 Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. 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... The Hotel del Coronado in San Diego is one of the most beautiful hotels in the world and some say the most haunted. On November 19, 1924, Hollywood movie producer Thomas Ainz died after celebrating his 42nd birthday aboard a yacht belonging to infamous newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst, but to this day, the exact circumstances of his death remain a mystery. Could this be why his ghost still wanders the movie studio that he founded? On the night of November 20, 1901, a young North Carolina woman named Nell Cropsey vanished from her family's home in Elizabeth City. After a frantic search that lasted more than a month, Nell's body was discovered floating in a nearby river. She had been brutally murdered, but by who? On November 23, 1910, American-born homeopathic physician and salesman Holly Harvey Crippen, usually known simply as Dr. Crippen in Crime Anals, was hanged at Pentonville Prison in London for the murder of his wife Cora. But was he really a murderer? While the holidays are usually a time of cheer and happiness, the people of Chicago learned of a Christmas-related tragedy on November 22, 1912, when the famed Christmas tree ship went down in a storm on Lake Michigan. The tragedy changed the face of the holidays for the people of Chicago in a very unexpected way. And later, it's the original short horror story of fiction entitled Black Friday by horror writer Jason R. Davis. If you're new here, welcome to the show. And 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. The Hotel del Coronado in San Diego is one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, but some say it is also the most haunted. The ghost story that has long been attached to the hotel is unique in that it is one of the only Thanksgiving ghost stories that is told. It involves a young woman named Kate Morgan, who checked into the hotel on Thanksgiving Day, 1892, and never checked out. When the Hotel del Coronado opened in 1888, it was the largest resort hotel in the world. In the middle 1880s, the San Diego area was in the middle of a real estate boom. To draw people to the area, several wealthy businessmen went together and built the Hotel del Coronado. The popularity of the hotel was established before the 1920s. It had already hosted Presidents Harrison, McKinley, Taft, and Wilson. The hotel went on to host Presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt, Dwight D. Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George Bush, and Barack Obama. By the 1920s, Hollywood stars and starlets discovered that the del was the in place to stay. Many celebrities made their way south to party during the era of prohibition and used the Hotel del as their personal playground. Tom Mix, Rudolf Valentino, Charlie Chaplin, and Ramon Navarro were a few of the many actors who stayed at the Hotel during weekend getaways. Other notables have included Marilyn Monroe, Thomas Edison, L. Frank Baum, Vincent Price, Babe Ruth, and many others. During World War II, the Hotel was used to house Navy pilots and the families of officers. By the end of the war, the neglected Hotel had started to age, and while millions were spent to refurbish it, a new owner in 1963 planned to tear it down. But he changed his mind and remodeled and expanded it instead. It remains today as one of the most beautiful resorts on the West Coast, and one with several ghosts. The Hotel's hauntings include the ghosts of a little boy and girl, a former hotel caretaker seen in the dining room, and a Victorian woman who has been seen dancing in the ballroom. But there are none as famous as the ghost of Kate Morgan. As mentioned, Kate checked into the Hotel on Thanksgiving Day, 1892, and she has never left. Hotel guests and employees believe that most of the paranormal events that occur at the Hotel can be connected to Kate. Witnesses report flickering lights, televisions that turn on and off by themselves, dramatic shifts in room temperatures, odd sense, unexplained voices, the sound of strange footsteps, mysterious breezes which cause curtains to billow when windows are closed, and objects which move of their own accord, and some claim to have seen the ghost of Kate Morgan herself. Kate Morgan, a pretty woman in her mid-twenties, checked into the Hotel del Coronado alone on Thursday, November 24, 1892, Thanksgiving evening. During her stay, hotel employees, many of whom had frequent interactions with Kate, reported that she had appeared ill and very unhappy. She had also told quite a few employees that she was waiting for her brother, who she said was a doctor, to join her, but he never showed up. Five days after she checked in, Kate was found dead on an exterior staircase leading to the beach. She had a gunshot wound to her head, which the San Diego County Coroner later determined was self-inflicted. A search of her hotel room revealed no personal belongings. In fact, there was nothing to identify the beautiful stranger, except the name she used when she registered, Lottie A. Bernard from Detroit. After her death, police sent a sketch of Kate's face and information about her death to newspapers and police stations around the country in the hopes that someone could shed light on the dark mystery surrounding the suicide of the unknown girl at the Coronado Hotel. Eventually, Lottie Bernard was identified as Kate Morgan, originally from Iowa and the wife of Tom Morgan. Reportedly, Tom Morgan was a gambler who may have made his living gambling on the railroad. After the inquest indicates suicide, a gentleman came forward to say he had seen Kate arguing with a man, thought to have been Tom, on a train and route to San Diego. The witness said that Tom disembarked before reaching San Diego and Kate continued on to the Hotel del Coronado by herself, where, it is assumed, she waited for Tom to join her. When he never showed up, Kate took her own life. Since that time, paranormal activity has been reported in the room Kate stayed in during her 1892 visit, room 3327, and in other areas of the Hotel as well. She is the most enduring ghost of the Grand Hotel and continues her hold on the place almost 125 years after her tragic death. On November 19, 1924, Hollywood movie producer Thomas Sainz died after celebrating his 42nd birthday aboard a yacht belonging to infamous newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst. But to this day, the exact circumstances of his death remain a mystery. Could this be why his ghost still wanders the movie studio that he founded? Thomas Sainz was a pioneering member of the Hollywood elite. In 1918, he founded Culver Studios and was considered to be the father of the Western. He was also the man who introduced the world to Mary Pickford, crowning her America's sweetheart. Sainz rose from being a $15 per week actor to become the head of a studio and to this day still has a street named after him in Culver City, Sainz Boulevard. Almost a century later, Culver Studios remains one of Hollywood's most historic studios. It was the site of filming for Gone with the Wind, Citizen Kane, and other classics. Over the years, the film lot has been home to such names as RKO, Howard Hughes, and Desilu Studios. In addition to film classics, Culver Studios was also the birthplace to favorite television shows like The Andy Griffith Show, Lassie, Hogan's Heroes, and Batman. Previous owners of the studio have included Cecil B. DeMille and eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes. But Thomas Sainz had humble beginnings in the movie Capital. In 1915, Sainz partnered with D. W. Griffith and Mark Sennett to create the Triangle Motion Picture Company in Culver City. Somewhere along the way, the deal went sour and Sainz sold out and entered into a lease with Harry Culver for a new 14-acre studio fronting on Washington Boulevard. It took two years to build the Thomas H. Sainz Studio, and in December 1918, a Los Angeles newspaper called it a motion picture plant that looks like a beautiful southern estate. Sainz, a visionary in the industry, promoted the glamour of moviemaking and he entertained the king and queen of Belgium and President Woodrow Wilson at the studios. The administration building became a well-known landmark and Sainz was rapidly expanding his successful facility. Unfortunately, it was not meant to last, and neither was Sainz's revered status. Sadly, Sainz is remembered much more today for his scandalous death than for his contribution to the art of moviemaking. Sainz died in November 1924 while celebrating his birthday on board a yacht owned by newspaper magnet William Randolph Hearst. The real story of how Sainz died will probably never be known, but Hollywood rumors tell a strange and twisted tale. Sainz's mysterious death will forever be linked to Marion Davies and William Randolph Hearst, the greatest newspaper baron and one of the most powerful men in American history. By the 1920s, Hearst had also become a major film financier as well. He had first become interested in film through newsreels in 1911, but soon his hobby turned to a quest for profit. It was not long before his zeal for the movies was enhanced due to his passion for furthering the film career of sweet but untalented film actress Marion Davies with whom Hearst had been carrying on a notorious affair. Hearst bought stock in MGM and created Cosmopolitan Productions, a company that specifically produced Marion's films. His newspapers and magazines proclaimed her to be a miracle of the movies, and he did everything he could to entrench her into the Hollywood film colony. Parties thrown at Marion's beach house were the most extravagant in town, and people grabbed at the chance of an invitation to a Hearst affair. In addition, being able to relax at Hearst's vast mansion in San Simeon, with millions of dollars worth of imported furnishings, tapestries, paintings, and 35 automobiles in the garage was a must for anyone lucky enough to get an invitation for the weekend. Marion also earned high marks as a hostess, even if privately the party attendees made fun at her attempts at acting on the screen. Another popular party spot was Hearst's 280-foot yacht, the Oneida. Invitations to the boat were even more highly coveted than those for the beach house parties. On the night of Saturday, November 15, 1924, the yacht left San Pedro Harbor for a weekend cruise to San Diego. The cream of Hollywood's charmed circle received invitations to a party on board the Oneida that weekend. There were a number of guests on board, but the only names that became available after the party were Hearst, Marion Davies, actress Sina Owen, and author Eleanor Glyn. That weekend marked the 43rd birthday of Thomas Einz, who was in the midst of negotiations with Hearst concerning the use of his Culver City Studios as a base for cosmopolitan productions. It had been planned to throw Einz a birthday party on board the yacht. Mrs. Einz, who had also been invited, decided not to go along on the trip because she was not feeling well. Einz, the guest of honor, missed the boat when it sailed from San Pedro because of his attendance at the premiere of The Mirage, his latest film. It is believed that he took the last train to San Diego where he met the Oneida and joined the party for the return trip. The celebration on board was said to be a wonderful occasion, but then things got murky. In the early morning hours of the following Wednesday, Thomas Einz died at his Benedict Canyon home. His death was attributed to heart failure. When the news reached the press, all sorts of ugly rumors began to circulate, as well as a hash of conflicting stories. Things became so heated that Chester Kempley, the district attorney in San Diego where the yacht had been anchored for the weekend, was forced to open an investigation. The principals were all strangely absent at the hearings that followed. Hearst could not be reached for a statement. Marion, Eleanor Glenn and Sena Owen, the only names known for certain to have been on board, were not called by the DA to give testimony. The only person present at the hearing in San Diego was a doctor named Goodman, an employee of Hearst. His official version of events, which was printed in Hearst newspapers, stated that after eating and drinking too much at the party, Einz died of acute indigestion. He was taken from the yacht and rushed home where he later died. After the hearing, the case was closed. Originally, DA Kempley had insisted that he planned to call every single person who had been on board the yacht to give their version of events, but not only did he not call any of them, he suddenly, after just the one session, called off all further inquiry altogether. He was satisfied that Einz's death had been explained, but others were not, including a number of newspaper columnists and writers of the day who demanded that the authorities look into Einz's suspicious death. One of the strangest facts about the cruise was that no accurate list of the guests on board the ship that weekend has ever been revealed. There were obviously many more people on board than has ever been reported. Several well-known personalities of the film world have been mentioned as Hearst's guests that weekend, but none of them ever publicly admitted to being on board the yacht. Of course, there were many rumors about who was there, just what actually occurred, and what really happened to cause the death of Thomas Einz. Perhaps the most exciting rumor to make the rounds in Hollywood involved the presence of Einz's friend, Charlie Chaplin, on board the Oneida for the party. Ruber had it, however, that Chaplin had not been invited just because he was Einz's pal. Hearst was insanely jealous of other men's attention to Marion Davies and his detectives had recently informed him that Marion and Chaplin had been seen together during a period of time when he was out of town. Hearst allegedly invited the comedic actor on board the yacht for the weekend cruise so that he could observe for himself how Chaplin and Marion behaved around one another. It is believed that Hearst saw Marion and Chaplin slip off together during the party and that he discovered them together on the lower deck. A loud altercation followed and Hearst ran for his cabin to retrieve a diamond-studded revolver that he kept on board. Hearst was rumored to be an expert shot and often amused his guests on the boat by shooting down seagulls with a single bullet. In the confusion that followed it was rumored a shot was fired but it was Thomas Einz and not Chaplin, who ended up with a bullet in the head. Einz's funeral was held on November 21st, attended by his family, Marion Davies, Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, and Harold Lloyd. Hearst was noticeably absent. The body was immediately cremated and an official inquest was never held. Despite the fact that the evidence was now in ashes, Hearst knew he could be in trouble with the Hollywood rumor mill. Everyone on board the Oneida was sworn to secrecy and it wouldn't be wise to cross Hearst. But in spite of this, persistent rumors linked Hearst to Einz's death. No one could resist talking about the way the hearings into Einz's death had been called off, the lack of an official inquest or the damning story that Charlie Chaplin's secretary had seen Einz carried off the yacht bleeding from a bullet wound to the head. Some thought it no coincidence that famed gossip columnist Luella Parsons was awarded a lifetime contract with Hearst soon after the incident since it was rumored that she had seen everything that had happened. Luella also felt the need to do a little covering up of her own and insisted that she had been in New York at the time of Einz's death. The only problem with this story was that Vera Burnett, Marian's stand-in, clearly recalled seeing Luella with Marian and Davies at the studio, ready for departure on the yacht. Vera valued her job though and decided not to make a big deal out of it. Marian and Hearst managed to ride out the scandal unscathed, but as DW Griffith remarked in later years, all you have to do to make Hearst turn white as a ghost is mention Einz's name. There's plenty wrong there, but Hearst is too big to touch. It was widely known in Hollywood that if you ever wanted to attend another party at Marian's Beach House or the San Simeon Castle, you didn't mention Einz's name any place where Hearst might hear you. In the years that followed, Hearst discreetly provided Einz's widow, Nell, with a trust fund that was later wiped out by the Depression. Broke and penniless, Nell finished out her days as a taxi driver. As for Hearst, the entire affair was eventually reduced to a sardonic joke in Hollywood as the Oneida became known as William Randolph's curse. Strangely though, death did not bring an end to sightings of Thomas Einz and his mysterious death also started rumors about Culver's studios being haunted. Einz built the studios, but they changed hands several times after his death. Cecil B. DeMille, Howard Hughes, David Selznick, Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball made significant contributions to film and television history on this lot. The rumors of the haunting have persisted for years. Employees have reported ghostly figures roaming the lot at night, while others recount being frightened by the apparition of a woman who appears on the third floor from time to time. She always disappears quickly, leaving a cold spot of chilling wind behind. Most famous, however, are the sightings of Thomas Einz himself. Witnesses have reported seeing the ghost of a man climbing the stairs in the main administration building, heading for the executive screening room. This had been Einz's private projection room during his tenure at the studio. Remodeling seemed to bring out the worst in Einz's ghost in 1988 when he began to reveal his displeasure over some major renovations. The first to encounter him were two workmen who looked up to see a man in an odd bowler-type hat watching them from the catwalks above stage 1, 2, 3. When they spoke to him, he frowned and then turned and walked into the second floor wall. Later that summer, special effects man Eugene Hilche spoke to another worker who had also seen a man wearing an odd hat this time on stage 2, 3, 4. Hilche was convinced the man's description matched that of Einz. The worker's statement was enough to cement his belief. The ghost had reportedly turned to the workman and said, I don't like what you're doing to my studio. Then he vanished into the wall. Even after the renovations, much of Einz's original studio remains as it was, and the sense of history here is very strong. Today, Culver Studios remains one of the busiest lots in town. Hopefully, Thomas Einz's spirit can find a little peace in that. When Weird Darkness returns, in November of 1901, Nell Cropsey vanished from her family's home. Her body was found a month later floating in a river nearby. She had been brutally murdered, but by who? Plus, Dr. Crippen was hanged in November of 1910 for the murder of his wife Cora, but was he truly the one who murdered her? These stories and more when Weird Darkness returns. My doc agrees that I need to lose a few pounds. I knew that going in, but he also told me that the meds I'm taking for my type 2 diabetes aren't going to do me much good if I finish each meal with ice cream or cheesecake. I kind of knew that in advance too. But cutting back on carbs and sugars is a lot easier said than done. I've tried a lot of protein bars while on the road, but I swear it's like eating non-sweetened chocolate-dusted particle board. But now, I travel with built bars. Built bars taste like candy bars. In fact, I'm now using them for my dessert, and at about 150 calories per bar, less than 3 grams of sugar, up to 19 grams of protein, I can satisfy my sweet cravings guilt-free. Visit WeirdDarkness.com slash Built in Try a Box. You can go for a variety pack of several flavors to try, or pick and choose to build a box of your own. Use the promo code WeirdDarkness at checkout and get 10% off your entire purchase. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash Built. On the night of November 20, 1901, a young North Carolina woman named Nell Cropsey vanished from her family's home in Elizabeth City. After a frantic search that lasted more than a month, Nell's body was discovered floating in a nearby river. She had been brutally murdered, but by who? Her lover spent more than a dozen years in prison proclaiming his innocence before being pardoned by the governor. Did he kill Nell? And if not, then who did? And why did he commit suicide soon after getting out of prison? The story of Nell Cropsey remains one of the strange tales of murder in the state's history, and perhaps the unanswered questions that still surround the case are the reason why Nell's ghost still haunts her family home today. Nell Maud Cropsey was born in July 1882. Her parents, William and his wife Mary Louise, lived in Brooklyn, New York, but in 1898 left the city for the southern community of Elizabeth City, North Carolina. They moved on to a 65-acre farm, and William became a judge in Pasquitank County. They happily settled into their new home, and Nell and her younger sister Olive became quite well-known in the area. They were both beautiful girls and had more than their share of suitors. Olive began a relationship with a man named Roy Crawford, while Nell was courted by Jim Wilcox, the son of the local sheriff. By 1901, they had been together nearly two years and were talking about marriage. On the evening of November 20, both Roy and Jim visited the Cropsey home. The two couples spent the evening together, and around 11 p.m., Jim stood up and asked Nell to join him on the front porch to talk. Everyone else in the house, except for Olive and Roy, was asleep. A half hour passed, and Olive assumed that Nell had come back into the house and gone to bed. Roy Crawford left the house, seeing no one outside. When Olive went to the room that she shared with her sister, she saw that Nell was not in her bed. She assumed Nell was still with Jim and went to sleep. Around midnight, the Cropsey's dog suddenly began barking loudly. The entire household was awakened and went out onto the front porch to see the cause of the disturbance. There was no one there, but at that point Olive realized that Nell had never come to bed. Her sister was missing. Mrs. Cropsey was terrified, but her husband tried to calm her, suggesting that perhaps Nell and Jim had decided to elope. They had been talking about marriage, and it was not unusual for young couples to run off and get married, he told his wife. By morning, William Cropsey was not convinced that his daughter had run away. Nell had been excited about an upcoming trip to New York. None of her belongings were missing. Her clothing and suitcases were still in the closet. William was sure something was wrong. He went to the home of Sheriff Wilcox to ask questions. Jim had been the last one to see Nell that night. Perhaps he had some idea of where she might be. When he arrived, Jim was home, but refused to come to the parlor and speak with Nell's father. Angry and alarmed, William went to see the chief of police. The authorities forced Jim Wilcox to return to the Cropsey home, and they questioned him for hours. Despite pleas from Mary and Olive, Jim refused to tell them anything. All that he would say was that he had left Nell crying on the porch after a 10 minute conversation. He refused to say why the young woman was crying, what the conversation was about, or where he had gone after he left the Cropsey home. A massive hunt for Nell Cropsey began. Law enforcement officers, volunteers and trained bloodhounds combed the area, searching the forests and swamps. There was no sign of the missing girl. Rumors began to surface that painted an ugly picture of the relationship between Nell and Jim Wilcox. Brands told the police about terrible fights and Nell's fear of Jim's violent temper. They had been fighting more than usual over the last couple of months, and Barry Cropsey told the police that Nell had recently confided that she planned to stop seeing Jim. Weeks passed with still no trace of the missing girl. Jim Wilcox still refused to talk to the police, and the Cropsey family began to fear the worst. Then, on December 27, Nell's body was found floating in the Pasquitank River. The river had been searched many times without success, causing many to surmise that the killer had recently taken the girl's body from a hiding place and dumped it into the river. With no other suspects, Jim Wilcox was arrested. While in jail, death threats poured into the police station, promising that Jim would be lynched for his crime. To make matters worse, he still refused to account for his whereabouts in the house after Nell disappeared. The autopsy showed that Nell had been killed by a violent blow to the left temple. Jim's temper was said to be violent. Could an argument have turned deadly? Jim waved his right to a preliminary hearing, and he went straight to trial. In March 1902, he was found guilty of first-degree murder and was sentenced to hang. Before he could go to the gallows, his case was declared a mistrial by the North Carolina Supreme Court. He was tried again for murder in 1903, and this time was found guilty of second-degree murder. He was sentenced to spend the next 30 years in prison. In 1918, though, Jim received a visit from Governor Thomas Walter Bicket. A short time later, he was pardoned and released. After Jim got out of prison, he met with famed newspaper editor W. O. Sanders, who was planning a book about the Cropsey case. Whatever Jim had to tell him was apparently so shocking that Saunders made immediate plans to start on the proposed book. But it was never to be. A short time after the meeting, Jim committed suicide with a shotgun blast to the head. Soon after, Saunders was killed in a car accident. Whatever Jim Wilcox told Saunders at that meeting will never be known. However, it is just one of the mysteries connected to this case. We will likely never know what happened to Nell Cropsey that night in 1901, and perhaps this is the reason why her spirit refuses to rest. For the past century, those who have lived in the former Cropsey home have reported strange occurrences. Lights go on and off, doors open and shut, water rushes from the sink even when no one turns the handle, and strange cold gusts of air waft through the house without explanation. Some reports also include sightings of a pale young woman who has been seen walking across empty rooms. People passing by on the street have seen the same pale figure looking wistfully from an upstairs window. One resident claimed to recognize Nell when she awoke and saw the murdered girl standing at the foot of her bed one night. Will the enduring mystery of Nell's death ever be solved? After all of these years, it seems unlikely, which means that the unfortunate young woman is just as unlikely to find the peace that she still seeks. Her lingering presence reminds us that she never truly received the justice that she deserved, and because she still walks, she is never forgotten. Her sad story is told over and over, as we recall the tragic tale of her ghost. Dead men, or in a dead young woman, really do tell tales. On November 23, 1910, American board homeopathic physician and salesman Holly Harvey Crippen, usually known simply as Dr. Crippen in Crime Annals, was hanged at Pentonville Prison in London for the murder of his wife Cora. He has the dubious distinction of being the first criminal to be captured with the aid of wireless communication. Crippen was born in Coldwater, Michigan in September 1862. He graduated from the Michigan School of Homeopathic Medicine in 1884. Crippen's first wife, Charlotte, died of a stroke in 1892, and Crippen entrusted his parents, living in California, with the care of his two-year-old son, Holly Otto. Having qualified as a homeopathic doctor, Crippen started to practice in New York, where in 1894 he married his second wife, Corrine Cora Turner, who used the stage name of Belle Elmore. She was a would-be music hull singer who openly had affairs with other men, needless to say their marriage was not a happy one. In 1894, Crippen started working for Dr. Munions, a homeopathic pharmaceutical company, and three years later he and his wife moved to England. His American medical credentials were not sufficient to allow him to practice medicine in the UK, and today wouldn't have allowed him to practice here either. So Crippen's went to work as a distributor of patent medicines. Cora went back to work too and began socializing with a number of famous variety players of the time, including Lil Hawthorne of the Hawthorne sisters and Lil's husband-manager, John Nash. In 1899, Crippen lost his job with Munions for spending too much time managing his wife's stage career. He became manager of Drout's Institution for the Deaf, where he met Ethel Lonev, a young typist around 1903. No one knows when their affair began, but it is known that she was his mistress by 1905. In that year, the Crippans moved into a house on Camden Road and began taking in lodgers to supplement Crippen's income. After Cora started an affair with one of the lodgers, Crippen began sleeping with Ethel. After a party at their home on January 31, 1910, Cora disappeared. Holly Crippen claimed that she had returned to America and then later added that she had died and had been cremated in California. Meanwhile, his lover, Ethel, moved into the house on Camden Road and began openly wearing Cora's clothes and jewelry. Police first heard of Cora's disappearance from her friend, sideshow strong woman Kate Williams, better known as Volkina, but began to take the matter more seriously when asked to investigate by personal friends of Scotland Yard, Superintendent Frank Frost, John Nash and his entertainer wife Lil Hawthorne. The Crippen house was searched, but nothing was found. Crippen was interviewed by Chief Inspector Walter Dew, and after the interview and a quick search of the house, Dew was satisfied. However, Crippen and Lenev didn't know that police suspicions had been relieved and fled in panic to Brussels, where they spent the night at a hotel. The following day, they went to Antwerp and boarded the Canadian Pacific liner SS Montrose for Canada. Their disappearance led the police at Scotland Yard to perform another three searches of the house. During the fourth and final search, they found the remains of a human body buried under the brick floor of the basement. Sir Bernard Spillsbury found traces of the calming drug Scopolamine in the remains. The corpse was identified by a piece of skin from its abdomen. However, the head, limbs and skeleton were never recovered. Meanwhile, Crippen and Lenev were crossing the Atlantic on the Montrose, with Lenev disguised as a boy. Captain Henry George Kendall recognized the fugitives, though, and just before steaming out of range of the land-based transmitters had telegraphist Lawrence Ernst Hughes send a wireless telegram to the British authorities, quote, have strong suspicions that Crippen London cellar murderer and accomplice are among saloon passengers. Mustache taken off, growing beard, accomplished dressed as boy, manner and build undoubtedly a girl, unquote. Had Crippen traveled third class, he would have probably escaped Kendall's notice. Dew boarded a faster white star liner, the SS Laurentiq, arrived in Quebec, Canada ahead of Crippen and contacted the Canadian authorities. As the Montrose entered the St. Lawrence River, Dew came aboard disguised as a pilot. Canada was then still a dominion within the British Empire. If Crippen, an American citizen, had sailed to the United States instead, even if he had been recognized, it would have taken extradition proceedings to bring him to trial. Kendall invited Crippen to meet the pilots as they came aboard. Dew removed his pilot's cap and said, Good morning, Dr. Crippen. Do you know me? I'm Chief Inspector Dew from Scotland Yard. After a pause, Crippen replied, Thank God it's over. The suspense has been too great. I couldn't stand it any longer. He then held out his wrists for the handcuffs. Crippen and Lenev were arrested on board the Montrose on July 31, 1910. Crippen was returned to England on board the SS Megantic. Crippen and Ethel were tried separately in London. Ethel was tried as an accessory and was later acquitted, but Crippen would not be so lucky, no matter how strange the trial turned out to be. The pathologists appearing for the prosecution, including Bernard Spillsbury, could not identify the remains or even discern whether they were male or female. However, Spillsbury found a piece of skin with what he claimed to be an abdominal scar consistent with Cora's medical history. Large quantities of the toxic compound Hyascine were found in the remains, and Crippen had bought the drug before the murder from a local chemist. Crippen's defense maintained that Cora had fled to America with another man named Bruce Miller. They also said that Cora and Crippen had only been living in the house since 1905, suggesting a previous owner of the house was responsible for the placement of the remains. The defense also asserted that the abdominal scar identified by pathologist Spillsbury was really just folded tissue. For it, among other things, had hair follicles growing from it, something scar tissue could not have. Other evidence presented by the prosecution included a piece of a man's pajama top, supposedly from a pair Cora had given Crippen a year earlier. The pajama bottoms were found in Crippen's bedroom, but not the top. The fragment included the manufacturer's label, Jones Brothers. Curlers with bleached hair consistent with Cora's, both were found with the remains. Throughout the proceedings and his sentencing, Crippen showed no remorse for his wife and concern for only his lover's reputation. After 27 minutes of deliberations, the jury found Crippen guilty of murder. He was hanged at 9 a.m. November 23, 1910. At his request, a photograph of Ethel Lenev was placed in his coffin with him. Crippen was dead, but the story doesn't end there. Many doubts remain as to whether or not Crippen truly murdered his wife. The novelist Raymond Chandler commented that it seemed unbelievable that Crippen would successfully dispose of his wife's limbs and head and then, rather stupidly, bury her torso under the cellar floor of his home. In October 2007, Michigan State University forensic scientist David Foren claimed that mitochondrial DNA evidence showed that the remains found beneath the cellar floor in Crippen's home were not those of Cora Crippen. This research was based on genealogical identification of three matrilineal relatives of Cora Crippen, great-nieces located by US genealogist Beth Wills, whose mitochondrial DNA haplotype was compared with DNA extracted from a slide with flesh taken from the torso in Crippen's cellar carefully preserved in a London hospital museum. This has raised new questions about the actual identity of the remains found in the cellar and, by extension, over Crippen's guilt. One theory is that Crippen may have been carrying out illegal abortions. It may be that one of his patients died and that he disposed of the body in the way he was accused of disposing of his wife. However, the remains were also tested for sex at Michigan State, using a highly sensitive assay of the Y chromosome. On this basis, the researchers found that the body parts were those of a man. The research team also argued that a scar on the abdomen of the body, which the crown prosecution interpreted as a scar consistent with one Mrs. Crippen was known to have, convincing the jury that the remains were Mrs. Crippen's was incorrectly identified, due to the tissues having hair follicles whereas scars do not, a point which Dr. Crippen's defense argued at the time. These recent arguments for Crippen's innocence have been disputed by some commentators, although in no instance has it been disputed by actual scientists. It has been argued that the DNA sample could have been tainted or mislabeled, or alternatively that the alleged relatives were not actually blood relatives of Mrs. Crippen. However, the research has since been published in the January 2011 issue of The Premier Journal of Forensic Sciences, following careful peer review by highly qualified forensic scientists. Numerous requests have been made for samples of the blonde hair found at the scene, and now preserved in New Scotland Yards Museum to conduct DNA testing to see if they are CORAS. Obtaining a DNA sample from these sources would greatly lessen any questions of contamination. New Scotland Yard has repeatedly denied this request. However, New Scotland Yard was willing to test a hair from the crime scene for a fee, which in turn was rejected by the investigators as over the top, making this an option which is still open if New Scotland Yard continues to extend the offer. Some have suggested that the police planted the body parts, and particularly the fragment of the pajama top at the scene, to incriminate Crippen. Others suggested motive is that Scotland Yard was under tremendous public pressure to find and bring to trial a suspect for this heinous crime, but it should be noted that the case did not become public until after the remains were found. Was Dr. Crippen guilty? It may not matter. In December 2009, the Criminal Cases Review Commission, having reviewed the case, declared that the Court of Appeal will not hear the case to pardon Crippen posthumously. Coming up, the citizens of Chicago have their celebration of Christmas changed in a dramatic and horrifying way in 1912, thanks to a storm on Lake Michigan that consumed the Christmas tree ship. That story is up next on Weird Darkness. The song White Christmas used to be one of my favorite holiday tunes, until the year of the ice storm. One December, Robin and I heard a loud crash outside, and not only did the ice cause a large tree to fall onto our house, but it ripped out the power lines. We were suddenly in sub-freezing temperatures with Jack Frost nipping at our noses thanks to zero heat or electricity. Talk about baby it's cold outside. If this happened today, I'd be hooking up my Patriot Power Generator 2000X. This solar-powered monster can power your lights, TV, medical equipment like my CPAP machine, even keep your refrigerator running, and possibly root all snows, although I can't vouch for that last one. Plus, it's expandable and comes with a free solar panel so you can begin using it immediately. And because it's solar and portable, you can use it indoors, without having to worry about deadly carbon monoxide fumes, and you don't have to spend money on gasoline to power it, because solar power is free. That's something even Ebenezer Scrooge could smile at. 4Patriots.com has a ton of great gift ideas, and they're always offering special deals, and we've set up a special page for Weirdos just for that purpose. Visit 4Patriots.com-weird. That's the number for Patriots.com-weird. Just like the holidays, though, these deals never last long, so you'll want to check this daily to see what the latest special deals are. That's 4Patriots.com-weird. While the holidays are usually a time of cheer and happiness, the people of Chicago learned of a Christmas-related tragedy on November 22, 1912, when the Rouse Simmons, the famed Christmas tree ship, went down in a storm on Lake Michigan. The tragedy changed the face of the holiday for the people of Chicago in a very unexpected way. For many years, one of the great traditions of Chicago was the arrival of the famous Christmas tree ship. Starting in 1887, Captain Herman Shunemann and his brother, August, began returning with bundles of their fragrant cargo. Shunemann sold Christmas trees and handmade wreaths from his mooring on the Chicago River near the Clark Street Bridge. The tallest trees drawn from the shipment were presented to the grateful owners of downtown theaters, and in return, the brothers received complimentary season passes. The rest were sold to celebrating citizens, many of whom spoke of their fond memories of the Shunemanns and the Rouse Simmons, their Christmas tree ship for generations. By 1912, Chicagoans anxiously looked forward to the ship's arrival and anticipated searching for the perfect tree among the wares, which ranged in price from 75 cents to a dollar. Herman affixed a hand-painted sign to the dock each year, reminding his customers that he adventured into the deep snows of the Upper Peninsula to handpick just the right trees for his fine friends back in Chicago. Herman Shunemann, the master of the Rouse Simmons, his wife, and three young daughters lived in a small apartment at 1638 North Clark Street, just a little over a mile north of the river. His oldest daughter, Elsie, was devoted to her father and had recently become active in the family's seasonal business. It was a business that was not without risk. The month of November, when the shipment of trees had to be sailed across the Great Lakes, was a particularly treacherous one for Lake Michigan. High winds and deadly gales had set many ships to the bottom of Lake Michigan. And in 1898, Captain Shunemann's brother, August, went down with all hands while manning the schooner, S. Thall, in the waters off north suburban Glencoe. But his brother's death and the threat of more dangerous weather failed to deter Herman Shunemann. He knew the Rouse Simmons was a sturdy ship. Built in 1868, the wooden schooner was fitted with three masts and had been intended for use in the lumber industry. Its large hold made it perfect for storing hundreds of Christmas trees each season. On November 22, 1912, Captain Shunemann, with a crew and passenger list of 16 and between 27,000 and 50,000 trees tied and bundled below decks, set sail from Manistique, Michigan bound for Chicago. The skies were overcast and high winds were predicted, but the Rouse Simmons headed straight into the open waters of the lake. When a storm broke, the wooden ship was hopelessly trapped, far from shore. The ship foundered in the rough waters and eventually the sails blew out and the ice-covered masts collapsed. A short time later, the Rouse Simmons disappeared. Captain Herman Shunemann was never heard from again, although many of his trees were found washed ashore in Wisconsin a few days after the ship vanished. The people of Chicago and the family of Captain Shunemann were grief-stricken and stunned. Newspaper reporters found Elsie Shunemann and her mother weaving Christmas garlands that came from the splintered trees recovered by Wisconsin residents on the lake shoreline. Facing destitution, they sold the garlands to the public. Every dollar the family possessed had been tied up in the Rouse Simmons and its ill-fated cargo. The Chicago inter-ocean newspaper, with help from the Lake Siemens Union, organized an emergency relief fund for the family. Elsie told the newspaper reporters, I am going to attempt to carry on Father's Christmas tree business. I will get friends to help me and send trees by rail to Chicago and sell them from the foot of Clark Street. Ever since I was a little girl, Papa has sold them there and lots and lots of people never think of going anywhere else for their trees. As a sales location for the trees, WC Holmes' shipping, for whom Shunemann had operated a vessel in his younger days, offered the family the use of a schooner, the Oneida. It was moored at the Clark Street Bridge, where the Rouse Simmons had rested for years and after the Rouse Simmons disaster, the new ship was filled with trees each year and the cherished Christmas tradition was unbroken. Meanwhile, in 1912, the search for clues and survivors from the Rouse Simmons continued. The U.S. Treasury Department offered the use of one of their cutters to search the small islands of Lake Michigan for any sign of the small ship. The hopes and prayers of the families of the crew and passengers went with the cutter, but those hopes quickly faded. No sign of the men were found, but two bottle messages were reportedly recovered. The first was found on a beach at Sheboygan, Wisconsin on December 13, 1912. It read, Friday, Everybody Goodbye, I guess we are all through. Sea washed over our deck load Tuesday. During the night, the small boat washed over. Ingvald and Steve fell overboard on Thursday. God help us, Herman Shunemann. Ingvald Newhouse was a deckhand taken on board just before sailing, and Stephen Nelson was the first mate and son of Captain Charles Nelson who was also lost. The second bottle note, this one written by Captain Nelson, was found years later in 1927. It read, These lines were written at 10.30 p.m. Scooter RS ready to go down about 20 miles southeast of Two Rivers Point between 15 and 20 miles offshore. All hands lashed to one line. Goodbye. From time to time, other curious artifacts, including a human skull believed to have come from the Christmas tree ship, were washed up along beaches or snagged in fishermen's nets. On April 23, 1924, Captain Shunemann's wallet containing business cards and newspaper clippings was recovered at Two Rivers Point. But the final location of the Ralph Simmons remained a mystery until October 1971. A diver named G. Kent Bellrichard of Milwaukee found the remarkably preserved wreck under 180 feet of water off the coast of Two Rivers. As to the fate of the rest of the Shunemann family, Elsie made good on her promise to continue the tradition of the Christmas tree ship. They maintained the tree lot at the Clark Street Bridge every holiday season until 1933, bringing happiness to thousands of Chicago families every year. When Weird Darkness returns, I have a fictional tale of holiday horror for you, perfect for this time of the year, seeing as the story is called Black Friday. That's coming up next. Hey Weirdos, our December Weirdo Watch Party is Saturday, December 23rd, hosted by horror host Hall of Famers, Drac and Countess Carita. Dracula and his bride are bringing us the 1946 noir thriller Shock, starring Vincent Price. In the film, a psychologically distraught woman is committed to a private sanitarium. Only to find out that the man who committed her was the man she witnessed commit a murder. The Weirdo Watch Party is always free to watch online with everybody, so grab your popcorn, candy and soda and jump into the fun, and even get involved in the live chat as we watch the movie This Christmas Eve Eve. It's Shock, starring Vincent Price, presented by Count Drac and Countess Carita, Saturday, December 23rd, starting at 10pm Eastern, 9pm Central, 8pm Mountain, 7pm Pacific. See a few clips from the film and invite your friends to watch along with you on the Weirdo Watch Party page at WeirdDarkness.com and we'll see you on Saturday, December 23rd for the Weirdo Watch Party. Do you keep a journal or diary? If not, maybe you should consider it. It's been shown that journaling can help you reduce stress, help relieve depression, builds self-confidence, it boosts your emotional intelligence, helps with achieving goals, inspires creativity, and more. In fact, my friend, S. N. Lenees has created a Weird Darkness-themed journal just for you. Full of blank pages for you to use as a diary, make notes for class or office meetings, jot down ideas for that novel you want to write. Use it for keeping a mileage long if you travel for business, whatever you want. In fact, she has numerous styles of journals to choose from. Along with the Weird Darkness journal, there's one for dealing with grief, for teachers' notes, for medical residencies, keeping track of your meds or health routine, and several others. Journals make a great gift for others, but it's also a great gift for yourself and your own mental health. No matter what you might want a journal for, my friend Ann has it, and you can see all of our journals, including the one for Weird Darkness, on the sponsors and friends page at WeirdDarkness.com. It was just a very faded, light-blue haze on the distant horizon. Most nights, it would be the dead time of night, with the world still asleep. But that night, that morning, it was far from still and asleep, not the early pre-dawn morning after Thanksgiving. Cars and trucks filled with holiday-traveled shoppers roamed in the early morning streets. Coffee shops were already opened to the morning participants and filled with many people getting their refills. Family members would be switching out from the long lines as many would be tucked away in their vehicles while one member would brave the cold. Solitary shoppers would be heavily bundled with hunter-hand warmers placed strategically throughout their body to attempt to keep them warm. Winter was coming and so was Christmas. Tim stood there. He was one of the many shoppers getting ready to storm the doors into the closed department store. The store itself still had an hour before they would open to the onslaught of customers and the line outside was already stretched around to the side of the building. Its end lost out of sight. He was glad that he was one of the few people closest to the door, but then he had also been camping there since before the store had even closed the night before. I'm going back to the car. Tim looked over his shoulder. Michelle was shivering behind him. Her face, the little he could see exposed as most of it was hidden behind her pink scarf, was pale white from the cold. Even her normally bright blue eyes seemed to be iced over with a sheen of frost. He had warned her beforehand about coming with him that it wasn't easy to stand in the line for hours on end. She had thought it would be fun. She could play on her phone and text people, she had told him. That had lasted 15 minutes. By midnight, she had already been complaining about wanting to go home and come back later. She didn't understand. Okay, hon. You go get yourself warmed up, he said to her. She hadn't even waited for him. She had already turned and was bouncing back to their little Ford Escort. The heat wouldn't kick on for a couple of minutes, if it did at all, but she had blankets in there and it would get her out of the wind. The couple next to him really came prepared. They were seated in lawn chairs, large, thick blankets pulled up to their faces and full headgear to keep them warm. They had long since fallen asleep and were statues to the god of greed. Others nearby had set up tents. Those were the fanatics. They had been camped out there for two days. When Tim first showed up, he couldn't help but find out more, like what they were there for. One of them was just there for the event of it. He just planned on picking up a couple of new DVDs. Michelle was shocked by the madness of it all. She was furious at first. Didn't any of these people have families they should be with? It's Thanksgiving! Tim just smiled. She was cute. That she was, and her tight blue jeans that sometimes looked like they were just painted on. A wiggle fit, he called them, as he knew she had to shake her booty viciously to fit them into the small space of the pants. Then there was her slim fitting sweater that was thick enough to be warm, but still tight to her shape. Damn, he felt lucky having her there with him, even if she did spend most of the time in the car. Tim looked back behind him. People were still pulling into the parking lot and crossing over towards the distant end of the line. The stream was becoming larger. More cars were driving on the roads and the morning was waking up in greater force. He loved being out there for it. Just the feeling of being a part of the morning as it was waking up. The air smelled different. The cool breeze felt different, like it was electric, pulsating intensely in preparation for what was to come. Tim scanned the parking lot at how the morning was coming alive and stopped when his gaze fell upon his car. He watched as the exhaust created a small poisonous fog spitting out from the rusted tailpipe. Maybe he should think about getting a new car instead of waiting in line for a television. That exhaust had to be filtering into the heat. He didn't know how she could stand to just sit in there. Then again it was either that or out here in the cold. Just like her good looks, she wouldn't nearly die if it meant to keep herself comfortable or looking good. Tim shifted as he noticed that she wasn't alone in the car. She was sitting behind the wheel, but Tim could just make out another shape sitting there with her. He couldn't see it too well, but there was definitely a dark shape moving around in the front seat of the car. He was making the whole car shake, rocking back and forth. If Tim hadn't known better, he would have thought there was sexual feeling going on. But Michelle would never, and it was too soon after she had left. Tim didn't stop to think about his place in line when the driver's side door opened and he could hear her screaming. Michelle's scream could be heard loudly throughout the parking lot, and it chilled him even deeper. He tried to run as fast as he could, but his legs had longed since gone numb from standing and being out there in the cold. They burned and pulled against him. He neared the car as Michelle was trying to pull herself out. Her hands just reaching over the top of the door were covered in blood, and she struggled against the dark shape trying to pull herself away. He could hear her struggling, sounding like she was trying to kick herself away, but with the windows thogged and the angle he had run towards her, he still couldn't see much more than the streaks of blood coming down the driver's side door. Michelle! Tim yelled. He could see in greater detail how the passenger side window had been broken in and the dark shape was reaching through from the other side, chasing after his girlfriend. She was staring at him through the window as some of the fog had started to fade, making her face just a haze. Her expression was of desperation, and he knew that tears were streaming down her face. He tried to push himself even faster to get around the door to get her. Michelle! He rounded around the open door, quickly reaching in to grab for her hand. Take my hand! Tim said. He reached for hers, but she wouldn't grab it. Her grip remained tight on the door, fingers locked into their grasp. Her skin was covered in blood, and he grabbed at her hands to pull them away. The fingers stayed locked. She refused to look at him, and a lump was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. There was a lot of blood. He hoped like hell that it wasn't hers. He silently prayed to himself that it wasn't. He finally was able to break away her fingers from the frame and took her hands into his. The blood was wet and sticky, and he had to fight to keep hold of her as he started pulling her out of the front seat of the car. She wrenched back, pulled away from him when her hand broke free from the door frame. He had to pull harder. A tug of war occurred with Michelle being used as a rope. He pulled with all of his strength, coursing through his legs to dig into the blacktop of the parking lot. The shape, hidden in the darkness of the car, Tim couldn't see who or what had her. He just knew he wanted to get Michelle away from it. He pulled harder, feeling as she was starting to come farther from the front seat of the car. Then, with a sudden snap, she was broken free and lunged forward towards him. He fell back and Michelle came crashing down on top of him. Blood was dripping from her, and he could see the large chunk of flesh taken out of her neck. He could also see her collarbone right where skin and muscle should have been through a large rip in her sweater. Around the tear, a massive amount of red crimson already drenched her sweater around the gaping hole and it was quickly getting worse. Tim looked to her eyes, turning her face so that she was looking at him. Her face turned but her eyes were barely open and looked at him with a blank gaze. Her mouth was open but inside her tongue flopped with emotion as Tim was jerking her around trying to get her to snap out of it. She was gone. He let her go and started to pull himself out from under her. His eyes stayed locked into her lifeless orbs as the Black Dots continued to look back at him. She had just been there with him, just minutes ago. She had been in line with him, talking to him. He could already start to hear the commotion from the crowd and some that had family members holding their place were already running over. Tim didn't turn to look. He just wanted his Michelle to have her eyes snap out of their days and to stare back at him, not through him. He didn't even notice as the dark shape started to crawl over Michelle and continue towards him. Brett yawned, his eyes moist in the corner as they fought to stay open. His mouth pulled tight and he could feel the muscles in his neck tense. His whole body was feeling like it wasn't awake and there wasn't a single part of him that wanted to be there. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up that early. Had he ever? He didn't want to be up that early now. It wasn't even five in the morning yet. It was unnatural, uncalled for to be there and to make it worse he had to listen to that man just drone on and on. He was babbling something about lines and flow of traffic. Brett really didn't care, like he really wanted to spend his day after Thanksgiving listening to some windbag who thought he could just shout out orders and that they were like sheep that would follow. Brett had to fight from laughing out loud. Sheep. That was like the pack forming outside sheep being led to the slaughter. Just yesterday he had been dragged with his parents to his grandparents over the river and through the woods to their cramped little house somewhere lost in the cornfields of Illinois to endure a long day of his uncle screaming children. His parents didn't want to leave until it was well past eight, which meant they hadn't crossed back into Wisconsin until it neared midnight. Then he had to be there to listening to this man who on a normal day he would consider to be a pretty cool boss. However any man inflicting the early morning torture was no longer considered to be a nice man. So Brett, what are you going to be? Brett blinked and looked through the blue clad men and women around him to the man standing at the middle, the man who now called him out for not paying attention. Um, walking the line, Brett said, thankful that Sullivan had told him the plans before Thanksgiving. Okay, so grab your jacket and the item tickets and get out there. Remember, one ticket per customer and make sure to pitch our services. I don't want any computers going out without any setups. If they get to register and you haven't sold them, you failed. Failed? What the hell did he know? Brett thought to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the old man on the sales floor. Brett grabbed his large heavy winter coat that he had sitting on one of the front displays, made a check for the hand warmers he had kept in the left front pocket and started to walk towards the front door. Behind him he could hear Jim ramble on to the rest of his troops. Troops preparing for war and this were the battlefield, he thought, as he reached the large front metal gate. It clattered loudly in the busy morning and he wanted to cover his ears against the screeching metal sound. Instead he just clenched his teeth until the metal was pulled far enough to the side and rested there in its guided path. He stepped over the metal rail that was the guide for the gate and stood just before the large glass double door and looked out into the darkness of the morning. He could have sworn that the street lights had been on when he had pulled in to the parking lot but now as he looked out there it was dark, almost completely dark, where usually he could see the cars parked in the lot. The employees' cars were always parked toward the back and a stab of concern spawned that he couldn't see his own car. He reached for the lock and heard the click as it unlatched with a dead thud. Something was growing in his stomach. Something wasn't right and he had a feeling starting to twist in his insides. The hairs along his arms started to rise and a sudden shock of what felt like electricity started to dance in the air. Maybe it was just his fear? What the hell was there to be afraid of? Come on man, wake yourself up and get out there. What the hell is there to be afraid of? He knew he was saying it in his mind more to himself to calm his nerves but there was still that unnerving feeling that there was something there. There was something out there that there was to be afraid of. Why else wouldn't he just go out there and start working up the line of customers? He was one hell of a salesman. He could walk that line and sell warranties to the most cranky of them and that was all commission money coming straight to his pocket. Who said it didn't pay to be sleazy? He started to pull on the doors, working to pull them apart. They caught at first and then started to pull apart with ease and Brett was met with the cold November chill that was feasting its way through the morning. It was hungry that cold and it wanted to make him a part of it. A shiver ran through him. He took a step out into the darkness and was met with cold stiff plastic assaulting his face and he instantly remembered why he hadn't been able to see the parking lot from inside. Jim and his infinite genius to protect the bargains had covered the front door with that damn black plastic so no one could see into the store. Heaven forbid that anyone could see in and see that we only carried maybe two of some ultra low priced deal. No, let's keep the customers not knowing so they stand in line for three hours and still were not able to get what they were waiting for. It was no wonder why all his managers hated the damn holidays. Brett had only been working there for seven months and he was already starting to hate them. They ruined his fourth of July, his Labor Day and every other single holiday since he had made the mistake of starting there. Brett closed the door behind him and started to beat against the plastic working his way to find its end. Fuck this, he muttered under his breath. The cold wet plastic seemed to fight against him. The darkness, a small maze he was trying to push his way through. He could almost imagine how fish felt when they were trapped in the net. The damn plastic just wouldn't seem to let him go. The wind just seemed to catch it whenever he would try to push it away from himself and whip it back into him. It was like there were hands reaching through the plastic trying to grab him. A sudden strong draft finally pushed the plastic away allowing him to break free. The wind, a slice of cold air that burned his skin rushed at him and the light from the parking lot revealed itself. He felt a brief relieving sensation of being free and inhaled deeply the clean, cool air. Brett had just a second to enjoy being released from the plastic before he realized that it hadn't been the wind that had been pushing it in against him. Cynthia was rushing, nearly running to reach the break room where she could already hear Jim talking about how they were all going to survive the morning. It was his same speech that he gave every year, the one about what everyone was expected to do and how certain people were sharks walking the line while others were given directions on how to do the quick pitch on selling at the register. Jim could sell, she definitely felt that way about him. He had no soul and would sell a warranty to his dying grandmother even if it cost her last dollar she had. He would still make the sale. Listen to him and a person could make some money in commissions. And that she did. But she didn't like being late. She was never late. Her damned alarm clock, why hadn't it gone off? She was never late. She knew they were already upset with her. She could tell it from the tone of Aaron's voice when he called wondering where she was. Thank goodness he had called. She never would have made it otherwise. She eased her way into the already crowded room, sneaking her way into the back of the crowd. Jim didn't seem to notice, but Aaron did. He was probably for the best though, so that way he knew that she was there and wouldn't be trying to call her again. She wondered if anyone else had been late. Okay, everyone ready? Everyone know what they're supposed to do? Jim called out to the crowd. Cynthia looked over to the new guy. His name was Rick or Randy, something with an R. Damn, she felt sorry for him. This was never what you wanted to do for your first day. Only a sadistic SOB would put a man on his first day against the morning rush. She looked back to Jim, who was walking over with Randy or Rick or whatever his name was, and was starting to lead him out of the room. Cynthia had to step to the side to let them pass, and she caught the evil stare that Jim gave her. Then he turned his attention back to R and they were heading toward the door. The rest of the half-awake zombies of the morning employees moved to follow, but Cynthia, her pulse racing from having to hurry, had a quicker step to her walk and was able to follow Jim out the door before anyone else started to really move. They were all making their way from the back brake area. Jim and his long, quick manager stride. R, eager to please on his first day and Cynthia, with her just being her normal chipper self. However, Cynthia slowed as they were making their way to the front door. She slowed as the hairs on the back of her neck stood and she realized that something just didn't feel right. The front of the store was dark, darker than normal, but that was to be expected with the plastic over the front door. Still, that wasn't it. There was something else, something that hung in the air. It was like there was a bad smell of meat gone rank, but it was so faint that she could feel it more than smell it. Then there was also that tickle of a sound. There was a thumping, like something dull being repeatedly knocked against glass. Holy shit, is that the beating against the glass? R said, as him and Jim headed toward the front door. Jim stopped just before they both reached it. Cynthia thought she knew why too. It was the same reason why she slowed. He felt it too, or he heard it. After all, R was right. It did sound like the customers outside were hitting against the glass doors. That is, if they were hitting it in slow motion and no energy. The repetitive pumps did make it sound like there were many of them and they wanted in. It's time! Jim said as he checked his watch. Yeah, but time for what, Cynthia thought, as she watched Jim move to unlock and power on the inner doors. It was time for what? Cynthia could hear as the other employees started to stop and stand at various spots around her. She took a glimpse at them and she could see them all as the walking dead as they all looked so tired and half alive. She turned back from the crowd of employees behind her in time to watch as the inner doors glided loudly open and Jim strutted his way to the outer doors. The inner doors started to squeak back closed, the loud high pitched squeal cutting through the mysterious thumping with its own horror movie soundtrack. Jim and R were cut off from the rest of them as they stood enclosed in the vestibule. Each one taking sides as Jim guided R in how the front iron gates folded back away into the sides of the door. Cynthia stopped watching them and looked to the black tarp still hanging outside the doors. She could see different shapes at different points of the black tarp, pushing through and then hitting into the front glass door. She could hear the loud clank as Jim secured the gate on the left side of the door, the pounding on the door intensified. Jim, without waiting for R to finish with his side, came rushing back into the front part of the door. Where are all my tech guys? Jim said as he scanned through his sleeping audience. No one responded. Jim turned back around. Where were they? Cynthia had the fleeting thought as she watched Jim unlock the door and R flipped the power switch. As the door slowly squealed open, even louder than the inner door, no one expected what was about to happen. The door didn't make it halfway and Jim was just about to give his morning get in line speech to the customers while reaching to pull down the black tarp when all hell broke loose. A hand reached through the tarp, grabbing Jim's hand just after he grabbed the tarp. He barely had time to call out what the, when the weight shifted on the other side from pulling Jim's arm to pushing it forward. In a rush of flying black, darker than the moonless sky, the tarp rushed forward. The first shapes falling forward caught in it like it was a fishing tarp. R, who had just kept himself a little off to the right, just missed being caught by the falling tarp. Not that it helped him much. The mass crowd, still not seen too well in the darkened vestibule from where Cynthia stood, was quickly stumbling over the first wave of the fallen and their hands quickly were grabbing R. Their grasp ripped and pulled at his clothes as he started to stumble back. He might have made it away from them as well had he not backed up against the glass stationary part of the gliding front door. It was then, as R was trying to push against a glass that would not move that Cynthia saw what was there. At first she could only see all the pairs of hands and disembodied arms. The hands themselves were mostly all covered in crimson and dripping, but what they belonged to. It was something like out of a horror flick. The ones that her ex-boyfriend Kenny used to always try to get her to watch. Zombies? Zombies! She could see the disfigured faces, the blank stare, and the stumbling lurches as they made their way forward. She could tell, though she had never tried to watch those films, as there was too much of people getting torn apart, their intestines strewn around like bloody Christmas lights. She had a passing reminder of having to help her mom put up Christmas lights tomorrow as she started to back up. The zombies had already reached R and were starting to pull him apart. They were tearing off limbs, but they were eating into it, pulling his flesh away in large strips. He was screaming in ways that Cynthia didn't know a man could. The loud sound, not sounding like it came from human vocal cords. Then the scream seemed to fill with liquid, gurgling before it was cut off. Cynthia hadn't stayed around long enough to find out what caused the scream to quit. She had turned tail and run, and she hadn't even waited to see if anyone was following. She cared about them. Many of them were her friends, but right now it was survival. She was a four-foot petite 18-year-old girl, nothing but a snack to those things. She didn't plan to have herself become an easy snack. She made it to the back of the center row when she stopped running. She was panting a little, but nowhere near yet worked up. No, those weekly workouts she had with that hot instructor that she had been continuing to flirt with had kept her in shape. Behind her she could hear others coming her way, running. The breath caught in her throat as she turned to see who was coming. She kept her body turned ready to run. All her senses were alive and she felt like she was a deer who had just heard the snap of a twig. With her head turned back, she saw shapes running towards her, shadows dancing in the dark, nothing more than outlines running away from the lights surrounding the front. Cynthia felt her breath catch and her chest seized. The shapes were running and images of running zombies flashed through her head. She tried to think of where to go and where to hide. Where could she go? Go, go, go, go, go! The large shape yelled. Cynthia recognized his voice. Ryan was yelling at her and she turned back to run as they neared reaching her. Come on, receiving! Ryan yelled at her, waving his arm for her to follow. She did quickly. She wasn't sure how many or if anyone else was following. Sure, she hoped there was, but she could only afford to think about herself and get herself safe. Cynthia heard a loud scream behind her. It wasn't all the way to the front, so the zombies must have been getting closer. She wanted to turn and look to see how far away they were, but no, it wasn't safe. Ahead Cynthia could see the light disappear where the sales floor ended and the receiving department began. Her pace faltered as she could imagine once crossing that threshold it was going to be harder to see what was around the corner. It was too dark in there. They shouldn't be going in. Just what the hell was Ryan thinking? Ryan, wait! Ryan didn't wait. He kept running and when he reached the corner to turn into receiving, he disappeared into the darkness. Cynthia didn't linger any longer. She pushed herself harder to catch back up with them, still not sure who the second running figure was. She assumed it was Tommy. The figure was about his size and she couldn't imagine Ryan being there without his twin. The shadows kept bouncing around her and she felt like she had entered into one of those fun houses that tried to scare her. She entered into the darkness and all sight was lost. The world around her felt like it was gone and the night was taking over, like it was its own essence. It was enveloping around her and she was losing herself into some bad horror film. It was the one where everything was coming after her, everything from her nightmares. Ryan yelled back to her telling her to hurry. As her eyes adjusted to the little light, she could see him starting to climb his way up the roof access stairs. His boots echoing off the metal stairs as he climbed, she worried that they would be heard if any of those things were nearby. Tommy was right behind Ryan and she hurried over to follow them. Come on! He yelled to her, urging her on. She started to climb, looking up to Ryan as she did so. He was getting near the roof access door. She was afraid they might freeze to death once they got out there, but for the time being, she just wanted to get somewhere safe. Being on a roof where none of those things could get to her was at least one step in the right direction. Ryan reached the top of the ladder and started to push on the door. She could hear him grunting and then a frustrated cry out. Shit! It's locked! She kept climbing, though she already feared that they were going to be stuck there. She heard another kind of grunt. It was one that she had already learned and dreaded recognizing. The lights of the store turned on. The automatic timer must have finally recognized that it was time to open the store. Cynthia could see as the first wave of zombies made their way around the corner. They moved slowly, some of them limping, those it looked like because part of their legs had been eaten through. Most of them just stumbled, walking slowly like they didn't remember how. It was like they were mindless to the point of not knowing who or what they used to be, but that they were moving with a purpose and a desire to do something. Like they wanted something, but didn't know what it was that they wanted. A sick part of Cynthia that she never knew existed until that very moment said to her, what separated these shoppers from any of their other customers? She suppressed the small, insane laughter that had been building. The answer wasn't all that funny after all. These shoppers wanted her flesh. What are we going to do? Ryan asked. Cynthia looked back up to him. She was glad to see that she was right and that it was Tommy there with him. She always liked it when she was right. She just smiled at herself and to them. She was beginning to realize that she was about to die. It was strange knowing that it was about to happen, but she was done fighting it. She looked around her. There was no place to go. The large receiving bay doors already had pounding from the other side and the familiar grunts from more zombies. So they were trapped. The only way out was up, and with the freezing cold, even that would have been a death sentence. She watched as the zombies started to gather below her feet. They were far enough below her that as they reached up to try and pull her back down, she was still safe. Above her, Ryan and Tommy were working together to try and break the door open. She just watched them for a brief time. The fear that had previously gripped her seemed to have left her as a now strange calm seemed to have washed over her. She felt her hand release on the cool metal and she could feel herself falling back. Then the hands. There were many of them, and they all started to tear into her. They grabbed and they clawed, and while she could hear herself screaming, she knew that her body was filled with pain of being ripped apart. She also didn't feel it, like her mind was already away from it all. And then everything she had known before was gone, she was gone, and just becoming another one of the many. One of the many cravers, mindlessly craving what they don't even know what they are craving for, she was lost to become a part of the mass. Thanks for listening. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters or unsolved mysteries like you do. And please, leave a rating and review of the show in the podcast app you listen from. 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 audiobooks I've narrated, shop the Weird Darkness store, 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 this episode, except for Black Friday, are purported to be true and were all written by Troy Taylor. Black Friday is a tale of fiction written by horror author Jason R. Davis. You can find source links and links to the authors in the show notes. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions, copyright Weird Darkness 2022. Now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Matthew 7, verses 24 and 25. Therefore, everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, yet it did not fall because it had its foundation on the rock. And a final thought, you'll never change your life until you change something you do daily. Mike Murdock. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.