Halloween Super Binge Episode #2

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We are creeping up to Halloween with some major binge episodes.
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On today's episode, you might want to start a cosy fire,
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grab yourself a pumpkin spice latte, even a snack or two,
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because we have a bunch of creepy stories all lined
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up for you today. Happy spooky week. I hope you
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all have a wonderful Halloween this weekend and stay safe
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out there. You don't want to end up on an
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episode of this podcast... Welcome back to the podcast. Where
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the stories are dark, the mysteries are disturbing, and your
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decision to listen alone in the dark is entirely between
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you and whatever just made that noise behind you. Around here,
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we dig into the strange, the sinister, and the downright terrifying.
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The kind of stories that make you check the locks twice,
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leave the hallway light on, and suddenly remember every horror
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movie rule you've ever ignored. So grab a blanket, pour
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yourself something comforting, and try not to look over your shoulder.
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If you're ready for a few chills, and possibly a
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brand new reason to lose sleep tonight, let's get started.
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Relax.
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I don't remember feeling excited when we moved into the apartment.
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I should have. My parents had bought the place. It
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was us. We were supposed to be unpacking boxes, deciding
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where furniture belonged, figuring out which corners would eventually start
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feeling like home. Instead, I remember standing inside for the
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first time and wanting to leave. There wasn't anything visibly
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wrong with it. No strange smell. No unexplained noises. Nothing
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hiding in a dark doorway. It was just a feeling. Heavy.
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That's the best word I have for it. Like the
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apartment had been closed up for years and we were
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breathing air that didn't belong to us. Outside was the
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complete opposite. We were right in the middle of the city.
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Markets crowded the streets. Cars moved constantly. Horns sounded throughout
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the day. People talked beneath our windows. There was always
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life around us. But inside the apartment, especially after the
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front door closed, that noise seemed to fall away. And
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beneath us was the hospital. A maternity hospital. At the time,
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I didn't think much about that. Hospitals are everywhere. People
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go into them sick and come out healthy every day.
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Babies are born there. Families celebrate there. Of course people
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die there too. I just hadn't considered how much death
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might have happened beneath the floors where we slept. Not
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until my brother started refusing to stand in one particular
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place on the stairs. he was the first one to
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notice something. My brother came home late fairly often, which
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meant he had to climb the stairwell when most of
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the building was quiet. During the day, the stairs were
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nothing special. Concrete steps, dim lights, corners where shadows gathered
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because the bulbs didn't quite reach them. At night, they
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felt different. My brother started mentioning that he didn't like
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being out there alone. At first, we teased him.
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What?
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You're scared of the stairs? He didn't laugh. It's not
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the stairs. Then what? He struggled to explain it. There
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was a particular spot where he always felt somebody standing
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near him. Not saw.
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Felt.
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He'd reached that part of the staircase... and suddenly every
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instinct in his body would tell him to move. Quickly.
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He described it like accidentally standing too close to a stranger.
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You don't necessarily see them, but your body registers that
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another person is inside your space. Except when he looked around. Nobody.
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He started moving faster through that section. Sometimes he'd take
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the steps two at a time. Once I asked him
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why he didn't just ignore it, he looked at me
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like I'd missed the point. I try.
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And?
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I can't. That answer stayed with me. Because my brother
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wasn't someone who frightened easily. Still, I assumed there had
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to be an explanation. Maybe the stairwell made him uncomfortable
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because it was dark. Maybe sounds travelled strangely through the building.
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Maybe someone had followed him home once without him realising
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it and his brain remembered the fear. Anything made more
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sense than an invisible person standing on the stairs. Then
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we learned about the woman. The story had been around
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before we moved in. Years earlier, a pregnant woman had
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been admitted to the maternity hospital. Something went wrong during
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an operation. She died. I never learned every medical detail,
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and after enough time, stories like that become difficult to
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separate from rumour. But one detail was repeated consistently. The
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doctor involved lived right next to us. After the woman's death,
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Her family was devastated. Then grief became anger. They blamed
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the doctor. There had apparently been some kind of confrontation,
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and the family destroyed things in their rage. When I
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first heard the story, I thought it was tragic. Nothing more.
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I didn't immediately connect it to my brother's experiences on
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the stairs. Why would I?
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Why?
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A woman dying in a hospital years ago doesn't mean
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she's still wandering the building. At least, that's what I
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told myself. Later, I wasn't as certain. The first thing
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that happened directly to me came at night. My parents
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had the only bed in the bedroom, so that evening,
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my brother and I decided to sleep in the living room.
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It wasn't unusual. We settled in. turned off most of
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the lights and eventually tried to sleep. I remember lying
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beneath my blanket staring into the room. Something felt wrong.
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That same heaviness I'd noticed when we moved in had
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become stronger. The apartment wasn't completely dark. A little light
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made its way in from outside, just enough to give
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everything shape. The chair, the walls, furniture... Doorways. Normal things
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looked unfamiliar in low light. I pulled the blanket higher.
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Go to sleep. I closed my eyes. Opened them again.
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Nothing had changed. My brother seemed fine. Eventually, exhaustion took over.
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I don't know how long I slept. I only know
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what woke me.
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Breathing.
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Heavy breathing. Right beside me. My eyes stayed closed. For
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a few seconds, I wasn't frightened. We had two dogs.
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One of them must have wandered into the living room
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and settled near my head. I could hear the slow inhale. Then, exhale.
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Close enough that I thought I should feel warm breath
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against my skin. I lay there listening. Which dog is that?
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The breathing continued, deep, steady. I didn't want to open
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my eyes. Not because I thought anything supernatural was happening.
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I was tired, half asleep. I reached one hand out
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from beneath the blanket. There was a chair beside me.
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I figured one of the dogs was probably curled against it.
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My fingers found the armrest. I slapped it lightly. Move.
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The breathing stopped. Immediately. Not faded. Stopped. My eyes opened.
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I stared into the darkness beside me. Nothing. No dog.
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I reached toward the floor.
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Empty.
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I sat up. My brother was still there, asleep. Hey.
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He didn't respond.
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I listened.
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Nothing. The apartment had gone completely quiet. I remember thinking.
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It moved. That had to be it. The dog had
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gotten up when I hit the chair and walked away.
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Except I hadn't heard paws. Our dogs weren't silent. Their
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nails clicked against the floor. I should have heard one
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walking away. I didn't. I looked toward the hallway. Couldn't
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see either dog. I was tired enough that I eventually
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convinced myself it didn't matter. One of them was here.
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That explanation was good enough at two in the morning.
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I pulled the blanket back over myself. It took a while,
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but eventually I fell asleep again. The next morning, I
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mentioned it to my mother. Not because I thought anything
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paranormal had happened. I was mostly confused. Which dog was
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in the living room last night? She looked at me. What?
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One of the dogs was beside me.
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No.
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I waited. What do you mean, no? They were in
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the bedroom. Both of them? Yes. I felt something tighten
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in my stomach. All night? Mom frowned. Yeah.
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Why?
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I looked toward the living room. For a second, I
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could hear it again in my memory. Inhale Right beside
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my head. I heard one breathing next to me. Her
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expression changed slightly. Maybe your brother? No. It could have been.
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It was right here. I pointed beside where I'd slept.
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I reached over because I thought it was one of
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the dogs. Mom didn't say anything. Neither did I. There
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wasn't much to say. I knew where I'd heard the breathing.
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She knew where the dogs had been. And whatever had
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been beside me stopped breathing the exact moment I reached
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toward it. After that, I started noticing the apartment differently.
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That's the problem with one experience you can't explain. It
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changes everything that comes afterward. A noise isn't just a
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noise anymore. A shadow isn't automatically a shadow. And when
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someone knocks on your front door, you don't necessarily expect
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to find a person on the other side. The knocking
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usually happened in the afternoon. Three or four knocks.
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Normal. Clear.
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Someone standing outside using their knuckles against the door. We'd
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hear it and answer. Nobody. I'd look down the hallway. Empty.
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Maybe whoever knocked had gone downstairs quickly. That explanation worked
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the first time. Then it happened again. And again. Eventually,
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we'd hear the knock and hesitate. Don't answer it. Of
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course we still did. You can't live your life refusing
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to open your own front door because you think a
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ghost might be knocking. So we'd check. Nobody there. What
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made it harder to dismiss was the CCTV. There were
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cameras monitoring our floor. If somebody approached our apartment, the
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camera should catch them. We checked. Nothing. No person walking up.
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Nobody knocking. Nobody running away. The hallway would be empty.
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Yet inside the apartment, we'd heard the knock clearly. Sometimes,
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more than one of us heard it. That eliminated the
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possibility that I was imagining things. I started hating that sound. Knock.
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Knock.
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Knock. Then silence. Eventually, instead of immediately answering, we'd look
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at each other. Did you hear that? Yeah. Are you
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opening it? Sometimes nobody wanted to. My brother continued feeling
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the presence on the stairs. The same place. Again and again.
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He'd be walking normally, then reach that section and suddenly
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feel compelled to move away. It wasn't a thought. It
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was physical. It was physical. like his body recognized danger
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before his mind did. He began expecting it. That made
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it worse. Imagine climbing stairs late at night, knowing there's
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one particular landing where you're going to feel someone standing
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beside you. You reach the floor below it. Nothing. Take
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another step. Nothing. Then another. And suddenly....
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There.
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That sensation. Someone close. Watching. No footsteps. No breathing. No voice.
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Just the certainty that the space isn't empty. Then he'd
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hurry past. As soon as he reached the next section,
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the feeling disappeared. I asked him once, Do you think
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it's her? He knew who I meant. The woman from
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the hospital. He shook his head. I don't know. Then,
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after a moment... I don't want to know. I understood
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that better than I wanted to. My brother continued feeling
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the presence on the stairs. The same place. Again and again.
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He'd be walking normally, then reach that section. and suddenly
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feel compelled to move away. It wasn't a thought. It
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was physical. Like his body recognized danger before his mind did.
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He began expecting it. That made it worse. Imagine climbing
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stairs late at night, knowing there's one particular landing where
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you're going to feel someone standing beside you. You reach
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the floor below it.
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Nothing.
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Nothing.
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Take another step. Nothing. Then another, and suddenly....
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There.
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That sensation. Someone close, watching. No footsteps, no breathing, no voice.
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Just the certainty that the space isn't empty. Then he'd
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hurry past. As soon as he reached the next section,
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the feeling disappeared. I asked him once, Do you think
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it's her? He knew who I meant. The woman from
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the hospital. He shook his head. I don't know. Then
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after a moment, I don't want to know. I understood
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that better than I wanted to. The strangest stories weren't
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limited to our apartment. My brother... had a friend who
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lived in the topmost apartment. He'd been there years before us.
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Things never seemed right for him. His health deteriorated. He
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was sick constantly. One problem would improve and another would appear.
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Bad luck seemed to collect around him. And then there
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were his animals. Pets didn't seem to survive long in
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that apartment. Cats would become frightened or behave strangely. Some
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fell from the window. I don't like thinking about that part.
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The image is awful. A terrified animal at an open window.
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A sudden fall. The sound below. Maybe those deaths had
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perfectly ordinary explanations. Animals fall. People get sick. Bad things
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sometimes happen repeatedly without there being a supernatural reason. I
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know that. But when you're already living in a place
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where something breathes beside you at night and invisible visitors
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knock on your door, coincidence starts feeling less comforting. His
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apartment was at the top. Ours sat above a hospital.
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My brother felt something waiting on the stairs between. It
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began to feel as though the whole building carried something.
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Not necessarily a ghost. Something heavier. An atmosphere. A residue.
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Like too much suffering had happened. In one place, and
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some of it had soaked into the walls. I kept
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thinking about the woman who died downstairs. I tried not
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to turn her into an explanation for everything. That didn't
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feel fair. She had been a real person. A pregnant
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woman who went into a hospital expecting help and never
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came home. Her family had been devastated. If her spirit
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really remained there, why assume she was malevolent? Maybe the
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breathing beside me wasn't threatening. Maybe the knocking wasn't meant
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to frighten us. Maybe my brother wasn't being chased from
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that stairwell. Maybe something was simply there. But then I
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would remember how the apartment felt. That pressure. The instinct
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to leave certain spaces. The sickness upstairs. The animals. And
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I couldn't convince myself the building felt harmless. Whatever was there,
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I didn't want it near me. There were nights when
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I'd lie awake listening. I became good at identifying ordinary noises.
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Traffic outside, plumbing. Someone moving furniture. A door closing somewhere
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below us. Footsteps on another floor. Dogs shifting in their sleep.
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But occasionally there'd be something I couldn't place. A faint movement.
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A sound near the living room. The suggestion of someone
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standing just beyond where I could see. On those nights,
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I'd pull the blanket closer. Don't look. Then immediately, you
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have to look. I'd open my eyes. Darkness.
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Nothing.
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I never heard that heavy breathing beside me again. Once
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was enough. Sometimes I think hearing it again would have
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actually helped. Maybe I'd have discovered some ridiculous explanation. A pipe.
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A neighbour. Air moving through a vent. Anything. Instead, I
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got one impossible moment. Then silence. And the next morning,
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my mother told me both dogs had been shut inside
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her bedroom all night. Eventually, life moved on. But that's
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the strange thing about living somewhere you think might be haunted.
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You still have breakfast. You still go to work or school.
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You still argue over stupid things. You still take out
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the trash. The supernatural doesn't necessarily turn your life into
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a horror movie. Sometimes it simply lives alongside the ordinary.
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A knock with nobody outside. Cold feeling on the stairs.
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Breathing in the darkness. Then morning comes and you carry on.
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But I never became comfortable there. I don't think any
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of us did. The building always felt occupied by more
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than the people whose names were on the doors. Even now,
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I don't claim to know what happened. Maybe the maternity
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hospital had nothing to do with it. Maybe the story
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of the woman who died there influenced us after we
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heard it. Maybe my brother's fear of the stairwell was psychological.
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Maybe the knocks had some strange architectural explanation. Maybe the
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00:23:46.970 --> 00:23:53.589
cameras simply failed to capture whoever was there. Maybe. There
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00:23:53.630 --> 00:23:59.559
are rational possibilities for almost everything. Almost everything. The one
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00:23:59.619 --> 00:24:04.000
experience I always return to is the breathing. Because I
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wasn't thinking about ghosts when it happened. I wasn't frightened
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at first. I thought it was my dog. That's why
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I reached toward it. I heard something breathing inches away
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from me.
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Slow. Heavy. Alive.
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Then I moved my hand towards where it should have been.
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And it stopped. The next morning, I learned both dogs
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had spent the entire night behind a closed bedroom door
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with my parents. So what was lying beside me? I
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00:24:42.079 --> 00:24:47.940
don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe there was some perfectly reasonable
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source I never discovered. But sometimes, even now, I'll wake
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in the middle of the night and lie completely still
301
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I listen to the room, to the ordinary sounds of
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a sleeping house. And without meaning to, I wait. One breath,
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00:25:10.250 --> 00:25:14.410
then another. Because a part of me is still afraid
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that someday, from the darkness beside me, I'm going to
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hear something breathing back. MUSIC PLAYS Welcome back to the podcast.
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Where the stories are dark, the mysteries are disturbing, and
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00:25:45.000 --> 00:25:48.660
your decision to listen alone in the dark is entirely
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00:25:48.720 --> 00:25:52.240
between you and whatever just made that noise behind you.
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Around here, we dig into the strange, The sinister and
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00:25:58.259 --> 00:26:02.460
the downright terrifying. The kind of stories that make you
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check the locks twice, leave the hallway light on, and
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00:26:06.450 --> 00:26:11.210
suddenly remember every horror movie rule you've ever ignored. So
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grab a blanket, pour yourself something comforting, and try not
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to look over your shoulder. If you're ready for a
315
00:26:19.920 --> 00:26:23.640
few chills, and possibly a brand new reason to lose
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00:26:23.700 --> 00:26:37.750
sleep tonight... Let's get started. Hospitals sound different after midnight.
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I learned that during my first week working as a nurse.
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During the day, they're almost relentlessly noisy. Phones ringing, shoes
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squeaking against polished floors. Patients calling for nurses. families talking
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in waiting areas, doors opening and closing, equipment beeping from
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00:27:01.630 --> 00:27:08.579
every direction. At night, most of that disappears. What's left
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00:27:08.799 --> 00:27:13.200
are the sounds you normally don't notice, the fluorescent lights
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buzzing overhead, the air conditioning humming through the vents, the
324
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wheels of an empty car rattling slightly when someone pushes
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00:27:22.890 --> 00:27:27.049
it down a corridor. Your own footsteps following you through
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00:27:27.109 --> 00:27:30.789
halls that suddenly seem much longer than they did during
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the day. I was working at a large hospital here
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00:27:34.740 --> 00:27:39.640
in Mauritius. I'm not going to name it. People who
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00:27:39.700 --> 00:27:43.539
know the area might recognise it anyway, but I'd rather
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00:27:43.599 --> 00:27:47.740
leave the hospital itself out of the story. I'd only
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been working there for about a week when I was
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assigned to Knights. I wasn't thrilled about it. But I
333
00:27:55.049 --> 00:28:00.509
wasn't frightened either. It was a hospital. I was a nurse.
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People were sick, people died. Strange noises were inevitable. That's
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what I believed. Then, sometime around one in the morning,
336
00:28:13.859 --> 00:28:17.559
I heard someone screaming on the third floor. I was
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working with another nurse that night. The third floor was
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00:28:22.099 --> 00:28:27.690
unusually quiet. Some areas weren't being used, so entire stretches
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of corridor were empty. At that hour, with most of
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the overhead lights dimmed, those sections felt completely different from
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the hospital I'd walked through during the day. We were
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00:28:41.319 --> 00:28:43.069
going about our work when I heard it.
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A cry.
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I stopped. My colleague looked at me. You heard that?
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Before I could answer, it came again. Louder.
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A scream.
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00:28:57.809 --> 00:29:01.349
Not someone shouting for a nurse. Not someone talking loudly
348
00:29:01.390 --> 00:29:06.250
in another room. Pain. That's what it sounded like. Someone
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00:29:06.289 --> 00:29:10.240
in terrible pain. Training takes over when you hear something
350
00:29:10.279 --> 00:29:14.099
like that in a hospital. You don't stand around wondering
351
00:29:14.140 --> 00:29:20.680
whether it's strange. You find the patient. We started down
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00:29:20.720 --> 00:29:27.440
the corridor. Where's that coming from? I don't know. Another scream.
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00:29:28.519 --> 00:29:33.299
Farther ahead. We moved faster. I remember thinking there had
354
00:29:33.339 --> 00:29:37.630
to be a patient we'd forgotten about. Maybe someone had fallen.
355
00:29:38.589 --> 00:29:41.059
Maybe someone had been transferred. into a room without us
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00:29:41.119 --> 00:29:46.319
knowing maybe another ward needed help there had to be
357
00:29:46.359 --> 00:29:53.559
an explanation the screaming came again closer now or maybe
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00:29:53.619 --> 00:29:57.660
we were closer to it either way we knew which
359
00:29:57.720 --> 00:30:03.599
direction to go We followed it. The farther we went,
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00:30:03.900 --> 00:30:07.200
the emptier the floor became. That should have bothered me
361
00:30:07.299 --> 00:30:10.880
sooner than it did. Every doorway we passed opened into
362
00:30:10.920 --> 00:30:16.119
an unused room. Empty bed. Empty room. Another empty room.
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00:30:16.799 --> 00:30:23.980
The screams continued. Who's down here? I asked. My colleague
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00:30:24.059 --> 00:30:28.240
didn't answer. I could see from her face that she
365
00:30:28.289 --> 00:30:34.490
was wondering the same thing. There wasn't supposed to be anyone. Still,
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00:30:35.130 --> 00:30:39.990
we kept going. Another scream tore through the corridor. I
367
00:30:40.089 --> 00:30:43.730
felt the hair rise along my arms. It was coming
368
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from the room at the very end. I knew it.
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00:30:48.359 --> 00:30:53.940
My colleague knew it too. We stopped. For the first time,
370
00:30:54.339 --> 00:30:58.839
neither of us rushed forward. The hallway stretched behind us,
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00:30:59.299 --> 00:31:02.579
bright enough to see. but dim enough that every doorway
372
00:31:02.640 --> 00:31:08.519
looked black inside. Ahead was one closed door. Behind it,
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00:31:09.220 --> 00:31:14.410
someone cried out again. A long, agonised scream. I looked
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00:31:14.450 --> 00:31:20.390
at my colleague. Ready? She gave me a look that said,
375
00:31:21.069 --> 00:31:26.279
absolutely not. But we were nurses. If somebody was hurt,
376
00:31:26.779 --> 00:31:29.759
we couldn't stand in the hallway because we were frightened.
377
00:31:30.980 --> 00:31:35.440
I reached for the handle. It's a patient. That's what
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00:31:35.500 --> 00:31:41.140
I told myself. Someone needs help. I opened the door.
379
00:31:42.380 --> 00:31:50.130
And the screaming stopped. Not faded. Not moved to somewhere else. Stopped. Instantly.
380
00:31:51.309 --> 00:31:55.650
The room was empty. I remember standing there with one
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00:31:55.670 --> 00:31:59.309
hand still on the door. Neither of us spoke. There
382
00:31:59.329 --> 00:32:02.390
wasn't a patient. There wasn't a bed with someone hiding
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00:32:02.430 --> 00:32:07.569
beneath a blanket. There wasn't another door. Nobody. Just an
384
00:32:07.670 --> 00:32:13.140
unused hospital room. I stepped inside. The silence felt wrong
385
00:32:13.539 --> 00:32:17.519
after all that screaming. My ears almost seemed to keep
386
00:32:17.579 --> 00:32:24.019
hearing it. I looked behind the door. Nothing. My colleagues
387
00:32:24.089 --> 00:32:31.289
stayed close. Where did they go? I didn't answer. There
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00:32:31.329 --> 00:32:35.579
was nowhere to go. We'd heard someone screaming seconds earlier.
389
00:32:36.299 --> 00:32:38.480
We'd followed the sound all the way down that corridor.
390
00:32:39.559 --> 00:32:42.960
Every scream had brought us closer to this room. Then
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00:32:43.000 --> 00:32:45.880
I opened the door, and there was no one inside.
392
00:32:47.380 --> 00:32:51.089
I felt cold all over. Not because the room itself
393
00:32:51.150 --> 00:32:51.609
was cold.
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Fear.
395
00:32:53.950 --> 00:32:57.849
Pure, instinctive fear. The kind that tells you to leave
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00:32:57.910 --> 00:33:01.769
before your mind has figured out why. We should go.
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00:33:03.150 --> 00:33:07.970
My colleague didn't argue. We got out of there fast.
398
00:33:09.150 --> 00:33:12.150
We went downstairs and found some of the other nurses.
399
00:33:13.349 --> 00:33:16.630
I expected them to laugh when we told them, or
400
00:33:16.720 --> 00:33:23.579
at least look confused. Instead, they looked almost bored. That
401
00:33:23.619 --> 00:33:29.279
was worse. One of them asked, third floor. I nodded.
402
00:33:30.380 --> 00:33:37.680
In corridor? My stomach tightened. Yeah. She exchanged a look
403
00:33:37.700 --> 00:33:46.000
with another nurse. What? Neither seemed eager to answer. Finally,
404
00:33:46.119 --> 00:33:54.809
one of them said, It happens. What happens? Things. That
405
00:33:54.869 --> 00:33:59.259
wasn't the answer I wanted. She told us other staff
406
00:33:59.319 --> 00:34:06.299
members had heard strange sounds in the hospital. Crying. Voices. Footsteps.
407
00:34:07.609 --> 00:34:11.630
Things they couldn't explain. Some had apparently seen things too.
408
00:34:13.389 --> 00:34:17.630
I asked what kind of things. She shook her head.
409
00:34:18.670 --> 00:34:21.269
Just stay away from those areas at night if you
410
00:34:21.309 --> 00:34:26.210
don't need to be there. That advice bothered me. Not
411
00:34:26.289 --> 00:34:30.340
because it was frightening. because of how casually she gave it.
412
00:34:31.860 --> 00:34:34.039
As though she'd just told me one of the elevators
413
00:34:34.139 --> 00:34:41.860
was unreliable. I remember thinking, You knew about this? I'd
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00:34:41.909 --> 00:34:46.590
been working there a week. Nobody had mentioned that the
415
00:34:46.710 --> 00:34:51.409
empty parts of the hospital sometimes screamed. From then on,
416
00:34:51.690 --> 00:34:55.429
I avoided the third floor whenever I could. If my
417
00:34:55.510 --> 00:35:00.250
work required me to go somewhere, I went. I'm a nurse.
418
00:35:01.570 --> 00:35:06.309
You don't abandon patients because a hallway scares you. But
419
00:35:06.369 --> 00:35:10.170
I stopped wondering. And if I had a choice between
420
00:35:10.230 --> 00:35:14.530
taking a shortcut through an unused section and walking the
421
00:35:14.570 --> 00:35:19.889
long way around, I took the long way every time.
422
00:35:21.050 --> 00:35:25.730
I thought that would be enough. It wasn't. The second
423
00:35:25.860 --> 00:35:30.019
incident happened after one of my shifts. I was exhausted.
424
00:35:31.400 --> 00:35:35.440
All I wanted was a shower before leaving. The employee
425
00:35:35.480 --> 00:35:40.139
bathrooms were on the second floor. By then, I'd already
426
00:35:40.199 --> 00:35:43.780
heard enough stories about that floor to dislike being there alone.
427
00:35:45.030 --> 00:35:48.730
But it was a bathroom. That was what I told myself.
428
00:35:49.889 --> 00:35:54.269
I wasn't going exploring. I wasn't walking into abandoned rooms.
429
00:35:55.309 --> 00:35:58.389
I was going to shower and leave. I brought my
430
00:35:58.469 --> 00:36:02.730
things inside and locked the door. The room was quiet.
431
00:36:03.949 --> 00:36:10.309
Water hit the tiles. Steam slowly filled the bathroom. For
432
00:36:10.349 --> 00:36:16.929
a few minutes, I actually relaxed. Then someone knocked. Three
433
00:36:16.989 --> 00:36:22.860
quick taps against the door. I turned off the water. Listened. Nothing.
434
00:36:23.519 --> 00:36:23.840
Yes?
435
00:36:25.579 --> 00:36:32.030
No answer. I waited. Maybe another employee needed the bathroom.
436
00:36:33.150 --> 00:36:35.550
I was about to turn the water back on when
437
00:36:35.570 --> 00:36:41.639
the knocking came again. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? A
438
00:36:42.980 --> 00:36:49.219
voice answered. It said my name. And I recognized it immediately.
439
00:36:50.340 --> 00:36:54.559
One of my co-workers. A nurse I knew well. I
440
00:36:54.639 --> 00:37:01.090
relaxed almost instantly. That's the strange part. Fear disappeared because
441
00:37:01.139 --> 00:37:01.949
I knew the voice.
442
00:37:03.570 --> 00:37:03.829
What?
443
00:37:05.730 --> 00:37:09.610
She said my name again. I don't remember exactly what
444
00:37:09.670 --> 00:37:14.489
else was said, if anything. What I remember is the certainty.
445
00:37:15.489 --> 00:37:19.889
I knew who was standing outside. I'd heard that woman
446
00:37:19.929 --> 00:37:23.789
speak hundreds of times. You know the voices of the
447
00:37:23.809 --> 00:37:28.320
people you work beside every day. Their rhythm... Their tone.
448
00:37:29.039 --> 00:37:34.260
The little things you couldn't describe but recognize immediately. It
449
00:37:34.320 --> 00:37:40.599
was her. I reached for my towel. Then, something stopped me.
450
00:37:40.619 --> 00:37:49.699
A thought. Small at first. Wait. I stood completely still.
451
00:37:51.320 --> 00:37:55.190
My co-worker wasn't working that day. I knew that. She
452
00:37:55.230 --> 00:37:59.710
was off. I replayed the schedule in my head. No,
453
00:38:00.550 --> 00:38:06.130
she wasn't downstairs. She wasn't finishing another shift. She wasn't
454
00:38:06.170 --> 00:38:10.710
supposed to be anywhere near the hospital. I stared at
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00:38:10.750 --> 00:38:16.659
the bathroom door. The steam suddenly felt suffocating. Who's there?
456
00:38:17.980 --> 00:38:23.880
No answer. My heart started beating harder. I stepped closer
457
00:38:23.940 --> 00:38:32.679
to the door. Hello! Silence. Then, my name. Same voice.
458
00:38:33.380 --> 00:38:39.369
Right outside. I backed away. Every hair on my arms lifted.
459
00:38:40.449 --> 00:38:45.349
That's not her. The thought came so clearly that I
460
00:38:45.469 --> 00:38:49.719
almost felt someone had whispered it into my ear. That
461
00:38:49.800 --> 00:38:54.840
is not her. I didn't answer again. I stood inside
462
00:38:54.880 --> 00:39:02.070
that bathroom listening. Nothing moved outside. No footsteps. No conversation.
463
00:39:02.849 --> 00:39:08.670
No sound of someone walking away. Just silence. I wanted
464
00:39:08.730 --> 00:39:12.969
to open the door. At the same time, every instinct
465
00:39:13.050 --> 00:39:17.780
I had told me not to. What if somebody's actually there?
466
00:39:18.820 --> 00:39:22.539
That was the rational part of my brain. Maybe I'd
467
00:39:22.579 --> 00:39:26.889
mixed up her schedule? Well? Maybe she'd come in for something.
468
00:39:28.309 --> 00:39:34.699
Maybe someone else had a similar vision. Open the door, check. Simple.
469
00:39:35.639 --> 00:39:40.719
My hand moved toward the lock, then stopped. I thought
470
00:39:40.760 --> 00:39:46.130
about the third floor, the screaming, the empty corridor, the
471
00:39:46.210 --> 00:39:49.230
room where the sound had vanished the moment we opened
472
00:39:49.250 --> 00:39:53.469
the door. And suddenly, I didn't want to know what
473
00:39:53.510 --> 00:39:58.489
was on the other side. I waited. Maybe thirty seconds.
474
00:39:58.889 --> 00:40:06.760
Maybe two minutes. Fear distorts time. Finally, I unlocked the door. Slowly.
475
00:40:08.480 --> 00:40:13.099
I opened it just enough to look out. Empty. I
476
00:40:13.219 --> 00:40:19.400
opened it farther. Nobody. I stepped into the hallway. Looked
477
00:40:19.579 --> 00:40:20.280
one direction.
478
00:40:20.300 --> 00:40:20.440
Nothing.
479
00:40:20.750 --> 00:40:27.590
Then the other. Empty. Hello? My voice travelled down the corridor.
480
00:40:28.829 --> 00:40:35.289
Nothing came back. No co-worker. No footsteps. Nobody disappearing around
481
00:40:35.329 --> 00:40:40.610
a corner. Just an empty hospital hallway. I didn't finish
482
00:40:40.650 --> 00:40:44.300
getting ready properly. I gathered my things and got off
483
00:40:44.340 --> 00:40:50.079
that floor. Later, I confirmed what I already knew. My
484
00:40:50.179 --> 00:40:54.489
co-worker hadn't been there. She hadn't come into work. She
485
00:40:54.530 --> 00:40:59.570
hadn't stopped by. She was nowhere near the hospital when
486
00:40:59.610 --> 00:41:03.909
I heard her voice outside that bathroom. That frightened me
487
00:41:03.989 --> 00:41:07.880
more than the screaming. The screams could have been anything.
488
00:41:09.599 --> 00:41:14.739
Hospitals carry sound strangely. Maybe there'd been a patient somewhere else.
489
00:41:15.780 --> 00:41:20.489
Maybe sound travelled through ventilation or along the corridor. Maybe
490
00:41:20.550 --> 00:41:23.030
my colleague and I had simply followed it in the
491
00:41:23.070 --> 00:41:28.380
wrong direction. I can build explanations for that. The voice
492
00:41:28.440 --> 00:41:33.639
is harder. Because it wasn't simply a woman's voice. It
493
00:41:33.699 --> 00:41:38.920
was her voice. It used my name. It knocked on
494
00:41:38.960 --> 00:41:42.380
the door and waited for me to answer. And when
495
00:41:42.480 --> 00:41:45.800
I realised the person whose voice I was hearing wasn't
496
00:41:45.840 --> 00:41:50.949
supposed to be there, it called my name again. I
497
00:41:51.050 --> 00:41:55.329
still think about that. If I'd opened the door immediately,
498
00:41:55.710 --> 00:42:00.570
what would I have seen? Maybe nothing. That's the explanation
499
00:42:00.670 --> 00:42:06.820
I prefer. An empty hallway. A coincidence. A voice coming
500
00:42:06.880 --> 00:42:11.579
from somewhere else. But there's another possibility I don't like
501
00:42:11.639 --> 00:42:17.980
thinking about. Maybe something was standing outside. Something that knew
502
00:42:18.019 --> 00:42:23.820
my co-worker's voice. Something that knew I trusted her. Something
503
00:42:23.860 --> 00:42:28.630
that understood I would open the door for her. After that,
504
00:42:28.889 --> 00:42:33.250
my rules changed. I avoided the second and third floors
505
00:42:33.309 --> 00:42:37.489
at night, whenever my job allowed it. I stayed around
506
00:42:37.610 --> 00:42:44.869
occupied areas. Lights, patients, other stuff. If I heard something
507
00:42:44.949 --> 00:42:51.139
strange from an unused corridor, I didn't investigate alone. Some
508
00:42:51.179 --> 00:42:56.260
people might call that cowardly. I don't. There is a
509
00:42:56.320 --> 00:43:00.159
difference between doing your job and volunteering to find out
510
00:43:00.199 --> 00:43:03.079
what's waiting in an empty room at one in the morning.
511
00:43:04.610 --> 00:43:10.130
The older nurses understood. They never teased me. That told
512
00:43:10.190 --> 00:43:15.829
me enough. Over time, I heard more stories. Staff hearing
513
00:43:15.869 --> 00:43:21.210
their names called when nobody was nearby. footsteps in empty corridors,
514
00:43:22.489 --> 00:43:27.869
crying from unused rooms, figures glimpsed briefly and then gone.
515
00:43:29.550 --> 00:43:33.809
I don't know how many stories were true. Hospitals naturally
516
00:43:33.909 --> 00:43:39.139
collect ghost stories. They are places of beginnings and endings.
517
00:43:40.340 --> 00:43:45.380
People are born there. People die there. Nurses work long
518
00:43:45.420 --> 00:43:52.199
hours while exhausted and stressed. Machines make strange noises. Sound travels.
519
00:43:53.429 --> 00:43:55.469
Your mind can play tricks on you at three in
520
00:43:55.510 --> 00:44:00.489
the morning. I understand all of that. I'm not saying
521
00:44:00.650 --> 00:44:05.619
every unexplained noise in a hospital is supernatural. I'm not
522
00:44:05.719 --> 00:44:10.980
even saying what happened to me. Definitely was. I can
523
00:44:11.079 --> 00:44:14.949
only tell you what I experienced. My colleague and I
524
00:44:15.090 --> 00:44:17.670
followed the screams of someone who sounded like they were
525
00:44:17.690 --> 00:44:22.139
in unbearable pain. The screams led us through an empty
526
00:44:22.219 --> 00:44:26.039
section of the third floor. They stopped the instant we
527
00:44:26.219 --> 00:44:32.619
opened the room they were coming from. Nobody was inside. Then,
528
00:44:33.630 --> 00:44:37.610
sometime later, I stood alone inside a bathroom on the
529
00:44:37.670 --> 00:44:41.150
second floor and heard a co-worker knock on the door.
530
00:44:42.309 --> 00:44:47.179
She called my name. I recognized her voice. And she
531
00:44:47.219 --> 00:44:52.139
wasn't in the hospital. Those are the facts. Everything else
532
00:44:52.199 --> 00:44:56.869
is interpretation. It's been a long time since those nights.
533
00:44:58.150 --> 00:45:02.730
Details fade. That's why I don't pretend to remember every
534
00:45:02.789 --> 00:45:08.199
word or every second perfectly. But certain sounds stay with you.
535
00:45:09.460 --> 00:45:13.000
I can still remember those screams traveling down the empty corridors.
536
00:45:14.159 --> 00:45:17.719
I can remember how abruptly they stopped. And I can
537
00:45:17.780 --> 00:45:26.309
still hear my co-worker's voice outside that bathroom door. My name. Clear. Familiar. Safe.
538
00:45:27.750 --> 00:45:31.789
That's what makes it frightening. If I'd heard a strange voice,
539
00:45:32.289 --> 00:45:36.030
I would have stayed inside. If something had growled or
540
00:45:36.110 --> 00:45:39.050
whispered or scratched at the door, I would have known
541
00:45:39.150 --> 00:45:45.030
immediately not to open it. Instead... Whatever I heard chose
542
00:45:45.090 --> 00:45:51.329
someone I knew. Someone I trusted. A voice that made
543
00:45:51.369 --> 00:45:57.000
me lower my guard. Maybe that's all coincidence. Maybe exhaustion
544
00:45:57.079 --> 00:46:01.480
filled in details that weren't there. Maybe some employee with
545
00:46:01.519 --> 00:46:05.340
a similar voice was outside and walked away before I
546
00:46:05.480 --> 00:46:10.699
opened the door. I hope so. Because the alternative raises
547
00:46:10.789 --> 00:46:14.489
a question I've never been able to answer. If the
548
00:46:14.550 --> 00:46:18.619
woman whose voice I heard wasn't there, what was trying
549
00:46:18.659 --> 00:46:22.980
to make me believe she was? Sometimes I think back
550
00:46:23.019 --> 00:46:28.380
to that locked bathroom. The steam. The silence. My hand
551
00:46:28.440 --> 00:46:33.030
hovering over the lock. And that familiar voice calling my
552
00:46:33.090 --> 00:46:37.429
name from the other side. I came very close to
553
00:46:37.610 --> 00:46:43.650
opening the door without thinking. Very close. Even now, I'm
554
00:46:43.710 --> 00:46:47.929
grateful for that one little thought that stopped me. Wait.
555
00:46:49.179 --> 00:46:51.679
Because I still don't know what would have happened if
556
00:46:51.760 --> 00:46:54.400
I'd opened it the first time it called my name.
557
00:46:55.760 --> 00:47:00.420
And maybe that's why, all these years later, there's one
558
00:47:00.460 --> 00:47:04.760
thing I know for certain. If I'm alone, and someone
559
00:47:04.820 --> 00:47:07.280
I know calls to me from somewhere they shouldn't be,
560
00:47:08.780 --> 00:47:23.179
I make sure they're really there before I answer. Don't
561
00:47:23.219 --> 00:47:23.639
look away.
562
00:47:23.659 --> 00:47:24.519
She's still missing.
563
00:47:25.059 --> 00:47:28.139
Dark Murder True Crime Cases is your place for everything
564
00:47:28.199 --> 00:47:32.480
true crime. Real cases, real stakes, and the stories that.
565
00:47:32.420 --> 00:47:33.079
Stick with you.
566
00:47:33.659 --> 00:47:35.380
If you love the kind of cases that make you
567
00:47:35.420 --> 00:47:39.610
double check your lights, you'll fit right in. Plus, we
568
00:47:39.650 --> 00:47:42.550
were voted number 12 in True Crime Podcasts for 2024.
569
00:47:42.550 --> 00:47:49.449
Number 12. Search Dark Murder True Crime Cases wherever you listen.
570
00:47:50.070 --> 00:47:55.559
Then start the next case. and the X was supposed
571
00:47:56.519 --> 00:47:57.239
to be.
572
00:47:57.280 --> 00:48:25.710
In the rear. Welcome back to the podcast. Where the
573
00:48:25.769 --> 00:48:30.889
stories are dark, the mysteries are disturbing, and your decision
574
00:48:30.969 --> 00:48:34.590
to listen alone in the dark is entirely between you
575
00:48:34.769 --> 00:48:39.429
and whatever just made that noise behind you. Around here,
576
00:48:40.050 --> 00:48:45.070
we dig into the strange, the sinister, and the downright terrifying.
577
00:48:46.010 --> 00:48:48.869
The kind of stories that make you check the locks twice,
578
00:48:49.570 --> 00:48:53.519
leave the hallway light on, and suddenly remember every horror
579
00:48:53.559 --> 00:48:58.320
movie rule you've ever ignored. So grab a blanket, pour
580
00:48:58.340 --> 00:49:02.679
yourself something comforting, and try not to look over your shoulder.
581
00:49:03.920 --> 00:49:07.150
If you're ready for a few chills, and possibly a
582
00:49:07.429 --> 00:49:11.769
brand new reason to lose sleep tonight, let's get started.
583
00:49:11.789 --> 00:49:22.469
I woke up. someone was standing in my bedroom doorway.
584
00:49:23.969 --> 00:49:29.530
I didn't hear the door open. Didn't hear footsteps. Nobody
585
00:49:29.570 --> 00:49:35.320
touched me. I just woke. One second, I was asleep
586
00:49:35.380 --> 00:49:39.639
beside my wife. And the next, my eyes were open.
587
00:49:40.400 --> 00:49:42.780
and every nerve in my body was telling me there
588
00:49:42.820 --> 00:49:46.960
was someone else in the room. For a few seconds,
589
00:49:47.179 --> 00:49:51.750
I didn't move. The bedroom was dark, but there was
590
00:49:51.849 --> 00:49:55.449
enough light coming from somewhere outside that I could make
591
00:49:55.530 --> 00:50:01.380
out the doorway, and the figure standing inside it, tall, black, motionless.
592
00:50:02.800 --> 00:50:05.579
At first, my half-asleep brain tried to turn it into
593
00:50:05.639 --> 00:50:10.690
something ordinary, a coat, a shadow. Something hanging near the door.
594
00:50:12.190 --> 00:50:17.449
Then my eyes adjusted. That's a person. My stomach tightened.
595
00:50:18.710 --> 00:50:22.150
I lifted my head slightly from the pillow. The figure
596
00:50:22.170 --> 00:50:26.670
didn't move. I stared. Then I realised what I was
597
00:50:26.710 --> 00:50:32.650
looking at. A hood. A long black robe. No visible face.
598
00:50:33.929 --> 00:50:38.010
The shape was unmistakable. The Grim Reaper. Death.
599
00:50:38.030 --> 00:50:38.130
Death.
600
00:50:39.199 --> 00:50:44.210
Standing in my bedroom doorway. I know how ridiculous that sounds.
601
00:50:45.230 --> 00:50:48.030
If someone told me the same story, I'd probably assume
602
00:50:48.050 --> 00:50:53.809
they'd had a nightmare. Sleep paralysis. Some strange half-awake hallucination.
603
00:50:54.710 --> 00:50:57.199
And maybe that's exactly what happened to me. But lying
604
00:50:57.239 --> 00:51:01.019
in that bed, I wasn't thinking about explanations. I was thinking,
605
00:51:02.340 --> 00:51:06.460
death is standing in my bedroom doorway. The room felt
606
00:51:06.579 --> 00:51:13.659
different with him there, heavy, compressed, like the air had thickened.
607
00:51:15.079 --> 00:51:18.340
I became aware of every breath I took because suddenly,
608
00:51:19.610 --> 00:51:26.650
breathing required effort. My wife was beside me, asleep. I
609
00:51:26.730 --> 00:51:31.449
remember wondering how she could possibly sleep through this. Wake
610
00:51:31.489 --> 00:51:36.670
her up. I wanted to reach for her. I didn't.
611
00:51:38.050 --> 00:51:41.550
I couldn't take my eyes off the doorway. The figure
612
00:51:41.590 --> 00:51:47.730
was completely still. No shifting. No breathing. No movement beneath
613
00:51:47.769 --> 00:51:51.010
the robe. I couldn't see a face inside the hood.
614
00:51:52.090 --> 00:51:56.969
There was only darkness. Then something entered my mind. Not
615
00:51:57.010 --> 00:52:02.420
a voice. That's important. I didn't hear someone speak. No
616
00:52:02.500 --> 00:52:06.260
sound came from the doorway. but suddenly I understood something
617
00:52:06.920 --> 00:52:14.760
with absolute certainty. It's time. My skin went cold. Another
618
00:52:14.860 --> 00:52:21.510
thought followed. Not mine. Come with me. I knew exactly
619
00:52:21.590 --> 00:52:25.030
what he wanted. I was supposed to leave with him.
620
00:52:26.070 --> 00:52:29.610
I don't know where. I didn't need to ask. Death
621
00:52:29.670 --> 00:52:31.590
doesn't show up at your bedroom door to take you
622
00:52:31.610 --> 00:52:35.429
for a walk. For one brief moment, I was terrified.
623
00:52:36.530 --> 00:52:41.730
Then I got angry. Really angry. Fear turned into something
624
00:52:41.849 --> 00:52:42.750
almost primitive.
625
00:52:43.829 --> 00:52:44.110
No.
626
00:52:45.530 --> 00:52:51.010
The figure remained still. That message pressed against my mind again.
627
00:52:51.989 --> 00:52:57.840
My time. I had to go. Something inside me snapped.
628
00:52:58.579 --> 00:52:58.860
No.
629
00:53:00.219 --> 00:53:04.039
My voice sounded strange in the dark. The figure didn't react.
630
00:53:05.199 --> 00:53:11.210
I pushed myself higher in bed. No, absolutely not. The
631
00:53:11.269 --> 00:53:15.250
fear was still there, but anger was louder. I had
632
00:53:15.269 --> 00:53:20.809
a wife sleeping beside me. A life. Things unfinished. People
633
00:53:20.869 --> 00:53:25.130
I wasn't ready to leave. I wasn't going anywhere. I
634
00:53:25.210 --> 00:53:30.719
started yelling. Get the hell away from me! The figure
635
00:53:30.780 --> 00:53:33.639
stayed in the doorway. I'm not going with you. I
636
00:53:35.400 --> 00:53:39.480
don't remember every word after that. I cursed at him,
637
00:53:40.599 --> 00:53:45.659
threatened him, told him to leave. It sounds almost funny now.
638
00:53:47.389 --> 00:53:51.510
There I was, supposedly staring at death himself, and my
639
00:53:51.570 --> 00:53:54.130
response was basically to tell him to get out of
640
00:53:54.210 --> 00:53:59.289
my house. But nothing about it felt funny then. I
641
00:53:59.329 --> 00:54:05.539
was furious. You hear me? I'm not going anywhere. I
642
00:54:05.639 --> 00:54:09.360
expected him to move toward me. That's the part I
643
00:54:09.440 --> 00:54:13.340
remember most clearly. I was certain that if he took
644
00:54:13.519 --> 00:54:18.380
one step into that bedroom, something terrible would happen. So
645
00:54:18.440 --> 00:54:22.219
I kept yelling. Maybe anger was the only thing keeping
646
00:54:22.260 --> 00:54:27.159
me from completely losing control. You are not taking me.
647
00:54:28.639 --> 00:54:30.090
The figure remained still.
648
00:54:31.199 --> 00:54:33.079
Then... Gone.
649
00:54:34.159 --> 00:54:38.719
There was no dramatic flash. No smoke. No movement toward
650
00:54:38.739 --> 00:54:44.389
the hallway. One moment, the doorway was occupied. The next,
651
00:54:44.840 --> 00:54:45.409
it wasn't.
652
00:54:46.969 --> 00:54:47.289
Empty.
653
00:54:48.250 --> 00:54:52.010
I stared at the spot. My heart hammered against my ribs.
654
00:54:53.010 --> 00:54:56.150
The bedroom looked normal again. The pressure seemed to lift.
655
00:54:56.650 --> 00:55:00.969
I could breathe. I looked beside me. My wife was
656
00:55:01.010 --> 00:55:07.460
still there. I listened for movement elsewhere in the house. Nothing.
657
00:55:08.780 --> 00:55:11.530
I should have gotten out of bed, turned on the lights,
658
00:55:12.530 --> 00:55:16.050
checked the hallway. I should have woken my wife and
659
00:55:16.110 --> 00:55:20.250
told her what I'd just seen. Instead, I lay there
660
00:55:20.349 --> 00:55:25.039
staring at the empty doorway. Did that really happen? I
661
00:55:25.079 --> 00:55:29.079
didn't know. Part of me was already trying to explain
662
00:55:29.119 --> 00:55:37.090
it away. Nightmare. Sleep paralysis. Half-awake hallucination. Maybe I'd never
663
00:55:37.119 --> 00:55:41.789
been fully awake at all. That made sense. It was
664
00:55:41.869 --> 00:55:47.869
certainly easier than accepting the alternative. Eventually, I went back
665
00:55:47.909 --> 00:55:52.599
to sleep. The next morning, my wife brought it up
666
00:55:52.659 --> 00:55:57.619
before I did. She looked at me strangely. What were
667
00:55:57.639 --> 00:56:02.199
you doing last night? I stopped. What do you mean?
668
00:56:03.909 --> 00:56:07.590
You were talking in your sleep. For a moment I
669
00:56:07.650 --> 00:56:08.369
felt relieved.
670
00:56:09.030 --> 00:56:09.369
There.
671
00:56:10.030 --> 00:56:16.150
Explanation. I'd been dreaming. The figure. The message. The argument.
672
00:56:16.929 --> 00:56:22.170
All of it. Just a vivid nightmare. What was I saying?
673
00:56:23.760 --> 00:56:29.539
She hesitated. I don't know. What do you mean? I
674
00:56:29.599 --> 00:56:39.019
couldn't understand you. I laughed. Probably mumbling. No. Something in
675
00:56:39.079 --> 00:56:44.900
her expression bothered me. What? She looked at me for
676
00:56:44.960 --> 00:56:52.469
another second. It sounded like another language. That got my attention.
677
00:56:53.510 --> 00:56:57.949
What language? She said she thought it sounded like Latin.
678
00:56:59.190 --> 00:57:01.670
I stared at her. Latin?
679
00:57:03.449 --> 00:57:03.690
Yeah.
680
00:57:05.289 --> 00:57:10.300
I almost laughed again. I don't speak Latin. I know.
681
00:57:11.639 --> 00:57:16.900
I've never learned Latin. I know. Now I wasn't amused.
682
00:57:18.300 --> 00:57:23.280
I tried remembering what I'd said during the night. In
683
00:57:23.320 --> 00:57:25.619
my memory, I was speaking normally.
684
00:57:26.719 --> 00:57:27.110
English.
685
00:57:28.119 --> 00:57:32.869
Mostly profanity, if I'm being truthful. I remembered telling the
686
00:57:32.929 --> 00:57:36.789
figure to leave. I remembered saying I wasn't going with him.
687
00:57:38.510 --> 00:57:44.780
Nothing about Latin. Are you sure? She nodded. It didn't
688
00:57:44.840 --> 00:57:48.860
sound like you were just mumbling. I felt that cold
689
00:57:48.900 --> 00:57:53.159
sensation again. The same one I'd felt staring at the doorway.
690
00:57:54.440 --> 00:58:00.739
I've never studied Latin. Not in school. Not privately. I
691
00:58:00.840 --> 00:58:05.559
couldn't have held even the simplest conversation in it. I
692
00:58:05.639 --> 00:58:10.139
wouldn't know enough to intentionally form a sentence. Now to
693
00:58:10.179 --> 00:58:14.369
be fair, my wife isn't a Latin scholar either. She
694
00:58:14.429 --> 00:58:18.449
couldn't translate whatever she heard, so I can't claim I
695
00:58:18.489 --> 00:58:23.650
was definitely speaking Latin. Maybe I was speaking gibberish in
696
00:58:23.690 --> 00:58:27.010
my sleep, and it simply sounded like Latin to her.
697
00:58:28.809 --> 00:58:34.820
That's possible. Maybe even likely. But at the time, Hearing
698
00:58:34.860 --> 00:58:40.150
her say that unsettled me, badly. Because I hadn't told
699
00:58:40.190 --> 00:58:44.289
her about the figure yet. She didn't know what I'd experienced.
700
00:58:45.949 --> 00:58:51.320
As far as she knew, her husband had simply started speaking. Strangely,
701
00:58:51.380 --> 00:58:55.519
in his sleep, I finally told her. I saw someone.
702
00:58:56.360 --> 00:59:01.219
Her face changed. What do you mean? Last night.
703
00:59:02.579 --> 00:59:02.980
Where? Where?
704
00:59:04.150 --> 00:59:10.380
I pointed toward the doorway. Standing there, she looked over.
705
00:59:11.300 --> 00:59:11.550
Who?
706
00:59:13.179 --> 00:59:18.780
I hesitated, because saying it aloud sounded insane. The Grim Reaper?
707
00:59:20.059 --> 00:59:23.550
She stared at me. I almost expected her to laugh.
708
00:59:24.239 --> 00:59:29.150
She didn't. What happened? He wanted me to go with him.
709
00:59:32.400 --> 00:59:38.840
I told him no. She blinked. You told death no?
710
00:59:40.590 --> 00:59:47.750
More or less. Despite everything that almost made us laugh. Almost.
711
00:59:49.050 --> 00:59:51.989
Then I remembered the way the room had felt. The
712
00:59:52.030 --> 00:59:57.860
black hood. That empty face. The certainty that whatever stood
713
00:59:57.880 --> 01:00:04.019
there had come specifically for me. The humour disappeared. For
714
01:00:04.059 --> 01:00:08.239
a long time afterward, I thought about that night. I've
715
01:00:08.300 --> 01:00:13.889
gone through every reasonable explanation. A nightmare is the obvious one.
716
01:00:15.530 --> 01:00:19.389
Maybe I dreamed the entire encounter. My wife heard me
717
01:00:19.469 --> 01:00:26.639
talking because people talk during dreams. Simple. Sleep paralysis is
718
01:00:26.699 --> 01:00:35.179
another possibility. People report seeing dark figures during episodes. Shadow people. Intruders.
719
01:00:36.300 --> 01:00:41.480
Things standing beside the bed. Sometimes they feel pressure or
720
01:00:41.539 --> 01:00:46.159
an overwhelming sense of evil. The brain can create terrifying
721
01:00:46.239 --> 01:00:51.219
things when you're caught between sleep and waking. Maybe that's
722
01:00:51.260 --> 01:00:55.449
what happened. Honestly, I'd be perfectly happy with that explanation.
723
01:00:56.909 --> 01:01:02.300
But there's one problem. I remember moving. I remember sitting up.
724
01:01:03.519 --> 01:01:09.800
I remember yelling. I don't remember being paralyzed. Maybe memory
725
01:01:09.860 --> 01:01:16.530
distorted the experience afterward. That's possible too. 24 hours can
726
01:01:16.690 --> 01:01:22.820
alter a memory. Decades can do much more. I'm aware
727
01:01:22.860 --> 01:01:27.179
of that. I don't tell this story because I can
728
01:01:27.260 --> 01:01:31.840
prove the Grim Reaper visited me I can't. I tell
729
01:01:31.900 --> 01:01:35.579
it because I've never experienced another night like it, before
730
01:01:35.739 --> 01:01:41.030
or since. The figure never returned. That's another detail I
731
01:01:41.110 --> 01:01:45.530
think about. If it was some recurring sleep phenomenon, why
732
01:01:45.650 --> 01:01:51.800
only once? Of course, dreams don't need patterns. You can
733
01:01:51.840 --> 01:01:57.440
have one nightmare and never have it again. Still, one visit,
734
01:01:57.940 --> 01:02:04.329
one message... It's time. One refusal, then nothing. Sometimes I
735
01:02:04.429 --> 01:02:07.510
joke that I told Death to come back later and
736
01:02:07.550 --> 01:02:11.659
apparently he listened. It's easier to laugh about it now.
737
01:02:12.739 --> 01:02:16.920
At the time, it wasn't funny. There was something about
738
01:02:16.980 --> 01:02:23.340
that figure that felt final. Not threatening exactly. That's difficult
739
01:02:23.380 --> 01:02:27.960
to explain. He didn't seem angry. He didn't lunge at me.
740
01:02:28.679 --> 01:02:34.679
Didn't threaten me. Didn't even speak aloud. He simply stood
741
01:02:34.739 --> 01:02:38.570
there with the absolute certainty of something that expected to
742
01:02:38.610 --> 01:02:39.179
be obeyed.
743
01:02:40.269 --> 01:02:40.550
Come.
744
01:02:41.429 --> 01:02:43.349
And my entire being answered.
745
01:02:44.949 --> 01:02:45.230
No.
746
01:02:46.769 --> 01:02:50.150
Over the years, I've wondered what would have happened if
747
01:02:50.210 --> 01:02:56.320
I hadn't fought. Suppose I'd simply accepted it. Suppose instead
748
01:02:56.360 --> 01:03:01.150
of screaming and cursing, I'd close my eyes and thought, okay,
749
01:03:02.190 --> 01:03:07.829
would anything have happened? Probably not. I'd have woken the
750
01:03:07.889 --> 01:03:11.780
next morning and forgotten most of the dream. That's the
751
01:03:11.840 --> 01:03:16.239
rational answer. But there's another thought that creeps in occasionally.
752
01:03:17.880 --> 01:03:21.139
What if I hadn't? What if whatever stood in that
753
01:03:21.199 --> 01:03:25.360
doorway wasn't asking permission? What if it was waiting for
754
01:03:25.400 --> 01:03:30.429
me to agree? I don't like that possibility, so I
755
01:03:30.469 --> 01:03:33.900
don't spend much time with it. The thing I remember
756
01:03:33.980 --> 01:03:38.440
most isn't the robe. It isn't the hood. It isn't
757
01:03:38.599 --> 01:03:42.139
even the strange conversation with my wife the next morning.
758
01:03:42.920 --> 01:03:47.179
It's the certainty. When that figure stood in my doorway,
759
01:03:47.800 --> 01:03:53.369
I knew why it was there. Nobody explained it. No
760
01:03:53.449 --> 01:03:59.889
voice whispered,'' You' re going to die.'' I simply knew. Your
761
01:03:59.929 --> 01:04:02.929
time has come, and I knew I was supposed to follow.
762
01:04:03.909 --> 01:04:09.409
That's what frightened me. Dream or not, my mind created
763
01:04:09.449 --> 01:04:14.170
an experience in which death wasn't chasing me. Death had
764
01:04:14.230 --> 01:04:20.519
simply arrived. Patient, silent, certain. Like my life had reached
765
01:04:20.619 --> 01:04:22.900
its scheduled ending and he had come to collect me.
766
01:04:24.440 --> 01:04:31.269
And somehow, my response was anger. No, I refused. I cursed.
767
01:04:31.690 --> 01:04:34.909
I screamed. I told him to get away from me.
768
01:04:36.639 --> 01:04:42.019
Then he disappeared. Sometimes, late at night, I'll wake suddenly.
769
01:04:43.679 --> 01:04:47.860
For a second, I won't know why. The room will
770
01:04:47.900 --> 01:04:53.699
be quiet. My wife sleeping nearby. Everything exactly where it belongs.
771
01:04:54.840 --> 01:04:58.139
And before I can stop myself... My eyes go to
772
01:04:58.159 --> 01:05:04.170
the doorway. Empty. Always empty. I tell myself that night
773
01:05:04.230 --> 01:05:10.070
was a dream. A strange, extraordinarily vivid nightmare followed by
774
01:05:10.130 --> 01:05:13.929
my wife hearing me talk in my sleep. That's a
775
01:05:14.010 --> 01:05:20.840
perfectly reasonable explanation. Probably the correct one. But every once
776
01:05:20.900 --> 01:05:26.059
in a while, another thought comes. What if it wasn't?
777
01:05:27.360 --> 01:05:31.320
What if something really did stand in that doorway? What
778
01:05:31.380 --> 01:05:36.010
if that message wasn't created by my sleeping brain? What if,
779
01:05:36.389 --> 01:05:39.989
for reasons I'll never understand, something came to take me
780
01:05:40.030 --> 01:05:44.510
that night, and I refused to go? I don't have
781
01:05:44.550 --> 01:05:48.710
an answer. All I know is that the figure disappeared.
782
01:05:49.889 --> 01:05:53.059
I woke up the next morning, and I'm still here.
783
01:05:54.650 --> 01:05:57.329
So if it really was death standing in my doorway
784
01:05:57.369 --> 01:06:01.110
that night, then either I somehow convinced him he'd made
785
01:06:01.150 --> 01:06:07.369
a mistake, or eventually, he's coming back. And if that happens,
786
01:06:07.849 --> 01:06:10.329
I doubt telling him no will work twice.
787
01:06:14.119 --> 01:06:19.679
Bone Chilling Tales to keep you awake, keeps you listening.
788
01:06:20.860 --> 01:06:28.099
Every episode brings a creepy story designed to crawl under
789
01:06:28.780 --> 01:06:38.230
your skin. Full of dread, twists, and the kind of
790
01:06:38.349 --> 01:06:45.409
details you can't unhear. Two weekly episodes, so there's always
791
01:06:45.530 --> 01:06:50.829
another shadow waiting, waiting for you. Don't take our word
792
01:06:50.909 --> 01:06:54.670
for it. Bone Chilling Tales to Keep You Awake was
793
01:06:54.730 --> 01:06:59.280
voted number 10 in the Best Horror True Crime Podcast
794
01:06:59.380 --> 01:07:03.420
for 2025. So search Bone Chilling Tales to Keep You
795
01:07:03.519 --> 01:07:11.300
Awake wherever you listen. And let the night do the rest.