State Farm Advertiser (18:31)

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McDonald's Advertiser (19:01)

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Dog Food Promoter 1 (19:16)

Don't chew on that.

Dog Food Promoter 2 (19:17)

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Storyteller (19:20)

Oh, now he's into Cooper's food.

Dog Food Promoter 1 (19:22)

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Dog Food Promoter 2 (19:26)

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Storyteller (19:35)

Looks like we're switching to blue.

Dog Food Promoter 1 (19:36)

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UPS Store Advertiser (19:46)

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Lowe's Advertiser (20:18)

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Storyteller (20:53)

I grew up on a farm just outside of Limerick in Ireland, which as you can imagine, made for quite an eventful upbringing. It also meant my back garden was bloody massive, so I had plenty of space to run around outside playing make believe with my two sisters. And without a shadow of a doubt, our favorite toy was the little Wendy house that dad had built for us at the end of the garden. I don't know if they have those in the rest of the world, but basically a Wendy house is like a little miniature playhouse for kids. And I say little, but dad had built us a massive one with like a little hallway in a kitchen and a little ladder going upstairs to a little loft. It was absolutely adorable. Me and my sisters just loved it. So much so that one summer's night when it was warm enough, we asked mom and dad if we could sleep out in the Wendy house one night. They were understandably reluctant to give us permission at first, but we pestered them and pestered them until they finally reluctant. We could have a sleepover in the Wendy house, but we have to be on our best behavior, not fight and promise not to go walking around in the dark. It was a deal. You can understand our parents reservations too, because the end of the garden I mentioned was probably about a hundred meters away from the actual house, near this old shuck that backed out onto some woodland. Not the ideal place to leave your kids alone alone overnight. So that's how three girls under 10 years old ended up in a dimly lit wooden playhouse in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. And for some reason my older sister Kathleen decides it would be a good idea to tell ghost stories. Kathleen has always been a bit strange. She has always had a fascination with ghosts and ghoulies and witches and whatnot ever since she was young young and since she had gotten her hands on a book of Irish ghost stories, she thought she might regurgitate one of the stories she had read to us. She started telling us about a ghost that actually originated in Ireland, that unlike a Dracula or Frankenstein which come from the other countries as 9 year old her put it, we actually had banshees in Ireland since that's where they originated from. Our minds are absolutely blown. Ghosts lived in graveyards, old houses and other haunted places that you had to go to to see one. But here's Kathleen telling us about a ghost that actually comes to you to tell you that someone's going to die in your family. And the way it lets you know this is by screaming in the middle of the night like a ghostly ear piercing whale. Kathleen goes on to tell us that these banshee are women who have died in terrible painful ways, hence the screaming, and that they look like shriveled old women with red eyes who carry bowls of blood. We were just about trembling in our pajamas by the time Kathleen finished describing the nightmarish appearance of the banshee by torchlight. But somehow, when dad came out to interrupt and tell us it was bedtime, we managed to get comfy and drift off to an uneasy sleep. The next thing I know, I am wide awake in total darkness and everything is deathly quiet. Then I hear something that was so frightening that at first I think I just froze up in complete terror. It was a shrill, ear piercing shriek, almost gravely too, as if it had come from the throat of an old lady. When I finally found the courage to move, I shot up from my makeshift bed, shaking my sisters awake and telling them to listen. We just sat there in the darkness for a moment, all three of us terrified, until we heard the screech again. Hearing it for a second time had me just about out of my mind with fear. But my little sister took it even worse. It's a banshee. I remember her crying. We have to tell mom and dad. Then my big sister, bless her, decided that even though she's terrified, she's going to run to mom and dad so they can rescue us from the banshee. Say what you like about Kathleen, but she believed her own hype. She thought there was a banshee out there just as much as us. I mean, what else could have been making those ungodly noises out there? We are frantically looking for our torches, but in our panic we can't find them. And when the banshee screams for a third time, Kathleen decides she can't afford to wait any longer. She gets up and in complete darkness climbs down the little ladder, opens the Wendy house door and runs off to fetch us rescue. While Kathleen was gone, me and my little sister managed to find one of the torches. So we flick it on and point it down at the Wendy house door from the loft. I don't know what logic of that was, but that's what we did. And we cuddled together, cried, and waited for the banshee to get us. After a minute or so, we hear rustling outside the Wendy house. Something was Moving outside. We are so scared of the thing hearing us that we've got our hands over over our mouths. But we still can't stop crying and we still don't turn the torch off. Suddenly the door opens. And what stepped inside made me and my little sister scream in pure horror. Blood was pouring down the mouth and chin of my big sister. And now she's back in the light. Now she too can see that she's bleeding. She smears a bit of blood on her fingers, looks at it, then promptly collapses. We are absolutely inconsolable at this point. Me and my little sister are begging, screaming, crying for our parents to come and save us. To us. Kathleen just ran out to get help and the banshee had got her before she could make it. We are trapped. The banshee's getting closer. We're doomed. Then there's more footsteps outside the way Wendy house. Heavier footsteps now banshee footsteps. The door swings open again, only this time the face that appears is our dad wanting to know what is going on in here. We're screaming, dad, there's a banshee. Be careful. It got Kathleen. Behind you, dad. He's obviously skeptical at first, but when he sees Kathleen's face, he it's his turn to be terrified. He turns ashen, grabs Kathleen's little body up in his arms and then rushes back to the house with her. So keep in mind that even at this, the point of parental intervention, dad has not taken the time to tell us that there definitely isn't a banshee. And if anything, his reaction to Kathleen's face confirmed that not only is there definitely a banshee outside, but he's completely abandoned us. Seriously, just try and imagine being seven years old and that being your truth, we didn't calm down for hours. Mom and dad say we were still up crying at one o' clock in the morning with the whole incident going on at about 10. Even when we knew everything was okay, we just cried because it had been so traumatic. Obviously there was no banshee and we didn't find this out until years later for obvious reasons. But what we had heard was the sound of two foxes mating, as me and my sisters now know all too well when they do that the lady fox screeches at the top of her lungs, producing what is a rather unsettling and otherworldly sound. Kathleen, being the brave big sister she was, had run out to protect us. But maybe if she was as nimble as she was courageous, she wouldn't have run directly into that tree in her blind panic, almost knocking herself out in the process. The best she could do then was retrace her poor befuzzled steps back to the Wendy house and pass out at the sight of her own blood. It's a story we tell every Christmas now, especially when there's a new boyfriend or husband making an appearance. And it always gets a giggle from those that hear it. But I think if you put a weapon to my head and asked me for the scariest moment of my life, I would say the banshee when I was seven years old. I am deadly serious. Scarier than childbirth, scarier than finding the lump in my breast, Scarier than confronting my first husband about his drinking. Because I believed something I didn't understand was coming to get me. Something mythical, something supernatural, something that even dad was scared of. Needless to say, there were no more sleepovers in the Wendy house that summer, and the whole thing collapsed a few years later. But me and my sisters will always have that story to make us laugh, even though at the time we were scared for our lives. I ended up getting invited to this pretty wild house party back when I was a teenager. Definitely the craziest party I had ever been to. It was good while it lasted, but the reason it sticks out in my memory is far from a good one, as I'll get to explaining. So like I said, this house party was off the wall. There were kegs in all the downstairs rooms. People were taking off their clothes and dancing in the backyard. Some dudes upstairs tore down a bedroom wall with a sledgehammer. It was insane. Now, with a party that intense, it's not entirely unusual for the bathroom to be full of puke with random people like passed out all around the party. And the dude I really noticed was laying on the couch in the TV room downstairs. I figure he must have really overdone it because the whole time I'm there, he's completely passed out. Like to the point where he just sort of became part of the furniture in there. Like he has claimed the couch to himself. In the end, people just let him be and the party continued. People dancing around him, walked around him, drank around him all night too. At the end of the night, I was way too drunk to call an Uber, so I figure I'll just put pass out in an upstairs bedroom and make my way home in the morning. So I have a crappy hungover sleep, wake up, gather my stuff and head downstairs. On the way out, I have to pass the dude who was wiped out on the couch. The Previous night, it didn't look like he had moved all night. And that just didn't sit right with me. So on the way out, I try to wake him. Have you ever touched someone only to realize they're dead? They really do go cold and they really do go stiff. And I promise you, it's one of the most mind breakingly awful things you will ever experience in your life. I immediately yelp when I feel how cold the dude's skin was, which then has a few other sleepy people filling into the TV room to see what the deal is. Which was basically me begging people to call 911 because there's a dead guy on the couch. It really messed people up. Mainly because, like I said, we were dancing and drinking and partying around this dude's possibly dead body all night, and there he was, lying in the exact same position he had passed out in. There was no telling at what point he had actually slipped away. No telling just how long we had been partying around an actual corpse. I heard it was an overdose, but never really got that confirmed by anyone. Like, I barely knew anyone at the party, just that they were good people and it was a real shame how one of them went out. I am extra careful around drugs and alcohol now, too. And I tell my kids that if they want to get into drinking or smoking or whatever they want to do that they do it safely. I know I can't stop them from misbehaving, especially what age they're at. And it's not even the substances I'm worried about them touching. I just never want any of my kids to have to know what it feels like touching flesh that's gone cold. Looking at someone's face and knowing they're no longer with us. I don't want them to know what death feels like. I hate telling this story, not only because of how traumatic it was for me, but because it does show my age. My therapist tells me I should learn to look for the positives in things. So the only way I really know how is by making light humor. This was the early 90s, and I was about 16, going on set 17, working as a regular babysitter in my neighborhood. My parents had decided that the only way I was going to actually get a car would be if I was the one that saved up for the down payment. So every afternoon after school, I would tutor kids or watch babies, whatever I could do to earn a few extra bucks. There was one couple, the Moores, that always paid exceptionally well. And on Valentine's Day, they had a special request from me to watch both their 6 year old and their 10 year old so that they could go enjoy a romantic evening together. We'll be back by eight, they said and gave me about $50 just for ordering pizza, renting movies, whatever the kids wanted to do. I asked them both what they wanted and they both chimed in with a request to go to the local video rental store. I knew that the Blockbuster wasn't very far, but I insisted that I didn't want to do that until I got confirmation from their mom. This being the age before cell phones that required I had to look up the phone number in an actual phone book and call the restaurant where they were dining. Those two boys were so eager to hear a yes from their mom, I thought they might explode from excitement. It took about 15 minutes for me to finally get in touch with their mom, who seemed a little frazzled that the only reason I was calling was so we could go to Blockbuster. Yeah, that's fine, just don't spend all their money and nothing. Rated R, she responded when I told them, Both of the boys squealed and ran to get their jackets. We left the house before it got dark and made it to the rental store in less than 10 minutes. Not surprisingly, it was pretty empty, save for the cashier and maybe one or two other customers. Go and pick out whatever you want, I told them as I grabbed some candy bars and popcorn. The oldest came back first with a VHS of some Disney sequel and asked if this was okay. I told him yes and then asked where his brother was, only for him to be surprised that I did not know. Both of us went down the aisles looking for him and for a split second I got scared, thinking he had disappeared, decided to play some terrible prank and run off. Finally, though, I saw him standing near the edge of an aisle talking to a tall, lanky man wearing a trench coat. As soon as I saw this guy, I got a weird vibe and grabbed the younger boy's hand. Sorry, I hope he wasn't bothering you, I nervously told the stranger. He smelled funny, as if he hadn't taken a bath in a while, and he had this weird, creepy, crazy look in his eyes that told me he was troubled. I just had a feeling and I desperately wanted to be wrong about it, so I yanked the kid away and berated him as we made toward the cashier. What were you telling him anyway? I asked. Just that we was renting some movies and that we was home alone, the kid said innocently. I don't know why that didn't make alarm bells go off in my brain right away, but I guess I was too busy paying for the movies and dragging them out of the store. When we were walking back toward their house, it finally registered what he had told me. Did that man ask you if you were alone? I asked. My heart was starting to beat a little faster, but I didn't want the kids to think I was worried. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw someone following us. Yeah, he seemed friendly. Asked a lot of questions about me, the younger boy responded. I picked up the pace and told them we needed to hurry back to their house. I was positive now that we were being followed. I remember I looked back several times to see where the man was, but every time it felt like he was just barely out of sight. He was a master of stealth, it seemed. Once inside their house, I slammed the door shut and was upset at the kid for being so ignorant. Don't you ever talk to strangers? That man could have done you some serious harm. I remember thinking I should punish them both by having them go to bed early. But I had no idea how right I would be about my warning of this stranger. I glanced out the windows to see if I could spot him, and after calming down, I went ahead and let them pick a movie. I was also trying to convince myself that my paranoia had just been my imagination. Less than 10 minutes later, as we were watching the Angels in the Outfield movie, I heard a knock at the door that made me realize maybe I hadn't been cautious enough. I went to the front and peeked through the blinds, curious to see that no one was outside. My heart was pounding now as I thought I saw the man in the trench coat standing over near the bushes. I immediately told the boys to pull the blinds closed and then turn off the lights. Next, I started to hear this stranger banging on the windows with what sounded like a stick. Was he trying to frighten us? I remember wondering if so, he was doing a stellar job because I was terrified. Terrified. Turn off the TV for now. Let's get to the bedroom, I said. I remember that the Moores had a house phone up in their master suite, so I was calmly trying to herd the kids there as this wacko kept rattling against the outside of the house. The kids were getting scared now, especially the youngest, and he was crying. Be quiet. Don't be scared, I told him as we ran up to the bedroom. I told them both to be quiet as I reached for the phone, only to find that the line was disconnected. This is the moment When a real sense of panic and dread was starting to overwhelm me. It was just past 6:30, meaning that their parents would not be home for at least another 45 minutes. And now, with the phone lines down, I was positive that this stranger was going to try to break in and do us harm. Still, I insisted that they needed to remain quiet and calm. I got the older one to assist me in moving furniture to the front of the door as a blockade, just in case this guy broke in. It's a good thing I did, because about 20 minutes later, I heard the shattering of glass and realized that was precisely what he had decided to do. I told them both not to make a sound as I tried to lift listen to where the stranger was. The only thing about this whole experience I will never forget is that the stranger started to whistle for us like he was looking for a dog. It was a loud, sharp, insistent whistle. And he kept saying, here, boy. Here, boy. Come here, boy. I swear I have never been more scared in my life. And I ordered the boys to hide under the bed. As footsteps came up the street stairs. I was pretty sure we were about to die. It happened just like a horror movie, too. He was standing outside the door because I could see the silhouette of his shadow peeking under the master bedroom door. Then the blockade of furniture started to rattle as I heard him fiddle with it. He shook it violently for a while, but to no success. And then for another long, indescribably quiet, quiet moment, I thought maybe he had given up. The kids were trying their best to not squeal or scream or even cry, but it was so hard to be perfectly still. At any second, I knew he was going to be back. Then he slammed his body against the door and it came slightly ajar. I remember jumping and holding the boys closer as he did it again and then again, until at last he could squeeze in past the wedge furniture. All I could see was his shoes. Leather boots that looked coated in mud. He walked slowly over to the bed and sat down, perhaps puzzling over where we were. He started whistling again, and I had to cover the younger boy's mouth as he let a leash fall over the edge of the bed. Did he know we were here? What sort of weird fellow fetish was this supposed to be? He walked around the room, moving to the closet first and checking for us there. Then we heard the sound of the garage door downstairs. I had never been so happy. Immediately the stranger ran down and I heard shouts of alarm as Mr. Moore likely saw him escape. A few seconds later, Mrs. Moore was in the bedroom, frantically searching for us and calling out her children's names. I crawled out first and helped her youngest get out as she grabbed him and hugged him as tight as possible. Downstairs, Mr. Moore was trying the landline again to contact the police, but it didn't work. Honestly, I thought the crazy guy was going to come back and do us more harm, so I didn't even want to step outside the house until my own parents came to pick me up. Mr. Moore told me that I was very brave and paid me extra for helping keep his kids safe. My parents also told me I had acted swiftly and decisively and it could have turned out a lot worse, but I didn't feel very proud. I had trouble sleeping for a week after. Any sound of a dog bark or a whistle would trigger the memory and make me want to curl up into a ball and hide. I can honestly only share it now after all these these years thanks to a bit of therapy. Sometimes I do think about what could have happened still though, had the parents not shown up early, would he have harmed us or killed us? The cops never did catch whoever the guy was, so I guess we will never know. Except I know that I at least stopped babysitting for the upper class after that.

Depop Advertiser (43:46)

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Mint Mobile Advertiser (44:16)

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McDonald's Advertiser (44:30)

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Mint Mobile Advertiser (44:32)

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Dog Food Promoter 1 (44:36)

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Storyteller (44:59)

Hi everyone. So my name is Lena, I am Malay and I spent a summer in the United States as a part of a summer school program at Virginia Tech University. There were lots of extracurricular activities too. I mean, what else were we going to do with our spare time? So I got to know a lot of my classmates rather well while doing all sorts of cool things with them. One of the most amazing things I got to do while I was there was go hiking up in the Appalachian Mountains. I managed to get some pictures of the most stunning views I have ever seen in my life. And walking those hills will remain one of the most memorable times of my entire life. But I'll never forget my time in the Appalachians for another reason too. Because it included one of the most hair raisingly terrifying experiences of my life. One which left me shaking from the amount of adrenaline running through me. So at one point we were taking a break from hiking, eating some snacks and taking sips from bottles of winter water that didn't manage to stay very cold for very long. I am chatting with my best friend on the trip, Sol and Gabby, when we hear some rustling in the foliage next to us. The next thing I hear is our guide whispering, don't move. No one move a muscle. They had been confident to the point of cockiness on the trail up until that point. A real outdoorsy, manly man type. But hearing the fear in their voice made my blood turn to ice, which was no small feat on such a hot day. I did as I was told. I didn't move. I just sort of shifted my eyes in the direction of the rustling and when I saw what came out of the bushes, I couldn't even scream. I was so scared it was like I had been turned into a stone statue, albeit one that trembled uncontrollably with fear. It was a bear, a black bear, and it was walking right towards me. I suppose it had been attracted to the smell of our snacks. From what I understand, black bears don't have the best eyesight, but they do have an incredible sense of smell. And even though we weren't cooking any food, it must have been close enough in the area to be able to pick up this scent. I stayed as still as I could as it walked up to me, but when it stood up on its hind legs, I swear my heart nearly stopped beating altogether. I had no idea they could do that. Like, I kind of knew black bears were smaller than grizzlies or polar bears and that they were considerably less aggressive too. But oh my gosh, that thing wasn't small. When it stood up like that, I swear it was so tall. I was trembling and holding back whimpers of fear as it started to sniff me, knowing that if I made one wrong move, if I didn't keep my cool and stay perfectly still, it might just maul me to death right there and then. It was the most terrifying moment of my life so far. It sort of lost interest in me after a few moments, moving on to my friend's soul who just dropped the sandwich he was eating. Immediately the bear sniffed at it but ignored it. Ben did the same thing to her, standing on its hind legs and sniffing at her face and neck. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, it just lost interest in us and wandered off into the woods again. We all breathed a heavy sigh of relief as it left us thankful that it wasn't hungry or ballsy enough to have attacked us. Never in all my years have I ever had such an up close and personal encounter with such a powerful wild beast. It left an indelible mark on me, giving me profound respect for nature, even more so than I had beforehand. I am just so thankful that it wasn't a grizzly or something out in the Pacific Northwest, because if it was, I probably wouldn't be telling this story.