 Ads heard during the podcast that are not in my voice are placed by third-party agencies outside of my control and should not imply an endorsement by Weird Darkness or myself. Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Recently on Reddit, people shared stories of supernatural interventions, preventing them from going to jail, getting hurt or doing something illicit in the first place. People encounters with ghosts might come in the form of loud noises, mysterious apparitions, ethereal warnings or just a powerful sense of intuition. Are these reports all true stories of otherworldly assistants? We'll leave that for you to judge. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Welcome Weirdos, I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. Coming up in this episode Weirdo family member Atreida tells of a horrifying series of nights when she and her sister encountered a demon under one of their beds. In York County, Pennsylvania, a suspected witch is murdered and thus began the dark story of the Hex House. Was there a conspiracy to murder Hollywood actress Marilyn Monroe? But first, creepy paranormal encounters sometimes cause people to stop short of committing an action they might regret. We begin there. If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, my newsletter, to enter contests, to connect with me on social media. Plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression or dark thoughts. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights and come with me into the Weird Darkness. Over a couple of weeks one summer, me and some friends, all middle school, grade 7 through 8, stuck into a nearby school at night and just messed around, nothing damaging. Eight candy out of desks, eight ice cream out of the teacher's lounge, wrote notes to teachers and hid them in desks. The first night we went in, I was going to go into the library. Had the door open, but a friend said no, don't. He claimed it wasn't him who said it though, so we didn't go in. After that night, the library doors were locked, so we couldn't go in even though we wanted to. Then, one night about nine days later, our entrance, the rooftop hatch, was locked and we couldn't get in anymore. The very next night, some guys got busted after climbing in through library windows. It seems they had motion detectors inside the library, pointing away from the door that we would have entered, into the main area, connected to a silent alarm. We would have been busted if not for whoever said those words. My friends and I used to climb the rooftops of buildings a lot in our early to mid teens. One of our favorite spots was the library by my house. It had a ladder on the backside with a gate blocking off the rungs, but you could grab the top of the gate and pull yourself up if you jumped high enough. We're all pretty tall, so this isn't much of a challenge for any of us. We got to the top and we're about to light our joint when we heard someone say, you boys better get down right now. We all jumped and turned around but couldn't see anybody. I hesitantly looked around the AC units and electrical boxes but couldn't find anyone. I walked to the edge of the roof and looked down to the sidewalk below but couldn't see anyone there either. My friends and I scanned that entire rooftop but couldn't find a single person. It was a rooftop so it's not like they could have had that many places to hide in the first place. It startled us enough though that we decided to leave and get high somewhere else. We still have no idea who or what told us to get off the roof. Me and my crime partner did a lot of stuff burglaries, robberies, thefts, etc. for like five years. We're both Orthodox Christians so once in a while we would go to church. Anyway, we're walking up the stairs and I see people entering the church. The second we try to open the door, it's locked. Tourists around us were taking pictures and we were the only ones trying to get in. We walk away 20 meters or so and see people walking in there. Guess God didn't want any thieves in there that day. This is something I'll never forget. So I used to work as a security guard at a large office building. I often stole things, like computers, desks, chairs, etc. from the offices. I was very careful and never took anything during my shift. There were only cameras in the lobby and on the outside of the building, not in any tenant spaces. One day I found a wallet in a desk and it had a few hundred dollars. I took the money and left the wallet. I wasn't on that night, no one saw me enter or leave the building and I wasn't on any camera. A few weeks later a lady I'd never seen before came up to the security desk and told me that she saw me take the money and even knew the exact amount. She said that she wanted me to know that she knew. Then she left and I never saw her again. There is just no possible way she could have seen me. This one night I was boosting some silverware from an old lady's house. She was home but old people are pretty deaf and dang slow so I really didn't care. I hear this strange sound coming from the room where she's watching TV. Volume was way loud, grandma. So I go look and she's like having a seizure or something. I might be a thief but I'm not a jerk so I call 911. They answer. Crap, I don't know what to say now. Hi, I was just robbing this old lady's house and she's having a seizure. So I freeze and I say nothing. I wait with her but she stops seizing and then I hear sirens so I hide in her tiny front hall closet with the foldy doors and shutters. Before the EMTs arrive she stops seizing. So by the time they get to her door she seems fine except confused why they're at her house. They make nice, apologize and leave. As soon as they're gone she starts seizing again. Dang it! So I call 911 again just in case. Really don't want a dead lady on my conscience. Same thing, sirens, she stops seizing, answers the door. It's like a comedy at this point with me hiding in the closet. The bad guy with a heart of gold. But I'm not about to pop out and say but she was having a seizure. So they leave. Just as they drive away with her waving an old lady goodbye she falls down and starts seizing again. Now it's just sad slash funny. Gotta call 911 again for grandma. This time I'm thinking about leaving a note or something because I want to get out of there. So I call, wait for the sirens, then she stops breathing. I'm thinking if I don't get out of here murder charge now. I hide as the EMTs come through the door, put an oxygen mask on her and take her away. By this point my adrenaline is through the roof and screw it. I feel like I've earned the right to take as much crap as I can and walk out the door with it since the house is now empty. I could take my time going through her stuff, silverware jewelry, cash in the shoebox, you name it if I could find that it's mine. A fee for being a good Samaritan. And wouldn't you know it, the EMT comes back. Who knows why? I hide again. He walks into the living room, turns the TV off and grabs a bag off her chair. This is the part that really messes me up. As he turns to go, an old man just appears out of nowhere, pats him on the back and whispers something to him. But the EMT doesn't react at all, doesn't turn around, doesn't pause, just heads back out the door like the old man wasn't even there. Then the old guy glides to the front window and stands there waving goodbye. Then he disappeared. I'm standing in the closet, frozen, wondering what just happened. And when I feel it, somebody's breathing down my neck. Get out of my house. I started running, praying, crying right out the door. I didn't care who saw. I ran like a little girl. To this day, whenever somebody says scared straight, I try not to remember the sound of that old man's voice. But I always do. I was 17. I had decided on the way home from school I was going to slam my car into a light pole, hopefully killing myself. As I revved my car, I hear a loud shotgun sound. My back right tire blew out. My dad came to help me change it shortly thereafter, without me calling anybody. I thought that oddly coincidental. When I was 14, I'm 33 now, I used to boost cars for this car theft ring in California. I did it for several months and never got caught. It was more of a thrill and lack of direction from living in a bad area and lack of supervision and authority in my life. I'd never been arrested or got caught. I was always a good kid, but I rebelled after my parents split up. Anyway, there was one car that I needed to pick up and get delivered that day. The boss man was extremely insistent that the order needed to be filled within a few hours. It was another job like any other. But when I was about a mile away from my order, I got a very uneasy and disturbing feeling. Nothing was out of the ordinary or different from the dozens of other jobs I'd done. But I couldn't shake the feeling. As I got closer to my destination, it was as if it just got noisier and more distracting. In my head, finally that unsettling feeling overcame me and I bailed out. I saw the car and acted like I just wasn't paying attention. I didn't do the job. I kept going and knew I was in deep with the boss guy, but I decided to lay low because not filling an order was seriously bad news. That guy was not someone you disappoint or you would feel it. He was wrathful and on drugs, so I knew I had to hide for a while. Two days of him blowing up my pager, yeah that's how long ago it was, I had a pager, then he calls and pages and it just suddenly stopped. Come to find out word on the street was that the cops pulled a big sting operation and that car I was supposed to steal was being monitored. My old boss sent some other kid to get the car when they followed the kid back to the scrap yard and did a big bust. That guy got arrested. That kid got arrested. A whole boatload of people got arrested. But no one ever came for me. To this day I know God was looking out for me at that moment, at that time, and I listened. Since that incident I never pulled anything like that ever again. I straightened up, got back into school and graduated with honors. It was all because of that weird supernatural moment. Back in high school a group of friends and I would break into recently built houses in our subdivision and use it for small parties and smoking before school. Anyway, one morning I was inside, smoking a bull before my bus arrived, and heard someone that sounded like an older lady in one of my front rooms say, you better get out of here. I was alone in the house and it was maybe 7.30 am. Being the little rebel I was and legitimately confused as to who would be in the house so early, I went and checked the rooms. Of course there wasn't anyone inside and I never went back to that particular house. I've lived in that same subdivision for years and multiple families have moved in just to move out months or even weeks later. I was helping move Coke allegedly to Queens. I was about to get on the subway on 14th street when I bumped into an ex who is into tarot and spirits. Long story, after missing a couple trains we parted ways. When I arrived at the building in Queens the cops raided the room five minutes before I got there. I bought a pack of tarot cards just out of respect. Criminal here. Partner and I were scouting out a house to rob. Elderly guy, nobody had seen him in a few days, mail overflowing in the mailbox, missed a doctor's appointment, car hadn't moved, etc. We both know we're about to find a body or an empty house which we could easily rob. We arrive on the scene, look through the window and sure enough we can see his foot on the floor in the living room. My partner is a seasoned robber and pulls rank and makes me go first. Door's unlocked and as soon as we open it we smell a mostly fresh dead body. Almost relieved we both enter and he tells me to check vitals on the dead dude. He's obviously dead with levidity, dried feces on him and dried saliva around his mouth. So I go to stand over him and see if I can get a pulse, at which point he takes a deep breath, rolls over and asks why we're in his house. At this point we both start screaming and run out of the house. I only managed to grab one silver spoon. I think he died a week later in the hospital. I still get jokes about raising the dead. I used to grow a little weed and party on a plot of farmland in Wisconsin. We'd have friends up every memorial day. We'd camp off the side of an off-road loop where we created a camping spot. Canoing, partying, binge drinking. One night I took my 89 Chevy Blazer with a carload of people to the river for a swim. On the way back I was driving like a bat out of hell, sending people bouncing all over, on purpose, and continued driving like that around the loop past the camp spot when somebody from the back grabbed me and pulled me back in my driver's seat and yelled, Stop! Well, I slammed on the brakes and everyone went flying forward. Through it reverse made a three-point turn to pull in and park at the camp spot. The passengers had had enough and didn't want to pass up the tents and fresh beer. All poured out of the car laughing. A few minutes go by and Mike is yelling at something on the trail. I go over there and in the dirt passed out cold with mud on his face from my front tire was this drunken friend of ours. I immediately started freaking out screaming how if Mike didn't see him and told me to stop, he'd be dead. If I didn't pull in reverse after stopping, he would be dead. I was kicking him and ticked until Mike stopped me to say that he didn't see anything. Nobody saw anything. Nobody grabbed me. But sure as hell, I swear on my children, something grabbed me and yelled me to stop and saved his life that night. I don't consider myself a criminal. In fact, I pride myself in being a very ethical person. But one time I committed a minor crime that led me to think there might be some supernatural involvement here. I went to Hobby Lobby, a clearly Christian establishment, bought some balsa wood, needed four or five pieces, saw a six-pack and picked it up. When I went to the register, I realized that the cashier was charging me for only one piece of wood. I guess it was not a six-pack, it was probably the bulk packaging that came from the manufacturer and the employees just never put them up. When I realized I was getting charged for one piece only out of the stack of six, I decided to let it slide. I didn't point it out. I walked out with six pieces for the price of one, so really I stole five pieces. Fast forward a few days, I am using a table saw to cut grooves in the wood to make some small gift boxes. I am doing a pretty decent job until I stop to chat with a friend and have a couple of glasses of wine. I don't know what possessed me other than boredom to return to the table saw. The first cut took some skin off the tips of three of my fingers. So I go to the ER for some emergency stitching, get my tetanus shot, etc., have surgery to reconstruct my fingertips using cadaver skin. Shout out to whoever's fingerprints I now have. Thanks, man. Shortly after, surgical wounds become infected with MRSA. More hospitalization and antibiotics. At this point, I am starting to feel God's wrath. Mind you, I am not a Christian. I was only very superficially Catholic long enough to get my first communion and then drop the whole idea at bat, but thinking about the chain of events that unfolded from five stolen pieces of balsa wood, I could not help but believe that this was a sign from a higher power. So I went back to Hobby Lobby with one of the pieces of balsa wood. I asked to speak to a manager and I explained the situation to him and told him that I want to pay for those other five pieces of balsa wood because I really needed to be done with it. I said it was a real load off my shoulders and I felt better after telling him that. He said it made him feel like a priest receiving confession. That was my first confession. It was not after a series of catechism classes, nor at the indicated age, but it did happen as a result of learning a lesson. So I guess that counts, even if I am no longer Catholic. Once I stole this kid's doll. When I got home I was bored and thought it'd be kind of funny to chant a demonic incantation over it. Suddenly my roommate dropped dead and the doll actually stood up and ran out the door. I didn't mention anything about the doll to the paramedics because I didn't think they'd believe me. My roommate's death was ruled natural causes, but I still can't help feeling responsible that maybe I actually did tap into some sort of spiritual curse. Back in high school me and my friends liked to go places we shouldn't and smoke pot. So on April 20th, 420, one year we all go to our old elementary school at like 1030 at night to blaze it. Since it was so late we were kind of trespassing. On the way there my friend, whose mom worked at the school, told us about how one of the old janitors told his mom that a long time ago a girl died in a landslide on the hill behind the school. So we're walking around the buildings when suddenly we hear a very loud, clear little girl scream coming from the direction of the playground, which would make sense if it wasn't 1030 on a school night. It was one of those moments out of a movie. We were all just looking at each other, mouths agape. We booked it out of there as fast as possible. I broke into this one abandoned house once. It sat on the edge of the block and was behind a tall white wall so you only saw what the yard looked like once you climbed over. Old shopping carts, toys, old dog house, kind of dreary. Doors of the house had boards on it so I had to pry those off with a crowbar. Once on the inside everything was black. Looks like the entire inside had been coated in soot from the ceiling to the bathtub to the windows just all black. Thought that was weird. Anyway, I spent a whole week there in the darkest part of winter and I'm sure that there was more than one reason I never got a good night's sleep. I remember a creepy story with a similar theme like this. A guy was talking about how he'd squat in a house that had been put on the market. He had a key to get in because he knew the owners and he'd sleep and shower there after work. He talked about how one night while he slept the phone started ringing. He couldn't figure out where it was coming from and then he saw police cars pull up in the driveway. He hid while they scanned the windows and doors then booked it after they left. He later came back and said that the locks had been changed. He looked at the whole thing like the house was warning him that he was about to be kicked out. I tried to kill someone. I had it out of body experience while doing it. I'm not exactly a faithful person but I think something actually did stop me from killing him. I'm a pretty talented pickpocket, slight kleptomania. I lifted a wallet from a man as I came up behind him on the street. Almost zero contact. No one should have noticed a thing but the man spoke out very calmly as I passed him. Could I have that back please? I turned around to see he was wearing sunglasses. He lifted them up and revealed he was blind. I was so completely dumbstruck and baffled that I apologized and gave him back the wallet. Wasn't too worried about him picking me out of a lineup anyway and didn't want to be that guy that steals from the handicapped. I guess his sense of touch was sharpened by the loss of sight or something like that but for a brief second I was sure this man was a warlock. Something similar happened to a friend of mine. He worked at an expensive liquor store and decided to steal some bottles of wine one night. Just a minute or so after opening the back door and walking into the darkness, he claims to have heard a voice say, what are you doing? He immediately felt frightened and left without the wine. Wow, I've never heard another person's story like this. A buddy of mine was driving to college and got pulled over, mass traffic stop after just finishing a bowl. I know, irresponsible and dangerous. We did dumb stuff back then and we all regret it. He pulled up behind another car and stopped. Then the cop who was talking to the other car walked past my buddy's truck. The car in front starts to pull off. Then my buddy says he just hears a voice in his head say, go and he pulled away just like that. He spent the remainder of his drive back to school just waiting for the cops to show up on his butt. But they never did. I'm pretty sure that's when he decided to quit smoking pot. I always believed his story. He's one of my oldest friends and sitting just about at the top of my list when it comes to godparents for my future kids. I trust him with anything. Still hard to believe though. One day I went to rob a house of an old lady. Got to the door, thought it was my lucky day because it was unlocked. So I quietly made my way to the living room and almost crapped my pants. The old lady was sitting in silence staring at some unknown presence in the garden, not moving at all. I didn't want to be ghost food so I left. And now I only rob young ladies. Changed my life, man. I grew up in a small town and me and some friends made it our goal one summer to break into every building possible at night. We didn't want to steal anything or actually break anything to get in. It was more of a test of our ability to pick locks or create ways during the day that would make it easy to get in at night. We got into the elementary school one night. There was rumors of a bomb shelter in the basement so we just had to check it out. It was true. The basement janitor closet had a big metal door and inside there was some bomb shelter warnings and instructional stuff along with regular janitor equipment. Nothing interesting or crazy happened while we were in the school and we left after a short period of time. We hung out on the playground equipment afterwards. Around 1 am while we were just hanging out there, a tapping sound from the third floor window of the school started. We all stopped talking and looked up. I couldn't see anything in the window and then BAM BAM BAM three incredibly loud slams against the window. The window was shaking but still nothing to be seen. We ran to the closest friend's house because it scared the crap out of all of us. We forced an entry into an abandoned and dismantled psychiatric asylum. We wandered the halls and had a look in all the various rooms, some nice and open with windows and bathrooms, some small and cell-like. The rec room had iron bars over the window frames and in the center of the whole building was a quiet little courtyard with a few drill holes where benches used to be. There wasn't the sense of being watched or a presence, but somehow I could feel the history of fear and confusion of the place. The urge to leave was strong and I was caught in a weird place of moving fast but remaining consciously calm. I had to keep reminding myself that everything was fine and that I could go outside at any time. Up next, weird family member Atreida tells of a horrifying series of nights when she and her sister encountered a demon under one of their beds. In York County, Pennsylvania, a suspected witch is murdered and thus began the dark story of the Hex House. These stories and more when Weird Darkness returns. Strange creatures, gruesome murders, oozing organisms, unfathomable abductions, enigmatic expeditions, an age-old malevolence, and much more. Author JC Moore delivers a collection of dark horror tales that are both chilling and poignant. Dark Intrigue's Book One is filled with horror fiction for fans of short story anthologies, horror collections, ghost fiction, suspense, possession, and more. Dark Intrigue's Book One by JC Moore, available on Kindle or as an audiobook narrated by Darren Marlar. Find Dark Intrigue's Book One on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com. When I was younger, my sister and I shared a bed and a room. We were generally happy and healthy with vivid imaginations despite what happened to us for one solid week in our past. I was about seven at the time. My sister was nearly ten and we were just snuggling down to sleep in our new room in the house our parents had just spent the last two days moving us into. We were happy and expecting to make new friends in the quiet community of Sunray, Texas. As we closed our eyes and drifted off to sleep, something very unnerving happened. The bed began to shake, knocking into the wall of the shared wall between our room and our parents' room. It was violent and loud and knocked my sister and I into each other's arms. Just as the bed finally stopped shaking, our mother opened the door and turned on the lights. Just what are you two up to? she said in a very exasperated manner. Apparently our brother had just gotten to sleep and the shaking bed had woken him and our mother from their sleep too. My sister and I both claimed innocence. After all, we had not moved the bed. It was a huge bed and we barely weighed 100 pounds together. This continued over the next couple of days, always ending with our mother coming in to chide us for being so loud and knocking on the wall. On the fourth day my sister and I determined not to go to sleep until we saw what was making the bed move. We sat huddled together in the darkness. My sister hoarding the flashlight she had liberated from dad's toolbox waiting for the bed to move. Some time after mom went to sleep, we were still watching, even if our eyes were growing heavy with the need to sleep. I was sure that it would not happen that night, mostly because we were waiting for it to happen, but my sister was absolutely sure it would. Just as I was about to give up and turn over for sleep, we heard a knock that came from above our heads. My sister clicked on the flashlight, aiming it in the direction of the sound upon the headboard, and there we saw the most frightening thing our little brains could have seen at that time. A hand rising up from between the bed and the wall from beneath the bed. We both let out squeals of fright, jumping up and hugging each other as the sound of an evil laugh filled the room. The sound was cut off only by the banging of the bedroom door opening and mom turning on our bedroom light. We both jumped up from our bed and ran into our arms, blabbering like babies, scared to death. Mom took us into the living room, and although she was very irritated by being awakened by two of her children screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, she let us sleep in bed with her until dad came home and carried us back into our bed. The next night our parents decided that we were just scaring ourselves silly with telling ghost stories. We were put back in our room and were both scared to death as the bed began shaking once more. This time, however, my sister did something that's very much not a part of her character. She leaned over the side of the bed and clicked on the flashlight as the bed began to shake. When she did, I saw the thing that lapped up from under the bed and ran out of the room as our mother turned on the light with a very irritated and exasperated look on her face. It's something I will never forget, nor will my sister. This thing that was beneath our bed. Looking at each other, we both silently agreed not to mention what we had just seen. Instead, we said it was the boogeyman. The truth, however, was much different. What was beneath that bed was, in my sister's definition, demonic. It was definitely in the guise of an old man with creepy, glowing eyes and long, talon-like fingers. He didn't have hair but strings of long, nearly transparent locks hung here and there about his shoulders nearly corpse-like than bald. His teeth were sharp and broken and his ears stuck out at odd angles from his head. Besides that, he was dressed in rags but his feet were bare. Since that night, my sister has refused to sleep without a light on in the room. She also has refused to speak about it, with the idea that just talking about the demonic beings will bring them into your life. I respect that, even if I believe differently. I can't help but wonder though if anyone else has been visited by this boogeyman. In York County, Pennsylvania, there was a place called Spring Valley County Park. Before it was given that benign designation, however, it was known by the ominous name of Hex Hollow. In 1928, a local man and suspected witch named Nelson Ramire was murdered in his home in an effort by another local man to remove a curse. Though the so-called Hex House was set on fire in the aftermath of the murder, it survived the blaze and still stands today. In 2007, Ramire's descendants opened it to the public as a museum, featuring displays about his life and death. The killer, man named John Blimer, believed that Nelson Ramire was a witch who had placed a curse on him. This wasn't unusual at the time. Many people in Central Pennsylvania in the 1920s practiced a kind of folk magic called powwow, with mixed elements of Christianity and European folk remedies. In fact, Blimer himself was a powwow doctor. After a string of illnesses and bad luck, Blimer became convinced that he was laboring under a curse. Unable to figure out the source of the curse, he turned to another local witch, Nelly Knoll, known as the Marietta River Witch. She confirmed his fears and told him that the author of his misfortune was none other than Nelson Ramire, who had once secured Blimer of a childhood illness using his powwow magic. According to some accounts, it was Nelly Knoll who told Blimer that in order to break the curse, he needed a lock of Ramire's hair, which he had to bury six feet in the ground. Then he had to burn Ramire's copy of The Long Lost Friend, an 1820 book of folk magic written by John George Holman and commonly employed by powwow practitioners. On November 26, 1928, Blimer and a friend visited Ramire's house in search of his copy of The Long Lost Friend. The story goes that they spent a peaceful night there, with Blimer holding back on his attack after realizing that it would take more than two men to subdue the witch. The next night, Blimer and his friend returned with another accomplice and the three of them assaulted Ramire. The struggle is said to have lasted only about a minute and at the end of it, Ramire was dead. Perhaps because they were unable to find Ramire's copy of The Long Lost Friend, the three men attempted to burn down the entire house of the witch. The fact that the Hex House survived the blaze was cited as further evidence of Ramire's supernatural powers. Blimer would later attest that the Hex placed upon him was broken the moment that Ramire died. All three men were captured and the murder cast national attention upon the area, as papers all over the country ran stories about the York Hex Slayers. Blimer and his first accomplice, John Curry, both received life sentences for their roles in the murder, while the other accomplice, Wilbert Hess, was given a sentence of 10 to 20 years. All three were eventually released without having served out their full sentences. The region's strange medical tradition, which some still practice even today, as well as the murder, partly inspired a series of books by horror author Brian Keane, himself a native of central Pennsylvania. In 2015, a filmmaker named Shane Free released a feature-length documentary about the murder called Hex Hollow, Witchcraft and Murder in Pennsylvania, which features interviews with surviving relatives of those involved, as well as with folklorists and experts in the pow-wow tradition. When Weird Darkness returns, was there a conspiracy to murder Hollywood actress Marilyn Monroe? That story is up next. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, dark thoughts or addiction, please visit the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. There, I've gathered numerous resources to find hope and solutions. For those suffering from thoughts of suicide or self-harm, there is the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, as well as the Crisis Text Line. Both have trained counselors at all hours to help those in need, and the page even includes text numbers for those in the U.S., Canada, United Kingdom and Ireland. Those struggling with depression can get help through the Seven Cups website and app, and there's information for anyone to read more about what depression truly is and how to identify it through our friends at ifred.org. There are resources for those who battle addictions, be it drugs, alcohol or self-destructive behavior, along with help for those related to addicts. The page has links to help you find a therapist or counselor, to find help for those who have a family member with Alzheimer's or an adventure, help for those in a crisis pregnancy and more. These resources are always there when you or someone you love needs them on the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. In the early hours of Sunday, August the 5th, 1962, psychiatrist Ralph Greenson broke into a bedroom of a house in the Brentwood area of Los Angeles. On the bed was the body of a lifeless young woman, nude, clutching a telephone. It was Marilyn Monroe. Greenson immediately phoned for Monroe's internist Dr. Hyman Engelberg, who upon his arrival pronounced her dead. It was 3.50 a.m. News of the death reverberated around the world. The actress was, already at the age of 36, a Hollywood legend and the most famous and photographed woman in the world. The official verdict was suicide. An array of empty pill bottles were found on the bedside table. The tabloids reported the suicide story in lurid front page headlines. So huge was her star when Rose apparent suicide even inspired a wave of copycats around the United States. The coroner's report offered an insight into the troubled actress' mind. Miss Monroe has suffered from psychiatric disturbance for a long time. On more than one occasion, when disappointed or depressed, she has made a suicide attempt. On these occasions, she has been rescued. It is our opinion the same pattern was repeated, except for the rescue, it concluded. Some, however, were less sure the tragic star's death was suicide. Numerous suspicious inconsistencies and contradictory witness testimony have fueled persistent rumors that the star was actually murdered. The first policeman to arrive, Sergeant Jack Clemens, wasn't called until 4.25 a.m., more than 30 minutes after Monroe was pronounced dead. This unexplained delay in calling the police was just the first troubling detail of the crime scene. Clemens immediately felt something was wrong. He thought it obvious the body had been moved, and whilst there were empty pill bottles on the bedside table, there was no water or glass with which to take them. Why, too, was there no vomit? Monroe had taken a massive overdose of nebutol, a barbiturate that should have caused vomiting. Most suspicious of all, Clemens noticed Monroe's housekeeper, Eunice Murray, was washing sheets in another part of the house. Had there been a clean-up of the crime scene? And if so, why? The autopsy report only added to the confusion. Monroe had taken a massive overdose of drugs, but no trace of the pills were found in her stomach. By all accounts, the actress was in turmoil at the time of her death. Addicted to drink and drugs, she was unraveling trying to cope with her tangled life, her failed marriages, the Kennedys, the Mafia, her fading Hollywood career. Perhaps it had all gotten too much for the tragic star. She had a history of suicide attempts. Was this just one where she had finally succeeded? Or, as some suggest, was the overdose accidental and covered up to disguise the gross negligence of her doctors? Witnesses would later emerge to attest that Monroe had died hours earlier than in the official story, and, most sensationally of all, that Attorney General Bobby Kennedy and his brother-in-law, Peter Lofford, were at the house that night. Rumor had it that Monroe had been threatening to go to the press with details of her scandalous romantic liaisons with both Bobby Kennedy and his brother President John F. Kennedy. There were even reports she had kept a red diary, which, aside from lurid sexual details of her affairs with the Kennedys, contained incriminating references to the Kennedy's plots to kill Castro and even their ties to the Mafia. Was Bobby Kennedy there that night to locate the diary? And did he take the most extreme measures to silence her and stop her from going to the press? Was Marilyn Monroe murdered? Although the official story is that Marilyn Monroe was pronounced dead by her doctor around 3.50 a.m., much evidence exists that she was found dead long before that time. Eunice Murray was Monroe's housekeeper and had been placed in the actress' employ by her psychiatrist, Robert Greenson. Murray is the main witness to the time of Monroe's death. She initially told police that she knocked on Marilyn's door around midnight but got no reply. Concerned, she alerted Greenson, who arrived at the house shortly, followed by Monroe's internist Dr. Hyman Engelberg. According to Murray, after breaking through the French windows of Marilyn's bedroom, Greenson and Murray discovered Marilyn's dead body laid out on the bed. After a long, unexplained gap, Greenson, Murray and Engelberg then notified the police at 4.25 a.m. This timeline is somewhat consistent with the undertaker Guy Hockett, who arrived at the house around 5.40 a.m. From the state of Rigor Mortis, Hockett estimated the time of death between 9.30 p.m. and 11.30 p.m. But then it got complicated. Murray, Greenson and Engelberg quickly changed their story. Now, Murray says, she went to bed at 12 and didn't knock on Monroe's door until 3 a.m., after noticing the light on in her room. In this revised timeline, Greenson found Marilyn dead at 3.40 a.m., and Engelberg pronounced her dead at 3.50 a.m. Why the huge disparity in stories? Was it to conceal a clean-up of the crime scene? Or worse? Sergeant Jack Clemens, the first policeman at the scene, was called out at 4.25 a.m. He was immediately suspicious that the crime scene had been altered. According to Clemens, the body looked to be in an unnatural position, as if it had been posed. The bedroom was strangely tidy and most mysterious of all, there was no glass of water. Monroe had supposedly then swallowed upwards of 60 pills without water. The actress had always had trouble swallowing pills and required copious amounts of water to do so. And why, Clemens wondered, was Eunice Murray running the washer and dryer in the middle of the night as her employer laid dead in her bedroom? There was clearly a problem with the story coming out of the house, and more evidence would emerge to cast doubt on what the trio was saying. According to Natalie Trundy, she was attending a Hollywood Bowl concert with her future husband Arthur Jacobs, who was Monroe's agent at the time. Jacobs received a call from Monroe's lawyer, Mickey Rudin, and it was shocking. Marilyn Monroe, Jacobs was told, was dead. The actor Peter Lawford, Monroe's friend and the Kennedy's brother-in-law, was also told by Rudin that Monroe was dead, before her body had supposedly even been discovered. If Monroe's agent and lawyer already knew she was dead at 10.30pm, then this discredits both stories coming from the house, indicating a cover-up was already in action. The new 10.30pm timeline is also most consistent with Guy Hockett's estimate of the time of death of around 9.30 to 11.30pm. It was clear then that something was very wrong with the official story coming from Monroe's house. Was there a cover-up? If so, what was its purpose? Eunice Murray's accounts of what happened that night have been contradictory and evasive over the years. According to author and investigative journalist Anthony Summers, Murray finally came clean to him about what really happened in an interview in 1985. The reason for the cover story, Murray told Summers, was because Robert Kennedy was at the house that day and an ambulance had been called much earlier when Marilyn was still alive. Summers asked her why she had lied. I told whatever I thought was good to tell, Murray told him. Attorney General Robert Kennedy was, officially, in San Francisco on the day of Monroe's death, but Eunice Murray's shocking revelation to Summers was not the only evidence that this was a lie. 20th Century Fox publicist Frank Neal saw Kennedy arrive by helicopter at the studio's heliport near Stage 14 early Saturday afternoon, where he was whisked away in a limousine driven by his brother-in-law, actor Peter Loughard. This limousine was later stopped by Beverly Hills traffic policeman Lynn Franklin, who says he observed Loughard at the wheel and Robert Kennedy in the back with a man he later identified as Ralph Greenson. Whilst the sightings of Kennedy could perhaps be dismissed as hearsay, they were confirmed by L.A. police chief Daryl Gates and other senior L.A. police detectives through their surveillance of the airport. The truth is, we knew Robert Kennedy was in town on August 4, Gates later said. We always do when he was in town. Kennedy, it seems, was certainly in L.A. that day and lied about it. Could there be another reason unrelated to Monroe for him to be there that he didn't want to disclose? Some have speculated that Kennedy may have been meeting with mob bosses, and this was his reason for lying. However, there are reasons to doubt this was the case. Kennedy was seen in the presence of actor Peter Loughard, a friend of Monroe's, and numerous witnesses place him at her house on the day and even night of her death. Whatever this reason for being there, it seemed to center on the actress. Aside from Eunice Murray's statement to Sumners in 1985, there are several other reasons to believe Robert Kennedy visiting Maryland that day. Murray's son-in-law, Norman Jeffries, confirmed Murray's story. Kennedy had arrived that afternoon with Peter Loughard, and there had been a violent argument between him and Monroe. According to Jeffries, Kennedy came back with two men at around 10 p.m., a fact confirmed by neighbors of Marilyn Monroe who also saw Kennedy enter the property with the two men. This is where the case against Robert Kennedy takes a very dark turn. Jeffries and Murray were ordered out of the house. After Kennedy and the man left, they re-entered the house to find Marilyn Kometos in the guest bedroom. What was the purpose of Robert Kennedy's visit to Monroe's house, and was he really responsible for her death? One obvious motive was Marilyn's threats to go to the press over her relationship with Bobby and his brother President Kennedy. This could have destroyed both men's careers. Even worse was the diary she was said to keep. In it was not only the scandalous details of her sexual adventures with the two men, but incriminating accounts of conversations she had had with them about the plot to murder Castro. Marilyn had become a security risk. Furthermore, her relationship with a Mexican man who was a suspected communist agent had peaked to the interest of the FBI. One way or the other, the star had become a major security risk. Did Bobby Kennedy then take matters in his own hands and attempt to persuade Marilyn to hand over the diary and keep her mouth shut? Evidence supports this scenario. According to Norman Jeffries, Monroe's filing cabinet had been broken into on the night of her death. Had Kennedy been searching for the diary? Private eye Robert Otage claimed to have bugged Monroe's house, probably on behalf of the FBI. Papers that emerge after Otage's death reveal sensational details about what he had heard. Recounting Kennedy's visit to Monroe on the day of the murder, Otage described a violent struggle between the pair. Kennedy was heard to shout, where is it? Whilst Monroe complained about her treatment by him and his brother. Had Kennedy and the man he was with deliberately murder Monroe or had an attempt to restrain or sedate her gone badly wrong? It's difficult to reconcile the image of the inspiring progressive Robert Kennedy with a murder go-so-grubby and desperate, but the evidence he was presented at her home that fateful day is persuasive. And soon after, Marilyn Monroe was dead. The coroner's report labeled Marilyn Monroe's death a probable suicide, indicating even they were not quite sure what had happened. The toxicology report findings suggests she died of a massive overdose of barbiturates. The amount of penobarbital in her blood was three times the fatal dose. There were also large concentrations of the drug in her liver. It is estimated she would have had to take somewhere between 25 and 50 of her nebutol pills to reach these levels. On top of this, there was also near-lethal levels of chloral hydrate in her blood, accounting for almost 20 capsules of the drug. The enduring medical mystery behind the death of Marilyn Monroe is how these drugs got into her body. At her autopsy, not a trace of the drugs or pill capsules were found in her stomach. It has been argued that the yellow nebutol pill wrappings could have broken down and left no trace in her stomach. But Thomas Noguchi, the pathologist, could find no traces of the fine refractive crystals which should have also been present. In a standard textbook on drug-related deaths, toxicologist Robert H. Cravey studied over 1,500 cases. In every case of a drug overdose through oral entry, I've always found drugs in the stomach, Cravey said. The findings from the autopsy only echoed odd details from the crime scene. Jack Clemens, the final police officer to arrive at Monroe's house, could find no glass or water in her bedroom. How had Monroe swallowed so many pills without water? The police report also noted the lack of vomit which would be expected from someone who had orally overdosed on barbiturates. Also missing was the accurate, paralike odor characteristics of chlorohydrate overdoses. With no evidence that Monroe had injected the drugs, this left a real mystery. Clearly, if she had not administered the substances herself, then it could not be suicide. John W. Miner, former deputy district attorney of L.A. County, was present at the autopsy. He believes Marilyn may have been killed by an enema, with 30 or more of the nebutols dissolved in water and administered anally. If Miner's right, then whoever administered the enema was Monroe's killer. Marilyn Monroe was one of Hollywood's brightest and most vivacious stars. Few would suspect that beyond her glamour she was plagued by intense feelings of isolation, inadequacies and loneliness. She once wrote, Help, help, help, I feel life coming closer when all I want is to die. Playwright Arthur Miller, Monroe's third husband, once described her as the saddest person I know. Marilyn Monroe was born in 1926. She never knew her father, a fact which preoccupied her for much of her life. Her mother Gladys suffered from mental illness and depression, which led to the young Marilyn spending much of her early life in foster homes. In some of these foster homes, Monroe was sexually abused. She was brave enough to tell of the abuse, but she was not believed by those she trusted. This double trauma had a profound effect on her adult life. She would continually seek father figures. Her three marriages were all to older men and Clark Gable, her much older co-star in The Misfits, was someone she clung onto. Many psychologists think Monroe's promiscuity and constant search for father figures were due to her traumatic childhood experiences. Her behavior also had classic hallmarks of suicide. Sexual abuse, abandonment, isolation and a family history of mental health issues are all warning signals. Indeed, Monroe had attempted suicide on numerous occasions when she was younger. She tried to kill herself twice when she was a teenager during her marriage to James Doherty. She tried again in 1950 after a failed relationship. Another suicide was attempted during her marriage to playwright Arthur Miller. Many psychologists today believe Monroe suffered from bipolar disorder, a syndrome characterized by extreme shifts in mood. This, along with her chronic insomnia and drug use, are classic risk factors for suicide. Hollywood columnist James Bacon saw Marilyn just days before her death. She was drinking champagne and straight vodka and occasionally popping a pill, Bacon told the LA Times. I said, Marilyn, the combination of pills and alcohol will kill you. And she said, it hasn't killed me yet. Then she took another drink and popped another pill. I know at night she took barbiturates. Even on the night of her death, despite recently receiving a prescription from her doctor, she was phoning friends for more pills. If we discount the suspicious elements of her death, Monroe's psychological problems, along with her excessive use of prescription drugs, make the official suicide verdict all too plausible. Whilst it is fairly certain that Robert Kennedy was in LA and in all probability at Monroe's house the day she died, the idea he killed her is highly problematic. If Kennedy was behind any kind of premeditated plot to kill the actress, the last place in the world he would be is at her house the day of the murder. Logic dictates he would ensure there was as much distance, figuratively and literally, between him and Monroe as possible. The fact he was seen by numerous people at her house that day seriously discounts the possibility that he was involved in any planned operation to murder her. A recent investigation for Court TV made a convincing case that Monroe's death was a tragic medical accident. According to Court TV, her psychiatrist Ralph Greenson gave the actress a sedative enema of chloral hydrate to help her sleep and to try and wean her off the barbiturate nebutol. The program argues that Greenson was unaware that her internist Dr. Hyman Engelberg was continuing to prescribe her nebutol and the lethal interaction of the drugs caused Monroe's death. Monroe's lawyer, Mickey Rudin, reportedly heard Greenson say that night, gosh darn it, he gave her a prescription I didn't know about. The program suggests the cover-up and suspicious behavior of Greenson and Eunice Murray were to cover up what would have been a damaging case of medical negligence for the psychiatrist. You can email me anytime with your questions or comments at darren at WeirdDarkness.com. Darren is D-A-R-R-E-N. WeirdDarkness.com is also where you can find all of my social media, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, visit the store for Weird Darkness t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, phone cases, and more merchandise. Sign up for monthly contests, find other podcasts that I host, and find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or someone you know is struggling with depression or dark thoughts. Also on the website, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell, you can click on Tell Your Story. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. All stories in Weird Darkness are purported to be true unless stated otherwise, and you can find source links or links to the authors in the show notes. Supernatural Intervention was written by Anna Lindwasser for Ranker. Man Beneath the Bed is by Atreida, submitted directly to Weird Darkness. Dark Magic in Hex Hollow was by Oren Gray for the lineup, and Killing Marilyn was posted at the Unredacted. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Proverbs 10, verse 14. Wise men store up knowledge, but the mouth of a fool invites ruin. And a final thought, imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. Marilyn Monroe I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness. Sharing this video with someone you know who loves all things strange and macabre. If you want to listen to the podcast, you can find it at WeirdDarkness.com.