Welcome to Scary Story podcast. Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say,
But how far would you go to make ends meet? My name is
Edwin, and here's a scary story. I know a lot of this might
be true for many of us nowadays, but what happened to me when I
first moved here was sort of a similar scenario. Things had gotten expensive.
I think only two of my friends actually had stable jobs, and even they
were worried that they lose them at any moment. I used to work in
sales, like a calling center, but more on the customer service side of
things, and had even moved up in the ranks to become shift leader at
the company, but that job was long lost after everything went down. Suddenly
people weren't signing up for additional cable services anymore. It was my friend Miriam
who first told me about it. She had been making some money by working
out one of the rich neighborhoods in the area along with her husband, who
both did yard work, pull maintenance and cleaning services. My husband at the
time was worried for me, thinking it was risky to go by myself into
houses of people with strange habits. Rich people are into weird things, he
would say. At the time, we still use calling cards, and the
way we'd keep in touch was to check in during lunch time through public telephones
and by borrowing phones from wherever we were. I had just learned how to
drive, and my license was still stuck on the piece of paper that was
mailed to me. The car we shared was in and out of the shop
all the time, but we had gotten a good streak of luck and nothing
had gone wrong in a while. I remember avoiding thinking about it to hopefully
keep it that way. It was a good idea, though. I could
make flyers post them up by their schools and parks and maybe get some customers
that way. Soon I would have no other option but to try it out.
My husband came home from work one day, upset over something that had
happened at work. He initially said that he had been asked to take a
couple of weeks off while the company got itself together, but we both knew
that it was over and then he would have to find a new place to
work. When I think about it now, I see just how bad the
situation had gotten. We were counting the number of things in the refrigerator shopping
with only coupons and with the ninety nine cents stores in order to get what
we needed. Our family would never be able to start this way. We
needed to make something work already. That same night, I wrote out my
information on pieces of notebook paper with a sharpie and walked toward the houses by
the nice neighborhoods. I felt odd taping it to the perfectly clean light posts,
but I had no other choice. I kept walking, and for another
hour I went through most of the area, posting my flyers until I ran
out. I went home, making sure that the volume of the phone was
up and that i'd be able to hear it in case anyone called. But
at least for that night, nobody did. Maybe I could sell things a
food license wasn't too expensive, sandwiches, breakfast, burritos, or fruit bowls.
For several days, my husband would go out early in the morning to
ask for work, and I would start walking around their houses in the neighborhood
to ask if they wanted cleaning services. Some were clearly not interested, and
others just didn't answer. I told my husband about going slightly higher up the
hills to leave some flyers. He wasn't too happy about that, but knew
that we both needed to sacrifice something otherwise the landlord would kick us out.
We had already fallen behind the month before. The area was very nice.
As expected, there were hardly any people walking around a very beautiful park.
I parked the car and grabbed the roll of tape and then started walking toward
the area where the benches were. When I started a short woman holding a
bunch of balloons. It looked like she was struggling dragging a large wooden sign
across the street, her high heels clacking against a perfectly dark asphalt. She
looked at me, smiled, and shouted, someone has to have the money
for a house, right, letting out a sudden nervous laugh. Hoping that
I would get the joke, everyone needed help, I walked over to her,
offering to help with the sign. It was for an open house just
down the street, or someone just needs the money, I replied, without
realizing how snarky I sounded saying it out loud. She started laughing loudly right
there in the middle of the street, nearly dropping her side of the sign
while I help with the other. We made it across the street and she
opened up the sign. The balloons had been saved all along, tied securely
to the hinge of the stand. Her sign was on a saw. Her
glance over at my fliers whispering cleaning services, and her eyes lit up.
U cling houses? Can you deep clean? Also? We can rent machines
if you don't have them, she asked in a rush. I think she
could tell that I was new at this. Yes, I cleaned. What
do I do? My voice was following her quick pacing. She told me
about the house she was doing the open house for that The owners were confident
they were going to be able to find a buyer in one day, and
they were very serious in saying so, and that they needed to sell as
soon as possible due to them needing the money for another place out of state.
The open house is tomorrow and they need someone cleaning in there. To
night. They had found two people, but they both left and the other
person they hired never showed up. I think the guys creeped them out.
Oh here was the thing again. My husband always talked about rich people in
their strange habits. What had they done in there? That was my first
question. The woman was about to keep explaining but I cut her off.
Yes, I'll do it, I interrupted. We got to talking a bit
before walking over to her car. I told her about the things that I
had, and she gave me a list of what I needed, saying that
we could go rent everything now at a nearby hardware store and bring it back
to my car. Basically a high powered vacuum, floor cleaner and stain removers.
I never used a floor cleaning machine, but I agreed. This woman
had come out of nowhere. Andrea was her name, and just as I
was thinking it, she turned over to me and said, jeez, am,
I glad I ran into you here. I was about to do the
cleaning myself. I mean, they're the ones paying. They say how much
they're paying fifteen hundred dollars, and they're paying for the equipment, gas and
disposal. You just have to load up the trash and take it to them.
Honestly, I couldn't believe it. That was almost twice the money I
needed for two months. Things were different, of course, much cheaper,
but still there was a lot of money back then. They'd neither trash,
I asked. Andrea told me that the owners hadn't gotten the chance to go
through everything, yet that their trash disposal services were cut off already, so
they wanted to sort everything out on their own. But the instructions were clear.
Put everything in the trash bags when I was done, leave them by
a place off of Travannito Street, and go home. She said that some
of the work had already been done and that all I would have to do
was load up everything and the money would be in the mailbox. And so
we got to the hardware store. A payphone was by the entrance, so
I told Andrea I had to make a call and that I would find her
inside, but she insisted on waiting for me outside, and I made it
quick. I called my husband, who was at home already four pm by
this point, and I told him that I had found a one off job,
that it would take me a while, that I would call him back
with the address. The machine was small, although heavy. The vacuum cleaner
was just a regular one, the one with the red bucket that would be
used for surfaces and stuff. We got some cleaning chemicals, brushes and gloves
and hopped back in her car. I had never met anyone like Andrea,
so organized and chaotic at the same time. Her car had a trash can,
smelt like lemon, and it was perfectly shiny from the outside. But
her keychain had a thousand keys, and she would drive without one of her
shoes, retouching her makeup. Every time we ended up at a stoplight in
a rush. There were two or three Kitcat wrappers on the cup holders.
Now, she said, their house has four rooms in a basement. They
really need to get everything ready tonight. All the furniture stays. Just make
sure it's clean. We have four potential buyers showing up early tomorrow. I'm
counting on you, she said, hopeful that everything would work out. I
didn't think it would be such a difficult thing. I had already gotten as
much information as possible about the place. I was following her car with mine.
I'll loaded up around the neighborhood toward the house. When I saw it,
it looked brand new, a large front yard, plants everywhere, but
there was something strange about it. When Andrea left and my car was the
only one of the property, I felt trapped. She had left me with
her business card, saying that their phone line was still active in case I
needed to get in touch, but that I would be fine. The large
walls around the property seemed to be closing in on me, and it felt
hard to leave. I meant that literally, although I knew that I couldn't
leave now. The sun was about to set just as I entered the front
door, I thought I would be alone. Part two of open House continues
right after this stay with me, I stepped into the living room. The
furniture there had already been set up. I had been placed there by Andrea
to make it look nice for the open house visitors. The instructions were to
clean up the master bedroom, the basement, bathrooms, and kitchen. I
started right away, and I didn't want to be there past midnight. The
kitchen looked simple enough, bright white walls and nothing on it but a large
black trash bag by the refrigerator. I didn't know what I was supposed to
clean. The counters were shiny, and the refrigerator had dire coke and water
bottles on the top shelf, orange hues at the bottom. Still, I
went back to the car to get the remaining cleaning supplies and came back with
my bucket and mop. Everything was wiped clean, the floor was drying up,
and I worked my way up toward the master bedroom with the vacuum,
the spray bottles, and the broom again, the room was clean. I
started to worry a little, then, what if they realized that someone else
had already done the job and refused to pay me? And walked into the
bathroom. It was clean, not a single hair on the sink. The
mirror was streak free and bright against the white lights coming in through the main
room. It took out the cover and bed sheets to redo the bed clean
fresh blankets, still smelling like laundry detergent, bright white, tightly wrapped around
the mattress of the bed. I vacuumed anyway. Some people can tell if
a place was cleaned by the streaks left behind by the vacuum. With that,
I turned off the lights to the bedroom and was walking down the hallway
when I heard something move from downstairs. I stood there frozen. It had
been a trap. I thought of all the shows on television about tragic stories
that all started just like this. I couldn't move, and for two solid
minutes I stood there, nearly holding my breath the whole time as I waited
to hear something else, But nothing happened. It must have all been in
my mind, and so I walked downstairs looked at the bathrooms sparkling clean.
I don't know what it is, and I still have it many years later,
that sense telling me that something's not right when everything appears to be.
I stepped back toward the living room and looked at the place. No dust,
no smells, no movement. I looked at the piece of paper Andrea
had given me. The basement was the only thing left to clean at the
time. I felt relief, knowing that I would step in there and see
that nothing was left to do, that I would just have to kill time
somehow, just grab that trash back from the kitchen and leave. If I
called my husband now, he would worry, make a big deal out of
this, and we would be back at square one. That's when I heard
another sound. This time it was coming from the basement. It was dark
out now, and the lights from the hallway were off a place that was
so long that the end of it simply vanished. The door was somewhere along
the way, and I needed to get there to at least check for what
I needed to get done in there. I talked to myself a little bit
pumping myself up to walk there, open the door and look at everything.
I took a deep breath and walked over, quickly opened up the door,
flicked on the light, and stepped down boxes, broken bottles in a dark
stain on the floor, and on the east wall. A long trash bag
was at the base of the stairs, blocking the entrance. I stepped back
up to grab everything and just get ready to go to work. And it
was tough, but I did it. The stains were gone, the floor
was mopped, the chairs and counters wiped clean, and all the trash was
collected in a separate trash bag by the east wall. It wasn't too bright
in there, but I could tell that the place was clean. But as
they stood there, I heard it again, a soft grunt coming from somewhere
in the basement. I tried not to pay attention to it. The house
was basically on a large field in the hills, so of course there would
be animals out there, right. I just wanted to get out. I
grabbed my things and walked everything upstairs in three trips, grabbing two of the
boxes, stuffing them into the trash bags, along with the paper towels and
shards of glass mixed with dust gathered from the dustpan. I just hopped over
the trash bag at the base of the stairs the first few times. I
put everything by the front door and then rushed back down the hallway. I
grabbed a black trash bag, long like a rolled up rug and tugged on
it. But it moved. I could feel it squirm the whole thing.
I screamed and ran upstairs, pacing around the hallway before deciding to call Andrea
from the phone in the living room. Hello, she answered, Hi,
Andrea, it's me from the cleaning service. Oh great, you're done,
she asked pretty much. Yeah, I'm just taking out the trash and great,
that's what they wanted. Just take it out and forgot to go.
She was in a rush again. I think there's something, and she hung
up. I needed to get the bag out, get my money, and
forget about the place, and so I ran to the basement and tugged at
the bag with all my strength and made it up three steps. I could
feel it squirming like a giant snake. My arms were weak by this point,
but I grabbed the bag again and pulled. I didn't need to lift
it up anymore, I could just drag it up the stairs. Four five,
six more steps, and I was almost at the top, with sweat
rolling down my forehead. Now I managed to get it past the doorframe.
I looked down at the basement, everything cleared out by this point. Then
it turned off the light. I brought everything to the front porch, and
after shutting everything off but the kitchen light, as requested, I shut the
door and stood there in that dark deck. My car was as close as
possible to that front door, so I started loading everything up, and soon
the trunk of that station wagon was packed, and all that was left was
that strange dark bag. I pulled it down the steps and threw it on
the back seat, stopping to take a breath and look at the directions Andrew
had written for me about the place where to drop off the trash. Highway
seventeen exit twelve, right on Trevenita Street, fourth house of the trash container
on the side. I looked at the rear room mirror, the things in
the back of the car completely blocking the headlights from the few cars that were
out on the road that night, and that's when I heard it, a
grunt, clearly coming from the back seat. My eyes widened as I tried
to figure out what I was seeing in the black bag. It appeared to
be moving, but I couldn't tell. The sounds were becoming louder, and
I was becoming even more nervous. My hand's shaking against the steering wheel.
I moved to the right lane and put my blinkers on for an exit at
a gas station, and I rushed out without shutting off the car. I
stepped out to call Andrea from the payphone by the door. Hello, she
answered, Are you done? She knew it was me, Andrea. There's
something strange going on. Something's moving in one of the bags. I can
hear something in there. Hey, she interrupted, her tone changing completely.
We're paying you to do something easy. It was easy, right, yes,
I answered, listen, just drop everything off, get your money,
and that's it. And she hung up. And so I drove for almost
fifteen minutes, looking behind me when i'd hear the bag move. I don't
know how I managed, but finally I pulled up to the place. It
was easy to find. Most houses there were empty, there were four sale
signs on the front, and no cars were on the street. The trash
container was open. I just took out the trash bag from the trunk,
dumped them in, and soon all that was left was that long black bag
from the back seat. I grabbed it, managed to get it to lean
against the bin, lifted it, and then heard a grunt that stopped when
it hit the other things inside. I walked up to the porch and opened
up the black mail box on the wall by the front door, grabbed an
envelope. I ran back to the car and opened it up all twenty dollar
bills, even more than I was expecting, one thousand, seven hundred dollars
in total. After dropping off the machine and vacuum, I got home and
I told my husband about the house I had to clean, without going into
detail, and he asked if I thought I would get a call to work
for them again, and I told him I didn't think so. For days,
I paid attention to the news in case anything popped up about what I
had encountered, but nothing ever. Did these people knew what they were doing,
and even if they found out anything, investigators would end up at the
wrong house. Still, I would wake up in the middle of the night
hearing the grunts from the thing in the black bag, I imagined hands reaching
out to grab me from the side of the bed, and I would have
vivid nightmares of that basement lit up with candles, men chanting around in a
circle until one of them turned around to look at me riding the eye.
Thankfully, those nightmares eventually stopped. I received a few calls in the weeks
that followed. More cleaning were, this time around low pay, but consistent
until one day my husband passed me the phone for something about a job.
It was Andrea, and excited she asked me up for another open house.
Scary Story Podcast is written and produced by me Edwin Kobarubias. Find us over
on TikTok and Instagram at scary dot fm, or over on our website Scary
Story podcast dot com. For ad free episodes and to support the show,
try out scaryplus dot com. It's free for two weeks and let me know.
If you have any questions about it. You can get in touch with
me via email or social media. I'll leave my details in the description of
this episode. I'm at Edwin Cove. That's e d w i n c
ov over on Instagram. Thank you very much for listening. Keep it scary
everyone. See you soon,