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Hey, this is Dane and this is Scary Stories in Rain. Please join my family and follow this podcast on Spotify or Apple. 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. Gale Yellow Brick Road A dark and 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 and I really hope you enjoy this episode.

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I would like to start by saying I am not a strong believer in the paranormal. That being said, the reason I'm here is because I have no explanation for the story I'm about to tell you. To set the stage, I was a senior in high school during the 2020-2021 school year, which means my last year of grade school was complicated. Even though we were allowed in school, there were still a lot of rules and protocols added due to the virus. Long story short, someone in one of my classes got the virus and I sat Close enough to them that I got sick. Sent home to quarantine for the next two weeks. I know. What fun. Well, on top of that, my parents didn't want me spreading the virus to the rest of the family. So I spent days in my room, ate dinner on the other side of the kitchen, and most importantly, moved all my toiletries out of the bathroom my sister and I shared. Luckily, our house happens to have a small bathroom with a shower on the first floor floor. Unluckily, this meant that when I went through my nightly routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face, I was left all alone downstairs in the dark. Like I said, I'm somewhat skeptical of the paranormal, but I'm still totally creeped out when I'm left alone in a dark house. So as I rushed through my routine every night, I spent the whole time on edge, worrying that some terrible monster was waiting in a dark corner for me to turn out the last light until it pounced and I would never be seen again. But in the back of my mind, I was certain that it was impossible. In fact, despite my fear, I was absolutely certain I was the only one downstairs for those brief moments when I was the last one awake. Until one night when I may have been proven wrong. The last thing you need to know is that the bathroom downstairs was one of those that had two doors on either side. One led to the kitchen and the other led to my dad's office. My dad's office also had two doors. One that was always closed and led to the bathroom and one that was always open and faced the base of the stairs staircase. So one night exactly like any other that week, I was scrubbing my teeth as fast as I could while keeping an eye on the mirror to make sure there was nothing trying to sneak up behind me. I had spit my toothpaste out and was rinsing the toothbrush off when my ears perked up over the rushing water coming from the faucet. I thought I heard my dad call my name from the top of the stairs. The sink was so loud and his voice was so quiet that I wasn't entirely certain what I had heard. So I turned the water off and shook my toothbrush dry while I strained my ears against the uncanny vacuum of silence that filled my house. I figured that if I had heard my dad, he'd call my name again to get my attention. So when I didn't hear so much as a breath for the next few few seconds, I figured I was just hearing things. I turned the faucet on again and began washing my face. And when I turned it back off, I heard my dad call my name again. This time it was so clear and unmistakable. Not only did I know it was my dad who was calling me, but I was also able to tell that he was on the landing of the staircase slightly closer now. Yeah, I called back, feeling a little sorry that he probably thought I was ignoring him when I really had heard him call my name after all. I waited for a response, tilting my head slightly toward the open doorway leading to the kitchen. However, the response I received was not the one I was expecting. Instead, from the closed door that separated the bathroom from the office came three distinct single knuckle knocks. I was very confused at this point, wondering why my dad hadn't responded to me, what he needed to tell me that required him coming all the way downstairs to the bathroom, and why he decided to go to the locked door from the office instead of the open one from the kitchen. Now, I could have just opened the door he was standing behind, but for some reason I found myself taking the unnecessarily long route out of the bathroom, through the kitchen, through the hallway, and to the open door to the office. This isn't a decision I remember making. I just did it. In fact, I wasn't thinking about anything, including the fact that that I never actually heard my dad's footsteps approach the door or even come down the creaky staircase. And I certainly had no idea what to think when I turned the corner to look into the office. I stood in the open doorway and strained my eyes against the inky darkness, looking at the spot where my dad should be standing. But he wasn't there. Needless to say, I went straight to my room and turned on every light on the way. It took me a long time to calm myself down and fall asleep that night. All I could think of was staring into the darkness of that office and wondering what might have happened if I had just opened the door when I heard the knocking. Last summer I went to a house party in the Garyowan neighborhood of Limerick here in Ireland. We were right in the middle of lockdown restrictions and I know it was really stupid and selfish of me to go, but I was just so in need of a stress release. I'm a really social creature and I need to spend time around people. Like I was actually going mad being stuck inside all on my own. I do actually really regret going, but breaking the virus restrictions aren't the reason. I wish I hadn't gone because I saw one of the Worst, most horrifying things I have ever seen in my life at that party. And it's something I don't think I'll ever get out of my head. So the party is going swimmingly for a few hours, and I'm occupied being the little social butterfly that I am. But then I walk into the kitchen to get another drink, and this big argument is unfolding between this couple that seemed to be based around allegations of infidelity. It was super intense and awkward being in there with them, so I just quietly grab my bottle of wine from the fridge and then head back to where I was gabbing away with some new friends. I didn't really think much of it. House parties can be weird like that. After all, one room people are passed out, Another one had people dancing around. While some rooms host little arguments between couples that usually don't turn into something hideous, only this one did. The guy in the argument storms out of the party, and then for a few hours, everything is good vibes again. But then at some point later in the night, the guy comes back to the party. People know his face by this point, so they don't really have any reason not to let him in. And I am guessing he didn't give them any clues as to what he was about to do, otherwise they would have never let him back into the house. The guy then searches the house to find the girl he had been arguing with. I'm not actually sure if they were a couple. I just heard them arguing about sleeping around. When he finds her, he confronts her, starts screaming at her, then reaches into his jacket, takes out a bottle, and then appears to douse her with the contents. People thought he was just being a jerk and throwing vodka on her. The outrage partly stemming from the wasted alcohol as well as the undue aggression. He then legs it from the room while she's screaming. From the people I have spoken to about it, the ones that were in the room when it happened. They first thought her screaming was her being a bit melodramatic about having some drink chucked on her face. But then she took her hands away from her face and it's covered in what looks like burns. It wasn't alcohol he had thrown onto her face that night. It was acid. Luckily, someone there was a chemistry graduate. They realized what was happening almost straight away and then grabbed something from under the kitchen sink that would neutralize the acid. I don't know what it was exactly, but it was some other chemical that probably didn't do her much good either, but it definitely Stopped the damage from being any worse than it was. I heard the poor girl had to have a skin graft from her leg, though. Like, even with the help she got, her injuries were absolutely horrific. The guy who did it went on the run for a bit, too. Like the Guardai, what we call the police in Ireland, didn't manage to get cuffs on him for, like a month. And we were all so relieved when they finally did. I can't imagine what kind of monster does something like that after an argument to use actual acid to try to permanently disfigure someone's face. That takes a really special kind of evil, don't you think? To all outside observers, it appeared that Dr. John Hamilton and his wife Susan had the perfect, loving marriage. In their 14 years of blissful union, John's passionate love for his spouse had led him to lavish her with expensive gifts and luxurious vacations. A brand new Porsche on their wedding day being just the beginning of the of a long list of romantically motivated purchases. But John wasn't just generous with his money. He was apparently generous of heart, too, and spent a great deal of time reminding Susan just how much he loved her in a variety of heartwarming ways. When Susan professed a yearning for employment for a purpose outside of being a housewife, John gave her a job. And at his highly esteemed obstetrics and gynecology clinic in Oklahoma City, he was there for her in every way. And by all accounts, they were a textbook case of romantic longevity. But that's what makes it all the more horrifying that on Valentine's Day of 2001, Dr. Hamilton's arrival at the family home kicked off a chain of events that would turn their perfect little world into a living nightmare. As you can imagine, in a marriage as loving as John and Susan's, Valentine's Day was held in high esteem. Every single year they were married, they exchanged gifts and cards, often having planned some kind of romantic rendezvous, be it dinner and a movie or a walk around a local park. But on Valentine's Day of 2001, John was needed in the operating room of his clinic fairly early in the morning, too. Any exchange of gifts would have to wait until his lunch break. But just as he promised, John ducked out of the clinic as soon as he was able and drove home to spend a romantic half hour with his wife, after which he would have to return for another surgery. He called her name as he walked through the front door, but she didn't answer. John suspected that his wife might have some kind of surprise in store for him. And he felt a ripple of excitement run through him as he walked up the stairs towards the master bedroom. He called his wife's name again, but still there was no answer. And it was then that something caught John's eye. Lying on the floor of the second floor bathroom, it was Susan. She was in a crumpled, lifeless heap with blood pooling underneath her. Paramedics were called to the scene, but Susan couldn't be revived. Those in attendance noted that she appeared to have been strangled with two of her husband's expensive silk neckties. But the blood on the bathroom floor was undoubtedly from the series of bloody head wounds she had due to repeated blunt force trauma. The wounds being so severe that parts of her brain were exposed while her face was completely unrecognizable. To his absolute horror, Dr. John Hamilton was the number one suspect in his wife's murder from the very beginning. Police have since publicly stated that there were many factors which led them to such a conclusion. The first being that there was no sign of forced entry to the home. Whoever killed Susan had keys to the residence. It was also a crime in which nothing of value was stolen. And one which there were no bloody fingerprints left in a bathroom which had blood almost everywhere. This meant that there was a distinct chance that whoever killed Susan was either extremely professional or incredibly lucky. Or had the time and privacy to scrub the scene of incriminating evidence before the body was found. On top of that, while searching the home, police got their hands on a Valentine's Day card that Susan had written to John, presumably that year. And in the message inside wasn't nearly as loving and cheerful as you might imagine. I bought this two weeks ago, so I guess maybe it doesn't seem as appropriate, but I do love you. Have a great day, Susan. The contents of the card raised a lot of questions concerning the state of Hamilton's marriage. Evidently, it suggests that there had been some kind of incident or argument. One that had caused a degree of turmoil and somewhat soured that Valentine's feeling. As it later turned out, this incident involved Susan catching John making phone calls to a woman employed as a topless dancer. Police actually found hundreds of calls to this person on John's cell phone during their investigation and heard from close friends of Susan that she had confessed to considering a divorce to the cops. The the explanation seemed simple. John had murdered his wife to prevent her from running off with half of his money. But at his trial, much of the local community came out in support of Dr. Hamilton and refused to believe that the man Was capable of such a horrific crime, Especially given that the victim was his own beloved wife. But when the paramedics who attended the 911 call John made Were questioned in court, the jury began to notice some disturbing inconsistencies in his story. Hamilton testified in court that after he contacted emergency services, he had gotten to work trying to perform cpr on his wife's bloodied corpse. And this appeared to be true, as the paramedics confirmed that when they had arrived, John had been performing chest compressions. But as people who performed cpr on an almost daily basis, the paramedics noticed something peculiar about John's technique. It was incredibly ineffective. From a regular person with no first aid training, that could be understandable. But john's was so bad that it almost looked like he wasn't actually trying to revive Susan at all, which, for a medical professional, is very suspicious. John also claimed that he had tried performing mouth to mouth resuscitation on his wife. But the paramedics claimed that John had no blood on his mouth or face when they arrived. There was so much blood around the victim's head that there's no way John could have performed mouth to mouth and not gotten any on him. Some of Susan's blood was also found on the steel steering wheel of Dr. Hamilton's car. And despite his claim in court that he had simply moved the vehicle to make room for emergency vehicles, A prosecutor was able to make use of the overall suspicion to claim that this was evidence that John had been considering an escape attempt. At one point during the trial, the prosecution's case against Dr. Hamilton appeared to be floundering. Hamilton's defense attorney had brought a number of keys, Character witnesses to testify in court, and all had built a picture of John as nothing but a loving husband. And he believed that the nail in the prosecution's coffin Would be the testimony of a crime scene investigator named Tom bevel, An expert on blood splatter at crime scenes. Bevel was essentially brought in to confirm that the blood splatter on Dr. Hamilton's shirt, the same one he was wearing during his attempt at sea cpr, Was consistent with a man simply trying to revive his murdered wife While in a state of extreme panic and grief. At first, Tom bevel did indeed testify that much of the blood splatter could have well been from the doctor's attempts at cpr. But as it turned out, Bevel had noticed something that other investigators had overlooked. He had made a note of the few small flecks of blood that could be found on the Inside of Hamilton's right sleeve, A pattern he had seen many times before on the clothing of people who have killed someone with a blunt object. In the seconds that followed, the courtroom was deathly silent. An expert defense witness had testified against the person they were supposed to be defending. And in just a few words, Tom bevel had condemned Dr. Hamilton to prison. When later asked why he made the decision to essentially act as a witness for the prosecution, Bevel claimed he just had to tell the truth. He said he had sworn an oath, something that overrode any allegiance he may have had to his client. After that, it only took two hours for a jury of his peers to find John Hamilton guilty on the charge of first degree murder, whereafter a judge sentenced him to life in prison. Those that followed the case were highly disturbed by the sudden turn of events. John had and still does maintain his innocence, even to this day. But more and more evidence points to the idea that he killed his wife in cold blood. His defense team even floated the idea that he must have been innocent because the guilty timeline would mean that John went to work and performed flawless surgeries right after murdering the love of his life. This might well be true, but in light of the guilty verdict, it's all the more damning because it suggests that Dr. John Hamilton was able to beat his wife skull in on Valentine's Day, then remain calm and collected enough to go and perform complicated medical surgeries. And if it's true, then maybe a more fitting name for Dr. Hamilton is Dr. Death. I was 22 and lived in my parents house while they had left South Africa to work abroad. My grandmother moved in with me to help out as I was a single mother while still studying in university. In the end we helped each other because she was also on oxygen due to chronic lung disease. Growing up in South Africa, we are taught from a very young age that it's important to make sure all doors are locked and windows are closed at night. Being a very private person, I would always have my curtains closed. People can be extremely nosy here. Well, one night after a long day of studies and simply being a mom, we locked all the doors and shut the windows, pulling all the curtains closed to settle in for the night. Now my son was not a great sleeper and would often wake up throughout the night after dozing off. Later that evening, he woke me up asking for his bottle and I decided to check the time. Slightly blinded by the TV's light, I sat up rubbing my eyes. 10pm Something wasn't right. I felt like we weren't alone. As I peered through the doorway into the passage, I could have sworn I saw a dark shadow almost crawling across the tiled floor. I'm imagining things. I must be shrugging it off. I pass my son his bottle. Still, I swear I'm hearing sounds like someone coming up the stairs this time, but that's in the opposite direction. The railing creaks and I'm about to get out of my bed to check when a face peaks around the corner of my bedroom door. Gran, Is that you? Expecting her to be needing help with something, so I reach for my phone to create light. As I had already switched the TV off again, a man storms into my room and grabs my phone before I can hide it. I'm in so much shock, yet I know exactly what is going on at that moment. Take whatever you want. Please just don't hurt us, I say calmly. He puts his index finger to his lips. Shh. He's just standing there as though he is waiting and watching. Guard. Then suddenly three other men rush in and asked question after question, where's the safe? Where's the weapons? Where's this and that? They were all armed and I had no idea what they had planned for us. I just couldn't keep up trying to answer all their questions. Why would I, a single mother in a house with her child and grandmother, have a weapon? In all honesty, I've never even owned one. They took everything and then insisted on taking my car keys. I tried telling them I couldn't remember where I had put them, but they stuck a weapon in my 2 year old son's face and asked again, where are the keys? So I told them where I thought I'd left them. After going through all my things, taking what they wanted, and were then ready to leave. I'm presuming they were throwing everything into my car for the getaway. The one guy chose to stick around in my room a little longer. Give me a kiss, he whispered. Oh no. I was shouting in my mind, still trying to stay composed. He put out his hand and took mine. Then the others called for him and as he pulled away I dug my nails into his hand and scratched. If I was going to do anything, I was going to get DNA off one of them. If no one could see what was going on in my home, I would find a way to get justice. Don't scream, they said and ran down the stairs. I ran down after them and screamed as loud as I could for help from the neighbors as they sped off in my car. Standing outside in the pitch Black calling for anyone to help us. And yet no one heard. It felt like hours had passed. No phones, no laptops, no means of contact. They took everything and I couldn't even call my parents. To this day, these men have never been caught. And I wonder if I had my curtains open. Perhaps someone might have seen people were still awake. I am now 35 and since that night, I refuse to go to sleep without my curtains open and at least one light on. This happened in 2004. I was a new college graduate starting my career in healthcare at a hospital two hours away from where I grew up. The hospital I worked at was huge. A level one trauma center. I work in a highly specialized area. There were only two other people at the hospital with my licensure. That's important because we spent a lot of time working alone and our department and had to stagger our shifts for coverage. I had the early shift. I arrived at 5:45 in the morning. Staff parking was several city blocks away from the hospital and they sent a shuttle to pick employees up. The lot was surrounded by an urban forest. The city tried to leave as much green space and trees as possible. There was nothing else near the parking lot at the time. Since I arrived so early, the shuttle service had to be called when I arrived. The call button was located at the shuttle stop, meaning you had to leave your car to communicate with the dispatch. I was always creeped out because even though there were parked cars cars, there were never any employees in the lot at the time I came in. The overnight shift didn't change until 7am a few weeks after I started working there. I had settled into the shuttle routine and gotten more comfortable. At this time, cell phone service was spotty at best and I didn't own a smartphone, so it wasn't very reliable. One afternoon when I returned to my car, I found a note left on my windshield. It read, hot and sweet you are. I glanced around and didn't see anyone. I was perplexed, but not really frightened. Another week passed. I forgot about the note until one afternoon I returned to my car and found a flower in the windshield wiper and another note. This one. I really love your dimples. I could make you smile. What the heck. I had just moved to this town and didn't have any friends beyond the other two people in my department. I didn't know anyone else. I did feel creeped out this time and began feeling like I was being watched or something. Early in the mornings, I would park as close to the shuttle stop as possible, buzz the Dispatch and then wait in my car with the doors locked. I often imagined I heard shuffling noises like shoes scraping through the gravel and I couldn't see all the way to the dark corners of the lot. When I returned to my car in the afternoons, I carried my pepper spray just in case. I told my co workers about the notes and they told me I should tell security. I felt a little silly, but I made a report. Security said they would keep an eye out, whatever that meant. I stopped parking in that lot, opting instead to find parking on the street nearer to the hospital where there were other people around. Things went fine for the next few weeks until one day I got another note. This time it was on my car one morning outside my apartment building. In the same scribbly handwriting. It simply read, don't be shy. I was so confused. What did this person want? Obviously they were following me and now they knew where I lived and probably knew I lived alone. I contacted the police. There wasn't much they could do, but they did make some safety recommendations and said they would patrol the neighborhood more often. I took a self defense class and was hyper aware of my surroundings. It was worse not knowing who I was dealing with. A few weeks later, a woman was found assaulted and murdered in the trees behind the employee parking lot. They caught the guy a couple days later. I recognized him. He was a contract painter who had been working in my area. The hospital had been remodeling our department and this painter would come in early around 6:30am I made coffee every morning in the break room and he would come in to get a cup. We made small talk a few times, but never any red flags. Then it came back to me. Sometimes he would call me Dimples. I shivered. Good morning, Dimples. I was shocked that he had literally been right under my nose for weeks. I had been totally alone with him on many occasions and I never suspected anything. I don't know for certain that he was the one leaving the notes, but they stopped after he was arrested. Anyway, stay safe out there guys and gals. So good, so good, so good.