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- [00:01]
A
Close your eyes. Exhale. Feel your body relax, and let go of whatever you're carrying today. Well, I'm letting go of the worry that I wouldn't get my new contacts in time for this class. I got them delivered free from 1-800-contacts. Oh, my gosh, they're so fast. And breathe. Oh, sorry. I almost couldn't breathe when I saw the discount they gave me on my first order. Oh, sorry. Namaste. Visit 1-800-contacts.com today to save on your first order.
- [00:28]
B
1-800-Contact.
- [00:30]
C
Hey, welcome back to the podcast. I am so crazy, unbelievably excited to tell you that tickets for Gale Yellow Brick Road are now on sale. Click the link in the description or you can go to fathomentertainment.com or fandango.
- [00:46]
B
Just type Gale.
- [00:47]
C
The movie will come up. You'll be able to find a theater near you. It's in over 800 theaters across America, so you should be able to find one close to you. So I just want to say, if you really, really want to support this podcast, if you want to support me, if you want to say thank you for all of the podcast episodes, if you're familiar with my YouTube channel, if I have over 300 videos on there, if you want to say thank you, please go to fandango, go to fathomentertainment.com, type in GAIL, or click the link in the description and buy a movie ticket. Buy one for your friend. If you really like horror films, dark fantasy, thriller, it's not a slasher, it's not a gimmick. It's not like some other public domain popular IP movies that have come out recently. It actually has heart. It has a really good story. We put passion in everything that we had into making this film, and your support would mean absolutely the world to me.
- [01:44]
B
Please, please buy a ticket. Go support the film.
- [01:48]
C
I know you're gonna love it.
- [01:50]
B
A dark wizard of Oz film.
- [01:52]
C
And I promise you're not gonna want to miss it. It's only in theaters for one day, February 11th. If you miss it, it's gone.
- [02:00]
B
It's over.
- [02:02]
C
Don't miss it. Get your tickets now. Oh, one last thing. Did I mention that I'm in the movie? So if you've been waiting for a face reveal, this is the ultimate face reveal. If you can spot me in the movie and comment, if you're one of the first people to comment who I play in the movie, I might just send you a little surprise. Thank you so much for listening, and I really, really hope you enjoy this episode.
- [02:34]
B
I have worked for the United States Forest Service here in Texas for just shy of 10 years now. I love my job, and it's rare for anything particularly creepy or scary to occur. But having worked this job for so long, I have my fair share of stories I can share that might just make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. For example, we sometimes get jaguars hunting in the forests here. A particularly scary big cat, and that's because of what they do with their prey once they're caught. Subdued. So just picture the scene. You're walking through the trees on some bright sunny day when all of a sudden you start to smell something rotten. You look around but there's nothing to be seen. Just the picturesque view of the pines and the sound of bird song floating through the green. Then something hits the top of your head. Something wet. You place your hand on the top of your head, feeling something cold and slimy dribbling through your hair. You bring your hand down to see what it is, hoping that it's not bird crap. Only it's something way worse. It's blood. You look up and hanging up in a tree just feet above your head is the mutilated, half eaten corpse of an animal. Guts torn out, skin shredded, face half eaten, with hooves or paws missing, with broken pieces of bone protruding from cracked limbs. It seems an utterly bizarre thing to do. But the jaguar has a good reason for doing all this heavy lifting. If a jaguar doesn't bother to hoist its kill into the tree, it risks losing its meal to other more ground based predators or scavengers. Creepy. Yeah, but that kind of natural world stuff is nothing compared to some of the other stuff I've encountered during my time in the Forest Service. So this other time I am on a routine walk through some of the trails to make sure all the directional signs and information markers for tourists are all in order. There's a large rock protrusion about 100 meters off of this trail, like this big sandstone boulder that juts out of the earth that has kind of a shallow cave carved on one side that has been worn away from thousands of years of wind erosion. As I get close, I see a guy in what I first thought was camouflage hunting gear hanging around the entrance. I call out to him, just some friendly greeting, nothing threatening, and he turns to look at me, only he doesn't say a word. He just runs off through the trees. I start getting worried about what he was doing in the cave, terrified he has left a body or something there and honestly I was so thankful that he hadn't. But it seems like he did leave something behind. I mean, I'm not even 100% sure it was him that did this. And I've often considered the possibility that it was him that happened across this little find first. And see, seeing me, he got the idea in his head that it was me that left this there. He got the idea into his head, saw me and just freaked. But when I walked into that little cave and shined my flashlight around, I saw something that would completely explain why he was so quick to run away, whatever his motivations for doing so were. There was a little circular patch of dirt, one that looked like it had been raked over to clear some space. And in the middle of it all were a bunch of human teeth. I don't know why they were there, I don't know who left them or why, but I did what I could. I gathered them up into a little plastic bag I had on me that had previously contained my lunch and took them down to the nearest police station, giving a little description of the guy that I had seen run away from the cave. I have the usual wild animal encounters, weird noises during the night, but I have never forgotten those teeth. I have no explanation to offer up at all, but it certainly does make for a good little scary story. Montana has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world, and it's one of the last beautiful places in the United States that still feels truly wild. Unlike my native California where almost every area of natural beauty is plastered with man made trails, ranger stations and tourist traps. But I don't mean to offend anyone. I'm sure your favorite hiking spots in Wisconsin or Washington or wherever are amazing. And maybe it is just a little internal bias talking having watched too many old cowboy movies with my dad. But to me, Montana truly feels like one of the last untouched wilderness areas in North America. A buddy of mine feels exactly the same way about it. So every year around September, he and I would take a trip up to Bozeman to spend some time away from big city life out here in Frisco, we have been friends forever and pretty much spent all of our high school and college days together. But since we have slammed into our 30s and did all the boring grown up stuff like get married, have kids, focus on careers, we don't have nearly enough time to spend together. So I honestly relish our year trips out to Montana together where we can catch up on stuff, get some serious drinking in, but most importantly, indulge in a mutual hobby of ours that's verged on an obsession. Ever since we were teenagers hunting, our stomping ground of choice has always been Glacier national park. Right up on the Canadian border. It's about a five hour drive from Bozeman itself, but we make a point of driving out for a few days. One to get settled into a campsite, another few to actually hunt. All before a few days of drinking back in Bozeman to celebrate our successes or commiserate our failures. So last year we repeated the same old ritual. Driving out to the national park with our hunting gear in tow. We found a good place to park the truck, hiked a few hours out into the wilderness and found a decent little spot to set up camp. Every year we seem to be a little more exhausted when the day ends. Call it just side effects of getting older, I guess so. Last year in particular, we passed out pretty early in our one man tents with the intention of rising at dawn to begin our day's hunt. 6am the next morning, the little alarm on my wristwatch starts beeping. It's the closest thing we have to that feeling of Christmas morning when you're a kid. It's just pure excitement. Jumping out of bed to see what hunting Santa has left among the trees for us that day. We have a little breakfast, drink a little coffee, then pack up and head out. For those of you that are unfamiliar with hunting or nature in general, there are two times in a day when birds sing the loudest. Dawn and dusk. It sounds all pretty to us humans, like this wonderful lyrical bird song, but it's actually just pure war cries. What sounds sweet and cute to us is actually them. Like I'm here and if you come up in my tree, I'm gonna mess you up, so back off. Other birds for real. And it's something that soundtracks every morning hunt every single time we have visited Glacier. But that morning it was almost silent. We could hear the odd squawk in the distance, but our immediate vicinity was as silent as the grave. And that only means one thing. That a large predator is in the area. Something that's on the hunt. I remember the look on my buddy's face when he turned to me and stated that exact thing. How I double checked that I had my can of bear mace on me just in case anything happened. But that area of Montana right near the Canadian border is known to have wolf packs roaming around. And I shuddered at the thought of what would happen if we were cornered by one. Two aging city boys would be run down in an instant. We wouldn't stand a chance. We would be torn apart and eaten alive right there on the forest floor. Probably before we could even get a shot off. Trigger discipline is probably the most important aspect of weapon safety. But I struggled to keep my finger off the trigger of my Remington. Once I had racked around into the chamber, the fear was palpable. It felt like something was close. Real close. And in woods as dense as the ones we were in, something could be on top of us in just seconds. Then after another mile or so of walking through the near silent forest, we saw it in the distance. A grizzly. And it was huge. I had never seen one in the flesh before that day. And I was completely overwhelmed by the size of that thing. I mean they are monsters in the very sense of the word. Just a flesh tank, a ball of muscle and sinew. Perfectly designed to chase down, kill and shred whatever they take a liking to. We watched it staring back at us like this dull expression on its face. Before it sniffed the air a little, catching our scent. We must have looked like frightened little boys. But to the grizzly, we were nothing. This was just another day. And we were just another meal, another kill. Business as usual. We just slowly walked on. Keeping our eyes on that murder machine the whole time. Until it was eventually out of sight. We're not dumb. We knew we couldn't just hang around and carry on our hunt with that thing in the area. Especially not since it had our scent. So slowly but surely we made our way back to camp with the intention of packing up and moving to a safer area. But God laughs at well laid plans. And about halfway back, as we're keeping our heads on a swivel, trying to keep an eye out for that thing stalking us through the trees. I heard something heavy bounding towards us. I couldn't see it right away. And frankly the idea that something so huge huge could just creep up on us like that. Is something that is just pure nightmare fuel to me. But stalk us it did. And in a moment of pure stomach churning horror, it knocked my buddy to the ground as easy as a grown man might knock over a child. I mean it just sent him crashing into the dirt and it was on him in seconds. How I managed to miss that thing with my first shot is something I'll never really understand. I am an experienced hunter and I am a pretty good marksman. But pure panic took over. Crippling fear just had me turning to jelly. The feeling of expecting to see my best friend in the world torn apart before me is Something I am never ever going to forget. I am not military, I have never had any official training, nothing like that. So I didn't even think to work the bolt action and chamber another round. I just went for the bear mace, spraying it right in that thing's eyes as it slashed its claws across my buddy's chest and face, tearing up clothing and flesh like with deep gouging strikes. His screams though, that's what I kept hearing in the quieter moments during the months following that trip. These blood curdling screams as he thought he was going to die. And not just die, be eaten alive. Watch his own guts being torn from his body and chewed up right there in front of him. But it worked. Somehow the bear mace just worked. It immediately stopped clawing at my buddy, started like wrinkling its nose and doing these weird like sneezes or coughs. I can't really think of any other way to describe it, but what was obvious is that it was in considerable discomfort comfort as the ingredients in the mace went to work on its nose and eyes. Then as suddenly as it had appeared, it took off again, crashing through the trees, smacking into the one odd or two as it obviously struggled to see where it was going. Then it was just a case of checking on my buddy. But oh my gosh, he was an absolute mess. The bear's claws had torn off chunks of flesh, flesh from his face, shoulders and chest. And blood was everywhere. I mean everywhere. I was frantic too. I kept alternating between trying to tend to his wounds and looking around to make sure the bear wasn't charging us again. Like when I think back to it, I can only see certain frames. It's not like a movie in my head, it's like still pictures. Side effect of the adrenaline, I guess. The blood is leaking off my body as I help him to his feet. He was capable of running, but the attack had stunned him and he shook violently as I pulled him up and started dragging him back in the direction of our campsite. I knew the bear mace or bear spray or whatever you want to call it had worked, but for how long, I had no idea. And so we ran as fast as our legs could carry us through trees and over hillocks until we saw the bright orange fabric of our one man tents. Another weird memory I have is of my buddy applying his own gauze bandages. Like you think the guy would be in major pain at that point, but he was just running on pure adrenaline. That bear had torn him up real bad, but he couldn't feel a thing. It was Just pure survival instinct kicking in. He was a survivor and he wasn't about to go down easy. And in a twisted kind of way, I was really proud of him by that point. My one major concern was that he'd lose too much blood on the way back to our truck. I mean, he had already left a blood trail from the scene of the attack, so the bear would be able to trace our path really, really easily. So I was stuck in a horrendous catch 22 situation. Leave him with his rifle and risk getting attacked again or have him come with me to get help and risk bleeding to death or leading the bear onto our trail. But a primal, angry roar that echoed through the trees kind of made that decision for us. The bear was still in the area. Not even that. It was close and it was angry. I wrapped like half my buddy's head in gauze, taped a bunch of it to his chest, and we got running again. Almost every step we took, I expected that bear to just appear again. Only this time, if it attacked me, my buddy wouldn't have a rifle to be able to take the thing out. Although that fact that the bear mace had worked was actually a huge comfort. So there was no doubt that it would work a second time. But we got lucky for a second time that day. First time when the injuries to my buddy weren't as bad as they could have been in. And the second when that bear didn't rally for a second attack. We made it out of the park and down to a place called Ennis pretty quickly visited a medical clinic, got my buddy all stitched and patched up, then actually headed to a bar to just decompress and unwind from the nightmare we had just lived through. Needless to say, my buddy didn't have to buy a single beer that night. Not as he told the story of getting full on attacked by a fully grown grizzly. We're not sure if we're going on our year trip this September. All this virus stuff aside, I'm not sure either of us is quite ready to get back on that horse. But I look forward to the day when we are. I'm not going to let a horrific encounter like that ruin the one thing that's kept us close for so many years.
- [18:44]
A
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- [19:23]
B
This is something that happens constantly to me and I am actually at work typing this out because it just happened again. Three months ago I started working at a packing warehouse. I'm the youngest one here being only 19 and there's barely any other females here. The women's bathroom literally has only one stall and since the virus it is supposed to be one person in the bathroom at a time. This wasn't a problem for a while until one of my co workers, we'll call her Jane started following me into the bathroom. At first I didn't care as sometimes she would come in while I was in there and I would see her feet by the door. I just assumed she was waiting to go. Then I started to notice she would only go as soon as I went. I gave her the benefit of the doubt for a few weeks up until recently when I would see her standing right in front of the stall while I was in there. I could see her through the cracks and she would just stand there still with a blank expression. I thought she was just a creep. Other people started to notice when she would literally just leave the bathroom and I would go in after her and she would just go right back in. She only did this with me and when I left she would leave without using the bathroom. All around the factory I see her staring at me. This weirds me out so much. But she hasn't really done anything else. I mean we have never even spoke to each other until about five minutes ago. She came in again while I was in the stall. She walked closer to the stall door door and started to tap it. She kept whispering I wanna come in with you. I'm freaked out. So I yelled at her no. She started to raise her voice still saying she wanted to come in. I screamed at her to leave. I was just scared for my life thinking that she would just slide under the bottom. She just laughed and said she'll see me tonight. I'm getting off super late tonight and I live alone. I don't know what to do. This happened a few years ago in my hometown. I am not going to say where to protect the privacy of my best friend, but everyone should be on the lookout for these types of situations as they are growing increasingly more common. My best friend in undergrad we'll Call her. Maria and I were extremely close. We worked together, had the same degree, had the same hobbies, most of the same classes, the same friend group, and lived very near to each other. As a result, we were with each other very often, so very rarely alone. Keep this in mind as the story goes on, Maria was picking up her cats from a friend's house and parked her car on the street outside. She put the cats in the car, ran to lock the front door, and came back. It took maybe 10 seconds to lock it and run back, but she didn't lock her car. About halfway to her house, she realized that her purse containing makeup, hundreds of dollars, checks from work, her passport, all of her IDs and cards and bills for her apartment with her address on them was missing from the passenger seat. She had been running errands to prepare for a trip to her hometown, which is why she had all of these things with her. Pulling over, she looked at her bank account online to see someone had already tried to use the card at a gas station five minutes away away, so she canceled her card and drove home. When telling me the story, I pointed out that whoever took her purse was so fast that they had to have been watching her, and she agreed. She reported it all to the police, but wasn't expecting anything to come from it as we lived in an area notorious for theft at the time. A month or so later, she received a phone call from a detective saying that they had found all her items except the cash. Maria told the detective it was fine as she already had new ones. The detective paused for a moment and then told Maria that they would not be returning her items at all since they were now evidence in an investigation. When Maria asked what she meant, the detective told her they found all her items with a woman who was known to be involved in drugs and human trafficking. The area where the woman was arrested is also a human route human traffickers take, and our state is one of the hot spots for human trafficking in the us. Along with the stolen items, there were pictures of Maria from several months prior, walking around our college campus and our work, and hanging out with friends on her birthday. There were also photos of her friends, friends and other girls that we didn't know. These people had her hometown address, her address in the state where we lived, where we worked, the places we ate and hung out at. Her university ID card knew that she had animals and where she walked them, where she did her banking, what kind of car she drove, and who her friends were. Naturally, her boyfriend who was in the military lost it and had his friend sit outside the house when he wasn't home and escort her to and from work at night. For the next few months, it didn't seem like I was a target, but I still had my boyfriend use my car to drive me to and from work for a while, and I bought pepper spray for my keychain. In the aftermath of finding this out, we realized a few things. Despite being followed at first, fairly close range, somehow neither of us ever noticed somebody following us, probably because the person was a woman. Most of the opportunities for someone to take her, such as walking to her car or house at night, were probably missed because either her boyfriend or I were with her. They must have been learning the schedules of everyone around her as well as to see when there were times she was truly alone. Since they already knew so much about her before stealing all of her information, there must be a big boss somewhere who has at least some information about her, including what she looks like. The one thing they didn't seem to have photos of was her hiking with her dogs. Either they didn't know she hiked often alone, or they were worried it would be too obvious if someone were to follow her, thus tipping her off. And perhaps the most terrifying if they decided after all this time to make a move and steal her things. They must have been planning to do something big fairly soon. It's likely they took her IDs in order to make fake ones to get her out of the country undetected. Unfortunately, I can't give an update as nothing ever happened after the arrest and every time she asks about the case, the detective says it's an active investigation and they cannot disclose any information. We have never actually seen the photos either. All of the explanation was done over the phone. It's been three years since all this happened and even though we have moved past, still terrifies me to think about what would have happened if they hadn't found that woman. I urge everyone to be aware of their surroundings. Be wary of anyone following following you. Not just men. Stay with your friends, check in on them to see if they made it home safe and always, always lock your doors. The following story occurred in 2008 during summertime. A month had passed since school ended and I was excited to be home. I have a huge family. At this particular time there were about nine people in the household. My mother and father, my four sisters and two brothers and myself. I am the youngest. The night was beginning to approach and my mother decided to put on the movie Scream for all of us to Watch. Unfortunately, my father had to work. Normally we watch our films in the living room and area. But instead, my mother decided to watch the movie in her room. She had a huge bed to accommodate us all. Anyway, after getting food and snacks, we turn off the lights and begin watching the film. About 20 minutes later, I spot my mother whispering something into my oldest sister's ear. It was dark in the room and I couldn't quite hear the conversation. I figured she was telling her to grab something from the kids kitchen. Because my sister rolled her eyes and proceeded to go downstairs, I placed my attention back onto the movie. Keep in mind that my oldest sister was 20 at the time. Moments later, I began to hear an unfamiliar voice come from below the room. Everyone in the room was fixated on the film. But even through the volume of the tv, I could hear something. If you walk right through my mother's bedroom door, straight ahead is the staircase. On the left, I could see a glimmer of light shining on the banister that leads downstairs. It went away quickly as I heard the front door close. No one seemed to notice. Shortly after, my sister returns back upstairs with some sort of bag in her hand. She kept it tucked behind her back and handed it to my mother and sat down on the bed. At that point, I was confused, but I pretended that I did not see what occurred. After the movie ended, my mother announces that it's bedtime. My siblings and I grunt and groan in irritation and proceed to go to our rooms. Before I leave, my mother asks me to throw away all of the empty bags of popcorn. Now. I did not mind doing this, but I had a fear of going downstairs by myself, especially at at night. Despite my hesitation, I collect the trash and begin making my way to the kitchen. The only source of light we leave on downstairs is the cooktop light in the kitchen above the stove. As I exit the living room and enter the dining room, I pause and discover something. In the kitchen, I saw a shadow reflecting onto the fridge. It appeared to be a man with a slightly pointy nose nose and a wide brim hat. He resembled the monster from Jeepers Creepers a little bit. The shadow stood there silently as I watched in awe. I was shocked. I could not tell if it was an appliance or a kitchen item. But deep down inside, I felt as though that was not the case. My entire body was paralyzed in fear. Suddenly, the shadow disappeared and I hear footsteps run out of the back door through the pantry. I scream until everyone comes downstairs. My mother consoles me and asks me what happened. I explained to her the situation and at that moment I believe she realized what occurred. Earlier that night, my mother gave my oldest sister money to give to a drug dealer in exchange for weed. When I described what I thought the man looked like, she confirmed that it was him. My mother has known the dealer for many years, so she was surprised to discover that he snuck back into the house to steal from us. Shelves and drawers were open and some items were on the ground and apparently the front door was unlocked. My mother asked us to promise her to never tell our father about what happened that night. I have kept that promise to this day. I lived in the same house from when I was born until I was 10 years old. It was a pretty typical suburban home. It was not particularly old and was finished with all of the cheap outfitting that are typically used to cut down on costs in mass produced homes. It was unremarkable. It was a little box made of tiki tacky in an area full of little boxes that all looked the same so to speak. It had a finished basement that was filled with toys. It was what should be a child's paradise. There were two rooms there. One was what we considered the main room, which was the room that you first walked into when coming down the stairs and had a tv, computer and a pull out cabinet couch that was great for sleepovers. The other was what we considered the back room. It was smaller with many toy filled bins. It was essentially a playroom for me and my siblings. It had a whiteboard on the only wall that wasn't nearly entirely taken up by sliding doors to small storage and utility rooms. I would spend hours down there, often alone, while my mom went about her business upstairs. I spent a lot of time, particularly in the back room, playing with dolls or whatever little girls do until an uneasy feeling would force me back upstairs to the safety of my mother's side. This would happen just about every time I played down there. I would play until I got too scared and then I would flee upstairs. I didn't put much thought into my uneasy feeling because it had happened in that room my entire life and four year olds tend to not think too much about those things. Looking back at it, I understand the fear and uneasiness I felt in that room. I felt like I was being watched. The feeling was strongest when I was alone in that back room, but I would still feel it when I was in the main room or with people. A prime example of this is the sleepovers I would have when I was a bit older, about six, seven years Old. I always had sleepovers in the main room because it had the pullout couch and a tv. The pullout couch was situated as far away from the doorway to the back room as possible, but still had a clear line of sight to it. I would always take this spot furthest away from the back room's doorway in an attempt to get away from the uneasiness that room caused. Especially at night. I felt like I was being watched, watched on those late nights. And I would look up to the doorway and expect to see a woman standing there. Even though I never actually saw her with my eyes. It was like I saw her with my mind. Because even now I have a distinct mental image of her. She was tall, frail and gaunt. She was an older woman, probably about 60 or 70, with a messy frizz of gray hair that went down to her shoulders. Her cheekbones were very pronounced, like she had not eaten in months, or like her flesh was starting to decay off her bones. The thing that stood out to me the most was her eyes. They were dark and sunken, vacant with a thousand yard stare. I did not know it at the time, but after working at an assisted living facility and seeing dying people, I realized that she looked like she was dying. Dying or perhaps already dead. She frightened me, but not as much as the other presence. The thought of the other presence still sends ice cold terror through my veins. Nearly 10 years later, I never saw him, not even mentally. But I felt the darkness he emitted. I think I could never picture what he looked like because he did not look like anything. Like he was in humor, human, and could shift into any form he pleased. He felt dark and powerful, like pure evil. I felt his presence strongest in the back room, especially when I felt like I was being watched. The dark malicious energy was suffocating there. I took special care to not look too closely at the slats of the doors that led to the storage rooms because I was afraid, I would say, see his dark faceless eyes staring back at me. I learned to not look too closely at the darkness. There were times when I avoided that room entirely, like late at night when everything felt amplified. There were also month long periods where I could not go into that room alone. I don't exactly know why. There were periods when I felt like I could and couldn't be there. Maybe I had exhausted my courage and needed time to build it back up again. Maybe there were certain periods where the presences were just stronger. These periods would frustrate my parents to no end because they dismissed my fears as childish nonsense. They had Never spent a night in that basement the way I had with my sleepovers. They have never felt the Gaunt woman's eyes on them as they slept. They had never felt a dark, malevolent and energy that radiated from the back of the room in the middle of the night. Eventually, after moving out of that house, I began to think it was just childish nonsense, too. I never actually saw anything unusual, so it was probably just my overactive childhood imagination, right? Well, that was what I thought until I brought it up to my sister years after moving out of there. My sister is six. Six years older than me, so she was 16 when we moved out of that house. She was old enough to be over that sort of childishness. I had mentioned it to her to joke about how dumb I was as a kid and how my imagination must have gone into overdrive. I stopped in my tracks when she told me, deadly serious. No, that house was haunted. It wasn't just you. She and my brother, who was 14 when we moved, were fully convinced the place was haunted without me saying anything about the basement. She said that her and my brother thought the basement in particular was haunted. I took things a little more seriously after that conversation, but I wasn't entirely convinced. We were siblings after all and had talked to each other about the uneasiness in the basement when we lived there. We likely colored each other's perceptions and freaked each other out. At least that's what I thought until I brought this up to a childhood friend. This friend and I were pretty close in elementary school, but fell out of touch in middle and high school. We now go to the same college and have gotten more in touch because of it. One day when I was with her, I realized that she had been in the basement countless times. Times while we played and had sleepovers. She should also be relatively unbiased because I never told her about the haunting at the time because I didn't want to scare my friends off. I mentioned my conversation with my sister to her, and she was unsurprised. She told me that she had thought the house, and the basement in particular was haunted. She hadn't told me at the time because she didn't want to freak me out. She went on to say that the back room was where it was the worst. I did not tell her that my siblings and I thought that the basement was the most haunted part of the house, much less anything about the back room. Needless to say, I took things more seriously after that. What really freaks me out is my nightmares. To this day, whenever I have paranormal Nightmares. It is always in that basement or the hallway leading up to the basement door. I have had dreams where I went down the stairs at my current house, only for it to shift to the bottom of the stairs at my old house. When I walked down the hallway by the stairs and past the basement door, there was the woman floating ominously. In another nightmare that I had, I turned into a grotesque and mangled monster and I was inexplicably drawn down that hallway towards towards the basement. It was like I knew that was where monsters belonged. These nightmares freak me out because dreams are often used by your brain to sort through information and trauma. When I had these dreams, I had just about forgotten about that basement, and I have only recently pieced all of this together. It is entirely possible that I had an experience that scared me to the point of trauma in that basement, but I can't remember it because it is blocked from my memory. In that case, my brain may still be trying to work through it through my dreams. If that is true, I hope that memory never comes to the surface because some things are best left unknown. I never want to experience anything similar to that basement ever again. Because sometimes childhood, childhood fears are more than just childish nonsense. I had never, ever babysat for anyone before, so admittedly I was pretty nervous. But if I had known what kind of night I had in store for me, I would have turned the job down in a second. It was made all the worse by the fact that my parents pretty much assured me that it would be an easy 50 bucks and that the night would be over before I knew it. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing from the start, but my dad actually managed to talk me out of that headspace. Now I wish I had just trusted my gut and stayed well away. So I wander over to the house around seven in the evening, introducing myself to the parents and the kid before they go over a few ground rules. At first it seemed like my dad was right, that I was just being silly and that if I played my cards right, I could turn this into a regular earner to fund my weekend shopping habits. The parents were lovely and so was the kid. So I got pretty chill pretty quickly and ended up sort of enjoying myself entertaining the kid after they left with the help of Disney plus, which I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a huge fan of. Anyway, everything is going well until it comes time to put the kid to bed. Then things started getting a little awkward. The kid straight up refuses and our new happy little friendship starts to quickly deteriorate. I felt super mean having to lay down the law with the kid, and he went from crying and waiting, wailing to shouting and screaming at me that like, I wasn't his mom, he hated me and I didn't belong there. Stuff like that. It actually kinda hurt. And I started to realize that maybe I wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility yet. To be a parent or a guardian, you need to be tough enough to be able to kind of like be the bad guy, if that makes any sense. And if there are any of you out there that are looking to get into baby babysitting, thinking it'll be an easy few bucks, please reconsider. I have done way, way easier things for money before and since. Things that don't make you feel crappy for having to shout at a kid. But after a while, the whole temper tantrum seems to have tired the kid out, and even though he still seems upset with me, he went up to his room, got into his pajamas, and climbed into bed to go to sleep. He asked me to read him a story, and since he had actually done as he was told, I obliged. And when his eyes finally closed and his breathing slowed, I snuck out of the room and downstairs to leave him to get some rest. So about an hour or so later, I was sitting on the couch texting a friend of mine, telling them how babysitting was way harder than I thought it was going to be. I am working through the leftover chicken pot pie that my mom had given me to take over there, catching up on some episodes of the Mandalorian when the family house phone starts to ring. Thinking it was the parents looking to check up on me, I pick up, greeting the caller in the cheeriest voice I could manage. Only no one on the other end responds. I say hello a few more times, assume it's a butt dial or a bad line, and hang up, heading back to finish off my pie. No sooner that I sat down again, the phone rings again. I was kind of expecting it, I suppose maybe the parents had gone through a tunnel or something, I don't know. But either way, I get up again, head over to the phone and pick up. Only this time when I do, I can hear breathing on the other end of the phone. I give another cheery hello, but there's just the same breathing coming from the other end. When the person finally speaks, it's this super deep voice, obviously a guy telling me to check on the sleeping kid. I thought it might have been the kid's dad, but there was Also something really weird and distorted about the voice. Voice too. I respond like, okay, I'll go check. And the line goes dead immediately. The kid is fine, sleeping like a rock. So as much as I'm kinda creeped out by the weird voice, I figure it must have been the dad. Maybe the parents had argued, I don't know. I tried not to think so much about it. But then pretty much as soon as I'm back downstairs, the phone rings again. No caller id, no nothing. So I answer, unable to prevent this fear from entering my voice. Big mistake. Whoever is calling senses this and starts to like giggle down the phone line in that same weirdly distorted voice. What they said next made my blood turned to ice. Gonna snatch him up. Gonna snatch up the kitty when you're not looking. Gonna get him. I went silent. Just totally silent out of fear. And that's when I heard a creak in the floorboards above me. Someone was moving around in the rooms upstairs. I pretty much dropped the phone and bolt upstairs into the kids room room to find that he's still asleep. Or rather that he very much appears to be asleep. But that same deep slow breathing isn't there. The more I look, the more like he seems. Like he's almost hiding his breath or something. Not only that, but his arm is at this weird angle that makes it look like he's holding onto something under his pillow. Something he's trying to hide. In a fury, I pull the pillow up slightly and then realize what's been happening. Whoever thought it was a good idea to buy an 8 year old kid a phone is straight up crazy. But under that pillow wasn't just a phone. There was a voice distorter under there too. I grab both and run out of the room back downstairs where the kid starts throwing. Throwing another temper tantrum. I felt so dumb. Completely played by the kid. Made to feel terrified and vulnerable. How could someone be so young, yet so malicious and mean spirited? The parents arrived home shortly afterward and I didn't mention a word of what happened until they had paid me in full. Then I read them the riot act. I was never going to babysit for them again. And they were completely irresponsible letting their kid have things like a phone, let alone an actual voice disorder. Turns out the creepy little gadget was their older college aged kids. And the little guy was fascinated with it and wouldn't give it back. But I didn't care. I wasn't about to put myself out there like that ever again.