Hello, and welcome to Blurry Photos. I'm David Flora. It's around about
time, probably past two for some campfire ghost stories, and I've got a
handful here for you to play around the campfire. No news on a streaming
date for the film, unfortunately, but check out Barrego Triangle dot com to
keep up with where it will be showing in select theaters. We've had it
in Kashakta, Ohio, Joplin, Missouri, and there's a handful of others
that are coming up soon. Just working out the details on it. Other
than that, you can check out five Minute Frights, a storytelling podcast where
I read reports written by Tom Lyons, author of Living among Bigfoot. You
should be able to find that on your podcatcher, especially if you search the
number five then Minute Frights onto the Outdoorsy Horror. I have four stories and
a pume for you for this offering. Receive it thus and happy camping.
Thirteen Steps The thirteen Steps down to Hell were located in multi cemetery in Washington.
There used to be a staircase that began at ground level and descended down
under the earth. It was said to be a low grade entrance to the
tomb of a wealthy local family. According to the legend, you had to
go to the cemetery late at night and walk down these thirteen steps. While
descending the steps, you wouldn't be able to hear anything once you had reached
the bottom. If you turned around, you would be confronted by a vision
of hell. They say that the vision would drive you insane. Those who
watched people performing this rituals said that they witnessed the person's stop at the bottom,
turn around, and then collapse to their knees in horror. According to
some reports, several children emerged nearly comatose from the steps, and many of
them never uttered another word. The thirteen steps no longer exist, as the
story goes, they were bulldozed or filled in with concrete years ago. Since
then, there have been severe no trespassing limitations on the cemetery, and even
rumors of kids making expeditions late at night to Maltby Cemetery armed with shovels,
hoping to unher the thirteen steps down to hill. My girlfriend and I wanted
to see this for ourselves. You have to go down these thirteen steps,
and then you see a little chair. If you sit in the chair.
It automatically means that you've sold your soul to the devil. It sounds really
creepy. I was at church with my friend and his pastor said that he
went there when he was sixteen years old and it was the worst experience of
his entire life. A group of us headed out to the cemetery in Maltby.
We made sure we got there as close to midnight as possible. After
about an hour of searching around in the dark, we finally found it.
In the moonlight, you couldn't see the bottom of the steps. We tried
using flashlight and we still couldn't see the bottom. It was frightening, and
one of the girls was so freaked out that she couldn't even look down into
the staircase. I decided I was going to go for it, but as
I walked down the first two steps, I started to fill sick. After
the next two steps, I felt lightheaded. When I got to the sixth
step, I became so cold that I could barely breathe, and I could
hear muffled yelling and screaming. I was not going any further. I couldn't
even take the next step. When I turned to climb back up. I
could feel something pushing on my back, and I couldn't see out up to
my friends clearly. When I finally reached the top of the staircase, I
realized the yelling and screaming was coming from my friends. They were screaming that
I had disappeared when I went down. I'm six feet tall, I couldn't
have been out of sight after having only gone down halfway. Needless to say,
we were all completely freaked out and got out of there as quickly as
possible. To this day, every now and then I dream about the thirteen
steps that lead down to Hell, and I always wake up in a cold
sweat. Side note, there is also a thirteen step cemetery in Pallo called
pleasant Ridge Cemetery. There's a set of stairs leading up to the cemetery gate
that has twelve steps, but at night, the thirteenth step is said to
appear clown. At midnight. There was a man who wanted to hire a
clown for his son's birthday party. He asked around at work in one of
his colleagues, Sergio, gave him the number of a clown who he said
came highly recommended. The man called the number and arranged for the clown to
come over on Saturday and entertain the kids at the party. However, when
Saturday came around, it was raining and the clown didn't show up. The
children all grew bored of waiting and went home early. His son was terribly
disappointed and ran upstairs to his bedroom in tears. The birthday party was completely
ruined. The father kept calling the clown's number, but there was no answer.
Why did you recommend such an unreliable clowns Sergio, he thought bitterly.
That night, the man and his wife were lying in bed, exhausted.
The party had been a disaster, and he was still irritated that the clown
had not shown up. What time did you tell him to come, his
wife asked, I said, very clear, Saturday, at twelve o'clock.
He replied, maybe he thought it was twelve at night, said his wife.
A clown at midnight? The man laughed out loud. Who would hire
a clown to come to a birthday party at midnight? He turned over and
drifted off to sleep. At midnight, they were awoken by a horrible scream.
It sounded like their son. Something's wrong, whispered the mother, turning
on the light. Stay here, said the man jumping out of bed.
I'll check on him. Maybe he's just having a bad dream. He stepped
into the hallway and immediately stopped in his tracks. There was a trail of
muddy footprints on the floor. They were too large to belong to a normal
man. The footprints looked like clown shoes. They led from the open window
in the bathroom, down the hallway to his son's bedroom. A clown,
thought the horrified father a clown. At midnight, and then, without knowing
why, he remembered something about Sergio, his friend from work who had recommended
the clown. Sergio had two sons, but one of them had died not
long ago under mysterious circumstances. He had never discussed it with Sergio himself for
obvious reasons, but rumors had spread around the office that after several days of
intense searching, Sergio's son had been found dead in the woods. Why had
he remembered that just now? With a shaking hand, the father reached out
and opened his son's bedroom door. The room was empty, the bed was
unmade, and the window was wide open. There were traces of mud on
the carpet. The man let out an anguished howl and ran out of the
house. His wife followed him. They started calling a son's name over and
over. The neighbors turned on their lights and came out to see what was
wrong. Someone has kidnapped my son, the man cried, it was a
clown. One of the neighbors called the police, and a few minutes later,
several squad cars arrived. They immediately spread out and started searching the area
for the missing boy. Just then, the man received a phone call.
It was his colleague, Sergio. He was crying between babbels and sobs.
Sergio tried to apologize for what he had done. What did you do?
Cried the father, What did you do? Where is my son? Who
was that clown you told me to hire? I don't even know, Sergio
whispered, his voice barely audible. I don't even know if he's human,
but I know he's hungry, always hungry, hungry for more victims. He
took my oldest son. Then last week he came back for my youngest I
told him to take yours instead. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Oh
my son, I love it. Where is he screamed the man, where
is my son looking in the forest? Sergio whimpered. He always nails the
heads of his victims to the trees as a signal. What the hell do
you mean by that? The man screamed. Before he could say another word,
he heard the sound of a gunshot on the other end of the phone,
and the line went dead. The father dropped the phone and ran out
of the house. He went into the forest which stood behind the house.
When he came to a big, gnarled oak tree, he suddenly stopped,
sank to his knees, and began crying uncontrollably. He had found what remained
of his son, Labrue. My mother told me this story once, and
my grandmother told me that she lived through it. In the early nineteen sixties,
there was a small town in Mexico where a lot of babies just happened
to be born around the same time. It said that there was a woman
who haunted the town. She was not a ghost, She was one of
the two hundred people that lived in the town at the time. People say
that she was a witch, a worshiper of the devil, and many people
said that she would go out into the fields in the middle of the night
when everyone was asleep. Some local farmers claimed that they would see her whenever
they would go outside to check on their animals, because their animals would make
a lot of noise whenever she passed by. They could never tell who it
was because it was always pitch black and they couldn't see a thing. It
was a poor town with a couple of street lights. People weren't so worried
about her for a while because they saw that she did no harm to them,
until something terrible happened. One night, a married couple slept with their
baby between them. They were so poor that they couldn't afford a mattress and
had a carpet as their bed. The parents didn't sleep too close to their
baby because they were afraid that they would accidentally roll over and hurt their child.
The mother and father were deep into their sleep until the mother heard the
baby cry terribly. It shrieked a blood curdling scream, loud enough to wake
up my grandmother and grandfather, who lived next to them. The baby cried,
and the mother woke up and tried to put him back to sleep.
Whenever she went to sleep again, she heard the baby cry once more.
She woke up again and did the same as before, and this went on
for about two more times. The mother became angry and impatient with her baby
because she was really tired. The father was asleep and would not wake up
no matter how many times his baby cried. The fifth time that the baby
cried, his mother ignored it. The baby cried for another couple of minutes.
The mother continued to ignore her baby until she subconsciously heard someone walking outside.
She heard the door squeak open slowly, then it shut loudly. The
door was made of thick metal, so the loud sound terrified her and finally
woke her and her husband up as well. When she looked for her baby,
she saw that he was quiet and thought that he was sleeping. The
mother asked her husband why he wouldn't wake up before he said that he never
heard anything. When the mother went to hold her baby, she saw that
he was cold. She kissed her baby to try and wake him up,
but he wouldn't. The baby was dead. She took off his blanket.
She saw that his stomach and arms had scratch marks. Someone was hurting her
child while he was sleeping. Then her husband cried Lebruha lebrue Hala Mato Matolillo.
The witch. The witch killed him. She killed my son. The
mother swore that she heard a woman giggling. After that, many parents held
their children close to them whenever they slept. Sometimes children would cry in the
middle of the night out of nowhere, and their mothers would begin to pray.
The children who could speak, said that they would feel someone grabbing them.
The witch would leave after It wasn't until years later that two children died,
a brother and a sister. Except it was in a river in the
town. One man swore that he saw a woman pushing the boy in girl's
heads into the water and laughing when she did so. He yelled at her
to leave them alone and ran to stop her. She kept laughing at him
and was singing as he ran towards her, But when he almost reached her,
she was gone, and the boy and girl's bodies were floating on the
water. People began to suspect women who could be the witch, but coincidentally,
many people left the town around that time to move to other places.
She could have been one of them. Suspension Bridge. My buddy told me
a story once about a time when he lived in Japan and a horrible event
that he experienced while there. At the time, he was seventeen years old
and had managed to find himself a summer job working in a store that sold
electrical goods. One day, after work, the manager of the store decided
to bring all of the employees out for dinner. The restaurant they were going
to was up in the mountains, and to get there they had to cross
an old suspension bridge that stretched across a deep valley. There were five of
them in total, so they decided to take two cars. The manager drove
the car in front with two teenage boys inside. My friend drove the car
behind, and his colleague was in the passenger seat. They started out straight
after work, but the manager took a wrong turn, so by the time
they reached the suspension bridge it was almost twilight. There was a light rain,
and the bridge was covered in a strange, wispy fog. The manager
drove across the suspension bridge and my friend followed close behind in the other car.
However, when they reached the center of the bridge, the manager's car
came to a sudden halt. The two people in the car behind were puzzled
they couldn't understand why their boss had stopped in the middle of the bridge.
After waiting a few minutes, they began to get impatient since they showed no
signs of moving. My friend was about to get out and see what the
trouble was. Just then they saw the rear door of the car in front
open and the two boys who were sitting in the back seat got out.
My friend opened his door and was about to ask them what was wrong,
but the words died in his throat. He heard the boys screaming their lungs
out. The two young men joined hands and started to run like crazy.
They rushed over to the side of the suspension bridge and threw themselves over the
guard rail. Horrified, my friend rushed over to the guardrail and peered over
the side, but he couldn't see anything because of the mist. The drop
was over one hundred feet. Nobody could survive that. He stood there for
a few minutes and stunned to silence, staring down into the foggy abyss.
When he went over to check the car in front, he found the manager
crouched over the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white.
Tears were streaming down his face, and he kept muttering under his breath,
over and over. I want to do it, but I can't do
it. I want to do it, but I can't do it. I
want to do it, but I can't do it. My friend called the
police, and when they arrived, they had to pry the manager's hands off
the steer ringmill. They took him away in an ambulance, still muttering and
gibbering as if he had taken leave of his sanity. Later that night,
the bodies of the two young men were fished out of the river. My
friend and his colleague were persistently questioned by the police, but they couldn't shed
any light on the puzzling incident. The police seemed to think it was some
kind of weird suicide pact. A few months after that, my friend went
to visit the store manager, who was recovering in a mental hospital. After
some small talk, he turned the conversation to the strange events that had taken
place that tragic summer night. The store manager beckoned him closer and whispered in
his ear. He told him that as soon as they were driving across the
suspension bridge, he was shocked to see a woman suddenly emerge from the fog.
She stood right in front of the car, and he had to slam
on the brakes to avoid hitting her. The woman had long black hair and
was dressed in a brilliant white shroud. All of a sudden, he noticed
that the mist was creeping closer, encircling the car. Then, from the
depths of the whisping fog, a group of children appeared. They were dressed
in similar white shrouds, and their faces were deformed and smeared with blood.
Before they knew what was happening, the grotesque children surrounded the car and began
beating on the windows and doors with their fists. The children began CHANTINGSSS julians
Us. The manager said that the children's haunting voices echoed around in his head,
and he felt powerless to resist. He clung onto the steering wheel for
dear life. At that moment, he dearly wanted to die, but some
small part of them desperately wanted to leave. He heard the boys in the
back seat screaming. As the children opened the door and dragged them out into
the mist, The terrified manager had to fight the urge to join them.
In death. After hearing this story, my friend was shaking with fear as
he rose to leave. The manager grabbed him roughly by the arm and hissed,
I think that's what happened. But don't tell the police. They'll never
believe you. Sometimes I don't even believe myself. Just promise me one thing.
Promise me that you will never attempt to cross that suspension bridge again,
or they'll come for you and drag you to your death as well. The
spiral stairs, the narrow staircase leads the way up to the padlocked door below.
The halls as dark as sin, with bloodstains on the floor. Nobody
knows who climbed halfway to where the stairs are bent, what crouching figure waited
there with murderous in tint, And no one knows what now ascends the thirteenth
step and stops and flutters like a dying bird before it moans it drops.
One night I stepped into the hall reciting whispered prayers, and to my horror
saw what stands upon the spiral stairs. There's a handful of spooky tales to
tell around Yon Foyer in a witchy, clowny stair field, nutshell and now
the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Pun. There's a nasty disease
going around, and it seems like it started with some kids at a graveyard.
The first thing it happens is you get a sore throat, then you
get better, then you get a fever, then you get better, then
you get fatigued, and it just keeps going like this. A Baker's dozen
times all because someone walked into a tune and got thirteen strips. There's a
comedy club in Mexico where all the saucy witches go to drink tequila, and
here's some dark comedy. It's called La Bruhaha. Hey, them's puns.
Thanks for hanging out with me, and don't forget to follow me on the
socials and subscribe to the show on your podcatcher. If you want to help
out another way, please follow my new theaters social media's which you can find
at firebirdscb dot com. It's brand new. I'm the artistic director and we
just closed a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. It was a lot of fun,
so we could use your support by helping us grow our numbers. Otherwise,
find me on Hysteria fifty one podcast, Quiz Quiz, Bang Bang podcast,
and the Five Minute Frights podcast. And don't forget to find my narration
work by searching my name on Audible or Amazon. Thanks for listening for this
episode of Blurry Photos. I have been David the Clown at any time of
day. Flora don't stop or even