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Hey, weirdos, I'm Ash. And I'm Elena. And this. This right here is morebid.
It's a listener tails. Which means that this is brought to you by you from you and all about you. Yay! Wait, did I fuck it up?
No, it's not great. I loved it. I've never had you from you and all about you. You said it.
No. But brought to you by you for you from you and all about you. You just keep saying it. I do.
You're like, I don't know if that's not true. I know it feels wrong. It feels right to me. So here we are.
We're back with another listener tails episode. I hope that you guys dug Brad's listener tail. How could you not have? It was our honor to give him a full-ass episode.
He got straight up on her. Because that was a harrowing tail and it was beautifully crafted. It really was. I just have to tell you, Brad, thank you so much again because that was great.
Brad made me very afraid of my basement though. Yeah. I was all around there to feed the cats at night. Yeah, no.
Thank you. Thank you so much. I had somebody growls at me. Yeah, I don't want that.
But that was a fun one. It's been fun being able to do so many listener tails. And we got some do'sies for you today. We do.
Brought to us really from dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub dub Do in the most forever. In the first tale she picked for us today comes an attachment that broke my heart. I know. But the headline is my 70 year old mother fought off a homeless man who stole her quote unquote God damn purse.
And she like really thought because she is like covered in black and blues all over her face. But she's got a smile on her face. She's she's a yeah, she's she's also a photo of a beautiful child with a ziggy Stardust like Aladdin saying like a lightning bolt across the face and it's amazing and wonderful. And there's a cat that looks like Lux.
There you go. Beautiful family over here. All right. Well, I said the subject lines.
Let's get into it. Let's go. Hello, my love. I'm going to get like Lloyd Christmas.
Hello, my love. I don't know if I did that right or not. But I did it real quick and you can have fast forward through this if you want. Never.
I adore your podcast so so much. I'm always listening to it and re listening. Even my daughter Addison love listens with me. Oh, I said love.
What a wow. Beautiful. Wow. Love you love your kid.
And this person said but only after carefully previewing this inner tail. Very smart. I sit when quote the mom tells ghosts that she's going to throw hands if they try to scare her kids. Yes.
Anyway, as my mother would say when I started to ramble as a child, okay kid, 25 words or less. Amazing. My dad always says land the plane Elena. Yep.
He says land the plane anyway. And I also say that to people. So you know, family. No, which would actually immediately silence me as I catalogued the number of words I had.
I was working a few years back when I got a frantic call for my dad that my mom was attacked by a homeless person and then was rushed to the hospital. Since this was during COVID, we basically had to wait with binoculars outside the hospital to find out what happened. We were in that position too. Yeah.
We had to like call the hospital and be like hello. When she finally came home, she said some homeless man was walking through traffic, dragging a street sign as you do. Yes. He let go of the sign and started banging on driver's doors.
As traffic started to move, my mom's car moved closer to the light, but it turned red before she could leave the road that this man was on. Oh, that's very wonderful. She thought the man locked eyes with my mom and started banging on the hood of her car and screaming. Oh my God, I would be so fucking pissed.
My mom looked up at the man and was like, and like the true New Yorker she is, she said, get the fuck out of my way, asshole. Your mom, legend. He then walked along the passenger side of the car, ripped open the door and screamed, what are you going to do? Oh, so scary.
Run you over. She also noticed my mother's purse on her passenger seat and decided to snatch it. My mom called the man a son of a bitch, put her car in park in the middle of the highway, and took after the man. When the homeless man got to the sidewalk, there were two other men that had noticed his less than normal behavior and were trying to de-escalate the situation by kind of sheep dogging him in one direction.
My 70-year-old mom with her cat-like reflexes thought this was the moment to retrieve her belongings. She noticed the man was holding her purse behind his back so she lunged for it. They engaged in a bit of tug-of-of-war, tug-of-war, tug-of-war, tug-of-war for maybe half a second. She's 70-allen, clearly something was going on with him.
Yes. She was pulling her down a ravine along the side of the road. Think Princess Bride, but more... Oh, we owe in the Saaas, you wish.
Oh my gosh. I'm both horrified and laughing at how you just described it. You just threw your mom down a ravine. He's a fool, you're 70-year-old mother into a ravine.
And the fact that you just compared that to the S you wish. She was killing me. Iconic. By the time my poor mom had climbed back from the gutter, the police had arrived and were taking statements with blood pouring down her face.
She asked them if she could trouble them for a car ride to the hospital after I moved my car. Amazing. They immediately called for an ambulance and she was able to contact my dad with the details of what had happened and give him a heart attack on the way to the hospital. Maybe they're babe.
Jesus. When we asked her what she was thinking going after him like that, she said, he's still my goddamn purse. There you go. Unbelievable.
She got away with quite a bit of bruising but no broken bones in the serious injury. Anyway, the guy was charged with disturbing the piece theft assault and solicitation because he asked the police woman who arrested him for a blowjob. LOL. Jesus.
This guy was going through it. Yeah. I've included photos of the wounded warrior, which broke my heart. I know.
Thank you for all that you do, ladies, for the victims, for their families and making their memories and initiatives for change, or smoking, oh sorry, and making sure their memories and initiatives for change are spoken about. Many who have lost their voices have been restored through the courage and authenticity of your words. Oh, geez. That was like really sweet.
I know. That was such a nice way to say that. You guys touched my soul with that. It also attacks a 70 year old woman in her car.
Seriously. Who does that? Your mom looks so sweet. She looks adorable.
Even if she wasn't sweet and adorable, you can't just do that to people. She just looks adorable though. If this is her and your dad together, shut up. You guys are adorable.
I can't. Your whole family is so cute. But you know what a badass your mom is? She was like, no, that's mine.
Yeah. She got flung down a ravine. Seriously. She came back.
Wow. What a way to tell that. I appreciate it. You killed it.
So my next tale is called The Boots, a tale of haunting, sleep deprivation, to sleep deprivation and being made for walking because even demon boots need to be comfortable. I mean, they do. And for some reason, deprivation is deprivation. Okay.
Okay. I just said that three different times. And I was like, this isn't the right word. And you wrote it right.
You wrote it right. Yeah. For some reason, my brain just would not come out with that. Well, thank you for saying that.
I just was going to let it slide. But then you asked. I'm going to say it again for you because, you know, you wrote it right. My brain just like would not shit out that word.
It was like, nope, you don't know that word. It's because you're also just going to say, you know, funny enough, I'm very sleep deprived right now because, you know, we moved the almost three year old into a big girl bed trying to get this shit moving and she still doesn't want to sleep backwards. So, you know, we're going to get there. We're going to get there.
I'm working off of like 45 minutes of sleep. But here we are. You know what her motto is? It's, uh, what a rock and roll.
Yes. That is her motto. It's body head every day. That's her whole last motto.
She certainly rocks and rolls all night. And parties every day. It's every day. She does.
So yeah, we're going to get there though. Which any other, you know, parent or parental figure that is also super sleep deprived right now, I feel you. I'm going to read this again. The boots, a tail of haunting sleep deprivation and being made for walking because even demons need to be comfortable nailed it.
There you go girl. Hello my morbid ladies. See my attached putta fah 12.5 space for a truly spooky tale from my family to you titled the boots, the tail of haunting sleep deprivation and being made for walking because even even both need to be comfortable. Love you both.
And so excited to share with you this with you and the rest of the morbid family. XOXO, Lauren. What's the title though? The boots.
I want to see you guys come to me. Alright, it says ash Elena. My ladies and spookery. It's your girl Lauren.
You can use my name and please wear it out. I will. Okay Lauren. I will.
Sounds good Lauren. Thank you Lauren. It was almost two years ago now that my lovely coworker Hannah brought you to my attention. We love Hannah.
A kind, nerdy and compassionate friend. Everyone needs that kind of friend. True. But I also must give credit to my saucy badass mother who introduced the podcast to me during a puzzle and wine evening.
This is amazing. Your mom sounds like a badass. Since then a tradition in my family has been born. An evening of morbid puzzles and booze.
Iconic. The fact that there's puzzles involved in this, you don't even realize how on the nose that is. I love a puzzle in my family now and I used to be in my friends in high school where like super nerds and we used to do puzzle nights of like 5,000 piece puzzles. They did.
My parents said they did. So you know what? You're right on it. You're right on it.
Puzzles are where it's at. I didn't find my love of puzzles until after high school. That's okay. You found it.
Yeah. So keep bonding moment. Gasping and unison at the wild twist of tall hot blonde murder episode. Wanted you to know we all love you guys and thank you for being part of our holidays now.
I love that we're part of them. Absolutely. Lauren. Lauren.
Thank you. Now before we start you must know your storytelling research and comedy skills are exquisite. Ooh. So are you.
I'm not a pal's and fellow psych fascinated queens in true crimes. Sorry. I can't speak either. I also had oral surgery and I still have the stitches in so everyone's in a while like a stitch because they need to come out in like two days and everyone's in a while a stitch will just like raise my tongue.
So I'm like, oh, I'm sorry about that. I'm also sorry about that visual. I just gave you. I've been waiting for the right moment to compile this story into a nice put-off for Ash and the time has finally come.
So buckle up ladies. This is a story of creepy occurrences throughout childhood that came colliding together one evening. Only three years ago. Ooh.
To set the scene. I grew up in the Oregon countryside where it's more forest than farmland. Did you go in the Oregon trail? My parents moved us from the city to the country when my brother was six and I was nine and our house was pretty rad.
It was built in the 70s and surrounded by trees. But it had a couple, let's call them unique features. For one, it was built into the incline of a hill. That's amazing.
So my brother and I's rooms were downstairs at the end of the house that was into the incline. What that means is our windows were window wells. AKA, we had small stone stairs that went down to our windows. What?
That's badass. That's really cool. We had natural light of course, but that was spooky feature number one. Next the house had a really weird hidden interior room.
The only way to enter this room which had no windows was a window door that was older than all the other doors in the house that was tucked away in the laundry room. A wooden door. I'm obsessed with this door. Really cool.
It had a deadbolt lock on the inside as well as a wall of mirrors. My mom's intuition and small smarts came in clutch. Or small smarts. I cannot today.
My mom's intuition and street smarts came in clutch when the first thing she did was add French doors to the room and remove the deadbolt lock and mirrors. It's basically become a makeshift home office but no one really liked to spend time in there anyway. To this day I have no idea why a room like that existed in the first place besides having nefarious purposes. I digress.
Now let me just say that this is where being the older child that has plot armor against goats, wait, excuse me, let me just say that this is where being the older child that has plot armor against ghosts was kick ass. I don't know if I read that right, but sorry to all the youngest children out there that bear the brunt of spooky experiences like my brother Todd and yes you can use his name too. Now Todd had a couple of run-ins with sleepwalking prior to us moving into his house. But it hit an all-time high once we lived there.
It was so bad that my mom would prop chairs against doors downstairs so he couldn't walk out into the forest. And even at the small ponds around the garden filled in out of fear he would sleepwalk into one of them and drown. It was pretty severe. What a good mama.
His room was at the end of the hall and he would have to pass my door to reach anything else. I kid you not when I say that I would catch him sleepwalking numerous nights a week. I would be awoken by his movement and intercept him before he could reach the end of the hall most of the time. Then redirect him slowly and quietly back to his bed so to not wake him up and scare him.
I would say that my success rate for catching him was pretty good. But he told me later that he once woke up outside in the woods. My mom once heard him from upstairs and met him at the stairway where she asked him what are you doing and he replied in his monotone sleepwalking state something I shouldn't be doing. Oh my god talk about creepy Todd but I also felt bad.
He did not like his room and got scared in there a lot. The nights he didn't sleepwalk he slept in my room. I had a trundle bed which I would pull out whenever he was too scared to sleep in his own room. Can I get some big sister kudos right there?
Yes you can. You know what Lauren kudos. Good job Lauren. My mom once tried putting our two childhood dogs Luke and Leia because hell yeah we were all major nerds.
I love that for you. In there to sleep with him. But the next morning Leia had crawled so far under his bed to hide in a corner that it was hard to get her out. I have to wonder what she saw.
Oh no. I also wonder that. I will say that while I was never very scared in that home it always felt a little off. Like you were being watched.
I have only had sleep paralysis once in my life and it was in that home. I remember seeing a tall dark swaying figure in my doorway that slowly moved towards me. It gives me the chills to think about it still. Years later Todd is an avid collector of scary stories.
We were talking about the country house when I finally got to ask him what about that room scared him so badly. He told me it was the boots. Look. Oh man.
When I asked him what he meant he said that at night he would see a pair of blue old leather working boots standing at his window. What? Shifting slowly back and forth like the wearer was rocking. No.
No. I was in the mirror window on the wall left of his bed. It was only 12 inches high and was right above the ground. Remember the house was built into an incline.
So while we were not totally underground on the bottom floor it was still ground level towards the back of the house. He never saw legs or more of the individual wearing the boots just boots facing the window. I don't know what I thought he was going to say but that was not it. No.
I did not see this coming nor did I. He told me I tried replicating standing there where the boots were during the day but he was just staring at the side of the house. I thought it was creepy but there wasn't much else to say about why he saw them and he hadn't seen them since he moved out of that home. Three years later I was home for the holidays from college and we were sitting around the kitchen with my dad when Todd brought up the country house.
Not the boots but more about how we all felt weird in that home. We talked about how we all had recurring nightmares and wondered if they meant anything. When we asked my dad if he had a recurring nightmare from childhood and without hesitation he told us that when he was a kid he used to have a recurring nightmare being followed by a pair of boots. Is that genetic?
What? A tall figure without detail wearing a pair of boots that followed him constantly. Ooh. Silence.
My stomach plummeted through my body and I remember looking at Todd who had got a little pale. Todd immediately asked what kind of boots were they? Dad said worker type boots. What construction workers wear?
It was unreal. Todd followed up again. What color were they? Dad replied.
Blue. Why? No. And blue construction boots are not everywhere I would say.
I know I'm trying to picture them and I'm like what shade of blue were these? I know because I just keep thinking of the yellow or khaki colored construction boots. Yeah. Like I'm thinking you're like tins.
Todd and I sat there just dumbfounded and absolutely spooked. What are the odds? But then my morbid ladies, a realization hit me that I've never shaken to this day. If someone wearing boots was standing at Todd's window they would be looking directly into mom and dad's bedroom.
My chill bumps have chill bumps and those chill bumps have chill. Stop it. Stop it immediately. You see when Todd stood where the boots were as a child he was too short to reach the height of the window to my parents room which was located above ours.
An adult of average height standing in the same spot would be staring straight at their bed. Ew. Even weirder that window is the only window in the house my mom put a half curtain. Knowing we didn't have neighbors are concerned for people to look in our windows being in the countryside.
It never made sense to me why she only put curtains on that one window. When we asked her later she said it felt unsettling to not have a curtain there. In fact she insisted on having curtains there. All mentuition.
Yeah she knew what was up. When we connected the dots that night we all sat in disbelief for a moment because after all these years the boots that scared Todd and stood in his window were never meant for him. It was the boots that followed my dad staring at him at night. Luckily none of us have encountered the boots since.
Perhaps they just needed a good creepy stair session in before moving on to torment someone else but the haunting is terrifying nonetheless. I guess the moral of the story is that when moms want curtains you trust that intuition with your life and that trundle bed should never go out of style. Agreed. And with that take it away Ash I've always wanted to write that.
Keep it weirder but not so weirder that you have boots that haunt you for the rest of your entire life and they stand in like a part where you have the cool windows that lead into the stairs but they're staring at your dad sleeping and it's really creepy and I'm happy that your mom put a window there. Yeah. And what's even weirder is the fact that it's like those boots weren't even meant for Todd. And they weren't even meant for walking.
They were meant for serenem for hanging. These boots are made for hanging. For residual hauntings. I also love the whole two.
Exactly. I love that the moral of the story too is always trust mom's intuition on curtains. Yes. And trundle bed should never go out of style.
I agree with both of those things. Also XOXO Lauren. Wow. Thank you Lauren.
Thank you Lauren. Lauren. Lauren. Lauren Lauren Lauren Lauren Lauren Lauren for the win.
Yay. Alright. Pal. Let's go.
My next listener tale is called Where's Mario? Where's he? I don't know because I haven't heard this yet but he said hey weirdos. In 1987 I was a senior at a small Midwestern university.
It was my last semester and I had finished all my degree requirements and just needed elective credits so I was pretty free to pick and choose which classes I wanted to take. I had two requirements. One it had to be something that I was actually interested in and two it had to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That second one was important.
I really felt like I needed a four day weekend with another day off in the middle of the week. Don't we all? Yes. I had a couple of classes that fit the bill.
I honestly don't remember what one of them was but the one we're concerned with here was crime and criminology. That sounded really interesting. Little did I know. On the first day of class I sat in the back next to a window.
Excuse me, I have panic disorder and being able to look out a window and focus on whatever is going on outside is always a better alternative than having to leave the room especially in a classroom full of people. As other students drifted in a guy sat in the desk next to mind and he immediately stood out because he was older than everybody else in the class. Where most students were late teens to early twenties this guy looked to be 40ish. The bell rang signaling the start of the class.
The instructor said since it was the first day that he wanted to call role to make sure everybody was where they were supposed to be. He called everybody's name and we all responded here when we heard our names. Afterward the instructor asked if there was anybody's name who he didn't call. The 40ish guy next to me raised his hand.
When the instructor asked him what his name was, he said it was Mario. Hey Mario. Hey Mario, welcome to class. The next time the class met, Mario didn't sit next to me.
He took a seat right in front of, excuse me, in the front row right in the center. And from that day forward he proceeded to be a huge pain in the ass. Oh no. You know the guy in every class who asks nonstop questions and who you always want to throw a punch with you.
He says unless someone has a question and a student can't even wait for the end of the sentence before he launches his hand into the air. I fucking hate that person. And you know the other guy in every class who's in know it all and always has some sort of comment or additional information about everything the instructor says. Well, Mario is both of those guys rolled into one big jackass.
That's the worst. Well that was my opinion and that of the others who sat in my back corner of the room based on all the eye rolling that one in that section every time Mario's hand went up. There were others on the other side of the room who were clearly impressed by his erudition. Wow, that's a fun word.
These were mostly jocks and cheerleaders and others of the hard thinking crowd and could be seen asking him instead of the instructor questions after class. Mario clearly enjoyed this fan club and invited his minions to a weekly evening study session at his house. I don't know how many went regularly, but I know at least a few did. As the middle of this semester approached the instructor informed us that we had to write a midterm paper.
I would have cried. Everyone groaned and the instructor said that if we didn't want to do that he would give us the option instead of giving an oral presentation to the class. No, I'll write a paper. Well, no one in their right mind wanted to do that.
So we resigned ourselves to the idea that a midterm paper was our collective future. Well, most of us did anyway. Imagine my shock and disgust when a few weeks later I walked into the classroom to find Mario and a suit and tie setting up a slide projector. Oh shit, I thought.
Of course this asshole is going to do an oral presentation. Remember when I said no one in their right mind? My first impulse was to turn around and leave, but the instructor, I can't say that word. We're having a time for our instructor, had walked in right behind me.
Damn it, I was trapped. I begrudgingly went to my seat and sat down wishing that I was anywhere but about to listen to Mario's self, a grandeis cement. A grandeis cement. You got it.
Of the cheerleaders and drops of my people, sorry, for the next 90 minutes. So class again and Mario proceeded to tell us that he was a former police officer from Florida and a former professor of criminal justice at a university in Florida. Well, that explained how he knew all this stuff, but it did not explain why, having said all that, he was in this class, which I immediately thought was weird. I also immediately thought that was weird.
Yeah, I would say so. But then again, I thought that Mario was weird in general. So whatever. He then told us that he was going to show us some actual crime scene photographs.
Oh, and use them to illustrate what detectives look at for when investigating a crime scene. Okay, I had to admit that this sounded like it might be sort of interesting. But in typical Mario fashion, it went way too far. He started showing us pictures of people with their throat slash, their faces shot off, all sorts of horrific stuff.
And while it was sort of interesting, hearing how they looked at blood spatter and other things like Levidity and Kid Daveric spasm, and that sort of thing, it was just too graphic. With each slide, people were fleeing the room and discussed in terror. I kept my focus as much as possible at looking out the window. Finally, the instructor told him to stop.
It's too much, she said. Well, Mario was clearly offended and not happy at all that he didn't get to finish his presentation. He was packing up his slides, he offered to give the full uncensored presentation one evening at his house for anyone who wanted to see it in its entirety. This is so weird.
I don't know if anybody took him up on that, but I'd be surprised at least some of his I would be surprised if at least some of his study buddies did not. The second half of the semester went pretty much like the first, with Mario never shutting up, asking too many questions, making way too many comments, and just generally making a nuisance of himself. Finally, the end of the semester arrived, and it was the day where we were to take our final exams. I arrived early and I took my seat.
Other students filed in as the top of the hour got nearer and nearer. There was some concern among Team Mario that their mentor had not yet arrived. When the bell rang, there still was no Mario. Surely he's not going to miss an opportunity to show how much he knows I thought, because the instructor started handing out tests.
Where's Mario? Someone asked the instructor as he returned to his desk. How would I know? He responded and then added, he knows what time our glass meets.
Typical college instructor. I quickly forgot about Mario when I started on my exam. When I finished, I handed it in and I left the campus. On my way home, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a snack, and as I walked in, I happened to glance down at the newspaper dispenser.
I stopped dead in my tracks because right there on the front page was a picture of Mario in handcuffs. Oh my god. Surrounded by the police. What the hell?
Me too. As I leaned in closer and read the caption. However, the name under the picture was not Mario's. I looked again.
It wasn't exactly a close up. The photo had been taken at a distance. So I shrugged it off and wrote it off as being somebody who looked like Mario. Tipping that last sentence all these years later, I wonder why my brain didn't process the photo and the fact that Mario had missed class.
The final exam, no less, had to be related. Seems like a pretty easy two plus two to put it together, but somehow it didn't register with me at that moment. Why would you assume that this is real? Yeah, you're in shock.
I got my snack and I went home. And when I got there, the newspaper was in the driveway. So I picked it up. I sat down.
It's like the boots. Picture man. Oh, it's a pick me a newspaper. Yeah.
I sat down and I opened it again, seeing that photo on the front page. Damn, I said that really looks like Mario. So I read the story and I just about lost my shit. It was about a guy who had been arrested the day before.
He had been wanted by the FBI for a year and a half for an execution style slaying in Florida. He was a former police officer in Florida and a former instructor of criminal justice at a community college in Florida. And to have been attending our local college under the assumed name Mario blank. I left out the last name because the identity he assumed was that of a child who had died and I would hate to see that cause that family any unnecessary goodness.
What a horrible person monster to say I freaked out is an understatement. Indeed, I'd even say I was traumatized to some extent. For years, I had nightmares about those photographs that he showed us in class. And I can still see a couple of them vividly in my mind, even 35 years later.
I despise him for that. Still, it makes it for a great story to tell. And in a group, it can be pretty much it can pretty much top it. Yeah, I would say so.
Flash forward to a decade, a flash forward a decade or so to the mid 90s when the internet became a thing. I was telling somebody about this guy and they asked if I ever wondered what happened to him. I hadn't, but after they asked me about that, I did begin to wonder. So I got online and I did some searching.
Basically, he pleaded no contest, no contest, excuse me, and was sentenced to 40 years, 20 years in jail and 20 years probation. Since he was so knowledgeable about the justice system, he was one of those guys who filed lawsuits trying to get out of serving his time. Unfortunately, he was eventually successful in finding a loophole and had his jail time reduced to 10 years in prison with the same 20 years probation. That 20 years span of probation saw a wild ride of him being re-arrested a couple times for breaking the terms of his probation and threatening the victim's family, as well as him complaining that his probation and ankle bracelet prevented him from becoming a nurse or living a normal life or some nonsensical bullshit like that.
One article I read reported that the judge told him at some point that he didn't seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation. He didn't seem to comprehend the gravity of the crime he had committed. Regardless, his probation eventually didn't. And that's why I didn't give my real name or mention his other than by the alias that he used, because this ship bag is still alive and out-lose amongst the public.
What? That's fucked. That's terrifying. Anyway, that's my story.
Oh, it's just that. I've attached a newspaper article for your off-podcast enjoyment. I have tons more info. Who knows?
I'm going to turn into an episode. Thanks for taking the time to read about this freak who was in my criminal life. Until next time. Keep it weird.
But that's where the governor is sitting by you in class and you don't even realize they sang a photo in the newspaper is why you missed the final exam. That's wild. Holy shit. And isn't it just so funny, you just really didn't like this guy and something about him was just off-time.
Yeah, and then something about him. You find that out? I'd be like, wow, my radar is phenomenal. Look at me in my intuition.
Look at me. Damn. In the fact that he was showing everybody crime scene photos and shit, he was probably loving that. And seeing people be disgusted and run out of the room, and mostly how you only get 20 years for shooting somebody execution.
Exactly. What the fuck? Wow, okay. That was a lot.
Thank you for that, anonymous. Wow, okay. So this next one is called Man Lived in My Basement Walls. No, thank you.
So there's that. So it starts off. Hello, ladies. I just wanted to start by saying I love your podcast.
I'm active duty military. Thank you. And recently decided to move one and a half hours away from base to live with my wife. So with a three hour daily commute, you guys keep me laughing and sing.
So thank you so much. You're welcome. You're welcome. And again, thank you.
Okay, so this all happened when I was 16 years old. I'm now 29 and it still sends shivers down my spine. I will start this by saying I'm far from an author, so bear with me. I'm sure you're doing a great job.
I would explain the setup of the house as I personally love to visualize stories when I hear them. It's a single floor house located in a very rough side of town in Birmingham, Alabama. It was white with a somewhat enclosed porch, typical southern style house with a swing and shrubbery. I can picture that.
I can't do it. It sounds beautiful. The side of the house had a carport which led to either steps going up to an elevated back porch. I would say about 10 to 15 feet above ground level and a second path which led down into a fenced backyard.
Under the porch was a door to our basement. The only access to this huge basement was through the backyard and that door. When we first moved in, I walked down to check it out and when I opened the door, it was like a fucking treasure room. Old antiques, tools, shelves lined with all kinds of awesome shit.
That sounds amazing. I'm terrified for you but I still love it. This basement was the size of the entire house so the back side was very dark and my scared ass never ventured further than about halfway. At first I would explore all the random items and look around but I always had an awful feeling that when the hair stands up on the back of your neck like your body is getting ready for fight or flight.
I was raised by a single mother and a sister so I'm used to being the man of the house even at a young age. Checking the scary noises, running away from the house, etc. But something about this fucking basement terrified me so I started avoiding it at all costs. Fast forward about two months.
We got a family dog who would go in the backyard and then comes inside with us at night. He was supposed to be our guard dog but holy shit did he fail at his job. Anywho, as I would go down to feed my dog, I would notice the basement door would be open. Okay, Alabama is windy and it's an old door.
Oops, I just lost my place. I'm sorry. It's an old door. Whatever.
I would close it and the next day it was open. So much that my mother started telling me to stop leaving the door open because she didn't want animals to get in our basement. After the eighth time of her telling me this, she started getting angry and I was pleading my case telling her I'm not leaving the damn door open. So I came up with a plan.
I found an old wooden dining room table chair someone had left on the street. I took it home, closed the door and propped it against it. Boom. Suck on that shit wind.
The next morning I walked my dog down to the backyard and when I turned the corner I shit you fucking not. The fucking chair was placed beside the basement and the door was open. Now I will start this by saying myself and my family do believe in the supernatural to a certain extent. And for some stupid ass reason that's exactly where my brain went right off the bat.
I flipped my ass around and sprinted to my house borderline panic attack setting in. I called my friend who lived across the street and asked if he would come take a look with me. When we arrived we smoked a joint on my front porch. Sorry mom.
So now we were feeling good and decided to go check it out. I love you to that one. You're chill first. We grabbed a flashlight.
Yes an actual flashlight and went to the backyard. We stepped into the basement walked two or three steps in on the support beam of the house. Someone wrote rat man with a marker. We noped the fuck out and never returned again.
So they saved rat man and I'm like nope. Five months later my family moved out of that house and some single gentleman moved in after us. My grandmother still stayed in that neighborhood and became friends with her new neighbor. Well as it would turn out six months after that man moved in he heard noises from the basement and apparently has balls made of fucking titanium because he decided to go into that dark area in the back and check it out.
There was a fucking man living in the walls. No, no, no, no. He had cut out portions and could somehow move along parts of the house in the wall. So every time I was exploring or heard noises coming from our walls that eerie feeling I had was because my body knew a fucking crazy man was staring at me from within the darkness.
What the fuck bro? Hopefully you and the listeners can get some kind of entertainment about terrifying moment in my life. I still hate basements now. Love you guys.
Oh my god. I love you. That's so creepy and I hate it. So you were living so every when that door was opening it was him going in and out of the house.
Oh and when that chair was gone it was because he moved the fucking chair. I hate it. Was he the rat man? Yeah he was.
Who wrote that? Did he write that? Did he leave? Hi, rat man was here?
It's also a little silly goofy because it reminds me of bro. Oh yes. We don't talk about Bruno. I know.
I hate that. I hate that. I hate that. Also Deb made sure to write a little note on it that said this is one of my biggest fears.
So that thank you for sharing that with us because it's holy shit. OMG. That was like terrifying. Absolutely hate it.
My next one is called listener tale. How Rex Allen Krebs built my bunk bed. Oh. That'll change you.
Hey weirdos, my name is Amanda Adams. Please use my name because I'ma freak out if I hear my story on your listener tails. Amanda freak out. Amanda.
I just wanted to say that Morbid is my number one favorite podcast and I'm also excited for Alimos people. Yay. A picture in the room at tinyRL.com slash the butcher in the red. As soon as I heard it announced and you can too by going to tinyRL.com slash the butcher in the room, thank you so much.
I probably watched too much ID channel with my mom growing up. And most people would find it odd that we share a passion for True Crime, but you guys just get us. We do. I feel like probably, oh, nope.
I, uh, you know, when you, when you realize go to the same line, you just read, yep, that happened. It happens. I feel like the way you talk about cases is more relatable than real than other podcasts. And I can still have a little laugh at times too.
It's the perfect mix for me. Thank you. Thank you. A little tidbit about myself.
I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. Whoa. I left the religion quite a few years ago, but in the last year or so, I have realized the impact it made on me. One thing is it made me feel bad for being interested in True Crime.
Now that I'm recovering from occult, I'm starting to embrace my passion that have recently started online school at the Arizona State University for Forensic Psychology. Get it, Amanda! At the age of 29. Hell yeah.
Now going to allow you to have been a huge inspiration for me. That's amazing. Thank you. That's fucking cool.
Yeah, Amanda. You've taught me not to care what other people think, and that it's okay to like the morbid side of things, as I want to say. Okay, and F.Gushing, I have attached up, put a foot, and it is double spaced. Thank you.
I hope you enjoy, and I know you always say not to apologize, but I'm not the best writer and can overthink what I say and have like five rough drafts typed up. So here we go. You're amazing and I love it already. It's already great.
It's amazing. Okay, it says, Rex Allen Krebs built my bunk bed and thank God for Mom's intuition. This is like a theme. Mom's intuition.
It is. It's so funny. It happens like randomly. Yeah, it does.
Alright, I live in the beautiful county of San Luis Obispo. Did I say that right? You did. Very cool.
Slow. Or slow. S.L.O. Slow.
In the state of Sunshine State of California. We are known for our beaches and forests all within a 30 minute drive. I just burped. I don't know if you heard that.
It was embarrassing. Sorry. I just like, I just burped. I didn't know if you guys heard it or not, but if you did that.
I did. That's what 12. So it's you said, but also we are known for our cases such as Ed Kemper. Kemper.
My campers. And Kiaver. Scott Peterson, Christian Smart, Rex Allen Krebs and many others. Wow.
Ed Kemper was held at Wow, Tasketero, Good. State Hospital, which was a five minute drive from my first home. Scott Peterson murdered Lacey and I had a sister named Lacey. I remember people calling our house asking if that was my sister who was missing.
Wow. Then there was Kristin Smart who went missing in 1996. Her case has recently been reexamined due to another podcast, her own backyard. Yes.