Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 383 - Goosebumps

Summary

Podcast Summary: Scary Stories For A Rainy Night – Ep. 383 – Goosebumps

Podcast: Scary Stories and Rain
Host: Being Scared
Release Date: May 16, 2026

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Episode Overview

This episode weaves together a series of unsettling true accounts, retold with the signature calm narration and gentle rain ambiance. The stories explore a variety of real-life scares—from chilling encounters at wild parties and creepy babysitting gigs, to brushes with the unknown in isolated houses and forests. Without relying on supernatural themes alone, the host and guests recount moments that evoke lingering dread and goosebumps, especially suited for listening on a dark, stormy night.

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Key Stories & Discussion Points

1. The Party Couch Corpse

[01:30–06:57]

• The host reflects on a wild teenage house party that ended in horror: a seemingly passed-out guest was discovered dead the next morning.
• Guests danced, drank, and partied around the unmoving person all night, unaware he’d died—possibly of overdose.
• The experience left a lasting impact, making the host extra cautious around drugs and alcohol, with a visceral memory of "touching flesh that's gone cold."
• Quote:
  "Have you ever touched someone only to realize they're dead? They really do go cold and they really do go stiff. I promise you, it's one of the most mind-breakingly awful things you will ever experience in your life." — Host (05:03)
• The story segues into a message for the host’s own children: he can't stop them from experimenting but doesn’t want them to know "what death feels like."

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2. Valentine’s Babysitting Nightmare

[08:22–22:46]

• In the 90s, a neighborhood babysitter is watching two boys when a stranger in a trench coat tries to get close—first in a video rental store, then by stalking the family’s house.
• The narrator recounts the mounting fear as the man bangs on windows, disables the phone line, and ultimately breaks inside.
• The sitter shields the children under a bed, quietly listening as the intruder searches and whistles for them, until their parents arrive unexpectedly, making him flee.
• Quote:
  "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." — Babysitter (19:58)
• The family and the sitter are left shaken for years; the children experience trauma from the event, and the babysitter stops working for that neighborhood.

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3. Bear Encounter on the Appalachian Trail

[22:57–23:33]

• Lena, a Malaysian student studying at Virginia Tech, recounts a terrifying face-to-face with a black bear while hiking in the Appalachians.
• As the guide commands everyone to freeze, the bear approaches, stands up on hind legs, and sniff each hiker.
• The group remains still, holding their breath until the bear loses interest and leaves.
• Quote:
  "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." — Lena (24:45)
• The incident instills deep respect for wildlife and lasting anxiety about bear encounters.

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4. The Banshee Sleepover

[23:56–38:24]

• A woman recalls a traumatic childhood memory of sleeping in a backyard playhouse (“Wendy House”) with her sisters in rural Ireland.
• They frighten themselves with ghost stories, particularly about the Irish banshee—a harbinger of death.
• That night, they hear blood-curdling screams outside, and their eldest sister, Kathleen, returns bleeding after running into a tree in panic.
• For years, the sisters believe they were haunted by a banshee until learning later it was two mating foxes.
• Quote:
  "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." — Narrator (36:53)
• The event becomes family lore, both terrifying at the time and humorous in hindsight.

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5. Omegle Toothpuller

[38:55–41:07]

• Narrator shares a disturbing online encounter on Omegle: a man stares unblinking into the webcam, then calmly pulls a tooth out, letting blood pour from his mouth, and shows it off with pride.
• The storyteller is haunted by the guy’s blank stare and apparent expertise in self-harm, raising unsettling questions about who lurks on the internet.
• Quote:
  "He starts to pull. I'm like, dude, what are you doing? ... Until I hear a deep cracking sound coming from the guy's mic. He twists the tooth free from his gum as blood starts pouring out of his mouth, then holds it up to the camera like he's all proud of himself." — Narrator (40:23)
• After this event, nothing online shocks the narrator in the same way.

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6. Maine Blackout Intruder

[41:07–53:36]

• In isolated Beddington, Maine, a man describes a night when a blackout leaves him and his loyal dog, Teddy, feeling exposed.
• Teddy, usually calm, starts barking ferociously, fixating on shadows outside—a reaction the narrator’s never witnessed.
• The host arms himself with a bow, too scared to open the doors, and hears something massive crunching gravel outside. Teddy is so scared he urinates in the house.
• The presence is never visually confirmed, but the size and sounds are enough to shake the staunch narrator.
• Quote:
  "Whatever was outside my house that night was way, way bigger than a person. If it was a black bear, it must have been the biggest one on the entire east coast." — Narrator (52:10)
• The incident becomes one of the most frightening of his life.

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7. The Shadow in the Kitchen

[53:36–54:36]

• In a crowded household, the youngest sibling witnesses a human-shaped shadow on the fridge during a late-night trip to the kitchen.
• The shadow matches the description of a man previously in the house—a drug dealer known to the family, who had returned to steal.
• The mother swears the kids to secrecy so the father never finds out.
• Quote:
  "It appeared to be a man with a slightly pointy nose and a wide brim hat. He resembled the monster from Jeepers Creepers a little bit... Suddenly the shadow disappears and I hear footsteps run out of the back door through the pantry. I scream until everyone comes downstairs." — Narrator (54:08)

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8. Basement Haunting

[54:36–55:07]

• The narrator recalls a strong sense of being watched and an oppressive energy in her childhood basement, especially in one “back room.”
• She believes she was mentally haunted by the image of a gaunt woman and an even more intimidating shapeless malevolent presence.
• In adulthood, siblings and even friends confirm they all independently felt the same fear, solidifying her belief that the house was truly haunted.
• Nightmares persist into adulthood, always set in that basement.
• Quote:
  "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... The thing that stood out... were her eyes. They were dark and sunken, vacant with a thousand yard stare." — Narrator

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9. Babysitting Prank Gone Wrong

[55:07–End]

• Hoping to make quick money, a first-time babysitter is tormented by creepy phone calls threatening to “snatch up the kitty,” coinciding with noises from upstairs.
• In a panic, the sitter discovers the sleeping child is faking and using a voice distorter and a phone to stage the calls—a prank inspired by horror movies.
• Furious and shaken, the babysitter confronts the parents and swears never to babysit for them again.
• Quote:
  "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." — Babysitter

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Notable Quotes & Moments

• “I don’t want them to know what death feels like. I hate telling this story…” (Party Couch Corpse, 05:10)
• “Here, boy. Come here, boy… I swear I have never been more scared in my life.” (Babysitting Nightmare, 19:58)
• “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…” (Banshee Sleepover, 36:53)
• “He twists the tooth free from his gum as blood starts pouring out… then holds it up to the camera like he’s all proud of himself.” (Omegle Toothpuller, 40:23)
• “Whatever was outside my house that night was way, way bigger than a person…” (Maine Blackout, 52:10)

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Timestamps of Key Segments

• House Party Corpse: 01:30–06:57
• Babysitting Stalker: 08:22–22:46
• Bear Encounter: 22:57–23:33
• Banshee Sleepover: 23:56–38:24
• Omegle Toothpuller: 38:55–41:07
• Maine Blackout: 41:07–53:36
• Shadow in Kitchen: 53:36–54:36
• Basement Haunting: 54:36–55:07
• Babysitting Prank: 55:07–end

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Episode Tone & Style

• The tone is calm, confessional, and often laced with dry, dark humor.
• Storytelling is immersive, with vivid detail and emotional honesty.
• Ambient rain enhances a sense of intimacy and comfort, even when tales are unsettling.

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Final Thoughts

Whether it’s the horrors of parties gone wrong, the paranoia of a night in the woods, or the childhood fears that never quite vanish, episode 383 of “Scary Stories For A Rainy Night” compiles a diverse set of real-life stories that tap into universal fears—making it a perfect companion for late-night listeners seeking justified goosebumps. The use of relaxed narration and ambient sound rounds out a unique, haunting, and memorable audio experience.

Transcript

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[Podcast Narrator]

Hey, before this episode begins, I just want to let everyone know that my film that I've been producing for the last two years, Gale Yellow Brick Road, is now streaming on Chilling. So if you weren't able to go see it in theaters a couple months ago, no worries. Click the link in the description to this video or just search Chilling in your app store and you can watch Gale Yellow Brick Road tonight at home. I really hope you enjoy. Please leave an honest rating and review on IMDb and Rotten Tomatoes. Thanks again. Hey, welcome back to the podcast. I really hope you enjoy this episode and if you'd like to hear more stories like these with a different background sound, please check the description to check out my other two podcasts. And if you want to get rid of all of the ads, you can subscribe for just $2.99 a month. Last thing I really appreciate you being here and I'd really love if you would follow the podcast and come back again soon. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy. 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 lying 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 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 911cuz 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 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 for me to watch both their s Ready

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[Podcast Narrator]

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 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 crazy look in his eyes that told me he was trouble. 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 to 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. Turn off the TV for now. Let's get to the bedroom, I said. I remembered 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 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 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. It. He shook it violently for a while, but to no success. And then for another long, indescribably 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 me. 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 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 as 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 stand 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 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 being babysitting for the upper class after that. 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 water that didn't manage to stay very cold 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. 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 Sol, who just dropped the sandwich, 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. 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 now

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[Podcast Narrator]

is there 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 and 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 relented. 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 100 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 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. 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 nine 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 caught 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 wail. 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 frequent 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 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, 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 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, 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. The 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 port. Four 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 just 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. For a few years there, Omegle and Chatroot let were like the best things ever. I know it sounds dumb, but the idea of coming face to face with random Internet people absolutely terrified me at first. I wasn't the most confident of people when I was younger, and believe it or not, using stuff like Omegle actually helped me come out of my shell a little and learn how to talk to people. And naturally, like anyone who has spent a lot of time on Omegle, I have a lot of stories detailing some of the weirder encounters I have had on there. I mean, I have had some pretty amazing ones. I met one of my longtime gaming buddies on Omegle and you would be surprised at the number of girls. But I've also had my share of gross, sad, irritating and downright scary encounters. And what I'm about to tell you is by far the most disturbing. And it's not some creepypasta either. Every word of it is the truth. So I had just gotten home from this crappy part time job I was working in 2012 and at the time my routine was like get home, sneak one of my stepdad's beers from the garage and see how palpable the mental illness was on Omegle that afternoon I was actually having a good run. At one point I had a guy singing that Call me maybe song, another dude who did a magic trick, a handful of pretty girls, and I think one guy was on something. So all in all I was in a pretty good mood by the time I hit end and knew for what turned out to be the final time that night. Because when I do, I just see this guy sitting at a desk staring blankly into the webcam. Immediately this hits me as unusual because most people are looking at their screens to see see who you are and not straight up staring into the camera. I said something like hey what's up? Or something, but the dude didn't reply, so I figured there was just something wrong with his audio. Now I should add that it was usually around that time that I would just end a chat and start a new one. If the person on the other end seemed too weird or like they wouldn't be much fun, I would just skip them entirely. So as you can imagine, coupled with all the other weird stuff you're likely to see during an Omegle session, I ended up doing a lot of skipping, but something about this guy really got my attention. Like at first when I saw him, he looked like he might be in his early to mid teens. Dark hair and eyes, kind of a baby face with scrawny shoulders. But the more I looked, the older he seemed to be. The guy had crow's feet, deep bags under his eyes. Pretty sure he had flecks of gray at his temples too. Like if he was as young as I thought he was, then he must have had the most brutal paper route in history. So for some reason At a time I would normally just ghost. I said something like, are you okay? Can you hear me? He nods. He could hear me. And it hit me that this might be another case of someone browsing Omegle when they're high. It must sound a little mean or whatever, but I figured I would mess with him just a little, maybe see if I could guess what he was on. I start talking real slow to him, trying to make him think that time is slowing down or something, but he barely reacts. And it's then that I realize he hasn't once looked at his phone screen or monitor. The whole time. He was literally just staring at the little lens on his webcam. I break from the play acting and just ask him straight up, what are you on, man? He shakes his head. So I ask him if he means he isn't on anything at all. And to that he nods. Now I'm torn between laughing because of what could have been a blatant lie and kind of freaking out because if he wasn't lying and that was him sober, that made for one really creepy guy. Then out of nowhere, this guy reaches up towards his mouth like he's about to take out some gum or something. At first I think he's going to show me some weird root he's been chewing on that made him look all sleepy. I mean, if there is such a thing. I know people can get some pretty weird South American plants and stuff from shady websites. But then it becomes obvious that he has a hold of his tooth. His front tooth, I think, like in the grip of his thumb and forefinger. And then he starts to pull. I'm like, dude, what are you doing? All calm at first. And then he starts, like, really getting a grip on his tooth, pulling and twisting. And I'm like, dude, stop. What are you doing? This all escalates until I hear a deep cracking sound coming from the guy's mic. He twists the tooth free from his gum as blood starts pouring out of his mouth, then holds it up to the camera like he's all proud of himself. I am full on squealing at the computer at this point, stuck between wanting to cover my eyes and turn it off at the stack and not being able to look away because what is this guy even doing? I asked this guy in like a hundred different ways, why did you do that? Was it rotten? Can't you go to the dentist? What are you doing? He doesn't say a word. He just spends a few more seconds smiling this gape tooth grin, mopping at the blood on his chin and holding up the tooth.

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[Podcast Narrator]

Front of the webcam, Benny disappears and I'm left on the new chat screen just shell shocked. Nothing has ever topped that for me in terms of pure creepiness. I have so many unanswered questions about that guy and each time I think I get close to figuring it out, it just opens me up to a hundred other questions. I mean, he would have been on something to be able to pull his own tooth out like that. I don't think anyone could stand the sheer agony of it sober. And it's also the whole idea that it wasn't his first time doing it. Like, as crazy as it sounds, he seemed to just know what he was doing, that he had to twist it and wrench it. He knew exactly how to grab grip it. And then the sense of pride at the end, it all just gave me this distinct feeling that he had done that kind of thing before. I didn't see anything else that ever made me react so strongly. And after that, all the random stuff you would see didn't phase me at all. Like as long as there was no tooth pulling, it was just water off a duck's back. So I guess I have something to thank Mr. Toothpoler for. Although saying that it's not something I want to see ever again. I live in a place called Beddington here in Maine. It's least populated part of the state, which probably makes it one of the least populated areas in the country. And with a population of just over 50 people, we're the very definition of a one stoplight kind of town. We all live pretty spaced out too. Nearest neighbor on my right side is about a mile away. Nearest neighbor on my left side is more like three miles away. The sense of community is real strong, but out here you really are alone in most senses of the world. Word. And that kind of isolation is made all the more obvious whenever there's a power cut. It's only happened like twice the entire time I've been living out here, and one time it was only for about an hour. But the second time it must have been a serious fault down at whatever power station feeds us juice because the power was out all night. And I don't just remember that night because I couldn't watch the pats play ball. It's burned into my memory for other reasons too. So like I said, second ever power cut. But thanks to the experience I gained the first time around, I fare a little better that time. I have candles stored away, I have dynamo flashlights. I even got a battery powered hot plate that would be good for a few uses, even if it did burn through the batteries. So instead of panicking and bumping into stuff in the the dark that time, I just make myself comfortable, pick up a good book and sit down to write it out on the couch. Now, it's at this point that I should bring up my dog, Teddy. Teddy got his name because my grown up daughter thought he looks like a teddy bear. Which he kind of does. And given his considerably superior senses, the power cuts never seemed to bother Teddy none. Teddy never bumped into furniture or got spooked at every little noise or shadow. Teddy just stayed curled up by the log fire and warmed his bones. As I curl up myself, Teddy gives me this look at one point as if to say, see, now you get it, old man. Just relax and take a load off. The power will come back on when it's good and ready too. But Teddy didn't stay relaxed for long and neither did I. A couple of hours go by and I am so engrossed by the book I was reading that when Teddy started to bark, it almost scared me out of my wits. See, Teddy never barked at anything. Even when he saw squirrels or raccoons, he would just sort of look at me like, what are you gonna do about them three critters there, old man? Nothing fazed him ever. So to even hear him yapping like that in the first place was pretty unusual then. That got me wondering what could possibly freak him out enough to make him bark. I'm like, what is it boy? What are you smelling? But Teddy just gets up, walks over towards the door to the hallway and starts growling all low in between barks. And as I'm sitting there watching him, I get this real bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. That was the first time I had ever seen him acting like that. That downright aggressive and territorial. Now, as much as I respect the second amendment, I don't really believe in keeping a weapon in the house. I hate them. Always have. Long story short, I lost a relative in an accident when I was a kid. Now just being around them makes me sweat. But what I do have on hand for home defense is an old recurve bow that I used for hunting. Not exactly ideal to stop a burglar but it was better than nothing. I must have looked like an old, worn out Comanche warrior creeping through my living room with a bow and arrow, with only firelight to see where I was going. But I sure didn't feel like one. I had just turned 55. I was a grown man. But something about all that darkness and being so isolated made me feel like a scared kid. Best case scenario, Teddy had picked up the smell of a bear or a lynx on the wind, one that was still way off in the distance. Worst case would be something considerably worse. When I take a peek out front of the house through the window of my office, Teddy follows, jumping up on the windowsill and barking a few times. After sniffing the air. Whatever he was smelling, I sure wasn't seeing it. So after peering into the darkness for a minute or two, I just take Teddy back into the TV room, where he stopped his barking. All was quiet again, so I carried on with my reading. About an hour later, the same thing happens all over again. Teddy jumps up from the rug, barking up a storm. Only this time, he seems considerably more aggressive. He bounds over to the door of the TV room, scratching at the handle and growling in a way that actually kind of frightened me. Like I said before, I had never seen Teddy act like that, and he was a completely different dog. When I let him out of the TV room. Teddy ran through the open door of the kitchen and started barking and scratching at the back door. I mean, he was going back there and there was no way I was going to let him outside the mood he was in. He would probably run off as fast as he could and getting himself lost. And besides that, I felt strangely safer with Teddy around. He stopped barking for a second, sniffed the air, and then bolted back into the TV room, where he started barking even louder at the glass patio doors that led to the backyard. I follow him. I'm all like, get him, boy. Tear him up. But when I catch a glimpse of the sliding glass doors, I'd swear I saw something moving in the shadow outside. I couldn't even tell you what I saw. It was nothing more than a flash of movement, but it was obvious enough for me to grab that recurve bow that I had propped up against the couch. I was so scared that I could barely line the arrow up with the drawstring. Teddy was going crazy at this point, acting like he was fixing to smash through the glass windows and chase down whatever he could smell. And like I said, it might have even just been the way the flight firelight reflected on the glass. But I wasn't willing to roll the dice on something being out there. Then suddenly, Teddy stops barking again. I figure it's because he lost the scent or something, because he shuts up entirely and stops pawing at the glass in the back door. But then he went and did the weirdest thing. He backs off from the doors, stands in front of me shaking on all fours, and takes a piss right there on the corner carpet. He hadn't done anything like that since he was a puppy. Teddy was hardcore house trained. It's definitely not out of fear of some black bear either. Teddy's been in the same area as those ever since he was a puppy. And unless he actually saw one, I can't imagine he would freak out the way that he did. But the fact remains that animals like dogs have been known to just go to the bathroom on themselves whenever a much larger predator predator is in the area. Only I can't imagine how much larger it must have been to make Teddy forget his house training. After that, he was almost completely silent. Just the occasional whimper while I stood there in the firelight, just waiting for the mother of all black bears to come smashing through the back windows. At least I hoped it was nothing but a black bear. I understand those animals, but I didn't understand why what was going on during that power out at all. And it just about scared the crap out of me. But by far the worst part of the experience was when I actually heard something on the little side walkway to my house. See, there's a little gravel path where my wife used to grow vegetables right around the side of my house. And I swear to the Almighty that I heard two distinct crunches on the gravel right as I'm staring out into the draw darkness for like the hundredth time. That's when I started to call out, I know you're there. I'm armed now, you better get out of here. I listened again, and for the next few minutes there was nothing but silence. Just then, when I started to think I had imagined the whole thing, I heard it again, clear as day. Footfalls on the gravel. That time I was closer. And I had heard people walk up and down the gravel path a hundred times over the years. So I'm telling you right now, whatever was outside my house that night was way, way bigger than a person. If it was a black bear, it must have been the biggest one on the entire east coast. Now, I'm not saying it wasn't a bear or something. Maybe it was just a big old dog that got lost and took to wandering into my yard. But like I said, said it was big, really big, and you can bet I was shaking like a dog as I heard its footfalls getting quieter and quieter as it made its way off my property. I didn't hear anything for the rest of the night. Teddy didn't bark again, but he seemed like he had thrown in the towel with that line of defense anyway. But I didn't hear anything outside and evidently nothing broke into the house. Otherwise I'd be rambling on about it. It's just kind of surreal to me that one of the scariest experiences of my life comes across like a second rate campfire tale. I don't scare easy and what happened during that blackout scared me to death. I just hope whatever the thing was, whether it was a bear or the Turner beast or something else entirely, stays well away from my property in the future. Because it would take forever. Far more than just a few arrows to take down a beast as big as that. 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 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 kitchen. Because my sister rolled her eyes and proceeded to go downstairs. I place my attention back onto the movie. Keep in mind that my oldest sister was 20 at the time.

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[Podcast Narrator]

Moments later, I began to hear an unfamiliar voice come from below the rain 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 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 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 cat 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 disappears 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 pullout 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 7 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 the 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 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, 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 inhuman and could shift into any form he pleased. He felt dark and powerful, like pure evil. I felt his presence strong, 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 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 the dark, malevolent 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 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 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 any 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 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 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've 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 dream. 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 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 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 babysitting, thinking it'll be an easy few bucks, please, 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 chance. 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 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 turn 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 kid's room to find that he's still asleep. Or rather that he very much appears to be asleep sleep. 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 disorder under there too. I grab both and run out of the room. Back downstairs where the kid starts throwing another temper tantrum. I felt so dumb. Completely played by the kid. Made to feel terrible, 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 free phone, let alone an actual voice distorter. 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.