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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. This episode is brought to you by Jack Daniels Jack Daniels and music are made for each other. They share a rhythm in the craft of making something timeless while being a part of legendary nights. From backyard jams to sold out arenas, there's a song in every toast. Please drink responsibly. Responsibility.org Jack Daniels and Old Number 7 are registered trademarks. Tennessee Whiskey 40% alcohol by volume. Jack Daniel Distillery Lynchburg, Tennessee Coca Cola.
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And Doug. Here we have the Limu Emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us? Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@liberty mutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Very underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Co. Affiliates excludes Massachusetts. My family is from the rural townships of Ayrshire in western Scotland. My grandfather moved his family to Ontario, Canada in the mid-1960s when my mother was only a baby. I was born and raised here, and my mother often took my brother and me to visit our family overseas to enjoy the ancient landscapes and rugged coastlines of our ancestral lands that our family had been immersed in for centuries if not millennia. I fell in love with the whole thing. The folklore, the old traditions, the cultural differences and the connection to familial history that we lacked back home. Something that perhaps North America can be lacking in some aspects of modern life. I had been brought up alongside folktales and retellings of old kings, fairies and spirits roaming the desolate fields and peat bogs of my ancestral homelands from a young age. For the most part, I took comfort in it. The far fetched and fantastical mythology in familiar settings echoed a connection to a timeless past that I have always found to be something of a powerful emotional bond, something I could always count on. In my darkest hours and my fondest daydreams, I always had a pretty wild imagination. At the best of times I was prone to all sorts of bursts of creative inspiration, music, drawing, painting and making up little games in my head. At the worst of times I could be plagued with nightmares and anxieties about waking life. I was afraid of the hazards of the outside world, seen or unseen, what could go wrong, what I didn't know, and in particular, especially as the light scattered in the dimming of twilight and led into the dead of night, I was afraid of ghosts. In a sense, I did it to myself. I really enjoyed ghost stories, folk tales and the like. Anything old really. But with my overactive imagination, such a young and fearful demeanor, I would frequently spook myself. I often found myself dreading the turning of a dark horn corner at night or feeling as though I was being watched through the cracks of the blinds that didn't quite cover my windows. At night before bed, I would watch television programs about ghost stories and unexplainable accounts of all manner of paranormal activities. Of course, being from the background I was. My favorite stories were about old buildings, castles and the hidden catacombs of Britain and Europe. Anything that seemed outlandish was right at home amidst the late night glow of the box TV in the living room while I sat there snacking until the very last minute I could get away with before being ushered up to my room to go to sleep. Most nights were pretty uneventful for me, but I have always been the sort of person to wake up in the dead of night around 2:30 to 4:00am for whatever reason. And usually I was able to drift off back to sleep with relative ease. Whenever this happened, on occasion I would wake up to a feeling of being watched which usually preceded a sense of dread or doom, like I was lying in bed, ever exposed to some sort of inevitable terror, hidden Just behind the closet door, or on the other side of the window, peering in through the cracks of my blinds. Or worse yet, right behind my back as I lay still on my belly, shrouded by a thin blanket that somehow kept me safe from harm. One summer when I was 11 or 12, I woke up in the middle of the night during a sweltering heat wave. The hum of the air conditioner loudly worked away through the humid and sticky July air. A common sound at this hour, cut only by the odd flyby of squeaking bats over the high treetops in the woods across from my house. But when I awoke, I became aware of absolute silence in my immediate surroundings. No sound of crickets, no bat screeching, no rise and fall of my family's breathing. The air conditioner had stopped. I didn't think much of this at first, and for a while I just sat in the silence and looked around my room in an almost peaceful state. For about 20 minutes I sat still in the silence, just awake in thought. The sort of liminal headspace where you aren't really thinking about anything, but your mind is tuned in and active nonetheless. I began to think it was a little too quiet, almost like it was unnatural. I tried to brush the feeling off, but as I started to notice how out of place the lack of sound was, I began to feel a building sense of dread, like it was permeating my room through the walls. At first it was only slight, as if I were just starting to spook myself with my mind wandering. But eventually it became uncomfortable. Off in the distance, I heard some sort of high pitched hum, but even from my upstairs bedroom, I could tell that it wasn't coming from the air conditioning unit or from anywhere on the property. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the empty field that sat across the road between us and the forest. I couldn't tell what it was, only where it was coming from. It almost sounded like the whining cry of a horse. Faint and muted by the distance, it would start and fade back into silence, then return again. I told myself it was just some animal, maybe a screech owl or something I hadn't heard before. As I listened, the sound became more frequent, and every time it rang out over the hills, cutting through the silence, it seemed to be getting louder, as if it were getting closer. The ongoing sense of dread surrounding me intensified tenfold each time the sound got louder and more frequent. As the pitch gained in volume and frequency, I noticed the unmistakable sound of hooves trotting up to the house. As if on some cobblestone road, old and unseen, they slowly clip clopped up to what I perceived as the front of our lot and seemed to make their way up the driveway. By this time the sound had become almost uniform and was no longer coming and going. It ceased to be unknown to my young mind and now sounded undeniably like the wailing of a woman. Whoever it was sounded as if they were coming right up to my window. I could hear the breath of a stationary horse positioned directly under my window, down where the driveway met the gate to our side yard. I was absolutely petrified. I shut my eyes almost immediately and rolled over quickly, curling up and huddling underneath my bedsheets until it was all over. It seemed like ages, but the woman eventually stopped shrieking. But I didn't hear anybody leave. I was still so scared, and I was more afraid than I have ever been even to just move, lest it be some fatal miscalculation on my part. The sense of dread was still there, but things seemed to lessen to some degree. It wasn't so pervasive, and I no longer felt my world was coming apart at its seams. But still, as I lay curled up in the safe shroud of my thin bedsheets in the summer heat, I could hear her. At this point she seemed to be murmuring softly, crying from down under my window. Curiosity eventually got the better of me, and looking back, that same curiosity could very well be the death of me one day. With care, I slowly swung myself out of bed and softly crept low up to the window, peering out from just above the sill to see down into the side yard where our kitchen light shone out onto the path and the gate that led to the driveway. Down on the other side of the gate I could see the faint outline of a shrouded woman, head bowed down, sobbing into her hands. She was indeed atop a large blow black horse, and though I could only see her silhouette, I could tell she was wearing some sort of thin veil around her head and a laced overcoat or cloak. Go away. I stammered out, terrified and all the more surprised at my stupid choice to utter something more than a staggered breath. Her sobbing immediately ceased and I drew back away from the window, low back onto the floor, afraid of what that might mean. I didn't hear anything at all after this point. The gloomy feeling of dread was still there. I almost jumped into my bed, and I'm not sure how I did so without making so much as a sound. Maybe she had some effect on sound. I'm still not sure. Even years later, I lay stiff as a board with my head on my chest and my arms over my head, eyes shut tightly, holding my breath, hoping that she would just go. The sense of doom was so intense by this point that if I thought it was unbearable before, now it was almost hellish. She was watching me. I just knew it. I don't know how, but she was. After what felt like either a lifetime or 10 seconds, the feeling lessened again, and I could hear the soft sound of hooves slowly heading away down the driveway into the distance. But as I turned around to check, I looked over at my window to see two bright and glowing eyes, blood red and shining with some ungodly light, peering through the blinds and into my own eyes, locked gaze to gaze with something not of this world. I couldn't move a muscle. My window was on the second story. At this point I didn't know what was happening, and I was convinced this would be the last thing I would see. As I lay there helpless, locked eye to eye with this fiend, she began to shriek and howl at an ungodly godly volume that seemed to take up every corner of my bedroom and every inch of my soul. As the dread intensified with the volume of the relentless screaming and howling, the woman's jaw began to unhinge and her sallow face contorted under the COVID of her thin veil. I started to black out, and the last thing I remember about it was her wrathful, hollow eyes. As the sound began to fade into obscurity and I lost consciousness. I woke up to the sun beaming through my windows, which my parents would often open when they woke up to get us all up and keep us from sleeping in. The sound of people mowing their lawns outside, the cicadas and the trees and the familiar buzz of the air conditioning unit were all back and. And it was as if nothing had even happened. The events of that night had a huge effect on me as a child, and even today, decades later, it still creeps me out to think about. I never really did get an answer as to what happened or what I saw, but in the days following, I convinced myself that I had come face to face with a banshee. I have since developed more of an interest in cryptid encounters and folklore from around the world, digging up all sorts of accounts of otherworldly beings, fairies, demons, and the like. Fairly recently I started revisiting some of my Scottish heritage and found something within the folklore that matches what I had seen to a pretty high degree with almost absolute certainty I'm convinced that what I saw was something called a kunyag. It couldn't have been a traditional banshee. According to folklore, only certain Irish families are associated with the banshee, and after all, nobody in my family died or even came close to death, and I'm obviously still here. However close the kunyag is to the banshee, there are some key differences, and the most common distinction is banshees aren't actually there to torment you. You can even talk to them by most folkloric accounts, and they will often respond with some message about a loved one who is in danger or somebody you know who has passed away. Do not talk to the kunyag, No.
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Picture perfect gift.
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Around the ages of 12 and 14, I would often sleep in my older brother's room. I would set up my blanket and pillow on the floor next to his bed bed and we would talk about dreams and nightmares we had had fictitious scenarios and other random topics that I have no recollection of now. But after the conversation and laughter would end, I had to deal with the part I dreaded most about sleeping in his room. The awful silence and the oppressive darkness all around me. I could have sworn I would experience something paranormal almost every night in his that room. Whether it was lingering shadows that I may have very well been imagining strange noises, or the time I felt an all too real sensation of something gripping my blanket that happened while we were still awake and I remember rushing my brother to turn the light on while I lay there in absolute terror. However, in typical paranormal fact fashion Nothing was there. But this one experience I had in that room still freaks me out to this day. One day, as I usually did, I decided to sleep in his room. The only thing I did differently that night was set up my sleeping space on his recliner. We talked for a few hours past midnight, and finally we fell asleep. Or rather, he fell asleep. To tell the truth, I was stuck in my usual state of impending doom. But this time, I think my fear was justified. While I lay there, reclined with my arms on the armrests, trying my hardest to fall asleep, I heard the worst thing my younger self could ever hear. Scratching on the back of the chair. My. My eyes immediately darted to my brother's bed, wanting to call out to him for help to get whatever this thing was behind the chair to leave. But nothing came out of my mouth. I lay there motionless and unable to speak, my heart pounding so hard that I could feel it in my wrists. The scratching persisted, slow and sinister. My young mind imagined a horrifying dark creature. Creature with gray hands and long black fingernails crouched behind the chair, purposely trying to scare me. But another, more logical part of my mind wondered if it was possibly a rat or some fabric in the back of the chair ripping. But none of that made sense. The scratching was too slow and controlled to be an animal or something tearing. I ended up not saying anything and just waited for the scratching to stop. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, it did. But I knew better than to stay in that awful room straight out of a horror film. So I went back to my room. When I told everyone about the incident in the morning, I got a bunch of comments like that's creepy or that's weird. Until it was brushed off. My brother never minded hearing things in his room. One time he heard an object fall off his windowsill in the middle of the night, and instead of getting freaked out like a normal person, he just thought, well, whatever, and went back to sleep. Now, I am not that type of person. Every paranormal experience I have had in that house is pretty probably going to stay ingrained in my mind for the rest of my life. Walking to your mailbox to get the mail and mowing your lawn are normal, trivial tasks that no one thinks much about. But when someone is watching you do those things, it's a different story. For as long as my dad could remember living there, every time he went outside to cut the grass or do any other task, she would be watching him from across the street in the scorching Texas heat, out there in her nightgown, no shade no drink, just sitting there. Her borderline emaciated figure and lack of expression stood out as concerning to my dad, and most times when he saw her he would wave, but she never waved back. My mom said that when she would wave at the old woman, it would be returned, but for some reason she never acknowledged my dad. One day, while my dad was sitting on the porch having a drink with his friend, the woman was there, quiet and motionless. A guy who lived with her returned home from work and was assumed to be her son. Tom parked his car in the driveway, got out, and walked right past her. What a jerk, my dad thought. He didn't even say hi to her or offer to bring her a drink or help her inside. He and his friend continued their conversation, and about 10 minutes later Tom walked back outside. Hey man, do you want a beer? My dad called out. He knew Tom, and though he was frustrated with his actions or lack thereof toward his mother, he thought he would invite him over and possibly ask him about her. Tom said yes and walked across the street to join them. After they chatted and got comfortable, my dad decided to bring it up. Is that your mom who sits in the chair outside? Tom looked confused. What do you mean? The old woman who sits in that chair every day? Day, my dad said, waiting for him to catch on. But he didn't. My dad then went on to describe her appearance and informed Tom that he had been seeing her daily. It was difficult to tell whether Tom was shocked, sad, or scared. He then went on to tell my dad that his mom had passed away a few years ago and used to live in that house. The chair my dad said he saw her sitting in was her favorite chair. Tom brought my dad across the street to tell his girlfriend about what he had seen, and she was equally baffled. But it gave them comfort knowing that their mother was still there with them. Ghosts and demons weren't of any interest to my dad back in the day. He never believed in them. He thought any sightings of ghosts could be explained by logic and reason, and that the people telling the stories were just straight up lying, probably for attention. But this was one of the experiences that made him question what he believed and ponder the possibility of the spiritual realm of good and evil.
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I have had nightmares for as long as I can remember. It started with recurring dreams about friendly childhood figures like Snuffleupagus chasing me and devouring me, and progressed to more realistic scenarios such as being shot. As I got older, I'm not bothered by my nightmares anymore. I have unfortunately grown quite accustomed to them. However, there is one nightmare that has stuck with me for years, and it was unlike any other scary dream I have had. Let me preface this by saying I had recently visited the Museum of Shadows, a museum near my hometown that showcases supposedly haunted artifacts from around the world. I consider myself a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghosts, but I don't limit myself to what could possibly exist and what could not. Growing up in a religious household, I was raised in a family that strongly believed in demons and possession. I still admittedly believe in such things, which may have influenced the experience I am about to tell you, but I still don't know if it was purely psychological. In the museum, there's a basement filled with demonic objects, items that allegedly contain spirits that have harmed people. Being someone who loves thrills, I excitedly explored this section, reading the stories and seeing the things that supposedly caused so much harm that a jar of holy water is kept at the entrance to bless those who enter and protect them. I had rented one of those ghost detectors that beeps when there's a fluctuation in energy, which is often associated with ghosts. I wasn't getting any response from my device, and when I did, it was usually because I was pointing it at spots where electrical wires ran. However, when I stood in the center of the basement, where no walls or electrical wires were present, I suddenly got a large response from the ghost detector. I looked around to see what could be causing it, holding the device up, down, and side to side, checking for possible energy fluctuations. I was then surrounded by a cold air that gave me goosebumps. I looked up, expecting to see an air vent, but there was none. I stepped out of this one spot and immediately felt fine. Experimentally, I held my hand out to see if the cold was contained to that spot, and to my surprise, it was. I looked down at the ground and suddenly noticed that the spot I was standing on was marked with an X in duct tape. After finishing up my museum experience, I decided to ask the curator about the X on the the floor to see what it meant. Oh, she said. This building is very old. There might have been some tragic incidents long before we moved in. Here. We mark areas like that to show where someone has died according to the history of the building. I was in disbelief and a bit shocked. I did feel like it was a gimmick, and I was unamused by this fact. I thanked the curator for her explanation. That night, as I was about to sleep, I started thinking about my experience again. Had I really encountered a ghost? A demon? Or was it all circumstantial and psychological? I slept on it, trying to ignore the unease I felt when I finally fell asleep. I woke up in my dark room, confused. I looked around while wondering why the night had felt so short. As a lucid dreamer, I preferred my usual checks around the room to see if there were any abnormalities that could confirm whether I was asleep or not. While I was performing my look around, I felt a shift on the side of my bed, like a sudden pressure being applied. I snapped my head to the side, and there, crouching by my bed, was a decrepit lady. Her bony hands were pressing into my mattress. Her eyes were large and pure white, her mouth locked in a grotesque grin with missing teeth. Her hair was dark, scraggly and falling out. Her skin was wrinkled, almost corpse like and devoid of color. She knelt beside me, frozen in place, her hollow eyes seemingly staring right through me. Count my fingers, she croaked in a voice that was a strange mix of a whisper and a groan. Terrified and confused, I looked down at her fingers. Against my will, my index finger began to touch each one of her cold, skeletal fingers and I counted aloud how many she had. One, two, three. But she didn't have ten fingers. Three, I said, my voice shaky. You. You have three fingers. With alarming speed, she whipped her hands behind her, hiding them from view, before rapidly returning them to the bed. This time more fingers were placed on the mattress, but not all of them were hers. Some of the fingers looked like they had been taken from another person's body. I couldn't tell. I started counting again. 1. 2, 3, 4. In the corner of my vision, I saw her pluck one of the fingers off the bed and hide it behind her back as if the to trick me. I said nothing and continued counting. 5, 6, 7, including the one she had hidden behind her back without touching it. Her face twisted into a horrifying frown, her mouth opening wide, and she moved again, hiding her hands as she shifted her fingers around. Then she placed a large sum of fingers on the bed. Her grin returned. Count my fingers, she rasped. I started counting again, but now she was removing fingers left and right, trying to get me to mess up just once. I still have no clue what her plan was, or who or what she is, and I have no idea what would happen if I miscounted. 13. 14. 15. I paused as I went to place my finger on the 16th finger. She pulled it away before I could touch it. Out of sheer panic, I blurted, 17. I said the wrong number. Her eyes widened with a hunger that reminded me of a starving man looking at a hot meal. Her grin stretched wider. If that was even possible. Slowly, she lowered herself from her crouching position until she was no longer visible, all the while maintaining direct eye contact with me. I jolted up wide eyed, looking around my room. I heard skittering noises. It was pitch black and I couldn't see anything. My hands fumbled around the nightstand stand as I grabbed the Xbox controller I kept there in case I needed to throw something. It felt solid, real in my hands. Too real to be a dream. Suddenly I felt her jump out onto the foot of my bed. She began crawling toward me at a terrifying pace. I was then startled awake, sitting up as fast as I could. My room was dark and it looked exactly the the same as it had in my nightmare. I felt insane. There was no way that had been real. I pinched my arm. I was for sure awake this time, but in my left hand I still gripped the black Xbox controller. I couldn't explain it. I am not someone who sleepwalks or does things like this in my sleep. My only conclusion was that it was a very vivid dream. But her face still haunts me and I can't help but wonder, did a demon attach itself to me that night. During the summer of 2012, I, a nine year old boy, was playing with my friends at my local park. Being young and oblivious, I didn't really notice anything unusual at first. I kept playing until I noticed my best friend, who was one year older than me, and someone I looked up to, staring at the tree line with a pale, wide eyed look of sheer terror. He couldn't tear his gaze away from it. Curious and fearful about what could have caused such an intense reaction from someone I knew to be so fearless, I followed his eyes and tried to catch his gaze. As I looked over at the tree line, I slowly began to see a woman. Her features were hard to make out as the sun was shining directly behind the trees, blinding me. But even with with that, I could see the way she was standing was surreal. Her feet were crouched on the ground and she had her hands pressed against her eyebrows like she was trying to make binoculars with her hands. Peculiar as it was, my friend and I decided to brush it off and continue playing at our young ages. We weren't really aware of the dangers of the world and were more focused on enjoying our time together before before summer ended. A few hours later, around 10 or 11pm, I was lying in my bed when I heard an eerie sound coming from my window. It wasn't the usual scraping sound of keys on glass, but rather something like sharp nails dragging back and forth across the window pane. To understand how strange this was, you need to know that my room was on the second floor and my window was positioned high up, about 16 to 18ft off the ground. It was not a low hanging window. It was placed at the top of the room to my right. So when I decided to push past my fear and investigate the sound, I stood on top of my bed and peeked out the window. To my absolute horror, I saw the same woman from the park. Even though I hadn't had a chance to get a good look at her features before, it was unmistakably her. Her unique posture and physique made it clear. She was gripping my windowsill with her hands, her cold, dead eyes staring directly at me. We locked eyes for what felt like five minutes, but in reality it was probably only five seconds. Then, to my horror, the woman broke the silence by scraping the window not with her nails, but by opening her mouth so wide I could see the back of her throat. She then pressed her teeth to the window pane and bit down as if trying to chew through it. At that moment, to my absolute shock, the woman began to bang her head against the glass over and over again. That was all I needed to snap me out of my frozen terror. I bolted out of my room and ran straight to my parents room. As soon as I told my dad what I had seen, he sprang out of bed, grabbed a weapon from his nightstand while my mom called the police. My parents and I waited anxiously for the police and after what felt like an eternity, they finally arrived. They searched the house and found nothing except for the broken glass on the floor floor of my bedroom. They were as confused as we were. There were no traces of how anyone could have climbed that high and no footprints or evidence were found anywhere around the house. After that. My parents didn't allow me outside without a guardian. Security cameras and an electric fence were installed around our property. To this day my only question is is how could have someone climbed that high and left no evidence whatsoever in such a short span of time? This story happened over the summer. I had started seeing this guy I met through mutual friends and we had been hitting it off for a while. I won't say exactly where for privacy, but one of our first dates was a late night drive to a popular lake area in the Roaring Fork Valley of Colorado. The first night we went, we enjoyed some green and spent time chatting under the moonlight. A night full of romance, conversation and a little bit of passion. After we left and went back to my my place to watch Hulu. He and I both have busy schedules, but we had another whirlwind date to the same area about three weeks later. The moon wasn't quite full, but that didn't stop us from enjoying each other's company. Now for a bit of layout of the land. This lake and park area has two places where folks can park vehicles. One where you can pay a sum of money to park while you enjoy the lake or a dirt track where folks usually go hiking. We were parked in my car on this dirt lot trail both times. The second time we pulled up there was another car parked there. It was past midnight and we assumed that whoever was in the other car was likely doing what we were as well as what we were about to start doing. We got out, smoked a little, and even though I was having a good time, something felt off. You know that feeling that someone's watching you? Amplify that by five and that's what I was feeling. I figured it was a mixture of exhaustion and the few hits off the joint made me feel a little jumpy, so I didn't pay much attention to that feeling, but I did keep in mind to be aware of my surroundings. After smoking, we climbed into my back seat seat and started cuddling and kissing. I had the car running with the headlights on and just because I was feeling a little anxious, I had the doors locked too. As my date and I started getting a little hot and heavy, he began to lay me down on my back in the passenger seat. As our lips broke apart for a second, I glanced out the windshield quickly and my blood ran cold. I saw something dart behind a tree that was lit by my headlights. I froze for a second and after a pause I saw something that has been seared in my mind permanently. There was a shirtless old man wearing torn up overalls with a scraggly beard peeking out from behind that tree, almost like a kid peeking around a corner during a game of hide and seek. It was almost as if he knew I saw him because he quickly darted back behind the tree, but I could still see the side of his leg from where I was positioned. My date was still kissing my neck and his head began to move back to my lips, but I stopped him and whispered, trying to remain as calm as possible with the adrenaline rushing through me. I wish I was making this up, but we have to go right now. There's a man behind that tree right there. I motioned slowly with my head to where I had seen the man. I don't know how long he's been there. I don't want to find out. My date quickly darted his head to the side and whisper shouted, no way. I instructed him to follow my lead. Since we had locked the car, I didn't want to exit the vehicle. After seeing what I had seen as carefully as I could, I sort of spider crawled over to my center console and settled into the seat. My date followed suit, accidentally bumping my head with his knee in the process. I began the process of trying to get the car out of that bumpy dirt lot as quickly as possible. Without bottoming out the car, I, White Knight knuckled the steering wheel for the five mile drive back into town. As soon as I was far enough away to finally process what had happened, I became nauseous from the fear. I also began to shake and my date, being the absolute gentleman he is, calmly asked me to pull over so that he could drive us back to my place safely. As soon as we entered the doors of my home, we began a debrief on what we possibly saw. At first, I thought of the first logical explanation. The other car that was there, Maybe the owner had to step out to relieve himself or something. But this was past midnight in Colorado in the mountains. Despite it being summer, those mountains still get pretty chilly at night, and it was definitely cold. Why would he be shirtless? And why. Why did he dart behind the tree only to peek out and watch for as long as he did and then dart back behind it? Was he watching us? Who was he? My date from that night and I have still been going pretty steady and we still try to figure out what it possibly could have been even three months later. If you're going for late night drives where you park, please make sure you never go alone. Make sure someone has your location. And always, and I really do mean always, be aware of your surroundings. I have lived in Colorado for the majority of my life, encountering bears, mountain lions and coyotes. Heck, I was even chased by a bull when I was a teenager. But none of those encounters compare to the sheer terror I felt seeing that man after midnight. This episode is brought to you by NBA on Prime. This Tuesday at 8:30 Eastern, it's the Emirates NBA Cup Championship Game on Prime. This year's quest for the cup has been building to this the championship game live from Las Vegas. Not a Prime member sign up for a 30 day free trial to get started today. The Emirates NBA Cup Championship game this Tuesday at 8:30 Eastern only on Prime. Restrictions apply. See Amazon.com Amazon prime for details. Jason Disney asked me to do this podcast thing. I need some advice. You've got to have banger guests. Walker and Leah, Daniel Diemer, Tim Simons, Adam Coveland. You're the one asking the questions. How they better answer.
- [45:33]
B
I don't know anything epic. This season is just a God quest.
- [45:39]
A
I'm Ari and Samadry. Welcome to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians official podcast. Available wherever you get your podcasts and watch season two of Percy Jackson streaming now on Disney and Hulu. Learn more@disneyplus.com whatson hey, what's up y'? All?
- [45:51]
B
Kelly Clarkson with Wayfair. My favorite thing about the holidays?
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Decking out my whole house. It's not a competition, but if it was, well, I'd win the season with.
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Wayfair Outdoor Inflatable Santa.
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Got it on Wayfair. Trees, lights and ornaments. Wayfair hosting must haves like dining, sets, beds, sheets and towels.
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- [53:20]
A
It's.