Speaker 1: When a colleague of mine retired, he began sharing the
research we had been involved in, including work with two
bigfoot research groups and some controversial researchers. By coincidence, he
went on a hunting trip and he lost his life.
His passing never sat right with me. Since then, I've
retired to and I've taken precautions to keep my identity uncompromised,
using public computers and going by another name in honor
of my colleague who left us too early. Here are
the highlights of our research. In nineteen eighty seven, a
small group of scientists were brought to an Air Force
base where they were briefed on research they'd been conducting
involving a deceased sisquatch that had been hit by a train.
Over the next thirty seven years, the program grew. Today,
over one hundred individuals are involved in research. The facility
is located in a mountain and it is guarded like
Fort Knox. Employees pass through three checkpoints before reaching the
entrance in the mountain wall inside. An elevator takes employees
more than one hundred feet underground to the research facility.
There are one hundred sasquatch cadavers of multiple ages and
subspecies in freezers. There are thirteen that are living, captured
at great human costs to the military members supporting the program.
Over the last three decades, there have been several helicopter
crashes in the area of the facility. Entire squadrons and
teams have been lost. Cover Ups told the media the
tragedies happen during training missions. The real explanations are far
more feral, relating to fail attempts at bringing more creatures in.
The project began with an autopsy aimed at determining how
the creature could survive even in the harshest climates. With
each new discovery, the government found ways to apply it
to Our military. Secrecy is a top priority. If the
research leaked, it could cause problems homeland security, brain drain,
and stolen tech. Our research showed the specimen had two
more ribs than humans and was considerably larger and denser
by comparison, dense enough to withstand the impact of a
thirty caliber bullet fired at close range space So closely
together they act like plated armor under the chest, and
we theorized that their bone density involved due to the
amount of calcium they consume. Gained by eating the bones
of animals they hunt. The skulls are curved like a
bear's and more denser than a human's, able to deflect
most rounds of ammunition. The only way to penetrate the
brain is a direct shot into the orbital socket or
directly under the base of the skull. The digestive system
is impressive. A nine hundred pound creature can consume one
hundred and eighty pound deer in one sinning, including the
bones and the organs. This allows them to hunt and
consume every three to four days, supplementing their diet with
fruits and nuts and other opportunistic hunting. This creature has
forty eight chromosomes, the same as apes, but two more
than humans. This implies the creature is not a human subspecies.
The first life specimen was obtained in nineteen ninety nine,
and research grew exponentially after that, focusing especially on its
camouflage abilities. Perhaps our greatest finding to date is that
the creatures are capable of generating an electric current. The
energy is channeled to their hair and used to reflect
their surroundings its electric camouflage. We also believe the current
powers their ability to see at night, similar to thermal scope.
When witness, the subject's eyes and skins will warm, making
the eyes appear to glow. When the animal is dead,
this camouflage ability ceases to function, and you can imagine
what the commercial hunting industry would do for this information.
The creature has three sets of vocal cores which it
uses to create infrasound. Our next leg of research examined
how the males use infrasound to affect emotions fear, anxiety,
and confusion. Some are capable of inflicting memory loss, lasting
for several minutes to in some instances, several days. The
female's infrasound is different, having a calming, soothing effect, though
it was also noted to create confusion. When live deer
or livestock are dropped into the containment area, the animals
do not panic or try to flee. They appear confused,
unaware of the creature feet away, even as it charges
and attacks. The creatures appear to communicate not only with infrasound,
but also with an oral language of clicks and grunts
and hand signals. They have a community and a hierarchy
within their groups. There's typically one alpha male and a
group of females and juveniles. If another large male is introduced,
there will be a fight to the death. Similarly, when
a juvenile male becomes a threat, he will be attacked
by by alpha and he will be driven off. Now
this has resulted in the facility having multiple containments for
different males. However, research suggests that if there are no females,
resent males can coexist without aggression, even to the point
of sharing meals. Females are not receptive to breeding until
the last offspring matures to the age of three to
four years old. They rarely give birth to more than
one offspring at a time. The offspring cling to the
mother for the first year and then become more independent
after that time. There were several documented events of female
staff experiencing vivid images described as waking dreams of places
and events experienced by the female creatures. Examples include capture, childbirth,
confrontation with rival clans. Other examples include the creature projecting
to the female's staff their favorite foods. There are no
records of male staff members experiencing these visions. We have
also documented their behavior in the presence of staff members.
The females are present, the specimens are calm, observant, and
open to accepting offerings. When there are males present, the
creatures become cautious, observing from a distance and refused to
accept any type of offering. When the uniformed or arm
staff are present, the creatures retreat to the furthest corners
of the containment area and will sometimes project aggressive infrasound.
To this day, the facility has released four specimens back
into the wild, all of which are non aggressive and
showed no hostility toward our research staff. All four were
implanted with GPS tracking devices. The first two were released
where they were captured and then tracked along a malgration
route for the next four years, traveling as far south
as East Texas and as far north as northern Ontario, Canada.
The other two traveled an average of forty to fifty
miles a night, spending several weeks in one location at
a time before moving to a new location. Their movements
suggest these creatures have learned routes that they teach to
their offspring, and on several occasions the signals have vanished,
only to appear again several days later fifty miles away,
suggesting the creatures use cave systems to move underground. As
for the foul smell the creatures emitt, we have discovered
there are different musks for different situations, for example, when
females are receptive to breeding and when one feels threatened again,
those are just the highlights. I'm sharing the information with
you because of your viewer's base and your non judgmental approach.
I appreciate everything you have done sharing information with the public.
I'm doing this for my late colleague. He would have
wanted me to do this. Okay. I didn't say any
thing before I read this story, but I got this
email quite a while ago, and I've actually read it
two or three times, and I've to be candid, I've
used it for some research in my Steve Lilly stories.
I finally sent it off to Rebecca and she kind
of cleaned it up a little bit, and it's the
man who wrote the email did a great job on
the front end, but she kind of organized it for
me so that I can because I'm not real smart,
and so she uses smaller words and stuff for me
that I can pronounce. I thought this was interesting if
you're interested in secret government operations where they actually capture
sosquatch and keep them captive and examine the bodies. I
thought this might be an interesting It was very interesting
to me. I thought you might enjoy it, so I
appreciate the writer for sending it. Sorry you lost your buddy,
and we really enjoyed this email. Thank you, sir. This
event happened almost fifty years ago when I was a
young teenage boy growing up in rural Blunt County, Alabama,
thirty miles north of Birmingham. This area of north central
Alabama is considered the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, and
in nineteen seventy eight, it was far more country than
it is now. Back then, we had two gas stations,
a general store, and a caution light, but today the
community has several fast food places, a Mexican restaurant, a pharmacy,
and a bank. At the time of my encounter, I
was in my early teens. I had not gotten my
driver's permit yet, so my main mode of transportation was
my bicycle. My friends and I used woods as our playground.
We hunted squirrels, and we fished, and we swam in
the river and camped out on the weekends. I was
comfortable outdoors as any other twelve or thirteen year old
boy who had spent years exploring the woods. Strange noises
and critters or bugs did not easily spook me. Even today,
working as alignman for the local power company, my job
requires me to spend a great deal of time alone
in the woods at all hours of the day and night,
so I'm not one who worries about things going bump
in the night. In nineteen seventy eight, a friend taught
me into putting out trotlines down on the Locust Fork
River behind my house. I don't remember what possessed us
to undertake such an adventure, but I agreed to help him.
We chose a remote spot where the river made a
U shape ben and all the water ran slower. To
get to the river, you had to walk down a
steep terrain that was heavily wooded, and going down wasn't
too bad, but coming back up the road could be
a little taxing, even for a couple of kids. We
set out our lines, and for the next few days
we went after school and we checked them. It didn't
take long to realize this wasn't at all that great
of an idea. We caught two or three fish a day,
but usually by the time we got to them, turtles
had eaten everything but the head. As a teenage boy,
I started thinking of other ways I'd rather spend my time,
and I was seriously debating on quitting after a few
more days if the lack of success continued. But little
did I know that decision would be made for me.
One day, after we'd been doing this for a few days,
my friend told me at school that he had something
he had to do that afternoon, and he asked me
if I would check them by myself. I wasn't thrilled
about it, but I said, yeah, I'll do it that evening.
I hooked it down the steep hill alone to the
river for what I expected to be a total waste
of time. I began to check the lines and I
heard something grunt across the river on the opposite bank.
At this spot, the river was about forty feet across.
The opposite bank was also heavily wooded, and thick underbrush
lined the bank. It was so thick that there were
very few spots where you could even see through it,
and even then it was only in small gaps that
were few and far between. Whatever was across the water
was now grunting and growling, and it was shaking small trees,
all the while making sure it stayed completely concealed behind
the brush. I told myself it was probably a hog
rooting around, but I knew immediately that was not the case.
It wasn't a pig with its nose stuck in the dirt.
It was grunting and growling, not snorting and squealing. I
could tell by where the sounds came from that whatever
it was, it was at least as tall as me,
and wild pigs don't grab and shake twenty foot tall
hardwood trees like their twigs. Well, I try to ignore it,
hoping whatever it was would tire of messing with me
and just go away, But it continued to parallel me.
As I moved down the bank from line to line.
It became obvious to me that it had no intention
of going away, and I eventually lost my nerve. I
began to be afraid that something would burst through that
thick brush and into the river and get me. So
I said, to hell with the fishheads, and I scurried
up that steep bank. I think I completed it in
about half the time it normally took us. Even as
I did, I could still hear this thing causing a commotion,
no doubt, making sure that I would not change my
mind and come back it didn't have to worry about
that happening. The next day, I told my friend that
I was out of the trotline business and would not
be going back to that section of the river. When
I told him why, he scoffed at me, But I
didn't care. I don't know if he went back down
there or not, nor did I give a damn. Over
the years, I had thought about this event and tried
to rationalize what hap As my dad was a Bigfoot enthusiast,
I had known about the legend of it since I
was a young kid. We watched every one of those
cheesy seventy documentaries and of course the Patterson film. But
Bigfoot was something that lived out west. At the time
of this event, sightings of this creature in Alabama were
unheard of. Years later I learned that other sightings in
North Alabama were actually quite common. I can't say for
certain what it was. I never saw it. It wasn't
until I listened to your podcast and heard others discussing
episodes of tree shaking, that I allowed myself to consider
this possibility. Like I said in the beginning, this story
doesn't contain any of the more exciting aspects of many
of your other submissions. But this did happen. My brother
told me it was probably some moonshiner running me off
of it. Still, as most of the counties in North
Alabama around this time, we're all dry. Moonshining had once
been widespread in those hills and haulers, but by the
late seventies the illicit liquor trade had pretty much dried up.
There were still bootleggers around, but they wouldn't have any
reason to be that deep in the woods. Others have
also said somebody was messing with me, maybe even some
of my friends, trying to scare me. But if that
had been the case, and knowing my friends, they would
have spilled the beans and told me about it. They
were the kind of kids who if they ever got
anything on you, they weren't going to let you live
it down. But until this day, no one has ever
admitted to such shenanigans. And I doubt a teenage boy
could shake a tree like that. I don't think a
full grown man could either. When I shared it, even
with family members, I get ridiculed as such. Over the years,
I've quit talking about it. It's only after hearing your
podcast that I now feel comfortable relaying it to you.
Thanks for your podcast. I love listening to it and
hearing all the accounts that you read, and I've turned
my dad onto your show. Thank you for that. After
hearing some of the more terrifying ones, I'm glad mine
was as unspectacular as it was. Sometimes in life, the
less exciting it is the better. Oh that's the damn truth.
He signs it. I'm not gonna tell you his name,
but North Alabama. I spent some time in North Alabama
up around Fort Payne and five, Alabama and gunners Full.
I got to do some fishing at Gunnersville and Lakewise,
and I really like that area. Very nice people, good people.
I thought this was a real exciting story. I mean,
imagine you're a kid and you're running trot lines, and
you got to run them if you really to me,
if you're going to run trot lines, some people put
them out, they'll run them once a day, but you know,
to really run trot lines and do it right, you
probably need to run them about every three or four hours.
So he found that out. The turtles and the guard
and everything else that eat what's on your hook. It's
a fun thing to do, or it used to be
for me when I was younger. I used to run
trot lines with I'm sorry, I just keep talking about me.
That's not what I mean to do. I guess I'm
just running at the mouth. I'm just rambling. Anyway, Let's
just put it this way. This was a good story.
I identified with it, and knowing people in North Alabama,
I could almost hear them telling me this story. So
I'm sorry I got choked up, but it was really good.
I wanted to say thanks to the writer. I appreciate it.
This morning, as I was slowly waking up for the day,
I felt a finger touching my foot under the covers
of my bed. This in itself is not unusual, except
that I live alone. Somehow, the experience finally prompted me
to write to you. My father was born in a
small town in Germany. When the grave digger in the
town retired, he informed his successor when someone passes, there
would be a knock on his door. Letting him know
it was time to get up and start digging. When
my grandmother in Germany died, doors knocked at two homes
that day, one in Germany and one in Canada, within
two hours of each other. My father opened the door
to see who was there, but our entrance was empty,
and there was in a single footprint in the fresh
coating of snow outside our door. At around thirteen years old,
I was shoveling grain into the auger that was supplying
a feed meal. The grain bend sat in a plywood
barn with a ladder nailed to the wall for getting
in and out there. I was hauling the grain when
I looked up and saw my uncle wearing a black tuxedo.
I stopped and stared at him curiously, and I told
him hello. Then I got back to my work. It
wasn't until later that night, after my chores were done
that I found out that he had died. Moved into
a farmhouse, and immediately started seeing apparitions once. I even
watched a glass move across the kitchen counter in front
of me. Last fall, my father came to visit for
a night. He insisted on sleeping on the couch that night,
and the next morning he asked which talk show I
was listening to on the radio at three in the morning.
I didn't know what he was talking about, so I
told him I had been asleep all night. He looked
at me like he regretted even asking, and we didn't
talk about it anymore. My old neighbor is the son
of a man who was born in this house over
one hundred years ago. Next time I see him, I
tell him to take his relatives home with him. They
aren't paying rent. Two winters ago, I woke up on
my back with my arms crossed onto my chest. I
felt a light pressure holding them down, and when I
tried to lift them, something pushed them back with such
force that it pushed me into the Matre. Immediately said
a prayer and felt the pressure disappear instantly. Many occurrences
have happened, but became so frequent in my everyday life
that I've been able to find normalcy in it. All.
Normal sea. It's a normal normal sea. Is that even
a word? Normalcy? Anyway? Normal sea, and at all I've
never felt afraid, nor have I ever found reason to
be alarmed by it. Looking at it objectively, it's just energy,
different between human and animal. Each of us has a soul,
and when we leave our bodies, we pass into the
spiritual realm. Depending on our development and experiences, some of
us move on toward the light, while others stay earth bound.
Sometime those who have moved on will come back for
a visit to see how we're progressing here on Earth.
I'm convinced that if we could see the wider spectrum
of light, we would see the spiritual realm. But since
we can't, the spirits have to do the hard work
gathering enough energy by siphoning it from the living or
drawing it from energy of the environment. If there's enough
energy around, they can make themselves known to us by
knocking on a door, or moving a glass, or turning
a light on or off. As a believer in reincarnation,
I often question the role of ghosts and why they exist. Fortunately,
I found a book written by a Catholic minister in
Germany after World War One. His name was Johannes Greber.
Maybe it's Johanness Grieber Johannas Godeba if you'd like to
look it up. The information he shared is monumental. It
will make you see the world and your life from
a completely different perspective. Thank you for what you do.
I hope my story is of help to people seeking
the truth, and thank you to those who have the
courage to write about their experiences and off. And this
was a story about multiple experiences with ghosts and other apparitions,
family members, neighbors, neighbors, parents, and I've never experienced anything
like this, but we get a few emails like this,
and people believe different things, and that's fine. You can
believe whatever you want. But sometimes I wonder when my
light goes out, what am I going to see? What?
You know, I'm a believer in Jesus, But other than that,
I wonder what the experience is going to be like.
Is it going to be a bright light? Is it
going to be a woosh through space? Am I just
going to go to sleep? There are a lot of
different theories about it, and as many theories from the
secular community as there are from the religious community. And
the truth is, we don't know. It's funny because billions
of people have lived and died on this earth and
nobody has any idea what happens moment of death. But
it will definitely be a new experience that I've never
experienced before. So I'm kind kind of in a way
looking at it as sort of an adventure, you know,
A wonder meeting my creator. I think that's going to
be pretty cool, and I hope it happens instantly. I
hope we don't just go to sleep and sleep for
a million years, because not that we would even know
if we were asleep. How would you even know it
had been a million years. I want to be cool
to wake up and say, hey, how long has it
been since I died? And somebody there tell you, oh,
it's been a million one point two million years since
you died? What? Man? I missed all that? Anyway, just
stuff I think about. You know something else I think about.
I get up in the morning and I drink some
coffee and I'll try to just clear my mind for
about fifteen or twenty minutes, and then I'll pull up
my phone and I've gotten I'll be honest with you,
I've gotten on this TikTok rabbit hole kind of thing,
and I've come They're ass some of these do you
guys know who these First Amendment auditors are? These guys
who just sit on a sidewalk and film stuff and
try to provoke reactions from people on the street. And
they're testing their freedoms just what they're doing, and they're
making money off of it. But what I find really
spectacularly interesting and I love watching people and trying to
figure out what the what is the psychology of what
is going on here? What makes people do and think
and behave the way they do. What amazes me of
the people that the people who will confront these auditors
and they say they don't want to be on camera,
but they step right in front of the camera and
they start a big fight with them or an argument
with them. They'll even chase them around. Some of them
will get violent with the auditors. A lot of them
get pepper sprayed. What is it about? Is it? Is
it a need to control your environment? If I walked
in a shopping mall and there was somebody there with
the camera just filming people going in and out, I
wouldn't think anything about it. I just walk right by
them and go in. I have no need, no desire
to find out what they're doing. Or somebody standing at
a lot of times they'll stand in front of post office.
Is you know sometimes they'll stand in front of these
cannabis dispensaries, get people going in and out of the
marijuana dispensaries, which I think is kind of which is
brilliant because you're always going to get someone to confront
you there, which is that's what they want because that's
what people watch, and that gets clicks, and that gets
full views, and that's how people like us creators make money.
If you listen to a video, in their case, watch
a video from front to end, that's when you do
the best financially. Nobody's getting super rich doing it, but
a lot of them make their living doing it, and
they and the auditors have become extremely crafty at how
they respawn to people. But I'm just curious from you,
the audience, what is it that makes these people tick
that confront the First Amendment auditors? Why do they Is
it just a control thing? Is it a pride thing?
What is it? You guys? Tell me what you think
of is if you haven't watched any of you won't
even know what I'm talking about. But if you've watched
any of them, and I know a lot of you have,
I find them fascinating. Not because of the controversy I
just look at the people that confront these people and
I go, what is going on in that person's brain?
And so along with that you get to see like
the police cam, the bodycam footage of people that the
police arrests. Like they'll pull somebody over and they'll say, well,
you were going sixty five and a forty. I need
to see your driver's license, your registration, and your insurance.
And instantly these people become a problem. They won't roll
down their window, they won't give the officer their driver's license.
They know they were speeding, but they won't cooperate at all,
and it eventually winds up after thirty or forty five
minutes of the cops saying, if you don't get out
of that car and give me that information, you're going
to prison. And if you don't roll down your window,
I'm going to break that window and drag you out
of that car. They will take it so far, so
far that they'll go to prison, when all they had
to do was just say, yeah, I was speeding, I
broke the law, Take your lumps, give them the license,
give me your insurance, all that stuff, and just get
it done and move on. What is it? What goes
on in the mind of these people that bow up
on the police when they've obviously done something that rated
them being pulled over. What is it you guys? Let
me know in the comments what you think is going
on with these people, Like the people who won't roll
down their windows or give up their drivers. Are they
trying to control the cops. You're never gonna win. The
cops are always, always, every time, gonna come out on top.
You're gonna do what they say every time. If they
ask you to get out of a car, you are
coming out of that car. If they ask you to
turn around and put your hands on the back trunk
of the car, they're gonna search you. They're gonna handcuff you,
put you to the ground. It's gonna get done. Why
do people continually bow up on this stuff? Anyway? I'm
just fascinated with the psychology of people and the trouble
they get themselves in when it's not even necessary. It
is not even necessary in the least bit. Is it
just a need to win? Is it a need to
come out on top? Is it a need for control?
Tell me what you're think in the comments. I know
that was a big tangent, but it just popped in
my head. Thought I'd just talk about it. When I
was six years old, my family took a vacation a
little ways north of Cadillac, Michigan. We stayed in a
small cabin that belonged to some family friends. They had
a sun ma age named Jeff, and we got along
pretty well. We spent a few days playing in the
woods and by the creek that ran along the hill.
On the fifth night, we saw a dog man. It
was well past midnight, and Jeff and I were up
away past our bedtime, goofing around and looking at comics
with a flashlight. The bedroom we were staying in was small,
in a loft that we'd climbed into with a lighter.
In the loft, there was a round window below the
peak of the roof where we could look out and
see the driveway in the large front yard dotted with trees.
Next to the drive was a small wooden shed. Beside
that was a telephone pole with a big yard lamp
casting pale bluish light on the ground. On the other
side of the shed, just out of our site of
our little window were metal oscar the grouch style trash
cans with lids secured down by black bungee cords to
keep animals out of them. We were sitting there, flipping
pages over in our comic books when we heard something
getting into one of those trash cans. We crawled to
the little window, hoping to see a raccoon or maybe
even a bear, But what we saw was something else entirely.
It was darker than the night around it, blacker than black,
a walking silhouette. It was bigger than a bear, but
narrower in some parts too, and moving slowly and low
to the ground. We waited for it to come into
the pale blue light, but it seemed to know better.
It disappeared into the darkness of the lawn where the
light couldn't reach it, and then it circled around and
went back to the shed the long way. We lost
sight of it when it got to the vehicles, and
then we saw it again, clearer than before, as it
stood up beside my dad's vehicle. Dad had a lifted
charger so high that the floorboards were my eye level.
I was an average sized, healthy six year old kid,
but my dad still had to pick me up and
set me in the car. It's head and shoulders towered
above the charger's roof, I could make out a neck
a long muzzle. In twenty years, we lost sight of
it after that. The next morning, while our parents were
just dragging themselves out of the bed, Jeff and I
rushed outside to look at the trash cans. Sure enough,
the bags inside were torn to shreds, like something with
claws had ripped through them looking for what it wanted.
But the strange thing was that the lids were still
on and the bunges were still secured when we got there.
Whatever had gotten into them had taken the lids off
and then put them back on afterward. We never told
anybody about it, even at six. We knew our parents
would never believe us. And I can't say for certain
that I saw a dog man, but I can't say
that I did either way. That experience taught me to
keep an open mind. Since that day, I'm always cautious
in the woods, and I advise anyone who hears this
story to be cautious too. Yep, I would be cautious
at least in your area if you saw a dog man.
But here's what confuses me about this story. Who lifts
a Dodge charger. That doesn't make sense to me. You
generally left a truck, like a four wheel drive truck.
Your dad lifted his charger to where you couldn't even
get in it. I've never seen a lifted Dodge charger. Anyway,
this was a great story. Kid six year old kid
thinks he sees a dog man by the garbage cans
that opens and closes trash cans with bungee cords. Amazing,
It's amazing. Okay, here's a short, little Bigfoot story you
guys might enjoy. In October of nineteen ninety one, my
ex husband and I had rent into a condo in Mammoth, California.
On our first day there, we decided to go fishing
at Lake Mary. The whole time we were at the water,
I felt as if someone was watching me, but I
didn't make a big deal of it, and we went
about our day. The next day, we decided to hike
to Inyo Crater. I Nyo never heard of that. I
think that's unless that's a Typo. That's a crater I've
never heard of. We took the moderate trail and we
were about halfway there when we heard something crashing through
the forest to our left, a huge buck came bounding
through the trees right in front of me. It was
so close I could see the color of its eyes.
It had been so frightened by something it couldn't have
cared less about running right past us. We looked in
the direction that it came from, but nothing was chasing
it that we could see. But still the experience spooked us.
I thought about the eerie feely God had while fishing
the day before, and I found myself looking over my
shoulder the rest of the height. That evening, there was
a light snowfall, and as I stood on the balcony
and listened to the silence, I pondered the day, unable
to get the look of fear on that animal's face
out of my mind. I've heard other people's stories on
your channel about animal behavior and sisquatch, and to this day,
I wonder if that buck was being chased by one.
That's a really good question. Normally, if a deer's running,
they they'll see you and they'll veer off. You know,
they'll stop, hit the brakes, turn, they'll do something. But
it sounds like they didn't even see you. So that's
kind of a creepy story. It could have been a
big foot chasing it. You never know, you never know.
Thank you very much for the story. I thought that
was short and concise and very good. Thank you very much,
ma'am for the story. All right, I'm going to add
a story from the archives, just one behind this one
to finish out this podcast. Hope you guys enjoy it,
and I'll sign off now until you I hope you
enjoyed this last story, and after that we'll see on
the next one. Veronica Amber had no recollection of her
first encounter with the wisps that came as inconspicuous and unexpected,
like flurries of indoored dust that float and fly when
bathed by a sheen of sunlight. At the beginning of
their residence at three point fifteen Copacitic Lane, just before
their street transitioned into the main road in town. Her
home knew a time when it was vacant of the wisps,
and the only specters filling the inside of their projections
from the old films that her father would display on
dark velvet walls of the house. The walls of their
Victorian used to hold no haunting tendrils of their existence.
The hallways her no shrills or cutawalls from a life
silenced by death, and the marbled floor of their historic
home at one point had less of a tendency to
send shivers up one's another regions and into the spine.
The wisps were invisible inhabitants of their home, but to
the rest of the world they were simply called ghosts.
Veronica Amber's acquaintance with them was far from the horror
filled nonsense she'd read about in books and watched in movies.
For the more the whists made themselves known to her,
the more annoyed she became. It seemed they were always around,
causing mischief, popping out at the most inconvenient times, and
filling her ears with macabre groans in the dark in
an attempt to inflict fear into her soul when she
only wanted to have a good night's sleep, and since
then she had scarcely known a moment's peace. Veronica Amber,
as she liked to be called, awoke on Halloween morning
with an abrupt opening of her eyes. She lay on
her back in her attic room, watching the warmth of
the dawning sun changed the color of her slanted ceiling.
She heard a shuffling of feet, moved her eyes to
the foot of the bed, and there stood a lady
Wisp looking at her with a cocked head, her spaghetti
strands of hair falling onto a ghostly shoulder where the
clavical and humorous were exposed underneath decayed and stretched out
torn skin. This particular wisp never bothered Vam like the
others did, but the gaze she gave her always made
her feel uncomfortable because she knew the apparition was trying
to say something through those glassy, unblinking eyes. Perhaps it
was due to the dislocated jaw and missing tongue that
kept her from saying what was on her mind, but regardless,
Vam had no time to feel sorry for something that
had the same design as a fart in the wind.
It's Halloween today, Paprika Vam said, lifting her head from
the pillow and using her elbows to hold her up
as she faced the wisp. A Vam named all the
wisps after spices, and Paprika happened to fit this specific one.
Not only that, but it's my last time as host
now that I'm eighteen. After this I'm relieved of all duties.
Vam gave a quick stretched and moved her body into
a sitting position on the side of her bed. She
felt the moist hot fog surround her feet, and when
she looked down, she glanced at the open mouth of
a Regano, an older wisp who was bodyless and used
his old man head to roll around their home. His
gurgily foaming mouth was stretched wide in an expression that
would make any normal humans soil themselves and fright. His
cracky lips clung around Van's feet, leaving strands of ghostly
saliva on her ankles. Fam rolled her eyes and wiggled
her toes, visible through the rotted eyelids of his head,
and she kicked him, making him vanish into nothing. You're disgusting,
she muttered, moving toward the bathroom. Before she reached the
toilet time, a young boy whisp who looked about six
or seven, popped up from the floor and shrieked like
a banshee. She gasped more from the suddenness of it
than from fright as his face collided into hers, and
before she had a moment to swat him away, he disappeared.
Time was the one who bothered her the most, and
as many endeavors to frighten her, and failing to do so,
it made him the one she also felt closest too,
almost like a little annoying brother, but with maggots crawling
out of his nose and ears. It was in the
alone hours of the morning that Vam felt the most
connected to the house. Her parents, who taught night classes
at nixt University, remained asleep for the majority of the day,
and it was in their solitude that she learned to
speak to the house. Just one touch to a chimney
stone or a beam of wood was enough for the
house to remind and speak to her about how it
was before their wisps had occupied the space. She would
get images of her mother and father, and their pale
faces contrasted with the black exterior of the home. The
oldest and most abandoned, neglected house on Copastic Lane was
the one they had imprinted on. Could it be genetics?
Her father, Professor Victor Ambrose Prior asked one night during
dinner over his stake Flombay, many years ago, when Vam
had confided in him about the wisps. When we adopted you,
we knew at some point your health would become a
source of worry for us. He said, well, that is
a possibility, my dear, but we must also not reule
out the screen time. Her mother, doctor Vivian Amelia Pryor,
had said, placing a cold, pale hand on Vam's forehead,
that new iPad we got you for Christmas has become
a bit of an addiction for you, darling. Are you
sure you aren't hallucinating these images? A young Vam had
smiled at them, half lovingly and half disappointed that her
parents couldn't see the wisps. She shook her head. No, mother,
I'm not imagining them there as real as you and
I father. I can touch them, I can smell them,
but when I try to scream, they disappear. At this point,
being scared isn't an option. I just want them to
leave me alone. Her mother's plumb, lipstick stained mouth formed
a sympathetic frown. I'm so sorry, dearest, I wish there
was something we could do to make it go away.
That had been many years ago, and since then, numerous
wisps had appeared to her as real and as vexatious
as ever. For better or for worse, but not for long.
Comes springtime, when Van was due to graduate, she'd leave
her home, seething with wisps, to start a new life
and leave the nest, a phrase her father despised and
regarded with contempt pishposh. He always said when that phrase
was uttered. We aren't eagles, for goodness' sake. So I
want no more talk about leaving nests and whatnot. Now, Vam,
my darling, I couldn't be prouder of the person that
you become and the one you are yet to be.
And like any father, I'm disconsolate at the idea of
seeing you go, but exhilarated at the prospects that await you.
Not flesh of our flesh, nor blood of our blood.
But once you were handed into our arms, the darling
child with the eyes as dark as coal, who appeared
to us as a stranger, suddenly became the most beloved daughter.
A most beloved daughter rang in Vam's head, and she
dressed herself for the day. In the mirror, a young
girl Wisp, whom Vam had named Coriander, manifested herself beside Vam.
She opened her mouth and let out a shrill scream
that penetrated the ear drums with a searing intensity, and
Vam covered her ears, but ignored her and quickly placing
a clip on her hair before making her way downstairs
to finish the preparation for the night's Halloween party. A
most beloved daughter, she thought to herself again, and a
most beloved host. And when Vam was a young girl,
shortly after the Priors had adopted her, she was given
the responsibility of hosting a Halloween evening in their home.
Mommy and Daddy have to sleep, dearest, and can only
join later in the evening once we awaken, who will
be there to entertain our guests. Well, that is where
you come in, said her mother. But I'm only a child,
Vam had objected. Well, that works to our advantage, darling,
her mother had said, kneeling to her level and pressing
her pale forehead to Vams, they are more likely to
trust you, and so they did. Every Halloween evening, the
Priors would appoint Vam to welcome guests and passing trick
or treats to their home. At the beginning, guests would
question her on the whereabouts of her parents, to which
Vam would reply no worries. They are resting and will
be with you shortly for dinner. In the kitchen, Vam
started the ord'eures baked brye made to look like Mommy
and she's in cracker platter with bat and Jack o'
lantern cutouts, a bowl of checks mix and candy for
a monster munch, and guacamole with vegetables arranged to look
like the face of a whim. It was all coming together,
and it was still hours to go until lunchtime. By
the time it was sundown, Vam had decorated and set
the food in the dining room. A meat loaf shaped
to resemble the anatomy of a human body was left
cooling on the counter when she went upstairs to change,
and she opted for a simple black dress that hugged
her slender frame. And putting on the final touches of
her makeup, she heard a wheezing, echoey sound behind the
curtain of her shower. Pushing the curtain back, Time jumped
at her, squealing and laughing as she went through her
body and exited out the bathroom door. Another wisp, A
young looking male around Vam's age, stood staring at her.
Underneath showerhead. A harsh cut to the throat revealed a
sliced trachea. Vams sighed and crossed her arms. Do you
think you can keep it down, Nutmeg? Our guests are
due to arrive soon in the wheezing is distracting. Nutmeg
said nothing but nodded, watching Vam roll her tube of
lipstick back in. You're lucky. You're a handsome one, even
more of a looker. Before Vam turned back to him,
her hand on the light switch of the bathroom, you know,
she used her index finger to swipe under her throat
in a slashing manner. The sound of the doorbell below
made Vam return to her responsibilities, and with a clap
of her hand, she turned off the light and clambered
down the stairs, remembering the meat loaf and placing it
on the table. Before reaching the entrance, she stopped in
the fourier, where above the grinning candlelight jack o' lantern
hung pictures of the hosts that came before her, the
other priors, her sisters, the sisters she had never met,
the sisters who had left to start a new life
at eighteen. Once the new host was chosen, just like
she would in the springtime the sisters, who had taken
the same vow their parents had taken when they were
each adopted into the family. We will take care of
you if you will take care of us, they had said.
None of the previous prior daughters had been hosts at
three point fifteen Copestic Lane when their nomadic parents staked
to claim on the property, Vam had been the first one.
With each passing year of Vam's life, she was slowly
coming to terms with the truth about why the wisps
were part of their home and why they were visible
only to her. Vam doesn't remember her first encounter with
a wisp, but she remembers when Peperika, who in her
previous life was called Monica, entered in her fleshly human
form as a guest in their home, and Oregano, who
was once Mister Franks her English teacher time, used to
be Spencer, a classmate she would play with in elementary school,
and was the first guest she entered in her first
year as a host. Nutmeg was a packaged delivery worker
who thought Vam looked rather pretty standing on the porch
of her house in her black dress. Last Halloween He
went up the steps to introduce himself and entered, and
unbeknownst to him that he would not be coming back out.
The whiffs were who they were because they had all
made the decision to be guests at three point fifteen
Copacetic Lane. What bound them together other than death, was
their decision to trust Vam. Another ring of the doorbell
sounded in the Fouryer, coming, Vam called out, straightening her dress.
Opening the door, she came face to face with a
group of tricker treaders, young and old, friend groups and families.
No one wanted to miss out on the opportunity to
sneak a peek inside the old, creepy Victorian house that
sat like a tempting siren on Copastic Lane. Hello, she exclaimed,
putting on an unnaturally inviting grin as she opened the door.
We've got candy for your buckets, and if you'd like
to stay, we have snacks and food. We hope you
can join us for a while this evening. Stepping aside,
she allowed the group of guests to walk into the fourrier,
directing them with her arm towards the parlor. In the
formal dining room, a murmur of excitement washed over the crowd,
and they stepped over each other and pushed bodies away
to be the first one to explore the house, and
within a few minutes, the parlor was full of guests,
socializing with each other, stuffing their faces with Vams snacks
and cooked meals, and taking pictures with their phones of
the interior of the house and ooing and eyeing like
museum lovers. Vam stood and watched the energy that filled
the room, and with no friends or relatives to invite over,
the prior house was for the most part empty and
deprived of visitors. Halloween night was the only time when
people wilfully invited themselves over without arousing suspicion. Outsiders who
saw the crowd beckoning to the front door of the
prior house didn't have to think twice about coming to
a conclusion to explain the number of people entering the abode.
It's Halloween, they'd say, with a shrug. Halloween's for friends
and strangers to come. A knocking a perfect cover up.
As many of the moocher played in the room, causing
an uproar with people singing along, Vam slinked away from
the parlor and ambled over to a door leading to
the basement. Pitch black darkness swallowed up any traces of
the light from the main floor as she squinted in
her eyes to see what was below. Father, mother, she
called out quietly, it's time to wake up. Our guests
are here. The early bat catches the worm. She heard
a stir in the darkness, and then heard her father speak, Hello, darling.
Is the black tarp laid out in the parlor? Yes, sir.
Every year I get compliments about the noise that it
makes when they walk on top of it, but no
grievances from this group so far. They're a pretty good crowd.
Not a drop of blood will make its way to
the marble floors and the doorbell, camera and projector. Have
you tested that out? It works like a charm. I
tried it earlier, and the projection of myself passing the
sidewalk and coming up the steps was reversed perfectly to
make it look like I came back down. Anyone watching
our home, we'll see our guests leave after the evening
is over. Her mother spoke, now, have you prepared the
needles and the collection bags? Yes, mother, they're beside the
plastic bins that hold the peroxide, bleach and enzyme solvents
we use for cleanup. All the backup freezers have been
up and running since this morning. I counted at least
forty people who arrived. Once we break apart ligaments, it
should be enough to fit everyone without tacking up space
in the basement. It's quite a bit of Burger's and
steak Flambays ready for us to enjoy for another year.
I hope we have more oh negatives than we did
last Halloween. The flavor and the sauces we made just
wasn't the same without their kick. Her father gave out
a dark chuckle. Should we wear the fangs I got
for us three years ago? My love? He spoke to
his wife. Why ever would we want to do that?
She responded. Vam couldn't see her father shrug, but felt
them do. So. It's Halloween. If the people want to
see Count Dracula, then who am I to deny them
that pleasure? They'll be busy screaming, Dearest Veronica. Amber has
everyone sipped their refreshments, Vam nodded yes. Mother. In about
three minutes, the anesthetic solution will take full effect if
you and father want to make a show of your entrance.
It had better be quick before you lose them. Well,
that's a good girl, and now run along and see
that our guest are enjoying. The party will be there
very soon. Vam closed the door and walked to the kitchen.
She opened a drawer that held all the knives she
had used in previous years. She grabbed a hold of
a meat cleaver. This baby was her favorite, made it
easier to cut through the skin and bone. She glanced
over her shoulder and saw that the wisps of her
home had gathered around her, all the ones she conjured
by the work of her own hands. She gave them
a sly smile, ready for some new roomies. Shutting the
drawer with her hip, she walked past the wisps who
were protesting. Hiding the meat cleaver behind her, she clenched
it behind the shoulder blades of her back and used
her free hand a mute the music. All the eyes
of her guests looked at her, with their ears perked
in bodies frozen. Vam smiled at them and gave her
final announcement of the night. I just wanted to give
you all the big thanks and a grand welcome to
our humble little home. My name is Van Pryor and
i'll be your host for the evening