Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 255 - Abandoned Tents

Summary

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Scary Stories and Rain – Ep. 255: Scary Stories For A Rainy Night – “Abandoned Tents”

Host: Being Scared (Dane)
Release Date: October 11, 2025

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Episode Overview

This episode of “Scary Stories and Rain” features a collection of true, unsettling accounts narrated calmly and accompanied by the gentle, immersive sound of rain. The stories focus on moments of fear, danger, and the uncanny, with themes ranging from home invasions and unsolved murders, to surreal encounters and brushes with death. The host curates a mood designed for nighttime listening—inviting you to drift off in a thunderstorm’s lull while contemplating some of humanity’s darker experiences.

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Key Stories & Insights

1. The El Paso Apartment Intruder (02:40–06:40)

• Summary:
  An 8-year-old is left home alone while her mom works a graveyard shift. Ignoring bedtime rules, she stays up reading, only to wake to an eerie sense that something is amiss. On investigation, she finds the front door unlocked, someone twisting the lock from the outside, and hears a raspy male voice laughing and speaking unintelligibly. After a harrowing confrontation—her locking the door as the intruder tries to get in, followed by the sound of tapping and laughter at her window—her terrified call brings her mother home. They subsequently move to a safer upstairs apartment.

• Notable Quote:

“My heart drops when I start to hear laughter... the laughter turns into unintelligible words and although I can't make out what they're saying, I know it's a man. He had a deep voice and it sounded really raspy.” (04:16, Storyteller)

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2. The Unsolved Murder of Beryl Atherton (06:51–14:09)

• Summary:
  Set during the Thanksgiving weekend of 1950 in Marblehead, Massachusetts, this story centers on the grisly and unsolved murder of Beryl Atherton, a reclusive schoolteacher. After a historic snowstorm, her milkman discovers her dead in her kitchen, her body nearly decapitated and her loyal dog Esky injured while defending her. The murder scene is peculiarly clean, devoid of clues or forced entry, inspiring wild rumors around her small town as the case goes cold.

• Notable Quotes:

“Ms. Atherton was lying on the floor, face up in a pool of her own clotted blood, with Esky lying near her body, mewling in a considerable amount of pain.” (08:55, Storyteller)
“Not only had he cut her neck open horizontally, but had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin... essentially stabbing a cross into her neck.” (10:03, Storyteller)

• Memorable Moment:
  The storyteller's description of the snowstorm's hush masking such brutality, and the dog Esky’s injuries, amplifies the loneliness and horror.

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3. Theme Park Disaster – The Big Thunder Mountain Incident (15:37–21:38)

• Summary:
  A former military brat recounts a harrowing visit to Disneyland with his mother, intended to distract him from his father's deployment in Iraq. While on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the train derails inside a dark tunnel. Amid confusion, screams, and the sight of blood, the storyteller realizes the gravity of the accident, learning later that one passenger died and several were injured. The traumatic event leaves the speaker unable to visit theme parks again.

• Notable Quote:

“It’s horrendously tragic that someone should lose their life when all they wanted to do was go to Disneyland and have fun on a few roller coasters.” (20:48, Storyteller)

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4. Witnessing a Suicide at a Train Crossing (21:38–28:05)

• Summary:
  A mundane trip to a neighborhood store turns into a traumatic experience as the speaker observes a disturbed woman arguing with a bus stop sign, locking eyes, and then running across traffic. After the speaker gives her a cigarette, she calmly waits for a train, then steps in front of it as it passes at high speed. Both the narrator and the store owner are deeply shocked, with the story lingering as a haunting memory and sparking a plea for awareness about mental health.

• Notable Quote:

“She just simply stepped right in front of it, like it wasn’t a speeding train, but a fluffy cloud.” (27:33, Storyteller)

• Memorable Moment:
  The sense of surreal detachment—the woman’s calm, the aftermath, and the storyteller’s reflection:

“I gave her her last cigarette.” (28:01, Storyteller)

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5. The Mark of the “Easter Bunny” (28:06–32:03)

• Summary:
  A childhood memory turns sinister when the speaker, excited for the Easter Bunny during a family sleepover, hears footsteps and feels a pointy fingernail trace an 'X' into the back of their neck in the dark. Frozen in fear, the child eventually falls asleep, believing this was no holiday visitor.

• Notable Quote:

“It felt like hours that I could just hear the heavy breathing above me, piercing through the silence of the room until suddenly a long and pointy fingernail touched the back of my neck...” (30:50, Storyteller)

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6. Liminal Spaces and The Echoing House (32:31–45:51)

• Summary:
  A former deputy sheriff describes his fascination with “liminal spaces”—places that feel transitional, familiar yet eerily empty. He recounts a haunting work incident involving the search for an absconding parolee, leading to a surreal house in Detroit inhabited by a disturbing, gray-skinned woman. As they search, the laws of space and time seem to warp: hallways loop, the upstairs is inaccessible then transforms into an attic, and the woman crawls and shouts a single name. Only after leaving do the speaker and his partner realize more time has passed than thought. The experience launches his obsession with the “back rooms” and liminal spaces eternally.

• Notable Quotes:

“I’m addicted to liminal spaces... I seek what you are too afraid to find. I have been in the back rooms and survived.” (33:13, Storyteller)
“Every time I left a room, I swear I was in a part of the house I had not just been in. Like I entered a dimensional gap or something.” (41:51, Storyteller)
“We have not returned to this house. We didn't tell anyone the true story of what had happened.” (44:20, Storyteller)

• Memorable Moment:
  The woman’s crawling, repetition of the name “Chamile,” and the sensation of non-Euclidean space (doors opening onto the outdoors, rooms shuffling) elevate the story into the realm of cosmic horror.

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Notable Quotes

• “Fear is what drives me. Fear keeps you alive.” (33:41, Storyteller)
• “It felt like we were there for well over an hour or two. I don't know what was more unsettling... Her quietly showing up right behind me when I had not heard her move. Or the fact that she was standing at the door, just staring at us as we left.” (44:05, Storyteller)

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Episode Flow & Timestamps

| Timestamp | Segment/Story | Highlights | |-------------|-----------------------------------------------|----------------------------------------------| | 02:40–06:40 | El Paso Apartment Intruder | Terrifying encounter during childhood | | 06:51–14:09 | The Murder of Beryl Atherton | True crime, cold case, snowy New England | | 15:37–21:38 | Disneyland Railroad Accident | Survivor’s trauma, disaster at theme park | | 21:38–28:05 | The Train Crossing Suicide | Suicide witnessed, shocking aftermath | | 28:06–32:03 | Childhood “Easter Bunny” Encounter | Home invasion or supernatural? | | 32:31–45:51 | Liminal Spaces and The Back Rooms | Surreal police search, cosmic horror |

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Style & Tone

• The narration is calm, measured, and engaging—striking a balance between soothing bedtime story and unnerving horror.
• The stories are delivered with empathy for victims and survivors, occasionally philosophical about fear and memory.
• Rain ambiance throughout forms a cozy but uncanny atmosphere.

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Final Thoughts

This episode stands out for its rich blend of personal trauma, unsolved mysteries, brushes with the supernatural, and the unexplainable. The host's curation and the subdued yet immersive rain create a paradoxically calming space for the chilling content — perfect for introspective late-night listening.

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If you or someone you know struggles with mental health or addiction, the podcast echoes: don’t go it alone. Seek help.

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Transcript

[Dane]

Hey, this is Dane and this is Scary Stories in Rain. Please join my family and follow this.

[Narrator/Host]

Podcast on Spotify or Apple.

[Dane]

And if you want the ultimate experience, you can get rid of all of the ads and be entered to win all of my giveaways every month by subscribing for just 299amonth. All of the ads gone, every single giveaway automatically entered. And starting now today, every Sunday, I'm going to release the ultimate episode. 6 to 12 hours long ultimate Scary Stories for a Rainy Night. Subscriber Exclusive and as a reminder, we are now four months away from my first movie release in theaters.

[Narrator/Host]

Gale Yellow Brick Road A dark and.

[Dane]

Terrifying reimagining of the wizard of Oz. If you want to check out the first trailer, click the link in the description to this episode and if you're not following my other two podcasts, please go check them out. Scary Stories and Fire and Scary Stories After Dark. The links are in the description. Thank you so much for being here.

[Storyteller]

And I really hope you enjoy this episode.

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[Storyteller]

So back when I was living in El Paso, Texas, my mother and I rented out a very small apartment, two room and one bath.

[Narrator/Host]

It worked out well since it was.

[Storyteller]

Only her and I. I think I was around 8 years old, but my.

[Narrator/Host]

Mom had to work graveyard at a truck stop.

[Storyteller]

She trusted me enough to let me stay home alone and gave me the.

[Narrator/Host]

Basic instructions like do your dishes and.

[Storyteller]

Go to bed at a reasonable hour. So one night she kisses me on the forehead and leaves. I had been watching spongebob Squarepants and it was really, really late. I think it was about 11pm at that point. At that point, I hadn't listened to my mom's instructions. I didn't do my dishes and my bedtime was 9 o'. Clock. So I decided to go to bed.

[Narrator/Host]

Forgetting to check if the doors were locked.

[Storyteller]

So I go to bed and instead of sleeping, I read Alice in Wonderland. Not sure how much time passes, but I fall asleep. When I wake up, my book is on the floor and my nightlight is on. I remember being confused as to why.

[Narrator/Host]

I was awake, so I decided to.

[Storyteller]

Be brave and check it out. I walk around the apartment wondering if my mom got home early and accidentally made a noise. And that's when I realize the front door is unlocked. Not too concerned, I walk toward it to lock it. But when I go for it, it's almost as if someone is twisting it the other way.

[Narrator/Host]

The door won't lock if it's being held like that.

[Storyteller]

I'm trying to lock the door when my ears focus on someone's breath. It's not mine. I freak out and start to push on the door, convinced there's someone out there. My heart drops when I start to hear laughter. You see, this apartment complex is rather calm and peaceful. There's almost no disturbances ever. I shove on the door and I feel the tears well up in my eyes. The laughter turns into unintelligible words and although I can't make out what they're saying, I know it's a man. He had a deep voice and it sounded really raspy. The tone of his words sounds sharp and angry. So I start audibly crying while saying something along the lines of I'm calling the cops. The laughter starts again, but the resistance stops. I lock the door as fast as I can and run to my room, locking the door behind me. I end up reaching for my phone and calling my mom through tears. I'm telling her what happened and she's trying to calm me down, telling me.

[Narrator/Host]

That it'll be okay.

[Storyteller]

She's telling me that she's coming home when I hear it tapping. It sounds like tapping on my window and I can hear the laughter again. I'm crying louder at that point, telling my mom begging her to come home. Now this is where the story gets blurry. I remember hiding under a blanket and crying until my mom burst through through the door yelling for me. I don't remember when the tapping stopped or when the laughter faded, but I remember my first glimpse of true fear. We called the cops and they said they couldn't do much. We ended up dropping it and my mom called our landlord begging to move us to a second story apartment. Luckily we were able to move the next week. On Thanksgiving weekend of 1950, a brutally frigid nor Easter storm was battering the coast of Massachusetts and was particularly harsh on the small town of Marblehead near Salem. Beryl Atherton, a 47 year old elementary school teacher who had 25 years of service under her belt, was home alone with her dog Esky, a white Spitz who was her constant companion since the death of her father. Esky was about the only company she ever kept and Atherton was a self described spinster with no close friends or family. It is said that her favorite pastimes was watching old movies and she would drive to the movie theater in Lynn to catch a show, but always went alone. With the freezing winds lashing at her drab clapboard cottage on Sewall Street, Beryl ran a few final errands before her small town was due to be snowed under. She made a run to the grocery store to pick up vital supplies, including a few extra cans of dog food.

[Narrator/Host]

For Esky before she took a few.

[Storyteller]

Bags of garbage out to the trash cans outside her home at around 6pm that Saturday evening. When she did so, she spotted a young neighbor boy watching her from a window of his home. She gave the boy a wave and this was the last time she was.

[Narrator/Host]

Seen for a good few days.

[Storyteller]

As predicted, Marblehead was completely snowed under through the course of Thanksgiving weekend and it took until Monday, November 27th for the town to dig itself out and resume normal activities. The town's milkman, known among the locals simply as pint, called on Ms. Atherton's home to deliver her milk. Usually speaking, Pint would just leave a person's milk delivery on their doorstep, but he knew that Ms. Atherton was extremely thin and frail at barely £100 and was concerned about her well being after such a vicious snowstorm. So on this occasion he actually knocked on Ms. Atherton's door to ensure she was okay. He knocked once but there was no answer. Then again, but there was still no answer. On a hunch, Pint tried the door handle and found that it was unlocked. He wandered slowly through Ms. Atherton's home, at first calling her name, then walked into the kitchen, finding a scene that.

[Narrator/Host]

Would take his breath away.

[Storyteller]

Ms. Atherton was lying on the floor, face up in a pool of her own clotted blood, with Esky lying near her body, mewling in a considerable amount of pain. Pint screamed as he fled the house, careening to the home of one of Ms. Atherton's neighbors and pleading with them.

[Narrator/Host]

To call the police.

[Storyteller]

When the police arrived, they deducted that Beryl Atherton had been dead for days. On the kitchen tables were her brown.

[Narrator/Host]

Paper grocery bags, still full of food.

[Storyteller]

She had brought home. On that last day, she had been seen alive by the curious neighbor boy, meaning that it had been only moments after this encounter that her murderer had pounced. And within maybe an hour of waving to the small boy, Beryl Atherton was lying in a pool of her own blood. She had several broken ribs and bruising around her throat where she appeared to have been strangled. Strangled so hard that there were still fingernail imprints in her cold, dead flesh. Her killer had then used a small.

[Narrator/Host]

Blade to slice her throat, but had.

[Storyteller]

Done so in a very peculiar manner. Not only had he cut her neck open horizontally, but had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin, essentially stabbing a cross into her neck. The cuts were so deep that Beryl Atherton had almost been decapitated, and she had bled so heavily from her wounds that her blood vessels were completely exsanguinated. A sample would have been extracted directly from her heart by the examining coroner. The killer then let himself out of the house, but not before breaking several.

[Narrator/Host]

Of little Esky's ribs as the loyal.

[Storyteller]

Hound tried to avenge his fallen mistress. Infuriatingly, the crime scene was almost completely devoid of any clue as to the identity of Beryl's murderer. There wasn't a single sign of forced entry anywhere on the property. There were no fingerprints on any surface and no shoe or boot prints on the grounds surrounding the house. And despite questioning Beryl's neighbors, no one but the dog Esky, had seen the killer in the flesh. If Ms. Atherton cried out for help, the severity of the storm would have probably drowned out any urgent pleas. On that fateful night, no one in the surrounding neighborhood had heard or seen a thing. Despite the grotesque violence of the scene, there appeared to be few signs of a struggle, apart from a broken necklace called caused by the impact of the killer's blade, which also had broken during the savage and unprovoked attack. And aside from a few broken fingers that suggested she had tried and failed to defend herself from her attacker, it seemed that he had managed to sneak up on Beryl while she was totally unaware. The crime scene was so lacking in useful evidence that it had been theorized that the killer actually hung around for a little while, ensuring that there were no fingerprints, fibers or DNA present. And since the murder took place in Beryl's kitchen, the killer may have well had ample access to cleaning supplies. In order to ensure the scene was scrubbed of evidence. Both police and friends were surprised by the fact Ms. Atherton kept a diary which yielded information about a handful of male acquaintances. The information therein offered no help in solving the crime. It was discovered she had been deeply disappointed over a broken love affair. But this proved not to enter into the case either. In the aftermath of Beryl's murder, with police unable to come up with any suspects or clear motives for her killing, the small town of Marblehead became rife with rumors and gossip. Some said Beryl was leading some kind of double life and had become embroiled with organized crime down in Boston that had come back to bite her.

[Narrator/Host]

Others believed it was a jilted lover.

[Storyteller]

From a broken love affair that had sought revenge after Beryl had broken the engagement off. Or perhaps a relative who learned of a sizable inheritance that either wished to access early or were about to be cut off from. Yet her estate only consisted of about $25,000, and no jewelry or other items appeared to have been stolen from the house. So it seems that financial gain may not have been the motive. But chillingly enough, there are some living in Marblehead today who claim they know full well who killed Beryl and a handful who assert that the killer is still alive. Given that the killer might well be up to 80 or 90 years old, it's more than likely that they may pass away before ever facing any charges for the murder they committed. And so it seems that the brutal crime committed that Thanksgiving weekend may forever remain unsolved. And that yet another cold and callous murderer will escape justice, free to walk the streets in the knowledge that they committed the worst act a person is capable of and got away with it.

[Narrator/Host]

So good, so good, so good.

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[Storyteller]

I grew up a military brat in San Diego, California. My dad was in the Marine Corps for 25 years, eventually reaching the rank of gunnery sergeant before he retired in 2011. I am really proud of him and I love him very much, but I won't sugarcoat it. Growing up with a parent in the military wasn't easy. He wasn't at home much, and when he was, he was something of a disciplinarian. I didn't have nearly as much freedom as some of my friends did, but that was as much of a boon as it was a burden, because it kept me on track at school and gave me the means to get into.

[Narrator/Host]

A good college later in life.

[Storyteller]

But without a doubt, the worst part of him being in the Marine Corps was when he had to go to war. Although he wasn't part of an initial invasion force, dad was deployed to Iraq in June of 2003. I was 11 years old at the time, and it really, really sucked having to say goodbye to him. No matter how much he tried to.

[Narrator/Host]

Assure us that he would be okay.

[Storyteller]

I was old enough to be acutely aware that it might well have been the last time I ever got to talk to a him, the last time I ever got to hug him, the last time I had ever got to see him alive. Needless to say, the next six months were some of the most stressful of my life. Every little news report I saw on the TV gave Me the worst anxiety. And every time we got news that a serviceman had died over there, I feared the worst. Mom tried to shield me as best as she could, but at the risk of sounding a little full of myself, I was smart, inquisitive, and sensitive, and she could only do so much to keep me from worrying. So In September of 2003, mom decided to take me to Disneyland for the weekend to take my mind off things. To be honest, it was exactly what I needed. I was huge into Disney movies when I was a kid, and although I had been over to Disneyland a few times before, being so stressed around the house meant seeing it again was like doing so through fresh eyes. I took pictures with as many of the characters as I could, and each ride me and mom went on seemed to alleviate my anxiety and depression a little bit more. The whole first day was going wonderfully well. That was until we got in line to ride the big Thunder Mountain railroad. I'm pretty sure it was about 11:30 by the time we got into the.

[Narrator/Host]

Little railcars for the ride itself.

[Storyteller]

Everything was going smoothly at first. We are speeding along these twists and turns until we hit the little fake desert setup and then up an incline into a dark tunnel. I just remember feeling like this jolting sensation shake the cars all while we're in the dark. Then this horrible grinding of metal and a thud before people in the cars in front of us started screaming. Everything came to a sudden stop, and everyone was all really shaken up from it. But it's then that I heard some of the worst things I've ever heard in my life. This woman starts asking, mark, Mark, Mark, wake up. Wake up, Mark. We are all mostly in the dark, but there's a little bit of light coming from the openings of the tunnel on each side of us. And I remember seeing how some of the cars weren't even on the track anymore, and that the cars in front of us were all wet and shiny with some kind of fluid. A fluid that I would only later realize to be someone's blood. In the moments after the railcars came to a stop, people started clambering out of them and walking down the tunnel as fast as they could, calling out that someone was really, really badly hurt and that we needed help up there as soon as possible. As me and my mom climbed out of the railcar and followed, I could see that the train car thing at the very front of the coaster had derailed and that the rear of the thing had, like, mounted the car behind. Was only then that I realized that whoever was in the car behind it would have taken the full force of the thing as we sped up that incline. But there were also people in the cars ahead of us who were trapped by it, stuck in the rail cars and unable to get out because of the way they were positioned in the tunnel. Thankfully, me and my mom weren't trapped, so we could just get out of there. But I think it took, like, another half an hour before firefighters could get them out so that paramedics could treat them before taking them to the hospital. All the people that could get out were herded by park staff towards the River Bell Terrace, where a medical treatment area had been set up. Like I said, me and mom were mostly okay, Just a little shaken up from the whole thing. But there were people with some pretty serious injuries who hadn't been so lucky. And we later found out that a guy who had been in the first car had actually died of his injuries. It's horrendously tragic that someone should lose their life when all they wanted to do was go to Disneyland and have fun on a few roller coasters. And I know it's kind of messed up for me to think of it.

[Narrator/Host]

Like this, but we really got lucky.

[Storyteller]

That day as way more people could have died. And honestly, I was surprised when I found out that it was only one person that lost their life that day. At least half the riders on that coaster could have died from the way the train just straight up mounted the cars behind it. Since that day, I have never, ever ridden a roller coaster, and theme parks in general just kind of creep me out. I know they are super fun, and I hope I get past my fear of them one day. But for the time being, I'm more than happy to just avoid them and stay safe. Because even the sound of people screaming while having fun on them reminds me of Big Thunder Mountain and the way that poor woman just kept screaming for her husband or son or whoever he.

[Narrator/Host]

Was to wake up. I was 22 years old at the time. I witnessed something that no one should ever have to witness in a million lifetimes. I am now 36, and I won't lie, it has deeply affected me as if it happened yesterday. So on this beautiful Saturday afternoon, I hop in my car to go to the little neighborhood store that's located at the front of my neighborhood. One of those little convenience stores where the owner has known you since you were in diapers. To preface, this store is located right across the street from a very busy train track, and the road between the store and the tracks is an extremely busy main road. Two lanes one way, two lanes the other way. As I'm putting my car in park.

[Storyteller]

I step out and walk towards the.

[Narrator/Host]

Door of the store. I decided to finish smoking my cigarette. As I'm puffing away, I notice a middle aged woman, maybe mid, late 40s standing on the sidewalk across the street next to a bus stop sign. But something was very off about this woman. Mainly because she was yelling and arguing with the bus stop sign, making a huge scene. Now where this woman is standing and throwing herself about is across that busy main road, on the sidewalk where the bus stop sign is and the train tracks are behind her. It was very obvious she was either on something or was a serious mental health case. At this point I have already finished my cigarette, but could not stop watching this crazy woman. I actually arguing with a bus stop sign. Then out of nowhere, she somehow makes eye contact with me. Literally beelines her attention right to me. Before I could even register she was looking at me. She basically jumps into the road and proceeds to play Frogger across the busy street, ducking, dodging cars, running right towards me. She didn't seem to even notice that she was almost hit. Hit three times trying to make it to the store and to me. I am in such shock and awe watching this woman, I couldn't move. And let me remind you, her whole trip across this road, she never, not once, took her eyes off me. She somehow makes it over to where I'm standing at the front of the store. Once she's within three feet of me, she starts screaming about how she needs a cigarette, loudly and very aggressively, all while her arms and legs and head are jerking around, what we call flopping really bad. I reach into my bag to get this poor woman a cigarette. And as I go to hand it to her, I can hear her saying over and over.

[Storyteller]

Gotta hurry, gotta hurry.

[Narrator/Host]

It's almost time. Still, still stuck in awe. I extend my lighter out to her so she can light her cigarette. The second she takes a drag, a very loud train whistle is heard. Now when she hears this train whistle, I kid you not. It's like I watch this strange sense of calm wash over this woman and her head jerks so quickly in the direction of the train whistle, her body almost goes limp. She drops her cigarette and takes off running back across the busy road. Without hesitation, I watch her get back to the sidewalk, walk up a small embankment to where the train tracks are. And she stands there, hands behind her back, leaning forward like an excited little kid waiting to see the choo choo. Her head looks left, then right, then left again. And at this point, I can see the train coming. Oh, and it's an Amtrak train, so it's going a good 100 miles per hour. As the train nears where this woman is so patiently standing, I watched this woman ever so casually, like she was stepping through a doorway, step right in front of the speeding train. To be honest, it happened so fast and so suddenly, it didn't quite register at first. All I could see is this fine red mist spray all over the train, the tracks, and the sidewalk. My jaw was on the floor. I couldn't speak, blink, look away. I don't even think I had actually taken a breath for a good 3, 3 minutes by the time I came back down to earth. The store owner, we'll call him Sammy, runs out of the store with his hands over his mouth and his eyes as wide as saucers and is standing next to me. Neither one of us could speak. Once Sammy and I were able to process what just happened, Sammy runs back in the store to call 911. When Sammy returns back outside, he looks at me and asks, did you just witness that woman jump in front of a moving train? The only response I could muster was, she didn't jump. She just simply stepped right in front of it, like it wasn't a speeding train, but a fluffy cloud. It didn't take the police long before they were on the scene, calling for the biohazard cross crew to come literally scoop this woman's remains, or what was left of her off the tracks in the sidewalk. And when I say scoop, I mean they showed up with actual shovels. So, still in utter shock, I tell the police officers exactly what just occurred, detail for detail, and wrote my statement. Once I go to hand the officer his clipboard back, I look at his face. Face and his eyes were also as wide as saucers, and his jaw was on the floor as well. As he is getting ready to go over and talk to what I could only assume were his superiors, he says, ma', am, you might want to think about receiving some counseling after this. Now, I know he was just being polite and showing concern, but the only.

[Storyteller]

Thing I was able to get out.

[Narrator/Host]

Of my mouth was a dazed and confused, uh, yeah, I don't know how much longer I just stood in that same spot, even after the cleanup crew had gone, my brain continuously replaying that horrid scene over and over until Sammy comes back outside and claps his hands right in front of my face. I shake my head as if I come back to reality. I look at Sammy and simply say, I gave her her last cigarette. I fished my keys out of my pocket, got in my car and went home, not even getting what I came to the store for in the first place. I want to end this crazy day in my life with a simple if you or anyone you know is suffering with an addiction or mental health issues, don't go it alone. Seek help, please. For a little bit of context, this was more than 20 years ago when I was just a kid young enough to believe in the Easter Bunny. One night before Easter, I was having a sleepover with my cousins at my house, talking and having fun all until it was time to go to sleep. Now, as it is relevant to the story, I used to always sleep on my stomach since it was more comfortable for me when I was younger, I could never just sleep on my back or on my side as most people did. We were all sleeping on the floor. I laid on my stomach as I usually did and listened to my cousin's conversations get smaller and smaller until finally everyone fell asleep. The room was pitch black and quiet, outside of the home being even quieter as I didn't hear even the crickets making noise. I stayed awake through the silence, the excitement to see the Easter Bunny taking over my mind. It seemed like an eternity that I was laying there while everyone else peacefully slept until I heard heavy footsteps in the living room, which was rather close to the room my cousins and I were sleeping in. It's the Easter Bunny, I thought to myself. I immediately shut my eyes once I heard him enter the room. Even though my head was facing away from the door, I decided to close my eyes just in case. The heavy footsteps didn't seem to wander around the room, but straight towards where I was sleeping. I started to get a little confused since I didn't hear him just place down some baskets or bags and then leave. I laid there still as I heard the footsteps stop abruptly right beside me. It felt like hours that I could just hear the heavy breathing above me piercing through the silence of the room until suddenly a long and pointy fingernail touched the back of my neck. I felt myself become paralyzed in fear as the Easter Bunny made a mark of an X on the back of my neck. Though it was not sharp enough to make me bleed or leave a scar on my neck, it still terrified me enough to make me just stay still and not dare turn around. I ended up falling back asleep not having anything else to do but fall back asleep. I don't know what it was that walked into my house that night. But what I do know, it was not the Easter Bunny.

[United Airlines Ad Voice]

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[Storyteller]

We were returning home and one of the flight attendants asked Bronx if he wanted to see the flight deck and meet Kathy and Andrew.

[United Airlines Ad Voice]

I got to sit in the driver's seat.

[Narrator/Host]

I grew up in an aviation family and seeing Bronx kind of reminded me of myself when I was that age.

[United Airlines Ad Voice]

That's Andrew, a real United pilot.

[Narrator/Host]

These small interactions can shape a kid's future.

[United Airlines Ad Voice]

It felt like I was captain.

[Storyteller]

Allowing my son to see the flight deck will stick with us forever.

[Narrator/Host]

That's how good leads the way. I am addicted to liminal spaces. You can find plenty of videos with examples across YouTube. Before I knew what liminal meant, I was enthralled with the idea. To put it as simply as I can. The definition of liminal describes the initial or transitional stage of a process. It is also the boundary of a threshold. I guess I identify most with the stillness and strangeness of these places. There's usually no exits. You can see they are empty and most have an overwhelming nostalgic feel. It's like we have been to these places before.

[Storyteller]

Seeing a living room with no furniture.

[Narrator/Host]

And old 80s style green carpet speaks to some of us. I'm sure most had a friend's place that looked like this. Or maybe it was your own house. When you image search liminal spaces, there are a lot of hallways that pop up. I'm sure not many of us had hallways in our home. But you must have been to a hotel or two, right? It's familiar but eerie. It's the best example of liminal. It's a transition. A hallway takes you somewhere, but when you can't see the exit immediately, it is sometimes heart pounding. There is something about the fear of these places that appeals to me. Don't get me wrong, I love the nostalgia. But fear is what drives me. Fear keeps you alive. The deeper I dove into liminal spaces, the deeper down the rabbit hole I got. I live here now. I seek it. I seek what you are too afraid to find. I have been in the back rooms and survived. My first time I didn't even know what was happening. I had no idea I was there. After I realized what happened to me and how fortunate I was. I was addicted. You think it's hard to no clip back to reality? Try doing it dozens of times. This is the first time it happened to me. Three years ago I was a deputy sheriff for one of the larger cities in the US at the time I was assigned to the electronic monitoring unit. We installed and monitored tethers or ankle bracelets. Each officer had a caseload of 30 to 40. If the offender was fortunate enough to receive a tether as part of their bond condition, then we would enforce the rules associated with said tether. Usually it went well with most obeying their court ordered curfews or house arrest rules. Some men and women were assigned alcohol tethers. It's like a handheld preliminary breath test which they had to blow in five times a day to prove they are not inhibiting alcohol. Of course these are mainly given out for drunk driving type offenses. I'm sure you could figure that part out. I was sitting at my desk monitoring my caseload, doing paperwork, whatever encompasses my day to day work life. A partner of mine, C. Came up to me dropping a file on my desk. What's this? I said. Name's not important. She has missed several blows. Can't get a hold of her. I have a couple locations she might be at. Do you want to go look for her with me? He said, this is another part of our job, one that is always exciting when someone tries to cut their device off or doesn't fulfill their responsibilities imposed on them by the court. We go look for the offender. We call them absconders. They are now violating their bond conditions and we have to find them. Being that alcohol tethers don't have a GPS element to them, we have some work to put in to find them. As mentioned, the offender he was looking at had not taken an alcohol test in a while. He made some calls determining what the last location she was at. We started there to set the scene. The subject was at a location in southwest Detroit, not a great area. It was about 8 o' clock at night in the late fall which meant it was cold and dark. Tough conditions to start searching for someone. Pulling up to the possible last known location, we were looking at a house that looked out of place for that area Southwest is known to have one bedroom ranch style houses. This residence looked like something out of Hill House. It was a well kept, maybe a three bedroom, three bath home. The lawn was beautiful. The lanterns outside were pretty but felt foreboding. As soon as we approached the front door I had a bad feeling. I posted at the corner of the house. My partner, C. Went to the front door. After knocking on the door and announcing ourselves as part of the Sheriff's department, it slowly opened. A lady slowly peeked her head out. Strangely enough she focused her gaze on me, not my partner, right in front of the door. I'll never forget her face. It was human. Human, make no mistake about that. But it looked like paper mache with a long scraggly wig on top. I honestly couldn't tell what ethnicity she was. Her skin had a glisten to it, but the color was off putting gray. My partner continued with the mission. Ma', am, we're here with the sheriff's department. Is Camille here? She finally moved her gaze from me to my partner. Her dead black eyes stared at C for a moment before she finally spoke. Chamile. Yes, yes she is here. My partner looked at me with a what are we getting ourselves into? Kind of look. Okay, great. So can we come in and talk to her? He asked her without technically giving consent. The supposed homeowner turned around and waved us inside. I made my way inside behind my partner while C talked to the strange woman. I immediately noticed a ledger book on an older looking desk right in front of the door. It had several entries from what appeared to be caretakers. The person signed their name when they arrived, when they departed, and a summary of what they did. As I suspected, these people were caretakers of sorts. This lady obviously could not take care of herself and needed some in home nurse help. I quietly tapped my partner on the shoulder showing him the book. The name of the person we were looking for was in the book several times, although she had not signed in on the day we were here. Not quite sure what our next move was, we talked about searching this place. At this moment. I felt a bump on my leg.

[Storyteller]

While we were talking.

[Narrator/Host]

We both seemed to forget about the lady we were talking to. Looking down, I jumped back a bit seeing the strange woman on all fours at my feet. She slowly looked up at me. Chamile is all she said. And that is all she would say louder and louder. Camille. Chamile. Chamile. She almost screamed. She scooted around on her butt, using her arms to move her body around the floor. Now we were in real disbelief. Okay man, let's just clear this house and if we find her, we find her. C said. We both knew this situation was off, but started searching the house. The entire time this woman was yelling for Chamile, never once getting back to her feet, just kind of following us on the ground. The time must have been around 9 o'clock at night and it was dark. The inside of the home had one light on. There were no TVs or any electronics of any kind. The house had a strange feeling to it. The layout of this older style home had about four bedrooms and two floors. Every time I left a room, I swear I was in a part of the house I had not just been in. I would enter a hallway and seemingly be in another part of the house. Like I entered a dimensional gap or something. The woman would sometimes be right behind me. Without making a sound. I was starting to question how all of this was possible. At one point, we both entered the upstairs, which looked to be a regular upstairs with bedrooms or maybe a bathroom at the top of the stairs. As we opened the door initially, it would not budge. It appeared that it had been sealed somehow, like it had been painted over and the paint had dried in the seams of the door. After putting a little extra effort, the door opened, revealing an attic, not bedrooms. If you remember paranormal activity when the guy finds a picture of his wife as a child in the insulation, that's what it looked like. There was nothing but storage space, insulation, and an older style light bulb with a string hanging from it. The lady was just sitting at the bottom of the stairs watching us, occasionally yelling for chamile. After what seemed like an hour of searching this house, repeatedly going into rooms I swear I had just left. We called it and cleared the property as we drove off. The woman was now standing right in front of the door, staring at us as we left. According to when we called dispatch and when we cleared, we were only there for 20 minutes. It felt like we were there for well over an hour or two. I don't know what was more unsettling, the fact that it was late at night. The lady yelling Camille's name and scooting on her hands and knees. Her quietly showing up right behind me when I had not heard her move. Or the fact that she was standing at the door, just staring at us as we left. We have not returned to this house. We didn't tell anyone the true story of what had happened. It wasn't until much later I realized I was in some form of the back rooms. My partner too. I imagine it is a miracle we both survived. At one point, I opened a bedroom door and was outside behind me. My partner bumped into me. We both reached for our weapons. Thankfully seeing the threat was each other. I already searched out there, he said. I was confused, but just let it go. I couldn't understand what we were doing here. That is what started my fascination of the liminal world. I began actively looking for this world again. I have found it plenty of times. I quit my job with the sheriff's department. I now traverse the ethereal plane known as the back rooms. I have conquered the main levels, even finding some of the bilevels. I have traded with and met some great explorers. I can't admit this to anyone, but I have been trying to find that original house that led to my first backroom experience. I have not found it, but I know it's out there. I will travel for the rest of my life until I see it again in this world or the next. Well, I was down on my last.

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[Storyteller]

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