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- [00:00]
A
Hey, welcome to Scary Stories in Rain. Do you want to listen ad free? Just subscribe on Spotify for $2.99 a month. Now turn out the lights, enjoy the stories, and enjoy the rain. One night out with some friends, I was dared to go inside of a local abandoned house. Everyone from my school knew about this house. Being a young teenager, I. I said sure. I approached cautiously, stepped into the decrepit house, its creaking floorboards echoing through the dimly lit hallways. I ventured deeper. A chilling breeze whispered through the broken windows, sending shivers down my spine. Shadows danced on the peeling wallpaper, playing tricks on my imagination. A sense of foreboding gripped me as I entered the living room. The air grew heavy with an unsettling silence, broken only by the sound of my own heartbeat. Something wasn't right. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I made my way up the stairs, each step groaning beneath my weight. The musty scent of decay lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of fear. The hallway above seemed to stretch endlessly, its darkness swallowing the feeble light of my flashlight as I tiptoed. Further across from me stood a large, old wooden door. Against my better judgment, curiosity propelled me towards it. I pushed it open, revealing a room frozen in time. Dust covered furniture and faded photographs lined the walls, but it was the mirror that caught my attention. Its surface was stained and cracked, reflecting a distorted version of myself. As I stared into its depths, I felt a presence behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing there. The room was empty. Yet the feeling of being watched intensified. Panic welled up within me as I realized that I was not alone in this house. Whispers filled the air, slightly faint and muffled. I strained to listen, my heart pounding in my ears. The voices grew louder, their chilling words crawling under my skin in a desperate attempt to escape. I turned to run, but the door slammed shut, trapping me within the room. The whispers became screams, echoing through the house, tormenting my mind. Shadows writhed and twisted, merging into a grotesque figure that advanced towards me. Fear consumed me as I realized I had stumbled into a realm of darkness beyond comprehension. It was a place where nightmares took form, where the line between reality and the supernatural blurred. As the dark figure closed in, a cold grip tightened around my throat, choking the life out of me. It was at this moment my eyes opened, only to realize it was all a dream. I have been homeless for a while, not helpless, nor without a home. I won't get into it because it serves no purpose to the story. I sleep under the stars every night, and I do not mind the mist and the overcast weather. In the morning I find it easy to rise. The light is not too overbearing as it breaches my eyelids. There is no heat, nor is there cold. The birds and the frogs and the crickets are the first sounds in the morning, and I find no equal in the extremity of events. Since I have chosen this lifestyle, there have been some events that stand out, some more than others. Time is precious, however, and it would be best if I summarized this story now as quickly and concisely as possible. Sleeping with the elements leads to many different outcomes, I must say, whether or not I choose to I wake up every single day at 3:30 in the early morning. This is what I believe is considered the witching hour. For the most part it is silent and statuesque. There was one time where I awoke felt face to face with a raccoon peering back at me. We were both close enough to kiss each other's noses. I jumped up in a flurry and the raccoon scampered off. Still, it sent me into conniptions. Stories about raccoons are just child's play as far as I'm concerned. One night not too long ago, about three to five weeks ago, I woke up at the witching hour like I typically do and rolled onto my back to peer into the black web of sky that entangled the stars within it, harassing the sky like a trickle of rainwater blemishes the integrity of a window pane. A silver of light bolted across the sky. It was blurry and it was dim to look upon it was as if to try to see something behind a wall of dark, dark black ice. I really didn't get a good look at it cuz it moved so fast. The dim shooting star molested the carpet of stars amidst it and pierced the night, unquestioningly tearing the beautiful array of cosmos through and through. I peered further into the dark to see the stars and found myself dumbfounded and intrigued and stone still. All was silent and at this point in time all was lost. I deemed that there was no more credence to give the occasion since all that passed had lasted a mere 15 seconds and no alarms were raised, so to speak. I closed my eyes again, rolled over and focused on keeping my eyes closed on breathing and the position of my body. I am not vulnerable, I told myself with as much confidence as I could muster. After not too long my body relaxed, my mind submitted, and once again I felt my body giving into the necessities and allowing me to sleep once again for a few more hours. Then I woke up again. It seemed as if no time had passed at all. The air was just as solid, the sounds were silent, muted, morphed into oblivion, and I was the only one awake in this solitary world. I just can't get into my dreams now, or that would take a novel.
- [07:29]
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But I will say this much after
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lucid dreaming for a decade and a half, I know the difference. This was no dream. I was most surely awake, very awake, on edge. Yet it was so serene and tranquil there was no justification to be askew as my eyes peered to my left and my right, laying on my side, the most untypical thing happened to me to this very moment. I will never be able to completely describe it. The best I can do for you is to describe it as Take two tubas and have them attempt to hit a middle C and then have a few more French horns join in, only they are going to octave above and all of them are slightly out of tune with each other. It was definitely a cord of some sort. The difference being to a human being is this did not sound brassy, it sounded more metallic, if that makes sense. It was as if the tubas and French horns were not real. More realistically, it was a replication. That's the best way I could describe it. To me it sounded like the tuba was a middle C and the French horns were an octave above and they struggled to linger on this note. At first I thought something similar to what is that? Perhaps the folks down the way were having a party and they wanted to raise the roof with a good song. Bad song to pick. It was just one long, breathing heavy note that seemingly came from nowhere. But then at five minutes or so there was silence once again and then the notes shifted up half a note up the staff lingering ever so present and then faded out again. Odd, I said to myself. I closed my eyes again, delving deep into the idea I had a vivid imagination. But then it started again, these slow notes, just two notes wavering in the sky above like an out of tune rusty squeeze box. And loud, gargantuanly loud. The reverberation was maddening as it shook the concrete underneath the me as I lay there defenseless. That moment right there, all that happening there really wasn't much I could do. It didn't make very much sense to me and I was rather sure I had just been imagining things. After another 10 minutes or so, the attempted melody picked up once again and repeated itself through and through while I just lay there thinking to myself, man, what is that? The strange melody from the Milky Way disappeared as discreetly as it had appeared, and there was no more. I had never heard it before, and I certainly have not heard it since. I haven't the slightest clue what that song from the sky may have been. It lasted no more than 20 minutes, and nothing worth writing home about happened. Being slightly out of the ordinary, however, it had my mind wandering and wondering and confused and convoluted about what had exactly transpired out on the misty night as I laid alone upon the grass. On a fateful December morning in 1948. Somerton beach, with its tranquil sands and gentle waves. It became the setting for a mystery that would defy explanation for generations to come. The sun was just beginning to break over the horizon when a passerby stumbled upon a man's lifeless body. He was impeccably dressed in a well tailored suit and tie, giving the appearance of a man of refinement. However, upon closer inspection, it became evident that this was no ordinary discovery. It marked the beginning of an extraordinary and enigma. The man's attire bore a peculiar characteristic. All labels had been surgically removed, leaving no clue to his identity. His footwear was of the finest quality, devoid of scuffs or signs of wear. Even more perplexing was the presence of an unlit cigarette hanging behind his ear, as if he had been interrupted mid smoke. The arrival of authorities at the scene led to an examination that would confound even the most seasoned investigators. The autopsy conducted on the unidentified man revealed no traces of violence, poison or any obvious cause of death. His pupils were curiously constricted, hinting at the possibility of poison ingestion. Yet no poison could be detected in his system. His overall physical condition appeared to be robust, adding a layer of mystique to the baffling case. Amidst the absence of clues, a tantalizing lead emerged. A small scrap of paper was discovered hidden in an obscure pocket of the man's trousers. The paper bore a single tamam, should this cryptic phrase was found to be Persian. Translated to ended or finished, it was a line from a book titled the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. The discovery led investigators to a copy of the book found in an abandoned car near the beach, within which a perplexing coded message was concealed. The plot thickened when investigators uncovered a telephone number belonging to a mysterious woman scribbled on a concealed page of the book. This number eventually led them to a nurse named Jessica Thompson. Initially, she vehemently denied any knowledge of the deceased man, but her behavior raised suspicions. Ultimately, she confessed to owning a copy of the same book, but denied any connection to the Somerton Man. As the years rolled on, a plethora of theories and conspiracies took root. Some speculated that the Somerton man was a spy embroiled in a web of espionage, while others contended that he had succumbed to natural causes or was entangled in a complex love affair. The backdrop of the Cold War era fueled suspicions of international intrigue. Nevertheless, the case remained unsolved and the true identity of the Somerton man continued to elude investigators and amateur sleuths alike. The tale of the Somerton man represents a baffling enigma that has persisted for over seven decades. Despite relentless investigations and the tireless, curious curiosity of amateur sleuths, the identity of the man and the circumstances of his death remain cloaked in mystery. The coded message, the enigmatic woman, the conspicuous absence of concrete evidence continue to tantalize those who seek to unravel the secrets hidden beneath the sands of Somerton Beach. Until the day the riddle is deciphered, the Somerton man shall remain a timeless symbol of the unknown within the realm of true crime.
- [15:59]
B
This story isn't really scary so much as it is weird. There are no monsters monsters, no creepers, no ghosts or demons, just completely unexplainable happenings that I swear are true. Although I'm really not sure how. My wife and I recently had a child and decided to move somewhere with a little more opportunity for our family. There are four of us now. Myself, my wife, her son, my stepson and our newborn son. My stepson just recently turned 11 and was a little apprehensive at first, but quickly settled into his new surroundings. I had come up two months prior to find adequate housing for the four of us and get a job that would support the move. I stayed on one of my old friend's couches and he was kind enough to let me stay as long as I needed to get established here. The real estate market being what it is in Ontario, it was extremely challenging and nerve wracking. But at the last minute, right when I needed things to happen, I found a place. Once our newborn son was born and my wife was ready to travel, we quickly moved my family into the small upper level apartment I found for us in a small neighborhood of the city that we now call home. It's small, but it's of kind, clean and it's enough for us to get started in a new town.
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The apartment has access to the front
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door and a private entrance in the back that leads out to a long
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deck along the back of the duplex.
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The neighborhood we live in is a quiet residential area wedged between a major roadway and a set of industrial railroad tracks that mark the start of an industrial area. A short walk down the road, past a concrete yard and an impound lot, is another main road with a Walmart and a grocery store just around the corner.
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I really lucked out with a job too.
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The timing was great and the money I make now comfortably covers everything we need.
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I have to ride share to get
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there, but that's not really a problem in the area we live. It's a 25 minute walk in one direction down Queenston street to the downtown bus station where my rideshare picks me up. I don't mind the walking either. I'm the kind of person who will just daydream and tune out. I really love just walking and thinking and I make it a sort of ritual every morning to make that walk, grab a drink and really wake up before I get to work. I went to college here so I'm pretty familiar with the area and it's really easy to just tune out and end up where I'm going without much thought. We don't drive, so once a week one of us will walk up to the grocery store plaza and do all of our shopping. One day about a month after we moved in, my wife and stepson went out to run some quick errands in the early afternoon while I stayed home with the baby and did some cleaning. The trip there and back usually takes about an hour with shopping and I
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like to play this game where I
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try to do as much tidying as possible before they come home if I stay behind. About 20 minutes later I was in the middle of doing some dishes when the front door opened and the unmistakable shuffle of my family came up the stairs.
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Surprised that they were back so early,
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I assumed they must have turned around. Maybe she forgot her wallet or something. But when she got to the top of the stairs she met me with an even more confused look on her face.
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I was about to ask why they
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turned around and if they had forgotten something and my stepson came up the stairs with a few arms full of grocery bags. Sorry it took us so long. We were on our way back and we just weren't sure what happened. What do you mean you've only been gone 20 minutes at most, I pointed out and looked at my phone to confirm. This is when it got a little weird and I noticed that they both seemed a little bewildered, so I asked what was the matter and this is what they told me. They both swear up and down that when they were walking home from the
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grocery store they got to the railway
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line that borders the start of the neighborhood and according to them, the whole road just started over again. They both clearly remember walking down the majority of our road through the long section of the industrial area, and then in the blink of an eye they were back at the busy road they turned off. Under any other circumstance, I might think maybe it was just them not really paying attention, but they both tuned out and didn't realize that they hadn't yet gotten to the tracks. But I did find it a little odd that they were back in 20 minutes with groceries when the trip takes about an hour, and by their accounts it took them longer than that. At any rate, we just filed it under strange and got on with life pretty quickly.
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It was just weird. A couple of weeks later I was
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walking to the convenience store around the corner one night on my day off, and when I was walking back from the store it only took me two minutes. This is hard to describe, but not only do I have zero memory of the space in between the convenience store and the turn off onto my road, but I remember vividly getting to the store completely. I did a double take when I got onto my road and it was as if the building buildings between the intersection and the store were just sort of deleted. They simply were not there. I must be going insane, I thought to myself. I turned around once again, not even a blink, and the street corner was back to normal.
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What is going on?
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A little shaken and extremely confused, I quickly got back down the street and back to my place. When I got home, I was met with the same confused look that I had a few weeks prior, and my
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wife peeked her head out the door
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and down the stairs. Did you forget something? What is happening here? I live in southern Ontario, just off the north shore of Lake Erie, in farm country. Nobody who still lives here can say it's the best place on earth to live. It's small, quiet, and everything is far away. There aren't many jobs there, and if you want to stay there, your best bet is to pick a trade and commute to the nearest city.
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Although life here is kind of lackluster.
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I've always cherished those quiet drives through the Norfolk county countryside, especially on an autumn night as the sun sets shining low and casting its final light over the picturesque landscape. The roads wind through fields and of golden corn dotted with Wood, lots of pine trees, and lined with rich thickets of sumac that line the route seemed to whisper secrets to the colors in the sundering skies. One night, I decided to take one of my late night commutes. The air was crisp and the harvest moon cast this eerie silver glow over the fields of corn and the trees that lined the road. I knew these roads well, every twist and turn like the back of my hand. When we were younger, we would bike up and down the concessions and in and out of the trails, passing through the nearby conservation land, sometimes even walking it. We would often lock our bikes up to the trees alongside the road and hike into the forest and walk among the trees, trudging through thick thickets of brush and burdock, only to come out covered in burrs and mud. You could spend all day and night out there without a worry. There are no predators here, aside from the odd coyote, and they aren't likely to come near you in groups. We have lots of animals, sure. Foxes, badgers, lynx, possum. But nothing big. Nothing that is very, very likely to pose a threat walking out in the woods. In fact, out here you are far more likely to be mistaken for a deer by a hunter than you are to be attacked by an animal. We have no bears, no wolves. The odd mention of cougars, but these accounts are rare and heavily contested or given little thought. Even men. You would never see one, even if they were here. On one particular night, I found myself with downtime. I had the next four days off and I had just settled into a house to myself. My brother had moved away to Toronto a couple of months earlier, and my parents were away for the weekend. My plans for this weekend were to have no plans.
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I was just going to chill on
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my own, buy a bunch of snacks and bask in the cool darkness of the basement and play diabolo. I had everything I needed at home, but I had elected to make a snack run and get some chips, pop and maybe some ice cream from the grocery store in town. We lived out in the country north of a small hamlet called Vanessa. The nearest grocery store was in Waterford, south of us by a few minutes drive. It's a nice drive into town if you take the back roads, and that was my plan. The roads were thick on either side with a tall, ancient canopy of trees. Light breaking through the tops of the trees to illuminate the road in golden stained glass. Layers of green fading into the deep shadows of the canopy. The lowering light. The light of the sun at this time shows just how immense These particular woods are a never ending sprawl of fallen leaves and mud lined with fiddlehead ferns and skunk cabbage fenced in by the trees along the roadside. On my way back from the grocery store, as I was heading down one of the more remote stretches of road, something in the distance caught my eye. At first I thought it was just
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a trick of the light.
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It seemed to race along behind me in the trees as I drove down the forested road. Upon further inspection, it seemed to be running on all fours and it was starting to catch up to me. It moved with a sort of unsettling grace, as if it were on the hunt.
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As it got closer, my heart started
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to raise race as it began to overtake me. As it jumped out in front of me. I slammed on the brakes and sent myself forward in my seat, looking up. It was about 10ft away from me, upright in the middle of the now moonlit road. There was no denying it.
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I was looking at a creature.
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A creature that should have only existed in stories. This thing was massive, hulking and covered in matted fur. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My eyes locked onto this creature. It seemed so out of place in our world.
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It looked like a big black dog,
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but it was upright on its hind legs like a dog and had wide paws with opposable thumbs. They looked more like a human hand, with long sharp claws, gray like an elephant's hide covered with fur among massive forearms. At first glance, it looked a little like a primate, were it not for a wiry canine tail and a snarling snout laden with countless sharp wolfish teeth.
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It stared with a blank, bloodthirsty ferocity
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I have never encountered in my life up to this point and never again since then, and gave a deep booming growl that overtook all sound in the now still standing wilderness along the silent country road. I didn't even perceive the music that I had on at the time. Nothing really registered, aside from the horror I was witnessing. Ahead of me on the road. The moonlight revealed its eyes, which glowed with an unnatural amber light. It had a snout full of sharp, glistening teeth. Fear surged through me, but I could not tear my gaze away. The world felt suspended in that moment,
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like everything else had disappeared.
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And then the impossible happened. The creature turned its head to look at me. Our eyes met and a wave of terror washed over me, primal and raw. I was sure I was done for, that this thing was going to leap at me. Every bone in my body was frozen as time and space stood still.
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My blood froze as I awaited what
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was sure to be my doom.
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I was locked in place.
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I know what you're thinking. You're in a car.
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Why didn't you just hit the gas?
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But I just couldn't will my foot into action. There are three human reactions to exterior threats. Fight, flight and freeze. And I guess in that moment, my body chose to freeze. But then the unmistakable, unmistakable flash of high beams from a distant truck now speeding towards us broke the tension and the thing reacted, lifting its snout up in the air and sniffing as it turned to see the oncoming truck. As suddenly as it had appeared, the creature turned away and bounded off into the night, vanishing into the shadows of the trees. I could not believe my luck. Awestruck and still shaken up by what I had just seen, I sat there in the road, still struggling to come back to reality.
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As the truck approached, it slowed to
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a stop before it passed me, and the driver got out, apparently thinking something was the matter as I was parked in the middle of a concession at this point, just sitting there.
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Kid.
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Hey kid, are you alright? The man shouted out from just outside
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of his driver's side door.
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I jerked up and nodded at him. I tried to pull myself together as he walked up to my window and I rolled it down and looked out to him. You good? Should you be driving? The man clearly thought I was drunk or maybe too stoned and couldn't drive. I mean, I don't blame him. What am I supposed to say?
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I just saw a werewolf.
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I told him I was fine and that yes, I could drive. I quickly made it up that my engine had stalled and I just got in after fixing it. And he nodded and got back in his truck, heading on his way down the road and out of sight. As soon as I got in, I tried my best to shake it off quickly, get my head together, and I slammed my foot on the gas pedal. Putting as much distance between me and that terrifying encounter as I could, I drove back home. That night, shaken to my core. I couldn't stop thinking about what I had seen. Norfolk county had always been a place of beauty and tranquility for me, but that night I had come face to face with something I've seen since, never been able to come to terms with something straight out of some German fairy tale from Grimm. When I got home, I hit the desk straight away and started looking up anything I could find that even remotely described what I saw. The closest thing I could find was a reference to something called the Loup
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Garou or Werewolf of Quebec City.
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But I couldn't find anything about anything of the sort in Ontario. I still can't explain what happened that night, and even now, most people don't believe me. But for me, the memory of that encounter with whatever was stalking cars in the middle of the country will always be etched in my mind. A chilling reminder that sometimes there are things we cannot explain or just are not ready to try. Explaining that there is more to this world than perhaps we know. And that maybe, just maybe, something, maybe even someone, is lurking out in the woods of Ontario that for better or for worse, we will never discover. When I was five, me, my mother and sister moved for the first time. My mother had divorced my father and decided to live someplace nicer, as she called it. After a 30 minute drive, we ended up in another town. We got settled in the house and started adjusting to our new life. The first weird thing I noticed in the house was the energy. There was just this off feeling to it, like something would be watching your every move. I would always quickly run upstairs when I would get ready for bed in order to not feel too scared before I would sleep. After a few weeks, at the bottom
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of the wall there was this weird face painted.
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It was no bigger than 1.5 inches, but it looked really off. The next day I told my mother and she said she had no idea where it was coming from. Even my stepdad didn't know, but no one ever dared to remove it. A few months later, me and my sister had our second encounter. We were laying in bed in our shared room while we were both trying to get rest. In the distance we heard some weird sounds. My sister, being the curious one, went up to the door and opened it slightly. The noise had gotten louder as she stood there listening. Eventually she closed the door as she turned to my bed. There's a toy in the attic going on, she said. My sister was not scared easily, but I could tell she was getting nervous. We eventually saw the light turn on and heard our mother come upstairs. She went to the attic and the sound stopped. My sister laid back in bed and our mother actually got angry with us, assuming that we had gotten out of bed and secretly continued playing. The third encounter I experienced was by myself. I was laying in bed as it was a school night and because my
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sister was older, she had the privilege
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to go to bed later. My room had been really cold despite the thick comforter and blanket I had draped over my body. I remember being in a light sleep before my eyes shot open. I had felt so something hold my left hand softly but my left side was the wall side, meaning no one could have been there. There was also no toys or stuffed animals that I could blame. I stayed up until my sister got upstairs to go to sleep. The energy in the house seemed to
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have shifted the last years of our stay.
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Our usual nice and funny stepfather had changed into an angry, narcissistic man doing everything to make our lives miserable. And our neighbor, who loved kids and was always happy, started to become creepy. Staring out the window whenever we would play outside. She started complaining about us being too loud while we never slammed any doors or screamed inside the house. She even tried to attack my mother, while once with a broom. Our mother was less happy as well. Eventually it all became too much and my mother and stepfather broke up. We started living somewhere else and everything seemed to instantly become better. We were happier and there were no weird, unexplainable things happening. When I went to high school, I started becoming best friends with this girl. I knew her from my childhood because we actually lived in the same street. She lived eight houses down, but I never actually played with her at home when I was younger. When we were in high school, though, we started hanging outside and inside. She was home alone, often living with a teen brother and a little sister and her mother. Her mother had two jobs, so she was barely home when we got out of school. When we grew closer, we started opening up about our pasts. She admitted that her father was a narc, an alcoholic and had anger issues. He came by their house every once in a while to bring home her youngest sister from school. Then he would eat with them and leave when her mother would come home. My friend also started opening opening up by the weird things that were happening in her house. Eventually, she also told me that this wasn't the first house that they had had these experiences before me and my family moved there. My best friend had lived somewhere else about five minutes from their current place. She told me that there was an off vibe in the house and her mother actually invited a medium to look at it. My friend told me that when the medium arrived, she stepped in the hallway and had all the color drained from her face. She refused to go further in the house and left. After some digging, they had actually found
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out that there used to be a
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farm where the houses were standing and there had been an accident. Children were supposedly playing on the land and the farmer had not noticed them in time, running them over with the agriculture equipment.
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I honestly was freaked out by this,
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but nothing ever happened to me in that house, so I didn't refrain myself from Coming there. Wrong decision. The day this following situation all went down started calmly. Me and my friend had actually gotten
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out of school early.
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So we decided to go to her house and watch American Horror Story upstairs. We got into the house and locked the doors behind us, heading into the living room where we hung out and ate something listening to the radio. When we were ready, we went upstairs putting on the show.
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After about two episodes, we heard the
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radio being turned up from downstairs. We both looked at each other completely terrified.
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We were basically trapped upstairs as there
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was no safe way down from the house. My friend tried to convince me and
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herself that it was probably just her
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father trying to scare us. However, the music had not gotten turned down. I grabbed a blow dryer and made my way towards the hallway. My friend followed with a coat rack hanger. We slowly went downstairs and I remember I was sweating bollocks. When we were almost down the stairs, I stopped in my tracks. Till this day, I don't know why. My body just would not move like an instinct. After about 10 seconds, the downstairs hallway door was thrown closed. We both stood there in shock, not knowing what to do. My friend had forgotten her key in the living room so we couldn't go through the front door. All of a sudden, an anger came washing over me. What the heck does this thing think it is? I thought as the rage built up inside me. I stormed down the stairs throwing open the door. The music from the radio was so loud it rang in my ears. When I was almost at the radio, I couldn't even hear the music anymore. As the adrenaline was beeping in my ears. The world around me was spinning, almost
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like I had to physically fight whatever
- [41:38]
B
was doing this to us. I turned off the radio and there was a deafening sound of silence. My friend had chased behind me, looking at me with big eyes. After a moment, I. I felt like I could breathe again. We were both standing frozen in our spots and eventually I told my best friend to check the doors. She nodded, hurrying to the front door
- [42:03]
A
as I hurried to the back. They were both locked.
- [42:08]
B
Her key was still sitting on the dining room table where she left it. My friend then quickly hurried upstairs checking if her brother was there. He wasn't. We went upstairs to grab our stuff and then stayed downstairs, trying to calm down from the situation. My friend texted me later on saying her father and her brother had gotten home an hour later, both not knowing what she was talking about. We didn't hang out in her house for a good two months after that, only slowly introducing the idea when it was raining outside. I don't know what is wrong with this neighborhood, but it is not natural.
- [43:07]
A
In the picturesque landscape of the Sierra Nevada mountains, the Keddie resort stood as an oasis of tranquility. Cabin 28, a rustic yet charming abode, was the residence of the Sharp family. Sue Sharp, a devoted mother, her two children, Dana and John, and their friend Dana Wingate. The year was 1981, and Keddie was the epitome of a peace, peaceful haven, A place where city dwellers sought refuge from their hectic lives. On the CRISP Morning of April 12, 1981, the peacefulness of Keddie was shattered by the return of Sheila Sharp, Sue's teenage daughter, from a neighbor's sleepover. The sight that greeted her inside cabin 28 was nothing short of a nightmare. Her mother, her brother, and their friend Dana Wingate lay dead, bound and brutally bludgeoned. The cabin was a scene of unimaginable violence, and Sheila fled in terror to seek help from the resort's management. Law enforcement arrived promptly, and the investigation into the Keddie cabin murders was launched. The crime scene was chaotic, with potential evidence strewn across the cabin. It was evident that this was no random act of violence. As the other children sleeping in the adjacent bedrooms remained unharmed. Suspicion quickly turned to Marty Smart, Sue Sharp's ex husband, and his acquaintance, Bo Boubied, who had been spotted around the resort on the night of the murders. Marty's wife, Marilyn, had joined them for part of the evening, but insisted that she left before the violence erupted. Both Marty and Bo had criminal records and a history of violent behavior. The investigation into the Keddie cabin murders was filled with twists and turns. Several leads were pursued, including potential connections to local drug dealers and organized crime. But the case eventually grew cold. The murders remained an enigma, haunting the memories of those who had been touched by the tragedy. In 2016, a glimmer of hope emerged when new evidence, including DNA, was unearthed. This development led to the arrest of three suspects. Marilyn Smart, her brother Dana Wingate, and John Sharp's classmate, Justin. Justin, a mere child at the time of the murders, was believed to have witnessed the horrifying events. The cases against Marilyn Smart and Dana Wingate were subsequently dropped due to alibis that placed them away from the scene on the night of the murders. Tragically, Justin had taken his own life in 1982, and the justice for the Sharp family remained elusive. The Keddie cabin murders remain a haunting and unsolved chapter in true crime history. Despite the emergence of new evidence and suspects, justice for the Sharp family remains an unfulfilled promise. The shadows cast by the Sierra Nevada pines continue to guard their secrets. And the legacy of the Keddie Cabin murders leaves an incident indelible mark on Keddie Resort forever. Etching a chilling tale in the annals of the resort's history. I have always had a morbid curiosity. From true crime crime podcasts to documentaries to books and spending hours online looking up killers both infamous and obscure. In fact, when I was in the fifth grade, my parents had to come in and talk to the teacher when I told the class about the body farms the FBI uses to teach future agents to identify how long corpses have been dead for. I devoured this kind of stuff and still do. But it wasn't until I met Matt, my roommate at college, that this hobby was taken up a notch. Like me, Matt was into the same things, only his parents were rich and gave him enough money so that he could go on what he called death tours where he could go see where murderers lived, where they worked, and even to the sites of their grisly murders. And since I was his friend and into the same things as he was, he would pay for my ticket and bring me along. The first place we went was where HH Holmes Murderer Castle once stood. Since it was no longer there, we both thought this was a bit of a letdown. A shame too, because he was my favorite serial killer. Lots of people look at me odd for claiming I have a favorite serial killer or when I explain that I love true crime and all its gory details. It's not like I am dangerous or anything. I just want to know how someone could go ahead and actually kill someone. Everyone has thought about it, but to actually go ahead and do it is. Well, that's what I find fascinating. The summer break before our senior year, we decided to decided to take off to Arizona to explore where Mateo Salazar hunted for nearly 20 years before he was caught and executed. When Matt suggested this destination, I didn't know who Mateo Salazar was. So Matt showed me his stats, all the people that he killed, how long he was active, etc. His crimes were so gruesome that I was surprised that I had never heard of him. He would abduct people, give them strange tattoos before skinning them alive, and then kill them. No one knows why he skinned people he forced tattoos on, but it's suspected that it was part of a strange and twisted religious ritual. Also, the exact number of people that he murdered is a topic of contention, but it is anywhere between 35 and 50.
- [49:41]
B
Shortly after he was caught, the area
- [49:42]
A
he hunted in became a ghost town. Not just because no one wanted to
- [49:47]
B
live in a place where that many
- [49:48]
A
murders happened, but because it was so isolated that there were no jobs to keep people around. Since then, it became a sort of grim tourist attraction dedicated to the man who killed so many. When we got there, I expected to see a tour guide, but other than the dust being kicked up by the wind and the abandoned buildings, there was very little to see. I would have thought that there would have been at least someone in the
- [50:16]
B
gift shop, which was the former post
- [50:18]
A
office, but that too was empty. Most of the things in the small and dust covered gift shop were knickknacks and not interesting to either Matt or I. However, there was one thing that caused a cold shiver to creep up my spine. Under a glass counter was Mateo Salazar's death mask, taken shortly after his execution. Beneath it were the last words he spoke, and when I read them, it sounded more like a curse. My work is not finished. It will never be finished. I'll be back. Matt was not bothered by this, but for some reason that I cannot articulate, I was. I had to leave. But instead of telling Matt the mask made me feel uneasy, he would have teased me if I did. I just told him I'm going off to explore.
- [51:15]
B
Which was true.
- [51:18]
A
All over town there were plaques. Some gave a brief history of a building and others were about the people who lived or worked there. Most of them were either Salazar's victims or friends who were oblivious to the horrible things that he did when he was alive.
- [51:35]
B
Like always, I took tons of pictures
- [51:38]
A
while Matt ran off to do his own thing. In hindsight, I wish I had followed him around. Maybe things would have been different if I had. After a few hours had passed, I realized that I hadn't seen him around for a long time. It wasn't like the town was large enough to get lost in. In an hour, I had been down every major road, and after two hours, I saw mostly everything the town had to offer. Yet there was no sign of Matt or anyone else. I wondered if this was one of his tricks, like he was going to jump out and try to scare me or something. If you know Matt, you would know that this would not have been a surprise. However, if he was going to jump out and scare me, he was displaying an uncharacteristically amount of patience because I hadn't seen any sign of him since leaving the gift shop. I called out to Matt after seeing all all I could in that ghost town, but there was no reply. It's hard to explain how it felt having an entire town to myself. The best word I can come up with is eerie, but that falls short. Thankfully, Matt didn't jump out to scare me, but the look on his face hinted that he did something he should not have done. But I was too scared and cranky from walking all day day to ask him about it. Driving back to the hotel, Matt asked me what I thought of the town and I told him that I was sort of let down by it. I was hoping that there was more to see, at least a tour guide that could have told us what the Internet couldn't. I assumed that Matt wouldn't have been disappointed with my opinion, but it didn't bother him. After a long moment I turned to look at him and saw a smile that did little to hide some mischievous deed. I asked what he did, but instead of answering he said he would rather show me when we get back to the hotel and I knew I was not going to like what he would say. Back at the hotel, he opened up the backpack that he had with him all day and pulled out the death mask of Mateo Salazar are he had stolen it from the gift shop with a smile. He said he was going to hang it up on the wall back at the dorm. Needless to say, I was upset about this, even more so when he said it was all right because he looked and there were no cameras, as if I was mad that he might get caught and not because he stole something. I was tired and I didn't want to fight. It wasn't like it would have done either of us any favors if I did. So I decided to drink at the hotel bar for the remainder of the night. When we got back to the dorms, Matt stayed true to his word and hung up the death mask on the living room wall. There it served as an interesting conversation piece when we had guests. It didn't take long before our guests claimed that they were getting a weird feel feeling from it. When asked about it, they said it wasn't so much as the feeling of being watched, which was also the case, but more like it was radiating evil. At first we considered this nonsense. No one had that feeling before we told them about its origins, so we chalked it up as the placebo effect. In truth, though, sometimes it gave me the creeps. I too would get the feeling of someone watching me when I was alone. In the weeks that followed, I would be doing something for class, reading a book, or researching something online, and in the corner of my eye I could have sworn that its Eyes were open. However, every time I looked, its eyes were shut. I told myself it was the trick of the light, my imagination, or that I should take it easy with the edibles. However, none of that explained how Matt's behavior changed. He started missing classes. He stayed out all night and hardly spoke to me. I should have done something, but at the time, the only thing I could think of was talking to his parents. Sometimes, when he thought I was asleep in my room, I could hear. Hear Matt talking to himself. One night I spied on him and discovered that he was actually talking to the death mask. I needed a break from this and decided to go to a party. I didn't go with Matt, not because of how much he changed, but because parties were never his scene. So I was a little surprised to see him standing in the corner looking at everyone at the party. The way he was looking at people wasn't like his usual self. It wasn't like he was trying to build up the nerves to talk to a girl. That caught his eye. It reminded me of the way a reptile looked at something cold and unfeeling. Eyes calculating to decide if it was worth the effort to go after. Coming up with an excuse not to return to the dorm room was a no brainer. I needed a break from Matt, so that night I slept at my girlfriend's house. The next morning, I was reluctant to return, but when I did, I saw police cars in the parking lot and on the grass next to the doors. People were crying and holding each other. When I asked what happened, they told me my roommate killed a girl while I was gone. I refused to believe it, but then someone showed me a video on their phone of the police marching Matt out of the dorms as he was laughing. The police interviewed me and I cooperated to the best of my ability. They didn't ask about Mateo Salazar's death mask, so I never mentioned it. After a few hours of interrogation, I was free to go. But I was warned not to leave town. The people in the dorms treated me like a leper and kept away from me. Not surprising. After all, it wasn't a secret that the two of us had the same interests. And it was only natural to assume that I was involved with the murders too. The details of Matt's crimes came out over the next few days, and to me they sounded exactly like Mateo Salazar's. He abducted three people, two girls and a guy, and killed them. Rumor was he also gave them tattoos and skinned them. I couldn't help but to think of Salazar's death mask if I wasn't already freaked out by it. Hearing the details of Matt's crimes was the straw that broke the camel's back and I decided to get rid of it. However, before I could throw it in the trash, someone knocked on the door. When I answered it, I was surprised and confused to see two people who didn't look like they were police or FBI. Not only were they hairless, but they also had bright orange coveralls. After asking who they were and what they wanted, the shorter of the two angels answered in a monotone voice and said they just wanted the mask. I would have given it to them for free, but they pulled out a checkbook and asked me to name my price. When I said the number, I thought they would haggle me, but they didn't blink and wrote out the check. Surprised at this sudden windfall of money, I didn't say or do anything to stop them when they let themselves in in and took the mask off the wall. They left without a word after taking the mask and I watched them depart down the hallway. On the back of their coveralls was the same name on the check, the Catadesmos Museum. Okay, so what I'm about to tell
- [59:59]
B
you is completely true.
- [60:01]
A
About seven years ago, both me and my girlfriend were on the run together. We had both gotten in trouble and decided to catch a Greyhound from North Carolina to Missouri to stay with some friends. To make a long story shorter, we ended up in Springfield, Missouri and rented a house with a buddy of mine named Stoney. The house we moved into ended up being a very creepy place. Me and my girlfriend could both feel something wrong about it, and we told Stoney that we thought it might be haunted. He wasn't the type to believe in the paranormal, and for the most part I wasn't either. Until a few days down the road, me and my girlfriend had to leave for the weekend and wouldn't return until the following Tuesday day. When we finally got back to the house, Stoney was sitting on the front porch looking really freaked out and dismayed. I asked him what was going on and he replied, you guys were right. Something isn't right about this place. He wouldn't specify what he meant, but it was clear to see that something had scared the crap out of him. My buddy wasn't a cupcake either. He was a tough little dude who wasn't really scared of anything. He had even broken out of jail before, but he refused to go back in that house unless we were in there with him. We ended up Moving our mattress into his room because he didn't want to sleep alone. It was a rainy day outside and I was off of work, so I decided to rent a couple of movies. We pulled our mattress beside stoney's and turned on the tv. Stoney randomly asked if we would pray with him, so we all stood in the center of the room and said a prayer. While he was praying, I was overtaken by this terrible feeling. It almost felt like we were upsetting something by praying. As I backed away, I started to
- [61:57]
B
feel really weird and dizzy.
- [61:59]
A
So I got in the bed and laid my head in my girl's lap. I slipped into tunnel vision and was paralyzed for the next couple of minutes. Hearing voices. There was a very deep pulverizing voice that scared me to the core. Talking to what I perceived to be a human female. The deeper voice was not a regular human. It almost sounded metallic in a way, for lack of better description. I remember it bragging about how it had been around for a forever and that it was immortal. It said that humans were stupid beasts and did not deserve to live. I remember it specifically saying that we were poisoning ourselves for some reason. The female voice asked, should we take him now? And the other voice said, no, he's killing himself and we'll see him soon. Soon enough. I started thinking to myself, is this thing talking about me? Do they know that I can hear them? The very moment I had this thought, they began saying things that were specifically about me. They were naming all of these bad things that would happen to me in the future while seemingly getting off on my fear at the same time. They said my girl would leave me and I would end up alone. Alone and in prison where I would be repeatedly assaulted and stabbed. The way they were laughing about these things was truly evil and disturbing. They were literally getting off on my fear. It was a bloodthirsty evil that I can't even put into words. For the two to three minutes this was going on, I couldn't move a muscle. I wanted to get my girl's attention. Tension. But I could not move my finger to even scratch her leg. Then all of a sudden, the voices stopped and I could move again. As soon as my girl saw my face, she could tell something was terribly wrong. For the next week, I was shook up and ended up spending a lot of time on the porch with stoney until we all moved out of that house. Before you judge me, just know that I wasn't on anything. I have never suffered from any kind of mental mental illness and I have never heard voices before or after that day. People try to tell me it was sleep paralysis, but I never closed my eyes or dozed off at any point in time. Regardless of what anyone may think, I know that what I heard that day was demons. I want people to know that true evil is real and not just an imaginary thing that we humans use to blame all of our flaws on. I use this day to remind me that true evil exists and to keep me in check and on the right path. When I remember the reality of what happened and the sound of that voice, it still shakes me. I hope that none of you guys ever have to encounter what I did that day. Just take my word for.