 Welcome, weirdos, I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. If you're new here, be sure to subscribe to the podcast on Apple or Android so you don't miss future episodes. This is a special 12 Nightmares of Christmas episode. Each day from December 13th through December 24th, I'm posting a new episode of Weird Darkness featuring material from the new book, The Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of the Holidays by Sylvia Schultz. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, put another log onto the fire, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. Just like superheroes, all paranormal researchers have their own origin story, the event that launched them on their careers as investigators of the unknown. Author Stephen Lancaster came to his first supernatural experience earlier than most. He was just 10 years old when he was attacked by an invisible entity in his bed. Lancaster remembers the date vividly. It was December 14, 1987, and he was living in a small town in western Maryland with his parents and younger brother. The family had moved in several months before. Stephen recalls that the Christmas was to be their first in the new house. As the older kid, his little brother was just five, Stephen felt perfectly justified in claiming the top of the bunk bed set when the family moved in. The boy's bedroom was chilly at night, the house was heated by a coal furnace, and its warmth struggled to reach the second floor. Up on the top bunk, it was even chillier, but it was worth it to Stephen to have the prized spot. On the night of December 14, the boys had gone to bed at 9 o'clock, but of course going to bed and going to sleep mean two very different things in kidspeak. Stephen and his brother hoarsed around for a while, keeping quiet to stay off the parental radar. After a couple of hours of covert play, Stephen's little brother was ready to actually go to sleep. He dropped off almost immediately. Stephen, on the other hand, lay awake for a while, tossing and turning in the chilly room. Around one in the morning, Stephen clocked out too. He came fuzzily awake to something pulling on his ankles. He couldn't see much in the dark room, but something was tentatively grasping his ankles and pulling gently. Of course, Stephen assumed it was his little brother. Stephen hung his head over the side of the top bunk, peering down to the bottom bunk. His brother looked like he was sound asleep. Stephen shook his head. Leave it to a pesky little brother to try a trick like that. He snuggled back down into his warm nest and closed his eyes. He had almost dozed off when he felt another tug on his ankles. This one was harder. Again, Stephen poked his head over the bed rail, hoping to catch his brother diving under his own blankets with a muffled giggle. But again, he heard nothing, and his brother looked dead to the world. At that point, it occurred to Stephen that his brother might not be the one responsible for the ankle tugging. His sleep-fuzzied brain was waking up and he was beginning to realize that it was virtually impossible for his brother to invade Stephen's domain, give him a tug on the ankle, then slip back under his covers, undetected and pretend so convincingly to be fast asleep. Stephen was mulling over this puzzle. He realized that some invisible something was slowly pulling his blanket down towards the foot of his bed. He reached for his blanket to pull it back and something grabbed both of his wrists. Imagine someone grabbing you around the wrists. You know what that feels like. This felt exactly like that. Something was holding on to me and not letting go. The skin around my wrists was actually indented as if someone were physically grabbing me. Stephen would write, much later in his book, true case files of a paranormal investigator. It is a straightforward description of stark terror. The unseen entity had hold of Stephen and whatever it was had no intention of letting him go. Within moments Stephen felt weak, drained of energy and the entity was still pulling him down to the foot of the bed. Moments before Stephen had sat upright to reach for the retreating blankets. Now the phantom yanked him forward, flipping him so that his feet were on the pillow and still he was tugged, pulled relentlessly toward the foot of the bed. Stephen tried to drag in a breath to scream but it was like trying to yell in a dream. Instead of a full-throttled holler for help, Stephen's cries of mom, dad came in thin whistling gasps and yet he still struggled, fighting with wiry kid strength against the invisible monster that had him in its clutches. Suddenly Stephen broke free. He'd been tugging so hard he overbalanced and crashed into the wall. The back of his head hit the wall so hard it left a dent in the wood paneling. Stephen found his voice. Mom! His parents came running. His little brother was roused from sleep. Everyone piled into the room as Stephen stammered out his incredible story. Despite the evidence of the head-sized dent in the wall, Stephen's parents wrote the story off as an amazingly vivid nightmare. The boys were soothed back to sleep but a paranormal investigator was born that terrifying night. There was an interesting post-script to this story. In 1987, Stephen's parents both dismissed his tale. theirs was a Christian home and such talk was discouraged. But many years later, Stephen was talking with his mother about that long ago night and she decided to share a secret with him. When Stephen's mother was herself 10 years old, the exact same thing happened to her. Her encounter with the invisible entity was so violent it left visible marks on her wrists where she was pulled toward the foot of her bed. This story happened in Liverpool, England in the early 1990s. It has never been explained. The story begins one foggy December evening in 1991. On the evening of December 20th, at 7pm, the Edwards family of Dovecott decided to do a bit of late Christmas shopping in the Liverpool city center. Mr. Edwards drove his wife and four children to town in his old Volvo estate. Many people had similar plans for the evening and finding a place to park was a chore. Mr. Edwards trolled the streets looking for a parking spot while his daughter and three sons, too excited to fuss, watched the spectacular Christmas decorations slide by the car windows. Abby, the youngest at six years old, was especially entranced with the colorful lights. As Mr. Edwards grumbled about parking, Mrs. Edwards pointed to a secluded side street called Bold Place. That's perfect, Mr. Edwards said. He turned and drove up the poorly lit Cobblestone Road which ran past the back of St. Luke's Church. As soon as the car was parked, the kids jumped out of the vehicle bubbling with excitement. Meanwhile, an icy fog began to roll down the street. The family was about to start off for the shops when Mr. Edwards suddenly stopped short and glanced around the short street. Where's Abby? Everyone looked around. Mr. Edwards peered into the windows of the car but his little daughter hadn't lagged behind. It was a tremble and Mrs. Edwards' voice, where is she? Three boys looked around but there was no one else on the street. Then they all heard a faint voice scream out in the distance. Daddy! The voice sounded like Abby's. It seemed to come from the end of the lane where Bold Place met Roscoe Street. The Edwards family rushed up the Cobbled Road with Mr. Edwards leading the way. Abby! He shouted, where are you? The gates at the back of St. Luke's were open and Mr. Edwards figured that Abby had wandered through the gate and onto the grounds of the old church. He hurried into the churchyard, followed closely by his wife and their sons and again they heard Abby call out for her daddy. But the little girl was nowhere to be found and the fog was getting thicker by the minute. Mr. Edwards didn't want to say this in front of his family but he was beginning to wonder if some stranger had grabbed Abby and taken her into the ruins of the old church. He handed his wife the car keys and told her to get a flashlight from the vehicle. When Mrs. Edwards came back Mr. Edwards climbed up onto the ledge of the church window and shone the light into the deserted church. The interior was in ruins with nothing but rubble scattered around. Mr. Edwards knew that the church of St. Luke had been gutted by an incendiary bomb in World War II during the Blitz, only the shell of the building had survived. The church had been left in that condition as a reminder of the horrors of war. Even though it was in ruins though Mr. Edwards couldn't shake the thought that Abby's voice had been calling for help from inside the church. As he clambered down from the window ledge, Mrs. Edwards said, Listen! The faint eerie sounds of organ music drifted through the open window. The family went to the police station and told the desk sergeant about their lost child. The sergeant alerted all the patrol cars in the area and told the officers in the city center to be on the lookout for the young girl. The family then rushed back to bold place to keep looking for Abby. They searched the grounds of St. Luke's once again and found nothing. They were about to go to the car to warm up when something happened that continues to puzzle the Edwards family to this day. A tall man wearing a top hat and a long black coat came out of the grounds of St. Luke's and walking with him, holding his hand, was little Abby. When Abby saw her parents, she ran to them and started to cry as her father picked her up. The sinister man in black looked like something out of the Victorian age. He had long, bushy sideburns, a pallid face and staring ink black eyes. He stood outside the gates of the churchyard and said in a low, creepy voice, please accept my sincere apology for any distress caused. Then he turned and walked slowly back towards the rear of the ruined church. A police patrol car came tearing down the road and Mr. Edwards told the officers about the stranger who had just returned his daughter. Three police officers bolted from their car and rushed into the church, but the police found no one. The church was empty. More police came. The grounds were searched with powerful flashlights, but the place was deserted. Some of the officers also heard the faint sounds of organ music, but they never could find where the mysterious music was coming from. One of the policemen asked Abby where she had been. And that is when things got really weird. Abby said that an old woman in a shawl had grabbed her and dragged her into the church where a mass was being held. There were many people dressed in old fashioned clothes. The women wore big hats and the men were all dressed in black. Abby had screamed for her father, but the old woman had put her hand over the girl's mouth to keep her quiet. Sometime later, a tall man had come into the church and pulled Abby from the woman's clutches. He had been the man who had taken Abby back to her parents. The intrigued policemen continued to interrogate the little girl, and he asked her if the man had spoken to her about what had happened. Abby shook her head, then said, the man said he had been a long time dead, that's all. A cold shudder ran up everyone's spine when they heard Abby's reply. Since that strange incident, the Edwards family refused to go anywhere near St. Luke's, especially during the Christmas season. On December 17, 1959, the William Meyer House near Gutenberg, Iowa was the scene of excitement that had nothing to do with the upcoming holidays. A poltergeist took over the house and soon no one in the family was in the Christmas spirit. One evening, as the Myers were sitting in their living room, a crash thundered through the house. The couple raced into the kitchen where the source of the bang was immediately apparent. They found the refrigerator tipped over. As they watched, horror struck, a flower stand flew across the room and exploded against the stove. Movement near a basket of eggs on the window sill caught their eye next. One egg lifted out of the basket, floated across the room and smashed itself on the kitchen floor. The Myers were dumbfounded. Mrs. Meyer was terrified. The inexplicable was in their home, in their kitchen, the heart of the home. What on earth was going on? The Myers hadn't had supper yet, but Mrs. Meyer was far too upset to cook in that kitchen. The couple went out to eat instead. Out of the house, among the chatter of the other diners, the Myers could almost forget the high strangeness of earlier. Mrs. Meyer's felt herself relaxing. Surely there was some rational explanation for what had happened. When they got home, the Myers got ready for bed. It had been a sorely trying evening, and all they wanted to do was go to sleep and try to forget the destruction in the kitchen. Mrs. Meyer got a glass of water and put it on the nightstand. Then she got into bed and reached for a book. A little light reading would relax her. There would be no relaxing reading that night. The glass rose from the nightstand and hovered over Mrs. Meyer's head as her husband watched in horror. Then the glass was squeezed in a powerful, invisible hand. It exploded, drenching her with water and shards of glass. Mrs. Meyer screamed. Her husband Bill, just as terrified, insisted they move to the guest bedroom. Mrs. Meyer dried herself off and they moved to the other bedroom. They scooted under the covers like children frightened of the boogeyman. Before Bill could even turn off the light, Mrs. Meyer shrieked again. Little black specks were appearing on the blanket. The Myers looked up, mystified. Soot was falling on them from the ceiling, appearing out of nowhere to shower the bed with black grit. In the morning, Bill called the sheriff, who came out to the house to investigate. He was called away in the middle of his search, but he promised to come back. When the sheriff did come back several hours later, the Myers met him on the front lawn. They had been spooked yet again. The sheriff hadn't witnessed any activity during his walkthrough of the house, but after he left, several chairs had skidded across the floor. Even stranger, every single window in the house had cracked, but the Myers hadn't heard any sounds of breaking glass. This was the most excitement Clayton County, Iowa had seen in decades. People from Gutenberg and other towns started to show up unannounced at the Myers home, searching for ghosts. One of these visitors was a Mississippi River towboat captain who came with some friends to investigate the strange tales. He admitted to the Myers that he didn't believe in ghosts. Mrs. Meyer, a gracious hostess despite her supernatural troubles, offered the men the use of the guest bedroom for the night. The captain turned in while his friends stayed in the kitchen with the Myers drinking coffee and getting better acquainted. A ruckus in the bedroom brought the group running. The befuddled captain was still lying on the mattress. The mattress, however, was on the floor, eight feet away from the bed frame. After a few months of poltergeist activity, Bill Meyer and his wife had had quite enough. They moved away, leaving the house empty. Curiosity seekers and amateur ghost hunters made the abandoned house their haunt for a while. The Myers eventually sold the house to their former neighbors, the Finnegans. To combat the vandals that had started using the house as a playground, Wallace Finnegan turned the house into a barn. Now filled with hay instead of ghosts, the house lost much of its spooky appeal. The vandals finally left it alone. Billy Plummer snugged the covers up under his chin. He was finding it hard to fall asleep on that December night in 1939. He sighed, then turned over. Suddenly he jerked. It felt like his wife, Gert, was tickling his feet. Startled, he yelled out, hey, knock it off. A sleepy mumble met his ears. Billy looked over at Gert, who was just waking up out of a sound sleep. Then her eyes widened and she twitched away from him. Billy, gosh, stop, that's me and I hate being tickled. Gert, I didn't do, ugh, Billy squirmed. I said stop. I didn't touch you, I've been asleep. Then Gert made a face and clambered out of the bed. If you didn't touch me and I didn't touch you, we need to check the bed for bugs. Billy sprang out of bed at the mention of bugs and switched on the light. Together Billy and Gert stripped the bed. Sheets, pillowcases, even the mattress pad landed on the floor after a good shaking. No bugs, thank goodness, Gert said. Two pairs of hands made short work of putting the bed back together. The couple lay down. Their fears calmed to enjoy a peaceful night's sleep. They got no such thing. The invisible entity tickled them unmercifully. The plumbers giggled, cried, moaned, squirmed, pleaded. Eventually the entity relented and allowed the exhausted couple a few hours of sleep. At four o'clock in the morning, a thump rattled the bed frame, jerking Billy and Gert from an uneasy dose. Billy slapped the light switch, but no one was in the room with them. At least no one they could see. A symphony of taps, rattles and bangs played up and down the bed frame. For months the strange nocturnal noises continued. One night in February, a deep voice came from somewhere underneath the bed. Is the baby asleep? Gert shot from the bed and into the baby's room. To her immense relief, their infant son was sound asleep. In mid-March, Billy decided to try an experiment. He twisted a copper wire onto one of the bed springs and ran it to a gas pipe in the kitchen. That night, for the first time in months, the plumbers slept peacefully. They woke the next morning refreshed and rested. The next night, the tickling and thumping was back in full force. Billy had had enough. So had Gert. On the first warm spring day, Billy took the bed apart and hauled it off to the Wichita dump. A new bed was a small price to pay for a good night's sleep. If you enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with others and help build the Weird Darkness community by converting your friends and family into weirdos as well. This special episode is part of my 12 Nightmares of Christmas series, a collaboration with paranormal blogger and author Sylvia Schultz. The stories I used in this episode are from her book The Spirits of Christmas, the Dark Side of the Holidays, and you can find a link to that book in the show notes. Do you have a dark tale to tell? Share your story at WeirdDarkness.com and I might use it in a future episode. Music in this episode is provided by Midnight Syndicate. You can find a link to purchase and download this dark, creepy Christmas music in the show notes. I'm your creator and host, Darren Marlar. Merry Christmas and thank you for joining me in the Weird Darkness. Hey Weirdos, be sure to click the like button and subscribe to this channel and click the notification bell so you don't miss future videos. 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