Transcript
Glenn Washington (0:06)
They've lost their homes to the fire to burn. I bring them warm blankets with care and concern. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Then I'll walk past the corner and pull out a match. You've crossed over to Spooked. Stay tuned. Big news in Spook land because this fall we're going on tour Spook Live. I can't wait. It's going to be awesome. And here's where you come in. Looking for amazing, mystical, magical storytellers who can rock their true story of touching the supernatural on stage in front of thousands of people. Do you know somebody who needs to be on the Spooked Live stage? Are you somebody who needs to be on the Spooked Live stage? Let me know. Spookednapjudgment.org Tell me about your relationship to the shadow, to the mystery unfolded over time. The twists, the turns, the shocks. Spooked Snap judgment. Cuz there is nothing better than a spook story from a spooked listener. Spooked@snapjudgment.org and don't turn out the lights.
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Unknown Advertiser (2:23)
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Unknown Advertiser (2:51)
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Glenn Washington (3:32)
Okay, so from the thermometer hanging outside the window. It's the kind of freeze that only happens after the blizzard. Coldest day of winter. Fourth grade. Ish. And I know, I feel that if I stay inside this trailer with my pops, something very bad is gonna happen. So I put on long johns on top of my long johns, socks on, socks on socks. My coat with the hood. And I step out into the blinding whiteness. Cold. Like the face of the moon. Cold. Everything. Snow. No trails into the woods. No paths. I walk slowly because you can't mess up here. No wrong steps. Winter doesn't care. Still, every move I make deeper into the woods, the more the fear falls away, the more the tear inside the house fades. No destination. Just movement. Cold crackles and snaps. Limb fulls of snow. I walk, making a game of how quietly I can move. If I'm slow, I can breathe. Silent as shadow. Deeper into the lost. Then I hear it. Something. Someone else in this tundra. I turn toward the almost sound. It can't out stealth me. Out step me. Slowly I push forward. Fearless. Then I see it. Closer than I would have imagined. A deer. 14 point buck. Magnificent antlers. If you are very, very lucky, you see this kind only once in your lifetime. He glares directly at me. Hot red blood drips from his muzzle onto the white snow. And I'm thinking it's hurt, probably shot. And I'm angry. It is not deer season. No one can legally shoot anything, not on our property. And not leave it wounded and suffering. And I. I don't understand what I'm seeing at its feet. A rabbit. Steam rising from its freshly ripped open belly. The deer glowers at me, protective of its prize. Then it bends its head down, bites, pulls, tugs a stretch of bloody viscera into its mouth and daring me to take a step forward toward the red stained snow. Feeds on the carcass. No, no, no, no, no. I take a step back then too. Because deers, they don't eat flesh. Deers are ruminants. Four chambered stomachs made for plants. Only for plants. Every Michigander knows this. So this, this ain't a deer. This is some kind of deer shaped monster. I don't even realize that I'm running until a low hanging branch knocks me down. I scramble back to my feet, frantic, sprinting, crashing, pushing away from that creature, that abomination. No more careful steps. Now running wild. I hear it. I hear something crashing through the woods beside me. Behind me. Running, running. Knocked back down, climbed back up. And finally, finally I see our trailer in the clearing. Sprinting toward It I see it. The dread leaking from the trailer like blood on snow. The fear that pushed me out of the warmth into the cold radiating like sick. I stop in front of my door. The hungry cold gathers sweat freezes on my lips, my forehead, my ears. I listen for footfalls following me. I listen for warning inside the house. I listen. I listen. And finally I turn terrified back into the woods. Spook starts There are many, many ways to walk the forest. Now let's meet Chaitanu Razdan. Just seven years old, living with his grandparents in the beautiful city of Jammu, India, the foothills of the Himalayas. Now, his grandfather would always tell him stories. But there was one story that he had kept to himself until right now.