, started cursing again. This time it was furious. It wasn't just one insult, it was a barrage of profanity. cursing our mothers our very existence. At that moment we knew something was wrong. We started backing away, and just as we were about to sprint away, the classroom door slammed shut. That's when panic took over.

We bolted downstairs, but behind us we heard it. Sounds like a horror movie, but I swear it happened. Doors slamming shut, one after the other. chasing us down the hallway. Each door banged shut, just a second apart, getting closer and closer. At least eight doors must have slammed within six to eight seconds. By the time we reached the room where our parents were, we were shaking and out of breath. We tried to get inside, but they wouldn't let us, thinking we were just playing around. We desperately explained what had happened.

had happened but they just laughed it off though a few parents did look genuinely concerned we stood outside terrified hoping that whatever had slammed those doors couldn't do the same to us thankfully nothing else happened that evening the worst part was realising it was only monday and i had to come back the next day but strangely enough nothing like that ever happened again. One thing's for sure. I never went to high school there. I know this sounds made up, but it really happened.

And to this day we have no explanation for it. It disturbs me because there was no context and it was just so abrupt. The whole event must have took less than 15 seconds. Honestly, I think it was demonic. I'm always a sucker for paranormal tales that take place the 90s. That nostalgic feeling of childhood hits me and all the fears that come along with it. Let's begin our next story. I lived in a haunted house in the 90s in a town in the south of England called Bracknell. But I flat out would not believe that ghosts inhabited the place, even though many things happened.

Small things like items going missing and turning up days later. Weirder things did start. to happen but I still remained fully skeptical at this point. Most times I left my bedroom, my old-school CRT TV would be facing the wall but it was on one of those spinning mount things so I always assumed it was myself knocking the TV or tripping on the power cable. It was mildly concerning when I would test that theory and make sure not to touch anything on my way out of the room and the TV would still have turned to face the wall. But again, I was so sceptical back then that it didn't bother me that much. I thought there must be a rational explanation. Lots of things like that happened, but they're

not worth listing them all. Myself and about seven friends were all sitting in my room one time, when the curtains literally flew across the room. Curtain pole, raw plugs, screws the lot. They acted as if someone had yanked them off the wall when nobody was anywhere near them. And believe it or not, I was still sceptical, hard to believe myself looking back. Then something happened to me when I was on my own which terrified me. I woke up in an empty house, hearing footsteps walking up and down the landing right outside my bedroom door. Being a non-believer, I thought someone had broken into my house. The noise only stopped when I opened the door.

Only, there was nobody there. Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. Sadly, I remained sceptical. Crazy, I know. Fast forward 12 years, though, and I was staying at my aunt's pub in Doncaster. A very old building called the Heron Hounds and Fish Lake on the outskirts. of Doncaster. I went downstairs in the morning to see if I could find the van keys my friend had dropped the night before in the bar area. When I got downstairs I could hear a hoover on,

so I knew the cleaner was down there. I opened the door and there was a lady standing at the main entrance, staring at me, and the lady hoovering was in the next room along. This lady that was stood there was very ill-looking, but appeared to be a very of the house. flesh and blood person. I couldn't look at her for more than a second. Her face made me very uncomfortable. I said good morning and went straight to looking for the keys. After I found them, I ran back upstairs, trying not to look at this lady again. Upstairs my aunt asked if I managed to find them. I said I had and mentioned one of the cleaners downstairs, describing her out of genuine concern. She looked extremely ill. My aunt and cousin looked at each other and turned as

white as snow. They then explained to me that there was only one cleaner, and that I had just seen the ghost that had been spotted many times. I didn't know anything about it. I will never forget that face. After this happened and I came to terms with the fact that I had seen a ghost, Suddenly all the things I dismissed in my old house were 100% paranormal to me. Seeing whatever it was I saw has completely changed my life. It puts things into perspective. One last story tonight, my friends. Before I leave you to take the rest of this journey alone.

Let's get into it. I thought I'd shared the one experience I had that I couldn't explain. My name is Leigh, and my experience was this. Some 14 to 15 years ago when I was still a teenager. I live with my mother and two younger brothers in a very old farmhouse. I'm talking mid to late 1800s old. My mum had always been a staunch believer in the supernatural in one way or another and often said the house had a ghost or two.

As much as I loved the idea, I never really put much stock in it, being a long time sceptic even to this day. That said, one night, well past midnight, I woke up needing to use the restroom. My bedroom was on the second floor right next to a bathroom, but it was under renovation and unusable at the time. So I had to use the one downstairs. I went down, sat to do my business. Just then from the nearby kitchen, I heard a woman humming a tune. Of course, at the same time I thought it was my mum. I remember thinking it odd that she'd be humming so loudly at such a late hour. She always moves as quiet as a mouse if she gets up at night, so she doesn't wake us kids.

So after I flushed the toilet, I stepped out to try and get a look in the kitchen. I called out, quietly at first. Mum? The humming just continued, uninterrupted. So I figured she didn't hear me. My distance from the kitchen entryway meant I couldn't see very much into it. So I moved closer. Mum?

I called a little louder. Total silence. The humming abruptly stopped. I reached a kitchen entryway. No one was there. In that moment I was stricken with such shock that I rushed back up to my room and tried to approach. what had just happened. As much as I'd like to chalk this up to the wind or something like that,

it was far too melodic and vocal sounding to convince even my sceptical mind that it was anything other than a voice. The next morning, just for good measure, I asked my mum if she had been up that night and told her what I'd heard. She insisted she slept through the night. I can't say for sure nowadays if what I'd said, If what I heard was the spirit, or just a really jaunty breeze. But if I have anything that I can call a paranormal experience, it was definitely that. That's about all we have time for tonight, I'm afraid. Thank you to everyone who submitted these stories.

And as always, I'm very sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you all. This show exists purely because of you people out there in the darkness. wanting to share their accounts. Can we believe all of them? Maybe not, but there is some form of truth in these tales. Something is happening to so many people out there, things they cannot explain, things they have become embarrassed to talk about.

If this show gives those people the chance to share what's happened to them, then I think it's doing its job. I'll be back next month with a whole bunch more and of course I will return very soon with my main show, the tape library until next time my friends this episode was made possible by the kind donations of members on YouTube and Patreon

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Harrison the Oglord, Leah Carmela, Badidly, Katie, Morning Rain 2619, Agent 355, and of course, Queen of Flatlands. Now thank you to all my junior members and YouTube members as well. If you want to support the show, you can do so through Patreon and YouTube memberships. Links are in the description. Thank you. How do we know what's real? There's so many things that are unknown in this universe that I'm thankful. I don't know the answers to. In many ways, I feel like the unknown is a gift.

It allows us to imagine what could be. And sometimes imagining what could be is actually greater than staring right at what is. Our brains try so hard to manufacture certainty and in our attempts to manufacture certainty, I think we get stuck and that causes us often to ignore what is real for one person, which may be completely unreal for someone else. So how do we know what's real?

We don't. Not knowing what is real allows us to peer more deeply into what could be. And that is a gift in and of itself. Thank you.