Speaker 1: I remember the first day when I stepped into Saint
Luke's Hospital. The pure white walls and the scent of
antiseptics hung in the air with the low murmur of
life and death.
Speaker 2: It was my first day as an entrance in this
new city.
Speaker 1: I was keen yet anxious, entirely unaware that I was
on the verge of something nightmarish. Charles was the first
to greet me. He had been there for years and
was supposed to train me in the beginning. He was charming,
even in a quiet, confident manner. He knew all protocols,
every patient's name, and seemed deeply committed to his work.
He'll get used to work in the night shift. His
voice was smooth with a note of odd chill. However,
the hardest of all is watching them go. Some of
those elderly souls won't last much longer. I nodded then,
completely unaware of how ominous were his words. As days
passed by, I began to be apprehensive about him, and
at times even some what impressed by charles His obsessive
care for work, his passion. He showed up when I
least expected him to, with a lingering gaze much longer
than comfort would allow. It wasn't just his presence that
made the Foxes confusing. There was an increase in patient death.
I initially dismissed this as coincidence. The hospital was essentially
packed with old patients, many already sickly. Then I noticed
something disturbing. Almost every patient who died suddenly had been
visited by Charles minutes before their demise. There was no correlation.
Some of their conditions were stable, some were even getting well,
but all had one thing in common Charles. One evening
I found him watching me as I read a patient's file.
He smirked knowingly. What's on your mind, Amie, he asked,
his voice low. I made myself smile.
Speaker 2: Just getting the hang of things nice.
Speaker 1: He said, stepping closer. It's better to forget the details
easier that way. That night I had decided to have
a closer watch on him. A few nights later, I
had gone to take a break in the back alley
when I sent something blood curdling. Charles was crouched down
beside a dumpster, facing away from me. He was methodically
doing something, and when I took a step forward for
a better look, I gasped. He was ripping into a
dead pigeon with a surgical blade, finger stained crimson. His
head shot up, his dark eyes piercing through mine. What's wrong, Amy,
he asked, getting up slowly, knife still in his hand.
Speaker 2: I shook my head and slowly backed away. Oh I
just I went out to get some air.
Speaker 1: His lips curled into that strange smirk. Air does good
for you. I hurried back inside, my heart pounding whatever
was wrong with Charles It wasn't just in My head
passed and the deaths continued. I started keeping notes, watching
his every move. I noticed how he always seemed to
be around when a patient took their last breath. He
would enter their room, sometimes alone, sometimes under the preteens
of checking vitals. Moments later, the machines would beat their
ominous tone, signaling the end. Days later, I followed him
quietly from one ward to another. He didn't seem to
notice me at first, but then came to an abrupt stop,
as though sensing my presence. Turning his head slightly, he whispered,
you really shouldn't be out here by yourself, Amy.
Speaker 2: I froze.
Speaker 1: His voice was soft, but held something sinister underlying its
gentle tone.
Speaker 2: I forced a laugh. I'm just checking on the residence.
Speaker 1: He chuckled under his breath, continuing down the halls as
if nothing had happened. Trembling, I held my pen and
wrote another entry in my little black book. A few
nights later, I saw him creeping into the supply unit.
I felt my heart race as I quietly followed a
decent distance away. I peered through a small glass window
to see him filling his shirt pockets full of syringes.
I knew my time was running short. That same night,
I saw Charles walk into the room of an elderly
patient who had only recently been admitted. There was a
knot in my stomach with fear. I wanted to go
in after him, to scream at him not to touch
that patient, but was instead rooted to the floor in fear.
I figured it would be best to get evidence first.
The next morning, that patient was dead, no signs or
symptoms had been expressed, no complications. It was just gone.
I called the police. I explained everything, the pattern, the
theft of the syringes, the suspicious actions of Charles, and
they took me seriously and we made a plan. I
would stay on watch and call them. When Arles made
his next move at night, I saw him again. He
slipped another syringe into his pocket and headed towards the
room of a man who had only been admitted the
day before. I hastily messaged the officers waiting outside. With
everything crammed with courage, I trailed behind him. I slowly
stood just outside the door, looking through the small crack,
But I saw him.
Speaker 2: Made my stomach drop.
Speaker 1: Charles loomed over the patient as he whispered something I
couldn't hear, standing there with a syringe as he prepared
to inject stop, I continued in a voice that rang
through the room.
Speaker 2: He turned his eyes dark, almost soulless.
Speaker 1: The syringe fit itself more snugly into his fingers amy
he purred, you mustn't be here. Before he could make
his move, the police rushed in with a bang.
Speaker 2: Drop the syringe, one shouted.
Speaker 1: Charles clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to each officer
back to me. For a moment, I thought he might charge,
but he hissed and dropped the syringe to a clatter
on the floor. They were all over him, forcing him down.
As they dragged him away, he turned his head toward
me and smiled a slow, knowing smile. I'll see you around, Amy,
I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself. Now that reality
began to hit. Charles was a monster, and I had
witnessed him firsthand.
Speaker 2: But he had been caught. It was over, so I
had hoped.
Speaker 1: Even with Charles in custody, a certain tension still hung
heavily over me. It was his twinkling words that visited
me at night from shadowy corners, And there were nights
I woke in a cold sweat, thinking I saw him
lurking in a shadow somewhere inside my room. I told
myself it was just paranoia that he was locked away.
Speaker 2: But fear is a cunning thing.
Speaker 1: It digs itself in below the skin and refuses to
let slip. And while I indeed wanted to believe that
Charles was gone forever, there was a part of me lurking,
waiting for the moment when his prophecy would come true,
that one day, somehow virtual or otherwise, I would.
Speaker 2: Come to see him again.
Speaker 1: Charles Cullen, a former nurse, is one of the most
notorious serial killers in US history. Cullen murdered at least
forty patients, though he confessed to killing up to four hundred.
He worked in multiple hospitals across New Jersey in Pennsylvania
where he had access to vulnerable patients. Cullen used his
position to inject lethal doses of drugs like digoxin an insulin,
making his crimes difficult to detect. His killing spree went
unnoticed for years until two thousand and three. At Saint
Luke's Hospital in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Cullen's friend Amy Lauren, secretly
cooperated with investigators, helping them gather evidence. Cullen was arrested
on December twelfth, two thousand and three, and confessed to
his crimes. It was sentenced to eleven consecutive life sentences
in prison without the possibility of parole. Hi.
Speaker 2: My name was Kumar, and I was raised in a
small Indian village where the summer air was infused with
the fragrance of fresh mangoes and the land shimmered gold
in the afternoon sunlight. Childhood was simple and beautiful, cool
winds blue on our faces. Friends and I ran through
fields where the greenery spread endlessly, climbed trees and swam
in the clearest ponds reflecting the blue sky like mirror.
Life was easy, worry free, and full of laughter. Then,
out of nowhere, village children started to go missing. It
began as a whisper among the elders that acquired the
entire village. Initially, these missing cases.
Speaker 1: Were brushed off as unfortunate incidents, but soon the locals
started to get scared.
Speaker 2: A boyfriend when the.
Speaker 1: Next community went missing on his way home from school
one girl went to bring back a jug of water
and never returned. Their parents searched, calling out, and the
echoes could be heard across the village, but the police
dismissed it as trivialities. They called them missing cases, but
the police never truly searched. Things started to go down
really soon, parents forbade their children from staying outside for
too long. Those of us still playing out now moved
by twos and threes, trying to protect one another from
the unknown power that snatched away our friends. A village
that was once our playground started to feel different and darker.
It was as if something sinister lurked in the corners
that the sun couldn't touch. One evening, when I was seven,
my best friend Harry and I lost track of time.
We had been playing near the old Banyan tree, laughing
and chasing fireflies, not caring that the sun had dipped
into the horizon. As I looked up by noticed the
sky orange red with the hue of the dying sunlight.
Warmer tones of the evening became cooler night blues. The
fields were filled with the chirping of crickets, while eerie
howls of coyotes danced in the air around us at
a distance.
Speaker 2: We should take the shortcut through the woods.
Speaker 1: Harry suggested it wasn't the safest route, but it was
the fastest way home. The thought of our mother's scolding
us for being late made us quick to agree.
Speaker 2: We started walking.
Speaker 1: Along with the sounds of our voices, we could hear
the crunch of leaves under our feet. Five minutes into
the walk, we began hearing a distant crying. It was
like the cry of a child at first far, but
then it became louder. Thinking a poor kid must be
in trouble, Harry ran toward that sound.
Speaker 2: I had no other.
Speaker 1: Option than to follow him, but a red alarm had
already activated in my mind. Who in the woods would
be crying a lost child, a ghost. Every ghost story
we ever heard ran through my life. We got close
to a big bush, and peeking through the leaves, we
saw it in the damp earth. It was an old,
shabby doll, button dyed, glittering in the moon's dim light.
The instant I stopped to touch it, the cry peeped again, clearer.
This time the cry wasn't even of a child. He
was coming from the doll. Harry Smirt thinking something must
have made the doll move to let out that cry,
but I wondered what or who. We turned to leave
when we heard footsteps behind us.
Speaker 2: There was a.
Speaker 1: Man, a tall, lanky man, standing under the glimmering moonlight.
His partial face was curtained under the shadows of the
tree branches above him. His eyes were wide, and he
had this stretchy, unnatural, dragged grin. He whispered, du like toys,
I have many more. Come with me and I'll show you.
Speaker 2: My blood ran cold.
Speaker 1: Har and I had heard the stories, the missing children,
the stranger who lured them away. We shook our heads
and turned to leave, but he moved fast. Before we
could take another step, he appeared in front of us,
blocking our way, his long fingers reaching.
Speaker 2: Into his pocket, pulling out chocolates.
Speaker 1: Come now, don't be afraid take these, I have plenty more.
His voice was smooth and coaxing, but there was something
off about it, something that made me scared enough to
never stay outside after dark. Now, Harry suddenly yelled, grabbing
my hand, let's go, Kmar. We started to run, our
feet pounding against the forest floor.
Speaker 2: My heart hammered against my ribs.
Speaker 1: I expected to hear some footsteps and feel his hands
grabbing at our clothes, but as I glanced back, I
saw something worse.
Speaker 2: He wasn't chasing us. He was standing still, and he
was munching on something.
Speaker 1: At first, I thought it was the chocolates that he
offered us, but then I noticed it from a black
plastic bag. He pulled something out, something dark, wet and
dripping with a thick red liquid. He stucked it into
his mouth, chewing slowly, savoring it the way the thick residue.
Speaker 2: Ran down his chin.
Speaker 1: I got doubts about whether this guy's a real human
being or not. It wasn't food, at least I won't
call it food.
Speaker 2: I didn't scream. I couldn't.
Speaker 1: Harry dragged me forward, forcing me to move until we
reached the edge of the woods, where the sight of
the village lights finally made us feel safe.
Speaker 2: We ran home and told our parents.
Speaker 1: They listened, their faces pale with horror, but when they
asked around the village, no one knew who the man was.
A year later, my father got a job in the
city and we moved away.
Speaker 2: Life changed.
Speaker 1: One evening, I got home from school and found my
parents glued to the TV. The tone of the news
anchor was one of grave seriousness, depicting a case that
had shaken the entire country. A man had been caught,
a man who had been kidnapping and murdering children, along
with a friend who was equally sick like him. Nineteen
confirmed victims, some as young as five. He had even
confessed to eating their flesh. The screen flashed an image
of him. It was the man from the woods, the
one who had grinned at us, the one who had
offered us chocolates. My legs grew weak. My mother turned
to look at me, her eyes wide with horror. I
lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, haunted even
now by thoughts that just couldn't let go. I had
stared into the eyes of a monster and lived to
tell the tale. I should have been one of them,
but I wasn't, and to this day I don't know why.
Around two thousand and six, cases of missing children began
skyrocketing in a village of Neuda, India, which was later
termed as the Thari Killings. A series of gruesome child
murders and assaults came to light through this case. Cops
investigated the cases and found out that the crimes were
committed by Maninder Singh Pander, a businessman, and his domestic
help surrender Kohli at Pandhander's bungalow and Nathari village, police
discovered human remains and drains near the house, leading to
shocking revelations of abuse, murder, and cannibalism. Coley admitted to luring,
killing and dismembering multiple victims, mostly children. Both were sentenced
to death, but Pander was later acquitted in some cases.
The case exposed severe police negligence and the vulnerability of
marginalized communities.
Speaker 2: I never truly wanted to believe that demons.
Speaker 1: Exist, ghosts, perhaps spirits of the dead in this world. Sure,
but demons. They belong in horror movies and sermons, not
in a free bedroom house on Carolina Street in Gary, Indiana,
of which I am a proud tenant.
Speaker 2: But they came anyway.
Speaker 1: It started with the flies, black buzzing swarms of flies
appearing even when winter stood firm kill as many as
I did and fumigate the house, they just kept coming back.
Speaker 2: This was no normal infestation. They were not to have
been there, but this was just the start.
Speaker 1: At night, I heard heavy boots climbing and descending the stairs,
pacing the halls just outside my bedroom. The first few
times I thought it was one of my children getting
a glass of water or going to the bathroom, But
when I checked, they were sound asleep, their chests moving
up and down in utter merciful ignorance. The footsteps continued,
and they wouldn't stop, not even when I had locked
every door and window and suspended myself from prayer.
Speaker 2: Then my children changed. First it was little things.
Speaker 1: My daughter talked to invisible friends and whispered tones, her
eyes darting to the darkest corners of the room, as
if something lurked there. The youngest woke up in the
morning with deep fingernail scratches on his arms and legs.
His sheets twisted as if he had been fighting something
in his sleep.
Speaker 2: But my eldest, he scared me the most.
Speaker 1: One night, he sat up in bed, foaming, still straight
and motionless and with a blank stare.
Speaker 2: I called his name.
Speaker 1: He turned his head slowly, very slowly, as if he
were straining to do so, until he was locked into
his stare upon me. His smile was not that smile.
It was the smile of something else. Mama, he whispered,
he wants to play. The room became unbearably still, crushed
under the invisible weight of something pushing against my skin.
I could not move my son. My baby gave a
guttural laugh that made bile rise in my throat. The
spirit left suddenly, and my son, after blinking back the tears,
looked around, confused and began to cry. He couldn't tell
me what had just happened. That was when I realized
there was something evil in our house. So I went
to the priest. Father Magunat listened to my story with
a stern expression while I told him about everything strange
that happened. The whispered voices and the shadows that slithered
across the walls that should have been empty. He agreed
to come out to the house to bless it and
to drive whatever it was away. He lived to regret it.
His complexion drained. The moment he walked into the house,
the air chilled enough for our breath.
Speaker 2: To be visible.
Speaker 1: He dipped holly water in every room, muttering prayers and
hushed tones. Down in the basement, something growled, The walls
quivered above us, The bulls exploded. It's nothing, our surroundings
in total darkness. This is not a ghost, he told
me afterward. This is something much worse. The Department of
Child Services got involved when my children started missing school.
When they arrived for their visit, they witnessed things I
could barely explain. My youngest was lifted from the ground,
an invisible force hoisting him into the air, before he
was flung across the room.
Speaker 2: Like a rag doll.
Speaker 1: My middle child walked backward up a wall and inhuman
grace in his movements before he collapsed to the floor unconscious.
Speaker 2: The caseworkers screamed, the nurse ran for help.
Speaker 1: They took my children away that night, in the quiet
darkness of the empty house. I cried all alone that cold,
terrible night, with only that thing crouching in the other room.
I fought, I prayed, I begged to God to take
this curse away from my family. The priest returned, stronger,
this time, more prepared. He performed an exorcism on me.
First three times, I don't remember much, just flashes of darkness,
the feeling of something clawing inside my skin, trying to
tear its way out. I remember screaming, though I don't
recall if it was my voice or someone else's.
Speaker 2: On another night, I saw the thing in the window.
Speaker 1: I was lying in bed, exhausted but too petrified to sleep.
This heaviness came over me, further back on the bed,
pressure coming onto the bed, It crept up my legs.
I gasped. I couldn't move. The room was dark, another
darkness looming above me. He had no face, but his eyes.
Those eyes were disfigured as burnt embers, filled with hatred, hunger,
and some other sense disdain.
Speaker 2: She'll never be free, a voice.
Speaker 1: Growled, with sensation finally flowing again through my body.
Speaker 2: I leapt off the bed, gasping for air.
Speaker 1: It felt as though it had all turned to ash
in the back of my throat. I ran, I took
my keys and fled into the night, without looking back
until I reached miles further the church where Father Maganaut waited.
Speaker 2: I sobbed.
Speaker 1: He pressed a crucifix into my hands, firm fingered.
Speaker 2: Then we shall make it.
Speaker 1: The last exorcism was different, intense, violent. The thing inside me,
the thing inside my children, the thing inside the house
fought back with a vengeance.
Speaker 2: Doors slammed, walls shook.
Speaker 1: My screams were interspersed with moments where I tried to
shake off the.
Speaker 2: Thing weighing on me. It hissed in my ear.
Speaker 1: Said things to me that I will never forget, but
never utter.
Speaker 2: Then suddenly he was gone.
Speaker 1: The air cleaned, the house felt still darkness that had
clung to me, to my children, to every square inch
of that damned place lifted. We moved out, left it
all behind that house, and I never looked back. Years
later I learned the house got demolished. It was bought
by Zach Baggins, filmed in a documentary, and then ultimately destroyed.
But I know, I know the thing that had tormented
us hasn't vanished, not really sometimes late at night, when
I close my eyes, I.
Speaker 2: Still hear the whispers. You never lave me.
Speaker 1: LaToya Amons, an Indiana woman, claim she and her three
children were tormented by demonic forces in their Gary, Indiana
home in twenty and eleven. Dubbed the two hundred Demon
House case, the alleged hauntings included levitation, shadowy figures, and
violent possessions. Amons sought help from police, doctors, and allergy,
leading to an investigation by child services and law enforcement.
A Catholic priest, father Michael Magnot, performed multiple exorcisms on
Amans once sanctioned by the church. Official reports from police
and medical staff described eerie, unexplainable events, adding to the
cases notoriety. The home was later demolished by paranormal investigator
Zach Baggins, who documented the case in his twenty eighteen
film Demon House. Ammons has since remained largely private, only
occasionally speaking about her experiences, maintaining her belief that the
house was infested with evil forces. The case remains one
of the most controversial modern possession claims in the US.