Speaker 1: It took three calls to the Sheriff's office for them
Speaker 1: to finally take me seriously, sir. They would say, we
Speaker 1: can't send an officer out there for that. It's Friday night.
Speaker 1: Her last officer is on a call. We'll follow up
Speaker 1: on Monday, all right, But it wasn't all right. Those
Speaker 1: sounds in the attic. I knew it wasn't all right,
Speaker 1: But eventually the police also figured it out. My name
Speaker 1: is Edwin, and here's a scary story.
Speaker 2: I sleep like a rock.
Speaker 1: People joke about me being able to sleep under a
Speaker 1: train track, but there are certain noises that wake me up.
Speaker 1: A rattling door, knob keys, jingling, or the dreadful squeak
Speaker 1: of the third floor board by the front door. It
Speaker 1: was a Monday, actually, now that I remember, two little
Speaker 1: taps came from the attic while I was dozing off
Speaker 1: in the living room. Miles days were like that. I
Speaker 1: would come home, doze off with the TV on a
Speaker 1: super low volume, and once my eye somehow caught that
Speaker 1: it was getting dark out, boom, I would be awake
Speaker 1: and alert as if nothing had happened, but it was
Speaker 1: still full daylight out. The television was still playing on
Speaker 1: a weird game show with an uncomfortable model or co
Speaker 1: host on it smiling at the camera, the producers would
Speaker 1: hold the shot a little too long on her, so
Speaker 1: I'd looked at the TV for a little bit, unaware
Speaker 1: of what was going on. Immediately after these two taps,
Speaker 1: I noticed that I had even stopped breathing when it happened,
Speaker 1: so I wouldn't miss it if it happened again.
Speaker 2: Right away, I thought about how.
Speaker 1: It could have been from the door or a window,
Speaker 1: but no, this thing had come from upstairs and just stopped.
Speaker 1: So I waited and waited. That's just how certain I
Speaker 1: was that the noise was coming from up there.
Speaker 2: Yaddic.
Speaker 1: Then I heard something again, the soft sound of a latch.
Speaker 1: I couldn't explain it. B knew for a fact that
Speaker 1: I had come for my attic A bird. I thought
Speaker 1: wouldn't be the first time that a bird would pet
Speaker 1: at the wooden frame out for the entrance. The house
Speaker 1: had a strange store up there on the outside instead
Speaker 1: of the inside. I asked about it when I got
Speaker 1: the house, and I remember the realtor taking my question
Speaker 1: as a joke. I assumed every other house in this
Speaker 1: wooded neighborhood had the maide this way, I knew, had
Speaker 1: some other quirky additions too, things that I had never
Speaker 1: heard about, like a bare watch community group, two types
Speaker 1: of sheds, one for weapons and a normal one. Sure
Speaker 1: direct question what the heck I was doing out there,
Speaker 1: But like many people who were either past their homes
Speaker 1: down or were there by choice, the reasons existed. I
Speaker 1: wanted to get away from things, and a life a
Speaker 1: little ways out of the city seemed to fit. It's
Speaker 1: not like I changed my mind now, But amongst all
Speaker 1: the silence, I understood more of the paranoia, the stereotypes
Speaker 1: of people that liked to live out there. But those
Speaker 1: two taps, clear as day, I swear, sounded unlike anything
Speaker 1: else I had heard in that house. I've heard the
Speaker 1: wood pop when the sun begins to beat on it
Speaker 1: in the middle of the day. I've heard the raccoons
Speaker 1: out on the roof, the woodpeckers, the branches that somehow
Speaker 1: managed to make it to my roof every autumn. And
Speaker 1: I didn't want to let my mind roam a little
Speaker 1: too much. That night, I'd been a tough weekend and
Speaker 1: started the week already. I let my eyes wander up
Speaker 1: towards the ceiling as if I'd be able to magically
Speaker 1: use X ray vision, but instead I rolled them up
Speaker 1: by myself. I grabbed the remote and turn up the
Speaker 1: volume two more levels, looking once again at the woman
Speaker 1: in the red dress on TV. For I got up
Speaker 1: to cook up some dinner. It was Tuesday morning now,
Speaker 1: and my house felt full. It was a strange feeling,
Speaker 1: considering no one else had lived in this place but me.
Speaker 1: All my life had been this way, knowing exactly where
Speaker 1: my things are, Who comes, who goes? Hint, it's just me,
Speaker 1: But not that day, like someone else was breathing my
Speaker 1: air or the body heat, that uncomfortable feeling you get
Speaker 1: when you sit on the warmth of someone else on
Speaker 1: the bus or a waiting room. That's how all of
Speaker 1: this started. Yes, of course, that's how it started, completely logical,
Speaker 1: at least in my mind, until everything became strange. It
Speaker 1: was a Wednesday afternoon, the same TV show was on.
Speaker 1: A roulette was spinning between two colors, yellow and purple.
Speaker 1: Everyone was cheering, and yet the camera was still zooming
Speaker 1: in on the woman, and I hadn't bothered to change
Speaker 1: the volume back down, so it was higher than normal,
Speaker 1: and yet without a doubt. A series of thumping steps
Speaker 1: rushed from one side of the ceiling to the other.
Speaker 1: I stood up and reached for the fireplace poker, that
Speaker 1: metal stick, and I held on to it firmly. My
Speaker 1: heart was on my throat by this point, and a
Speaker 1: rush of cold blood was begu to dissipate away from
Speaker 1: my chest. It flicked off the television automatically. You went
Speaker 1: outside to look at the roof. The window, the same
Speaker 1: one that served as the entrance to the attic, was shut,
Speaker 1: though from all the scratches or sun damage, all I
Speaker 1: could see was a foggy white glass. I ran inside
Speaker 1: the house again and looked around the living room and
Speaker 1: the pantry. I searched the closets, every last corner of
Speaker 1: the place, and searched for a door or an entry
Speaker 1: to the attic. There were animals up there. Could they
Speaker 1: make their way into the house itself? It was nothing,
Speaker 1: no place for it to do so, But animals, I
Speaker 1: don't know. That was the last thing on my mind.
Speaker 1: I knew this wasn't some rodent. I knew what they
Speaker 1: sounded like. It was starting to get dark, and I
Speaker 1: knew where my mind was going. Someone was in the house.
Speaker 1: Someone had to be in the attic. So I watched
Speaker 1: my hand grab the remote and turned the volume all
Speaker 1: the way down, and I sat there for about an hour.
Speaker 1: I sat there, waiting around as a room got dark.
Speaker 1: Just as I was about to get up to turn
Speaker 1: on the light, it happened again, the softest click and
Speaker 1: then the deepest.
Speaker 2: Groan from the floorboard. Slow avoidance.
Speaker 1: On my way into town that Thursday, one of the neighbors,
Speaker 1: a man named Mill, was always out there looking for
Speaker 1: someone to talk. Flagged me down. It was out in
Speaker 1: the lawn chair, pretending to look busy with the watering
Speaker 1: pot next to him. They parked the truck shut it down.
Speaker 1: I think we all looked for that at one point,
Speaker 1: just someone to talk to for some of us, just
Speaker 1: to make sure that our voice still works. You hear
Speaker 1: about the Preston's house, He said, terrible news. You know
Speaker 1: that old blonde lady, the one with the white Corolla.
Speaker 1: I nodded, asking him what the matter was dead he said,
Speaker 1: He pointed down to the ground and took a step back. Yep,
Speaker 1: she was found in the room. Her children just got
Speaker 1: down here too late. If you ask me, huh, he said,
Speaker 1: his smile quickly fading into a twitch of his left cheek.
Speaker 1: Mill was new to the whole living alone thing. His
Speaker 1: wife had passed away several years back, and his kids, well,
Speaker 1: they're all stity people.
Speaker 2: Now.
Speaker 1: He had not much more to say about the situation,
Speaker 1: but he wanted to talk about it. So I said
Speaker 1: a few things about that old lady talked about a
Speaker 1: paint for a fence around his property, And just when
Speaker 1: things had gotten quiet enough.
Speaker 2: I brought it up.
Speaker 1: Anyone ever gotten into your attic? I was looking away
Speaker 1: toward my truck when I said it. I could feel
Speaker 1: his white eyes on the side of my face, and
Speaker 1: it turned around your house, haunted, he asked quietly.
Speaker 2: Haunted.
Speaker 1: No, I mean, like, did someone ever sneak into your
Speaker 1: camped out in there?
Speaker 2: I don't know, I.
Speaker 1: Continued, You know about your place before you moved in, right,
Speaker 1: I knew that story. There was some other neighbor who
Speaker 1: had told me about it, and still I knew that
Speaker 1: I wouldn't be able to stop him from telling it
Speaker 1: all over again. You see, the family who lived there
Speaker 1: before me didn't build it, but instead had bought it
Speaker 1: from the original owner. It was strange because many of
Speaker 1: the houses that are around the area now were built
Speaker 1: around the time that this family moved into what is
Speaker 1: now my house, So if my house already existed, then
Speaker 1: it was one of the only ones there and therefore
Speaker 1: the oldest house in the area. That, of course brought
Speaker 1: along a lot of stories. But what made everything even
Speaker 1: worse was that the family had bought the house from
Speaker 1: had suddenly got up and left.
Speaker 2: One day.
Speaker 1: They were there and gone the next, and the realtor
Speaker 1: had found it a little odd, but kept insisting on
Speaker 1: the well done construction and how it was a steel
Speaker 1: and all that stuff that realtors say when they want
Speaker 1: to sell a house quickly so they don't have to
Speaker 1: make the drive back out there. I guess everything checked
Speaker 1: out when I moved in. Still does There were never
Speaker 1: any hauntings or whatever nonsense Mill was talking about, But
Speaker 1: still he went on about how when the house was vacant,
Speaker 1: they would see the light fixtures come on and off
Speaker 1: at all hours of the night. It could be seen
Speaker 1: for miles, even though everyone knew that the house was empty.
Speaker 1: Once a group of guys, after a night of drinking,
Speaker 1: decided to drive up there, and they said that they
Speaker 1: were greeted by a couple, a young woman, man strange smiles.
Speaker 1: I urged them to come inside. They said no, got
Speaker 1: back in the car and drove off without a clue
Speaker 1: as to how they made it back. But you know
Speaker 1: what creeps me out the most, Mil asked, leaning in
Speaker 1: a little more, the screams. He opened his eyes wide again,
Speaker 1: pointed to the ground, and took a step back. Now
Speaker 1: that's where he got me. I had a nerd about this.
Speaker 1: I mean that other people knew about it, because I
Speaker 1: certainly had heard them before. That was sure, because I
Speaker 1: had woken up a few times thinking that they had
Speaker 1: been part of a dream, These ridiculously loud screams coming
Speaker 1: from the corner of my property. And I don't wake
Speaker 1: up easily. I've told you, almost nothing can stop me
Speaker 1: but those screams or something else. I always thought it
Speaker 1: was a squeaking pipe. Sometimes it can make a noise,
Speaker 1: you know, if you pay close attention, it might sound
Speaker 1: like a scream, or like a squeak, maybe something in between.
Speaker 1: This thing, the scream was something I couldn't shake off
Speaker 1: for the first couple of years I was there. Okay,
Speaker 1: I might have thought it was a haunting of some sort,
Speaker 1: maybe for a minute, but I don't know if I
Speaker 1: got used to it or watch suddenly the scream stopped.
Speaker 1: Either that or I was able to sleep through them again.
Speaker 1: What about these screams, mil I asked, just to humor
Speaker 1: him a little bit, still happen. Don't tell me you
Speaker 1: don't hear them. It's either from your property or that
Speaker 1: section of trees you have just behind your house. But
Speaker 1: the old well, I don't.
Speaker 2: Hear them, I said.
Speaker 1: Mill looked toward me and started laughing. Maybe he got
Speaker 1: to clean out your ears. I chuckled a little at
Speaker 1: that poor guy. He was a good man. And with that,
Speaker 1: I said that I had to get going and got
Speaker 1: back in the truck. You followed me and leaned on
Speaker 1: my open passenger side window, his elbows drooping all the
Speaker 1: way down to the door handle. But hey, you got
Speaker 1: my number in case you keep hearing them. Noises, ghosts
Speaker 1: don't scare me. The only ones I got are inside
Speaker 1: my head. I nodded and started up the car. Something
Speaker 1: was off about the way he said it. I heard
Speaker 1: him tap on the side of the truck before stepping back,
Speaker 1: with that look he always gave me when you said
Speaker 1: bye to him, almost felt sorry to leave.
Speaker 2: I know what you're thinking the well.
Speaker 1: Before you get any thoughts in your head, know that
Speaker 1: most properties out there had wells, communal or private, and
Speaker 1: it was written in the paperwork of the property of
Speaker 1: what we had access to, and the terms would be
Speaker 1: updated every few years. But the well I had was
Speaker 1: one of the firsts. And sure I remember being told
Speaker 1: about how to manage it and all that in the beginning,
Speaker 1: but I never used it. The thing had a huge
Speaker 1: stone covering it up. You know, I hadn't thought about
Speaker 1: it all that much until that conversation with Mill. I
Speaker 1: had no intention of using it. Water from the main
Speaker 1: pipeline had arrived many years ago, even from when the
Speaker 1: previous family lived there, so all it was out there
Speaker 1: just stayed a dark, lonely hole in the ground, covered
Speaker 1: up for decades. When I got back later that night,
Speaker 1: I saw something up in the window slash door in
Speaker 1: the attic up on the roof. There was an orange
Speaker 1: light coming through the dirty frosted glass that covered it.
Speaker 1: As soon as my head lights hit it, it turned off.
Speaker 1: I was sure then that someone was up there. I
Speaker 1: don't know what I thought of it at the moment
Speaker 1: or why I went into the house as if it
Speaker 1: were just another regular evening, but I did.
Speaker 2: I kept the volume low, I kept.
Speaker 1: Looking around for any dust falling from the ceiling, as
Speaker 1: it would whenever something brocked the house, a branch or
Speaker 1: some animal. But that would be it for that evening.
Speaker 1: Before I knew it, that had made my way to
Speaker 1: the bed and was ready for another day at that
Speaker 1: old house. Though something had changed even when retelling this Now.
Speaker 1: I don't know what it is. Maybe it was paranoia
Speaker 1: that was making this whole thing. Maybe it was the
Speaker 1: town of lonely people that made us long for and
Speaker 1: be afraid of everyone else at the same time. But
Speaker 1: the ghost. There were scarier things out there than ghosts.
Speaker 1: Everyone knew that, especially around here, And so we got
Speaker 1: to this Friday. I was taking out the trash to
Speaker 1: the main road, something I normally wouldn't do, since the
Speaker 1: trash would come on Mondays. Even some of the sites
Speaker 1: were new cars I hadn't seen before. The light from
Speaker 1: one of the street lamps beginning to shine a certain
Speaker 1: way against the approaching darkness of those hills. It didn't
Speaker 1: look too different than the early mornings, but everyone knew
Speaker 1: each other's routines around there. It was how we knew
Speaker 1: that danger was approaching and those calls who are landlines
Speaker 1: would come in. The last thing I remember was a
Speaker 1: red truck that was set to be circling around the properties.
Speaker 2: The call had.
Speaker 1: Come from Mill. I even heard them prepping a shotgun
Speaker 1: through the phone. It turned out to be a couple
Speaker 1: of teenagers looking for a place to hang out, but
Speaker 1: they were driven away by some of the other people,
Speaker 1: the porters, from what I heard. How they managed to
Speaker 1: do that, I don't know, but I remember seeing those
Speaker 1: tail lights rushing away from the last hill toward town.
Speaker 1: That was making my way back to the house again
Speaker 1: from the trash cans, I clearly saw a light through
Speaker 1: the frosted glass of the entrance to the attic, soft
Speaker 1: like that of a cigarette lighter. I wasn't making much
Speaker 1: noise as I walked up closer to the sound of
Speaker 1: my television, so it stayed on, but I stopped and
Speaker 1: watched it from as close as I could get without
Speaker 1: the roof blocking my view. And it was there, clear
Speaker 1: as clear can be, the flickering light moving back and
Speaker 1: forth against the glass. I ran out to the shed
Speaker 1: and grabbed the first thing. I found a shovel that
Speaker 1: had slid down to the ground, clanking against the side
Speaker 1: door frame, and I watched as that light turned completely off.
Speaker 1: I rushed into the house, debating whether to stab the
Speaker 1: ceiling with the shovel while yelling, or maybe staying out
Speaker 1: and waiting out whatever this was. No animal, of course,
Speaker 1: not someone a human was up there. I went straight
Speaker 1: for the phone and called the sheriff's office, the one
Speaker 1: from town. I told the person who picked up that
Speaker 1: there were strange sounds in my house and that had
Speaker 1: been that way for about a week, with absolutely no
Speaker 1: sense of urgency. She asked some generic questions about animals
Speaker 1: or rodents, trees above the house, and if I lived alone.
Speaker 1: I told her my name, the address, everything all in
Speaker 1: one go, and she said that she would be making
Speaker 1: a report and follow up. I found it pointless and
Speaker 1: hung up before she said goodbye, but changed my mind
Speaker 1: immediately after hearing those same thuds going across the ceiling
Speaker 1: and toward the entrance of the attic. I ran to
Speaker 1: the living room, nearly tripping on the edge of the carpet,
Speaker 1: but managed to flick off the lights.
Speaker 2: To the house.
Speaker 1: Ironic how easy it is to see in the dark
Speaker 1: when you do that. I made my way back to
Speaker 1: the phone and call the police again. Lady, there's someone
Speaker 1: in the house. I heard steps up in the attic.
Speaker 1: She started her same script all over again, asking for
Speaker 1: my name and all that, as if we hadn't just
Speaker 1: gotten off the phone. The steps continued and finally ended
Speaker 1: with a groan and a thud. Was something hard against
Speaker 1: my ceiling. Dust was falling. I could feel it against
Speaker 1: my hair and nose as it landed like dry snow
Speaker 1: and got into my eyes. My heart was pounding again
Speaker 1: as I grabbed the shovel with both hands and rushed
Speaker 1: out out among the trees. I could see the shadows
Speaker 1: blended in the moonlight. I'm sure there was some one
Speaker 1: out there towards the well. I heard it for the
Speaker 1: first time in a long time, a scream from the woods,
Speaker 1: a deep, guttural scream of pain, disappearing into the night.
Speaker 1: The woman on the other line sighed when she picked
Speaker 1: up my phone. Call Officer Monduino, will be arriving. You
Speaker 1: said it was a third path in the left correct. Finally, yes,
Speaker 1: by the fifteenth mile marker. I'll be waiting out there,
Speaker 1: I said, hanging up. After a few seconds of silence,
Speaker 1: I grabbed my jacket and walked out there, completely forgetting
Speaker 1: the shovel in the living room. As I went out
Speaker 1: there to the main road, the wind was whistling now
Speaker 1: it did that sometimes nights got windy from the hills,
Speaker 1: and the trees would like to hum along with it.
Speaker 1: I could feel it against my forehead, that cold sweat.
Speaker 1: Whenever the wind picked up. I looked back at the howls,
Speaker 1: watching out for anything that stood out, anything out of place.
Speaker 1: But the light in the attic was gone, and along
Speaker 1: with it any sense of dignity. After calling for help
Speaker 1: for something as simple to handle, such as a trespasser,
Speaker 1: My eyes were looking out in front of my boots
Speaker 1: the whole time until I made it to the road.
Speaker 1: After about ten minutes out on the road, I was
Speaker 1: finally able to see headlights approaching. I wondered what it
Speaker 1: would be like and if I would end up knowing
Speaker 1: the officer by name. Wondered if anyone would spot the
Speaker 1: police car and alert the others.
Speaker 2: Including me.
Speaker 1: The officer arrived, had me hop in and drove up
Speaker 1: to the house while asking what the matter was. I
Speaker 1: told him as embarrassed as I was. Told him exactly
Speaker 1: what had happened about the strange sounds I had been
Speaker 1: hearing up in the attic, the light the footsteps for
Speaker 1: doll came back when he asked about damage to the property,
Speaker 1: danger or what I thought it was. I'm sure he
Speaker 1: was just doing his job, but still it stung. He
Speaker 1: pulled up in the front porch. I got out and
Speaker 1: turned on all the lights of the property. He still
Speaker 1: had his flashlight out and roamed around, checking out the
Speaker 1: ceiling before turning to me. Oh, yeah, this house is
Speaker 1: the entrance at the top right.
Speaker 2: He got the key. The key, I asked out loud, had.
Speaker 1: Ever been up there and knew even less about a
Speaker 1: key existing. It's probably opened. It was the only thing
Speaker 1: I could think of saying, making myself look even more
Speaker 1: like a fool.
Speaker 2: I knew what to do.
Speaker 1: I walked over to the shed and grabbed the ladder,
Speaker 1: setting it up against the porch by the front door,
Speaker 1: and was about to climb up, but the officer stopped
Speaker 1: me without saying anything else.
Speaker 2: Climbed up instead.
Speaker 1: I watched him grab the window, the whole thing and
Speaker 1: lifted it up like a latch it's open, he said,
Speaker 1: his voice fading out completely once it closed again, in
Speaker 1: that strangely familiar sound I had been hearing for days.
Speaker 1: I watched the light bounce around the inside of the
Speaker 1: attic from where I was standing for several minutes until
Speaker 1: he came back out, hmming his flashlight at the roof
Speaker 1: and then at the ground by where I was standing.
Speaker 1: He climbed down and kept following the beam out over
Speaker 1: the well before stopping and giving me a cold stare blood,
Speaker 1: he said, pointing down next to me. I looked, and yes,
Speaker 1: I could see it, fresh blood on the steps. I
Speaker 1: didn't know what to think, and instead just waited. The
Speaker 1: officer walked up to me and explained, finally giving me
Speaker 1: answers to what was happening. Rappers, he said, were found
Speaker 1: up there, two candles and a blanket. He asked me
Speaker 1: if I had been up there, if I had guests
Speaker 1: in there, because someone had definitely spent the night up there.
Speaker 1: I shook my head when he asked, still in disbelief.
Speaker 1: But then he told me about the blood. A nail
Speaker 1: he started about this high. He continued, looking at the
Speaker 1: space between his thumb and his index finger. Someone stepped
Speaker 1: on it. On his way out. I felt my mouth
Speaker 1: dry up, barely realizing that I had it open. He
Speaker 1: explained that he would be making a report about it,
Speaker 1: but that I should also call in with any news
Speaker 1: on the matter. That no one else had called with
Speaker 1: any reports, he said, before pausing and looking at me directly.
Speaker 2: In the eye.
Speaker 1: Maybe they took care of it themselves. I looked away
Speaker 1: toward the darkness of those fields again. When he said
Speaker 1: that get yourself a lot, he said, is there anything
Speaker 1: else I can help with? I thanked them and watched leave.
Speaker 1: I was standing out there in front of my house
Speaker 1: like I had many times before, only this time trying
Speaker 1: to remember exactly what it's like when you're sure for
Speaker 1: real this time that you're one hundred percent alone. Before
Speaker 1: putting the ladder away, I took the lock from the
Speaker 1: shed and climbed up, lifting up the lash to see
Speaker 1: the two wrappers of twinkies and corn chips from the
Speaker 1: gas station.
Speaker 2: The nail was still there.
Speaker 1: I shut the latch on my way out, locked it,
Speaker 1: and climbed back down to the now well lit living room.
Speaker 1: I shut the door and sat on the couch for
Speaker 1: a few hours until I fell asleep. I think about
Speaker 1: those nights often. It fed into the normal paranoia of
Speaker 1: what we hear out here, the soft sounds of a
Speaker 1: latch footsteps. I try to stay silent. The way I
Speaker 1: look at people and how they know much more about
Speaker 1: me than I'm aware of. Even the way I looked
Speaker 1: at the neighbors changed, and I think it changed the
Speaker 1: way they look at me too. Mill doesn't flag me
Speaker 1: down anymore as he sits in front of his lonely house.
Speaker 1: No matter how many times I drive.
Speaker 2: By his place.
Speaker 1: When I try to talk to him, he acts a
Speaker 1: little strange. It was that annoyance and those chats about
Speaker 1: nothing that would keep me sane out there, But now
Speaker 1: he had nothing to talk about. Perhaps it was me
Speaker 1: that burnt along the police car into the neighborhood that
Speaker 1: pissed everyone off.
Speaker 2: Maybe it was something else, But it's.
Speaker 1: True what they say, loneliness makes us miss strange things
Speaker 1: and act in silly little ways.
Speaker 2: Maybe the officer was right.
Speaker 1: Maybe something climbed out of the attic, step on the
Speaker 1: nail and disappeared into the woods. Maybe that's all there
Speaker 1: was to it. But the thing that stays with me
Speaker 1: is Mill. The screams, the stories, about the house the fact.
Speaker 1: After the police came, nobody seemed interested in talking about
Speaker 1: it any more.
Speaker 2: I don't know.
Speaker 1: Sometimes finding an answer only creates for your questions. Maybe
Speaker 1: that's why he still thinks about that week whenever the
Speaker 1: house gets quiet. But if you enjoy tonight's story, be
Speaker 1: sure to follow the show wherever you're listening. It helps
Speaker 1: more people discover scary story podcasts and to make sure
Speaker 1: that you won't miss any future episodes. If you have
Speaker 1: any ideas for stories, send it my way and Hugh
Speaker 1: shout out by the way to our Scary Plus members
Speaker 1: for making the show possible. Until next time, remember that
Speaker 1: not every sound above your head comes from an ampheatic.
Speaker 1: Thank you very much for listening. Keep it Scary everyone
Speaker 1: so soon,