Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 331 - Under The Bed

Summary

Podcast Summary: Scary Stories and Rain – Ep. 331 – "Under The Bed"

Host: Being Scared
Date: March 7, 2026

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Episode Overview

In "Scary Stories For A Rainy Night – Ep. 331 – Under The Bed," host Being Scared presents a collection of true, unsettling stories shared by listeners. With a backdrop of gentle rain sounds, the host narrates eerie personal encounters—paranormal experiences, brushes with real danger, and chilling unsolved mysteries—all unified by their lingering sense of dread and unresolved fear. This episode serves as both a source of nighttime comfort and a catalyst for deep unease, making it perfect for sleepless nights.

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Key Stories and Discussion Points

1. The River and the Cowboy Boots

[00:49 – 08:39]

• Setting the Scene: Narrator recalls post-college depression and isolation during the Great Recession, when odd jobs and lonely drives through rural ghost towns left a lasting impression.
• Paranormal Threads: Many children in psychiatric transcriptions spoke of supernatural experiences, especially linked to a particular southern river.
• Personal Investigation: After reading a miner's undead encounter in an old book, the narrator visits the river.
• Climactic Moment:
  "As I stooped down to pick [my keys] up, I saw it. A set of wet footprints leading to my car... very definite outlines of what looked like cowboy boots leading from the river and right up to the passenger door of my car. Then they vanished." (Narrator, [06:34])
• Impact: This unnerving episode haunts the narrator, who relocates to the city and never returns to lonely places:
  "I prefer the busy noise of the city where I can surround myself with friends... I know now. I know there are ghosts." (Narrator, [08:34])

2. The Mechanical Laughter

[09:48 – 16:50]

• The First Encounter: As a young child, the narrator hears a chilling, non-human laugh coming from the kitchen late at night while babysat by a teenager.
  "It was extremely mechanical in tone, high pitched but flat sounding. It was almost a mechanical and distorted version of my mom’s voice..." (Narrator, [09:54])
• Mutual Fear: Babysitter and dog are equally terrified.
  "She said yes, hugging me as I clung, hugging her with a buried face, avoiding looking in the kitchen." (Co-narrator/Narrator, [12:05])
• Repeat Occurrence: A similar incident with another friend, leading to a terrifying physical reaction and no memory of the event's climax.
• Psychological Reflection:
  "I know that two separate people cannot simultaneously experience the exact same auditory or visual hallucination together." (Narrator, [17:17])
• Aftermath: The mechanical laughter never returns as they get older, solidifying the mystery.

3. The Stranger by the School

[16:50 – 22:34]

• Childhood Memory: A young narrator rides ahead on a bike, meets an older man with a dog in the school field at dusk.
• Sly Attempts: The man attempts to lure the child by promising found money, growing more insistent.
• Timely Intervention: The narrator's mother calls out, scaring the man off and possibly averting disaster.
  "I looked back at the man. I gotta go. I’ll see you later, I told him, turning and beginning to pedal away. I took one last look at him, but he was no longer smiling. He just stared back at me with a look of pure hatred." (Narrator, [21:34])
• Lesson: Reinforces the importance of vigilance around strangers.

4. Haunted Restroom Stall

[22:44 – 25:54]

• Setting: An infamous seaside restaurant in California, made famous by ghost hunting shows.
• Lone Experience: Narrator feels a chill and 'hears' someone else enter the restroom, but emerges to find themselves alone.
  "The outside door squeaking open and closed, footsteps, and someone closing and locking the stall door right next to me. Yet I was completely alone." (Narrator, [24:46])
• Retrospective Fear: Discovering later that the restroom was famously haunted.

5. The Persistent Knocking

[26:55 – 31:00]

• Domestic Unease: Strange knocking—always two loud knocks—occurs repeatedly at windows in different rooms, only when the narrator is alone.
• No Rational Explanation: The knocks defy physical explanation; witnesses finally include family, confirming the narrator’s credibility.
• Emotional Relief:
  "It finally happened to someone else in a room that I did not happen to be in. And after that, they finally believed me." (Narrator, [30:50])

6. Intruder at the Door and Window

[31:00 – 33:45]

• Vulnerable Moment: An eight-year-old home alone at night discovers someone outside trying to open the door, heard breathing and laughing.
• Escalation:
  "The laughter turns into into unintelligible words...I know it’s a man. He had a deep voice and it sounded really raspy." (Co-narrator/Narrator, [32:36])
• Aftermath: The narrator’s mother arrives as laughter and tapping persist. Police offer no help, but the family promptly moves.

7. The Unspeakable Crime – The Cold Case of Beryl Atherton

[33:45 – 42:28]

• Historical Narrative: Recounts the brutal, unsolved murder of an isolated schoolteacher during a 1950 Massachusetts snowstorm.
• Gruesome Details:
  "Her killer had then used a small blade to slice her throat, but had done so in a very peculiar manner. Not only had he cut her neck open horizontally, but had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin, essentially stabbing a cross into her neck." (Co-narrator, [38:30])
• Lingering Rumors: The lack of clues fuels conspiracy and folklore in her small town.

8. Theme Park Catastrophe – Big Thunder Mountain

[43:31 – 49:32]

• Personal Trauma: The narrator, as a child, rides Big Thunder Mountain at Disneyland during a fatal derailment.
• Sense Memory:
  "There’s a little bit of light coming from the openings of the tunnel...and that the cars in front of us were all wet and shiny with some kind of fluid. A fluid that I would only later realize to be someone’s blood." (Co-narrator, [46:42])
• Aftereffects: The traumatic event leads to a lifelong fear of roller coasters.

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Notable Quotes and Memorable Moments

| Timestamp | Speaker | Quote | |-----------|--------------|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 06:34 | Narrator | "A set of wet footprints leading to my car...cowboy boots leading from the river and right up to the passenger door of my car. Then they vanished." | | 09:54 | Narrator | "It was extremely mechanical in tone, high pitched but flat sounding...a broken post machine washed ruined toy with a damaged voice box." | | 12:05 | Co-narrator | "Do you hear that?" <br> "Yes." (Narrator, hugging the co-narrator, both trembling with fear) | | 21:34 | Narrator | "I took one last look at him, but he was no longer smiling. He just stared back at me with a look of pure hatred." | | 24:46 | Narrator | "The outside door squeaking open and closed, footsteps, and someone closing and locking the stall door right next to me. Yet I was completely alone."| | 30:50 | Narrator | "It finally happened to someone else in a room that I did not happen to be in. And after that, they finally believed me." | | 38:30 | Co-narrator | "Her killer...had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin, essentially stabbing a cross into her neck." | | 46:42 | Co-narrator | "The cars in front of us were all wet and shiny with some kind of fluid...I would only later realize to be someone’s blood." |

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Additional Insights & Themes

• Isolation Breeds Fear: Several stories examine how loneliness and mental vulnerability open doors to paranormal or real-life dangers.
• Shared Experience: Listeners’ stories reinforce the universal nature of these fears, whether rational or supernatural.
• Lessons Learned: From trusting instincts about strangers to keeping doors locked, practical wisdom is woven through the eeriness.
• Unsolved or Unexplained: Many stories refuse to grant closure, leaving listeners with questions as much as chills.

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• Post-college depression & the haunted river: [00:49 – 08:39]
• Mechanical laughter & childhood trauma: [09:48 – 16:50]
• Dangerous stranger by the schoolyard: [16:50 – 22:34]
• Haunted restroom at seaside restaurant: [22:44 – 25:54]
• Knocking at the windows: [26:55 – 31:00]
• Attempted intruder at home: [31:00 – 33:45]
• The unsolved Beryl Atherton murder: [33:45 – 42:28]
• Big Thunder Mountain accident: [43:31 – 49:32]

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Final Thoughts

The episode combines remembered fright from ghostly visitations and unexplained noises with tangible, real-world menace—from predatory strangers to infamous true crime and freak accidents. Narrated in a calm, reflective style underscored by rain, it both soothes and unsettles, reminding listeners that the things under the bed—real or imagined—are never as far away as we hope.

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Transcript

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[Narrator]

site [e-mail] hey, welcome back to the podcast. I really hope you enjoy this episode

[Co-narrator]

and if you'd like to hear more

[Narrator]

stories like these with a different background sound, please check the description to check out my other two podcasts.

[Co-narrator]

And if you want to get rid

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of all of the ads, you can subscribe for just $2.99 a month. Last thing, I really appreciate you being

[Co-narrator]

here and I'd really love if you

[Narrator]

would follow the podcast and come back again soon. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy. When I finished college, the Great Recession was at its height. Despite graduating with a high GPA and good internship experience, it took me two years to find a full time job in my field. During those two years, I felt isolated, adrift, and lost. In retrospect, it makes sense that this was when I brushed up against what may have been my first ghost. Newspaper articles at the time were full of stories of boomerang kids, young adults who moved back home to ride out the economic hardship with their parents. I couldn't stand for that to be me though. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and I didn't think I could handle the pity, the claustrophobia, and the further sense of failure I would feel starting my adult life in my childhood bedroom. Instead, I worked three jobs to make ends meet. I could pay the rent, but I swiftly fell into a state of depression. I kept odd hours and it was difficult to find time to see friends. One of my jobs was with a youth psychologist. I was paid to transcribe recordings the psychologist made of his evaluations of patients. Because of confidentiality concerns, I'm not going to talk about anything specific that was in those recordings. One thing I noticed, though, was how many of the kids grew up in small, dying towns in the rural areas of our state. I lived in our major city and hadn't spent a lot of time exploring outside of it. Out of loneliness and depression, I started using my free time to drive. Sometimes it was aimless, sometimes I drove near the towns where the kids in the recordings were from. I passed Ghost towns and isolated mountain ranges and old mines. Once I got my car stuck in the mud outside an abandoned cemetery and had to hike back to the road to flag someone down who could help me. The emptiness of those places seemed to cling to me. Sometimes I could stop my car in the middle of the road, take off my shoes, feel the hot asphalt under my feet, and stare at the horizon for an hour before someone else passed by. Even when I got back home, it was like I couldn't wash the desert off me. I felt changed. There was something else I noticed about the psych evaluations, too. Almost all of the kids talked about the supernatural. They had ghost stories, UFO stories, and a few even had skinwalker stories. All from these areas that I had been driving through. I was never a believer in the supernatural, but after having spent time in the places they lived and felt that eerie loneliness for myself, I could see why they felt that way. There's a major river in the southern part of our state that seemed to appear in a lot of kids stories. When I was in an independent bookstore one day I found an older book full of stories and legends about the river. On a whim, I decided to buy it.

[Co-narrator]

Most of the stories were forgettable, but

[Narrator]

one that stuck out to me was a journal entry written by a miner who lived in the area in the 1800s. He said that one night in camp he looked over toward the river and saw a group of ghosts walking out of the water and onto the shore. There were no details beyond that, no description of the people he saw or or any indication of how he knew they were ghosts. He said nothing about what he did afterward, but it stuck in my mind for weeks. I thought about ghosts that walked up out of a river and disappeared into the night. It wasn't long before I decided I needed to see the place for myself.

[Co-narrator]

It was far.

[Narrator]

The river is on the border of another state and lies along one of the least driven highways in the country. I felt uneasy as I was driving toward it, but exhilarated too. It's hard to explain, but something about reading those ghost stories put a sense of possibility back into the world. I believed in next to nothing at this point in my life, but maybe I could believe in this. It even seemed likely. The world felt dark, and this seemed like a confirmation of that feeling. When I arrived at the river, there was no one there. I parked my car, hiked through the sagebrush and looked around. It was just a river of muddy water. I sat down on the bank and thought about my life. Why Was I going nowhere? When would this end? Had my boyfriend seen this looming nothingness in me and that was why he had Left? I was 24 years old and I was looking for ghosts. I had maybe even become a ghost myself. Sometimes at night I felt like I was beginning to fade at the edges. Like whatever had made me me was gone. Frustrated with myself and with the sun beginning to set, I stood up to leave. I walked back to my car, dreading the long drive home in the dark. When I reached my car, I almost missed it. The light was fading and my mind was on other things. But I happened to fumble my keys getting them into the lock. And as I stooped down to pick them up, I saw it. A set of wet footprints leading to my car. I stood up slowly, tracing their path with my eyes. But I knew where they were going to start. At the edge of the river, my whole body felt cold and light. It was the biggest moment of unreality I'd ever experienced. And it washed over me like a wave. The footprints were half faded, but very definite outlines of what looked like cowboy boots leading from the river and right up to the passenger door of my car. Then they vanished. There was no sign of where they had gone and no sound either. Just the buzz of insects at the water's edge. I didn't wait around to see anything else. I jumped into the driver's seat, started the engine and peeled out. I made sure the doors were locked, but somehow I knew it hadn't been a living person who had made those marks. I had hiked out a little bit, but I would have noticed if there had been someone else there. Especially if they had approached my car, which was on higher ground and more visible. The adrenaline kept me going the entire drive home. When I got back, I called my friend and we talked for an hour about unimportant gossip. I ordered takeout from the most basic, normal sounding restaurant I could think of. I put a sitcom on in the background. I don't think I slept at all that night. And shortly after I was offered a full time salaried job in my field in a much bigger city. I moved that summer and I haven't been back to that river since. I also don't feel comfortable in the desert or in any isolated place. I prefer the busy noise of the city where I can surround myself with friends. Friends. And it's difficult to get too lost in my own thoughts. But I know now. I know there are ghosts.

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[Narrator]

Myself, age 6 or 7 and a 16 year old neighbor babysitter were sleeping in my father's trailer in the living room which had a bar dividing it from the kitchen and blocking most of the kitchen from view. She was on the couch, me on the floor near our tv, even farther from the kitchen. No one was with us and the dog was sleeping between her and I on the floor. I woke up for an unknown reason, jolting from a dreamless sleep with a racing heart. I noticed it was around 2am and it was a bright moonlit night which caused it to look like dusk before the sun comes up. A few seconds passed and I tried to find a clock to see the time but before I could I heard a bone chilling laugh which was on a loop of sorts, but each time it repeated three times but went for longer and shorter random intervals of extending laughter. It was not a person's voice. It was extremely mechanical in tone, high pitched but flat sounding. It was almost a mechanical and distorted version of my mom's voice mixed with high pitched flat identical laughing. It was like a broken post machine washed ruined toy with a damaged voice box. Sometimes it would stop but start again in repetitive intervals of three but at differently spaced out times. I could hear it was directly coming from the kitchen before the pitch black hallway in the white plastic kitchen table chair my dad often sat in. I was in such fear and shock that I leapt on top of the girl K and my knee rammed her body by accident from my lap to avoid seeing in the kitchen. She woke up with a painful but not angry sleepily ow. Trying to convey that it hurt while trying to soothe and tell me to go back to sleep. I rushed, trying to tell her in a panicked whisper that there's a sound from the kitchen that is not normal. All of a sudden she went from confused to silent as her face and body went tense and eyes widened. We both remember the next interval of laughter.

[Co-narrator]

I asked her do you hear that?

[Narrator]

And she said yes, hugging me as I clung, hugging her with a buried face, avoiding looking in the kitchen. I looked at her hysterically and said I'm afraid and she said I know I am too. Both on the verge of crying. She tried to get up and tell me that she was going to see if any friends were outside pranking us. I was crying in hushed loud whispering telling her not to leave me.

[Co-narrator]

I was so attached to her torso

[Narrator]

and hand that she was having to calmly, rushedly but nicely pull away.

[Co-narrator]

She told me to stay there as

[Narrator]

she got up and went out the front door. The sound kept persisting. She looked in the kitchen from the living room but saw nothing. I was severely hived up, covered in huge hot red splotches from anxiety and I was shaking in fear furiously with a clenched jaw my eyes shot to her walking back in after going around the trailer and up and down the road. The laughter kept happening but it decreased in intervals until it stopped completely as we held each other on the couch avoiding the kitchen until it stopped and we both drifted off. I also need to mention the dog was on the couch wide eyed, avoiding looking in the kitchen, shaking as violently as I was. She looked petrified. My dad was told about this the next day in the afternoon and went through the entire living room, the bar and the kitchen looking for a toy of any sort which could make the noise. He found nothing. I knew I had no no noise making toys. I liked Barbies and cheap stuffed animals, all of which were at the opposite end of the trailer in my room anyway with a closed door. There was no explanation and the girl never babysat me again from her own intense fear of reliving that. This is my second shared encounter, me age 6 or 7 and my friend who was about 9 months older than me but in the same grade. I was being babysat by my childhood friend's mom. She was babysitting me as a request from my dad who always found a way to isolate me from my mom. My friend's name for the sake of identity protection will be C. C and I were in the living room on separate sides of a huge sectional, so big that I was against the wall on one side of the living room room and she was on the other side. She was near the hallway leading to the other two rooms and bathrooms where her mom and older brother both slept and were snoring. C and I started hearing that same distorted, loud, horrific laughing at different intervals which was coming from behind the tiny island separating the kitchen from the open living room. There was only a few feet behind the tiny island we could not see. Our eyes were as wide as saucers. We were both holding big cheap stuffed animals for comfort and we were both cocooned in our blankets with our heads exposed. We both stared at the kitchen where the island blocked our view. Then our eyes shot from there to each other in absolute horror. I said that's the sound I heard. We both stared at each other with huge eyes and whispered about what it could be, stating that we are so scared and we also came to the only agreed action that we could do, ignore it and keep our eyes closed. We did until we fell asleep. I remember it happened for weeks. Eventually I fell asleep after the sound was experienced one night by us both. I woke up with my back arched like an upside down ewe, dizzy, facing the ceiling jammed against the floor and wall, my knees and legs bent hard and my arms bent, strained with contorted rigid hands like someone who had a stroke. I was covered in vomit. I had have always had and still have no memory of anything that happened. I asked her mom why I was on the floor after unbending my tense, strained body. Her and her mom both said my eyes were open. I was not talking in words. Instead I screamed randomly many times, going in and out of puking, blood curdling, screaming to frantic, wordless, senseless babbling and I went in and out saying that I was going to puke, puke, that there was something wrong and help me.

[Co-narrator]

They were both in disbelief that I

[Narrator]

didn't remember anything and C was really upset because I got vomit on her stuffed elephant. She was scared to go near me for weeks. She could not describe what happened to me very well, but I saw the fear and confusion in her eyes from the experience. I remember the second the sound that haunted me was never experienced by me or my childhood friend together or separately again in my older age I still have no hereditary family history of mental illness in either side of my family. Also me personally having no mental illness, only trauma related to ptsd, depression and anxiety. After studying a lot in psychology, mental illness, other various mental and physical illnesses, and tons of research, I know that two separate people cannot simultaneously experience the exact same auditory or visual hallucination together. Every weekend my family goes over to my grandma's house for dinner. She lives right by the field behind my old middle school. Along the outside edges of the campus is a long paved path where I like to go on late evening walks or bike rides, especially during the summer. Those trails hold some of my best childhood memories. I live in Oregon, so most of my childhood was spent doing outdoor activities with my siblings. Back in the summer of 2012, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, we were visiting my grandma one night when we decided to go for a walk. It was a warm summer night and it just felt nice to get out. I decided to bring my bike as I liked to ride ahead of everyone so that I would have time to ride around the empty parking lot before everyone else got back. As I rode along the trail, the sun began to set behind the trees on the opposite side of the field. It was getting late, but if I hurried I would make it back by dark with still some extra time to ride in the parking lot. I reached the long chain link fence which separated the field from the parking lot. I went through the gate and began pedaling quickly around each section of the area, being careful to avoid speed bumps. As I neared the old brick building, I noticed a man with a small dog standing in the grass to the left of the school. I didn't think anything of this until he waved and called out to me. Hey there kid. He called in a raspy voice. This man was about 6ft tall with long messy brown hair that was turning gray.

[Co-narrator]

He wore a pair of gloves glasses

[Narrator]

that looked like they belonged on Jeffrey Dahmer and looked to be about 50. Just trying to be friendly. I waved back at him. Don't get me wrong, my parents had taught me about all the dangers of talking to people you don't know, but this guy seemed friendly enough. And he had a dog. No way he meant me any harm, right? What could go wrong?

[Co-narrator]

You.

[Narrator]

You come here often? He asked, not sure what to say but still trying to remain friendly. I told him, yeah, sometimes my grandma lives in the neighborhood. My first mistake. He nodded and asked, where's your grandma? Being a dumb little kid, I explained to him how I rode ahead of everyone else and they were still catching up. This is when things started to get weird. He gave me a smile and asked me, have you ever found money over here? Kids drop their money all the time. No I haven't, I answered, still not thinking anything of this strange encounter. Well, I found $10 lying over there in the grass just a couple days ago. There's money everywhere if you come over

[Co-narrator]

here, I'll show you, he replied, grinning even bigger.

[Narrator]

I began to get a bit nervous. Not because I was scared of this

[Co-narrator]

guy or anything, but because I had

[Narrator]

pretty severe social anxiety and really didn't want to spend too long talking to him. Just then I heard my mom shouting behind behind me.

[Co-narrator]

What are you doing? Get over here.

[Narrator]

I turned to see her standing by the fence behind me with a very angry but concerned look on her face. I looked back at the man. I gotta go. I'll see you later, I told him, turning and beginning to pedal away. I took one last look at him, but he was no longer smiling. He just stared back at me with a look of pure hatred. When we got back, my mom gave

[Co-narrator]

me a huge lecture about how I

[Narrator]

should never talk to strangers and how dangerous that could have been. Looking back on the situation, I don't know what would have happened if my mom hadn't showed up or if I had actually gone with the man to look for money. I never saw the man again. I have no idea who he was or what his intentions were, but I can tell you they were not the best. When you are alone, always remember to be aware of your surroundings and be

[Co-narrator]

careful who you talk to. Whatever your beliefs as far as the

[Narrator]

paranormal, I'll just say that these two instances are 100% true. I experienced them. I have always believed in the paranormal because I feel how could anyone be positive that something doesn't exist? Even if I haven't seen little gray men or Bigfoot, hundreds of other people claim they have. Even so, I have been blessed or cursed with a very practical, analytical mind. I watch real ghost hunting shows with a grain of salt, always asking how this could have been faked. Many times it is fake, but not all. Many things have happened to me that I dismissed as something else. So I'm only telling you these that I can't dismiss. My first experience occurred at a famous seaside restaurant in California. It's been featured on numerous ghost hunting shows as well as on Unsolved Mysteries. I lived about 30 minutes from the place, but I hadn't been there. I finally got to have dinner there with a boyfriend. I was fascinated, asking the employees about their experiences with their infamous spectre. See, I was happy to have a paranormal experience as long as I wasn't alone. At some point in the evening, I had to use the restroom. I asked my boyfriend to walk with me after I realized the restroom was outside the dining room and down a long, deserted hallway. He didn't want to wait right outside the women's room door, but he waited near the entrance to the hallway. So I was in there alone. Just my luck, no one else had to use the restroom. I went into the second of two stalls and did my thing and suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck began standing up. I didn't hear anything, it was just a feeling. So I told myself that I was just being paranoid because of the dark, scary hallway and I'd psyched myself out. Still, I was very relieved when a minute later someone else turned came into the restroom and I was no longer alone. She went into the other stall and I came out of mine and washed my hands. That's when I noticed there was no one in the other stall. The door was resting open as it had been clearly empty. There was nowhere else anyone could go in the small restroom. Yet I had heard all the noises. The outside door squirrel squeaking open and closed, footsteps, and someone closing and locking the stall door right next to me. Yet I was completely alone. Heart beating out of my chest, I ran out of there, down the hall and into my boyfriend's arms. Months later I learned that the women's restroom was one of the most haunted places in that building. I'm glad I hadn't known that before I went in there or I never would have been able to relieve myself.

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[Narrator]

this next story happened in a house I had bought with that same boyfriend. It was a small house built in the 40s. There was nothing creepy about the house, but it wasn't long before we had some strange little things happen. I heard a man clear his throat behind me when I was Home alone. Some items I'd put on the floor and leaned up against the wall got knocked over. Little things like that. But the weirdest thing that happened to me in that house were the knocks. They always seemed to happen when I was home alone in whatever room I was. There were two loud knocks on the window. It sounded exactly like someone outside came up to the window and knocked on it. Always two good loud raps. The first time, I was lying in bed one morning and I heard two knocks on my bedroom window. A quick knock, knock. The thing is, my bedroom was in the very back of the house facing the backyard. And the backyard was not accessible except from inside the house. It was a fully fenced, very long backyard. And anyone who came from the street in front couldn't get to it because it was a very narrow passage that we had blocked to keep anyone out. I had been awake when it happened. So I got out of bed and went to the window to see who it could have possibly been. Of course, there was no one there. There was no one anywhere in the backyard. The next time it happened, I was in the kitchen, home alone again. And there were two wraps on the kitchen window. It was daytime again, and our kitchen faced the carport. Of course there was nobody there. After a few more times, I told my boyfriend and my older son about it. Neither of them believed me. They teased me about it, saying I kept to trying dreaming that people were knocking on the windows. So one day while I was taking a shower, the knocks happened right on the shower window. It was so close to me and so unexpected, I actually jumped. This time I was not home alone. So I thought maybe my boyfriend or my son was playing a joke on me. So I kind of laughed it off. I knew that it would be hard to get to that window, though, because it faced the blocked, narrow side of the house. And right outside of it were rose bushes with thorns. Later, they both swore they hadn't done it. They were very serious, and I could tell that they were telling the truth. They also said they had not heard the knocks, so they still didn't believe me. Only one time do I remember it happening at night. This time I was in the third bedroom that we used as an office in the back of the house. It also faced the inaccessible backyard. And it was late and dark. My curtains were closed and I was doing something on the computer. When the two loud knocks hit that window, I was too scared to look out the curtains. This only went on for a few months, but it happened a lot. And every time it occurred in whatever room I happened to be in at the time. I never heard it from another room. No one else heard it either. Until one night. On this night, I had gone to bed and my boyfriend and my son were in the living room watching a movie. The next day they told me that at about 1am they heard too quick loud knocks on the living room window. There was no knock on the front door, which was right next to the window. They looked out the window and of course no one was there. It finally happened to someone else in a room that I did not happen to be in. And after that, they finally believed me.

[Co-narrator]

So back when I was living in El Paso, Texas, my mother and I rented out a very small apartment. Two room and one bath. It worked out well since it was only her and I. I think I was around eight years old. But my mom had to work graveyard

[Narrator]

at a truck stop.

[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

So I decided to go to bed, forgetting to check if the doors were locked.

[Co-narrator]

So I go to bed and instead of sleeping, I read Alice in Wonderland. Not sure how much time passes, but I fall asleep. When I wake up, my book is on the floor and my nightlight is on. I remember being confused as to why I was awake. So I decided to be brave and check it out. I walk around the apartment apartment wondering if my mom got home early and accidentally made a noise. And that's when I realize the front door is unlocked. Not too concerned, I walk toward it to lock it. But when I go for it, it's almost as if someone is twisting it the other way.

[Narrator]

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

[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

that it'll be okay.

[Co-narrator]

She's telling me that she's coming home when I hear it tapping. It sounds like tapping on my window and I can hear the laughter again. I am crying, crying louder at that point, telling my mom, begging her to come home. Now this is where the story gets blurry. I remember hiding under a blanket and crying until my mom burst through the door yelling for me. I don't remember when the tapping stopped or when the laughter faded, but I remember my first glimpse of true fear. We called the cops and they said they couldn't do do much. We ended up dropping it and my mom called our landlord begging to move us to a second story apartment. Luckily we were able to move the next week. On Thanksgiving weekend of 1950, a brutally frigid nor' Easter storm was battering the coast of Massachusetts and was part of particularly harsh on the small town of Marblehead near Salem. Beryl Atherton, a 47 year old elementary school teacher who had 25 years of service under her belt, was home alone with her dog Esky, a white Spitz who was her constant companion since the death of her father. Esky was about the only company she ever kept and Atherton was a self described square spinster with no close friends or family. It is said that her favorite pastimes was watching old movies and she would drive to the movie theater in Lynn to catch a show, but always went alone. With the freezing winds lashing at her drab clapboard cottage on SE Street, Beryl ran a few final errands before her small town was due to be snowed under. She made a run to the grocery store store to pick up vital supplies, including a few extra cans of dog food for Esky before she took a few bags of garbage out to the trash cans outside her home at around 6pm that Saturday evening. When she did so, she spotted a young neighbor boy watching her from a window of his home. She gave the boy a wave and this was the last time she was seen for a good few days. As predicted, Marblehead was completely snowed under through the course of Thanksgiving weekend, and it took until Monday, Nov. 27, for the town to dig itself out and resume normal activities. The town's milkman, known among the locals simply as pint, called on Ms. Atherton's home to deliver her milk. Usually speaking, Pint would just leave a person's milk delivery on their doorstep. But he knew that Ms. Atherton was extremely thin and frail at barely £100, and was concerned about her well being after such a vicious snowstorm. So on this occasion, he actually knocked on Ms. Atherton's door to ensure she was okay. He knocked once, but there was no answer. Then again, but there was still no answer. On a hunch, Pint tried the door handle and found that it was unlocked. He wandered slowly through Ms. Atherton's home, at first calling her name, then walked into the kitchen, finding a scene that

[Narrator]

would take his breath away.

[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

to call the police.

[Co-narrator]

When the police arrived, they deducted that Beryl Atherton had been dead for days. On the kitchen tables were her brown paper grocery bags, still full of food she had brought home. On that last day, she had been seen alive by the curious neighbor boy, meaning that it had been only moments after this encounter that her murderer had pounced. And within maybe an hour of waving to the small boy, Beryl Atherton was lying in a pool of her own blood. She had several broken ribs and bruising around her throat where she appeared to have been strangled. Strangled so hard that there were still fingernail imprints in her cold, dead flesh. Her killer had then used a small blade to slice her throat, but had done so in a very peculiar manner. Not only had he cut her neck open horizontally, but had also inflicted a dreadful vertical wound from her ribs to her chin, essentially stabbing a cross into her neck. The cuts were so deep that Beryl Atherton had almost been decapitated, and she had bled so heavily from her wounds that her blood vessels were completely exsanguinated. A sample would have been extracted directly from her heart by the examining coroner. The killer then let himself out of the house, but not before breaking several

[Narrator]

of little Esky's ribs.

[Co-narrator]

As the loyal hound tried to avenge his fallen mistress. Infuriatingly, the crime scene was almost completely devoid of any. Any clue as to the identity of Beryl's murderer. There wasn't a single sign of forced entry anywhere on the property. There were no fingerprints on any surface and no shoe or boot prints on the grounds surrounding the house. And despite questioning Beryl's neighbors, no one but the dog Esky had seen the killer in the flesh. If Ms. Atherton cried out for help, the severity of the storm would have probably drowned out any urgent pleas. On that fateful night, no one in the surrounding neighborhood had heard or seen a thing. Despite the grotesque violence of the scene, there appeared to be few signs of a struggle. Apart from a broken necklace caused by the impact of the killer's blade, which also had broken during the savage and unprovoked attack. And aside from a few broken flags, fingers that suggested she had tried and failed to defend herself from her attacker, it seemed that he had managed to sneak up on Beryl while she was totally unaware. The crime scene was so lacking in useful evidence that it had been theorized that the killer actually hung around for a little while, Ensuring that there were no fingerprints, fibers or DNA present. And since the murder took place in barrels kitchen, the killer may as well had ample access to cleaning supplies. In order to ensure the scene was scrubbed of evidence, Both police and friends were surprised by the fact Ms. Atherton kept a diary which yielded information about a handful of male acquaintances. The information therein offered no help in solving the crime. It was discovered she had been deeply disappointed over a broken love affair, but this proved not to enter into the case either. In the aftermath of Beryl's murder, with police unable to come up with any suspects or clear motives for her killing, the small town of Marblehead became rife with rumors and gossip. Some said Beryl was leading some kind of double life and had become embroiled with organized crime down in Boston that had come back to bite her. Others believed it was jilted lover from a broken love affair that had sought revenge after Beryl had broken the engagement off. Or perhaps a relative who learned of a sizable inheritance that either wished to access early or were about to be cut off from. Yet her estate only consisted of about $25,000. And no jewelry or other items appeared to have been stolen from the house. So it seems that financial gain may not have been the motive. But chillingly enough, there are some living in Marblehead today who claim they know full well who killed Beryl. And a handful who assert that the killer is still alive. Given that the killer might well be up to 80 or 90 years old, it's more than likely they may pass away before ever facing any charges for the murder they committed. And so it seems seems that the brutal crime committed that Thanksgiving weekend may forever remain unsolved, and that yet another cold and callous murderer will escape justice, free to walk the streets in the knowledge that they committed the worst act a person is capable of and got away with it.

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[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

a good college later in life.

[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

assure us that he would be okay,

[Co-narrator]

I was old enough to be acutely aware that it might well have been the last time I ever got to talk to him. The last time I ever got to hug him. The last time I had ever got to see him alive. Needless to say, the next six months were some of the most stressful of my life. Every little news report I saw on the TV gave me the worst anxiety. And every time we got news that a serviceman had died over there, I feared the worst. Mom tried to shield me as best as she could, but at the risk of sounding a little full of myself, I was smart, inquisitive and sensitive, positive. And she could only do so much to keep me from worrying. So In September of 2003, mom decided to take me to Disneyland for the weekend to take my mind off things. To be honest, it was exactly what I needed. I was huge into Disney movies when I was a kid, and although I had been over to Disneyland a few times before, being so stressed around the house meant seeing it again was like doing so through fresh eyes. I took pictures with as many of the characters as I could, and each ride me and mom went on seemed to alleviate my anxiety and depression a little bit more. The whole first day was going wonderfully well. That was until we got in line to ride the big Thunder Mountain railroad. I'm pretty sure it was about 11:30 by the time we got into the little rail car cars for the ride itself. Everything was going smoothly at first. We are speeding along these twists and turns until we hit the little fake desert setup and then up an incline into a dark tunnel. I just remember feeling like this jolting sensation shake the cars all while we're in the dark. Then this horrible grinding of metal and a thud before people in the cars and for front of us started screaming. Everything came to a sudden stop and everyone was all really shaken up from it. But it's then that I heard some of the worst things I have ever

[Narrator]

heard in my life.

[Co-narrator]

This woman starts asking mark, Mark, Mark, wake up. Wake up, Mark. We are all mostly in the dark, but there's a little bit of light coming from the openings of the tunnel on each side of us. And I remember seeing how some of the cars weren't even on the track anymore and that the cars in front of us were all wet and shiny with some kind of fluid. A fluid that I would only later realize to be someone's blood. In the moments after the railcars came to a stop, people started clambering out of them and walking down the tunnel as fast as they could, calling out that someone was really, really badly hurt. And that we needed help up there as soon as possible possible. As me and my mom climbed out of the rail car and followed, I could see that the train car thing at the very front of the coaster had derailed, and that the rear of the thing had, like, mounted the car behind. Was only then that I realized that whoever was in the car behind it Would have taken the full force of the thing as we sped up that incline. But there were also people in the cars ahead of us who were trapped by it, Stuck in the rail cars and unable to get out because of the way they were positioned in the tunnel. Thankfully, me and my mom weren't trapped,

[Narrator]

so we could just get out of there.

[Co-narrator]

But I think it took, like, another half an hour before firefighters could get them out so that paramedics could treat them before taking them to the hospital.

[Narrator]

All the people that could get out

[Co-narrator]

were herded by park staff towards the river bell terrace, Where a medical treatment area had been set up. Like I said, me and mom were mostly okay, Just a little shaken up from the whole thing. But there were people with some pretty serious injuries who hadn't been so lucky. And we later found out that a guy who had been in the first car had actually died of his injuries. It's horrendously tragic that someone should lose their life when all they wanted to do was go to Disneyland and have fun on a few roller coasters. And I know it's kind of messed up for me to think of it

[Narrator]

like this, but we really got lucky

[Co-narrator]

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

[Narrator]

whoever he was to wake up.

[Co-narrator]

It's.