 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, it's Thriller Thursday, and I'm reaching back to stories I used in May of 2016, June of 2016 and June of 2018, and I'd say half of these are fiction, but not all of them. Still, I hope you like the selections tonight. If you're new here, welcome to the show, and while you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, by 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. And this month, we're celebrating Weird Darkness' birthday. This month makes 7 years of Weird Darkness as a podcast, and to recognize our birthday, every October we ask you to make a donation to our Overcoming the Darkness fundraiser. Every dollar we raise through donations and the Weirdling Woods painting auction will go to the organizations that help people who struggle with depression. You can learn more about the fundraiser and what we're doing with it on the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. So you want to travel back in time and see the past and meet your ancestors. Are you really sure about that? Because if you do, then you will most likely kill your doppelganger. Many people are fascinated with time travel and more and more scientists seriously consider the idea that traveling to the past or future could be possible under certain circumstances. However, there are some problems to be solved before we can travel backwards in time to meet our ancestors. A new controversial theory put forward by physicist Professor Robert Nemeroff suggests that time travel can result in killing your doppelganger. The act of time traveling would create several versions of you, some living in the present while others move to the past. Your doppelgangers will be destined to meet up and when they do, they will ultimately destroy each other. It may sound like science fiction, but one theoretical physicist has worked out mathematical equations to show how this might work using our current understanding of science. I had heard many times that faster than light motion results in backwards time travel. Robert Nemeroff, a physicist at Michigan Technological University, told DailyMail.com. Even though I am a professional astrophysicist, I didn't understand the details of how this might work, so a student and I tried to work out for ourselves a very simple example. The example involved a spaceship that would start on a launching pad on Earth, travel at five times the speed of light to a planet about ten light years away. It is well known and not controversial that you can time travel to the future by just traveling quickly in a spaceship and coming back, said Professor Nemeroff. The closer one goes to the speed of light and the longer the trip, the further into the future you can go. But what about the past? Can you get to the past simply by just traveling in a spaceship? The only way this could happen was to assume that the spaceship could travel faster than the speed of light and return. Although in retrospect the equations were simple, it took us quite some effort to figure out how this might work, said Professor Nemeroff. Even so, the only solutions we could find involved these strange pairs of travelers popping into and out of existence. We speculated that one member of this pair must have a strange type of negative mass while the other has normal positive mass. Using Professor Nemeroff's equations, it turned out that a pair of ghost ships, one with a negative mass and one with positive mass, would appear out of thin air. Because the light from the spaceship travels slower than the spaceship after it returns, Earthlings would see images of the spaceship on its way out and another on its way back. Eight years later, an image of the spaceship sitting on the launch pad will still be visible, as would two of the spaceships on its outbound and return flights. After about ten years, the phantom spaceship pairs would destroy each other and there would only be one spaceship sitting on the landing pad. The same thing would happen with any object traveling back in time. For example, if in Doctor Who, two doctors were standing right next to each other, we found that a third doctor must exist of negative mass hurtling away faster than light, explained Professor Nemeroff. This third doctor is destined to meet up with one of the original doctors and together disappear. This superluminal doctor would also appear to be moving time backwards. The thought experiment creates more questions than it answers. For instance, what would the doppelgangers be made of? And which would be the real one? The physicist says he doesn't have the answers, but in any case, he doesn't think this would ever be a reality. Unfortunately, it has not seen possible for physical things to travel faster than light, and that is a crucial step, he said. We can make shadows and light spots from laser pointers appear to move that fast, but no one has ever been able to make something physical with mass move that fast. So time travel to the past seems impossible, at least presently. There are no such things as monsters. That is what my mommy used to say. She would tuck me into bed, make sure that my favorite doll, Casey, was in my arms and tell me there is nothing to be scared of. There are no monsters, no real monsters. She would whisper these words to me, mostly at night because that's when the monsters like to come out. At night when the walls would vibrate from machinery humming in the service tunnels and sub-basements below. I needed to hear those words when the wind would scream and howl from the unstable air currents and unpredictable weather patterns that came with an atmosphere being changed by a terraforming station. The turbines from dozens of filtration exchange towers took in the cold alien atmosphere and expelled hot oxygen and nitrogen-rich air. Just like the rhyme my daddy would sing with me, bad air goes in, good air comes out. I would need reminding one more time when the giant atmospheric processing station brought the rain by releasing electrical discharges into the clouds. That was when the monsters scared me the most. The lightning and thunder was the sound they made when they tried to get inside. The wind was the monster's voice and the rain was its nails, clicking and tapping at the windows of my living quarters. My mommy would come and make it all better and say there are no such thing as monsters. Monsters killed my mommy and daddy. Monsters are real. They were real and they were here. The grown-ups promised they would keep us safe. They told us everything would be all right and help was on the way. They lied. Our little settlement was so far away it would take up to two weeks for the nearest outposts to reach us. The monsters were clever and patient. When there was only a few of them they quietly picked off the families living in the habitat modules on the outskirts of the colony. The ones whose disappearance wouldn't be noticed right away. As their numbers increased the monsters began to hunt in packs. It wasn't long before there was enough of them and they didn't need to hide anymore. The monsters were coming. They were coming for each and every last one of us. The Central Air Processing Station was just outside the colony's perimeter. It was the primary terraformer and control center for the other automated terraforming substations that were spread across the small planet's surface. The majority of the grown-ups spent most of their waking hours here including my mommy. They were all doing their part to make this tiny world breathable. Building better worlds like all the signs and videos say. The monsters crashed through the ceiling and tore through the floor grating catching everyone by surprise. Only a week ago there was 158 of us. After the attack on the processing station we had lost 84 people. Those of us left gathered together for safety. We had to move quickly. We knew what the monsters did to you if they took you. We knew that for every one of us taken their numbers would grow. We knew we didn't have much time. The monsters grew so fast. We learned that from my daddy. He was the first. They thought I couldn't hear. They thought I wouldn't know. But I saw it all. When my daddy started screaming in pain, they took him to see the doctor. I followed them. The grown-ups may have ruled the corridors and hallways, but the kids owned the vents and shafts. That was our playground. That was where we would play games like Monster Maze and I was the best. The other kids were jealous because I could fit into places the others couldn't. They also couldn't memorize the turns and corners like me. I could go anywhere in the complex and never be seen, not once. Finding my way to where they had taken my daddy was a breeze. I didn't have to rely on my memory of the winding and turning tunnels of the ventilation system to find the correct room. The screams echoed loud and clear. I followed the sounds to the grilled screen that would allow me to peer into the medical compartment. I made myself look, but in the end I closed my eyes to the horror. The screams hurt my ears. He was in pain. A deep snap of bone startled everyone in the room and my daddy grew quiet and still. Suddenly I could hear his body thrash and convulse violently. The medical personnel tried to hold him down, but the convulsions were too strong. People gasped and screamed at the sound of a loud crunch and snaps followed by what sounded like a bucket of water spilling to the ground and spraying the walls. My daddy's screams were no more than wet gurgles by now. And then I heard it. A loud and piercing screech came from something in the room, something that was angry, evil and alien. It hissed loudly and scurried violently in the opposite direction, knocking over tools and equipment as it made its escape. The last of us gathered in the safest place left, the Primary Operations Center. My daddy once told me it was the very first building in the colony. The original settlers had lived in here back when they couldn't breathe the air and the Operations Center's thick walls and many pressurized doors protected them from the freezing temperatures and poisonous atmosphere. The adults put the kids in the center of the complex on the top level. They said the medical section was the safest place for us. We listened as the grownups did everything possible to block off entry ways, weld shut each blast door and close off every service tunnel. All access points were barricaded and all the main entry gates were sealed shut. When all was said and done, there was nothing left to do but wait in the silence and fear the approach of night time because everyone knows that the monsters mostly come at night. Mostly. The planetoid rotates once every 57 hours. That makes for a very long night. Here when the darkness falls it feels like it will never end. The monsters didn't come the first night or the second night, but they were there. Their large bodies pressed and slid against the outer bulkheads. Powerful talons scraped against steel and drooling jaws extended and clenched. A piercing shriek would call out and echo in the distance now and then. The monsters' cries would startle us, causing screams of fright and tears from most of the children. We continued to wait. It started on the third day with a metallic thunk. Thunk. Thunk from the north gate. It echoed throughout the corridors. Anything not bolted down rattled and shook. I could see relief wash over some of the adults' faces. The waiting was finally over. The beating at the massive door three levels down grew louder in intensity. The children were gathered together and hurriedly rushed into one of the unused isolation medical bays only used for storage. I didn't like this room. Even though it housed many rows of containers and equipment, there were no vents or shafts in here. There was no way to escape. We watched from the monitoring station that had been set up within the medical bay. The adults began readying themselves. Most had small handguns and charges used for geological excavation. There were even a few crude flamethrowers. The strikes to the massive door became relentless. The pounding grew louder from massive blows now coming from the west gate. The monsters were slamming into the steel door so hard and so fast I could swear I felt the floor vibrate. They screamed with such anger from behind the barriers that blocked their way. The sounds of pounds and bangs became deafening. Claws and talons were now beating at the east gate. The echoes of metal being hit with massive inhuman force now come at us from all directions when impacts fell against the main south gate. The bending and tearing of metal were heard throughout the complex and shrieks of victory roared out from alien lungs. We watched the blurry dark shapes fill the monitor screens. Screams and hisses echoed from the lower levels as they tore down every barrier or obstacle. They filled the hallways scurrying on the ceiling, walls and floors. They were coming for us. The monsters fell on the people defending our last and only defense like a wall of black water. The grown-ups opened fire, tossed their explosives and sprayed fire from flamethrowers. Smoke filled the room making it hard to see. Powerful arms shot out from the ceiling and long fingers grabbed at anyone within their reach. The monsters poured into the cramped space slamming into the people. Screams of terror and breaking of bone could be heard over the speakers. Images of blood and flesh filled our eyes from the small video monitors. Despite the wounds and injuries being inflicted, it was painfully obvious that none of the adults had been killed. Every last one of them was alive when they were dragged away into the darkness. It was over quickly. Soon every last grown-up in operations was gone. Dangling legs lifted into the air vents disappeared. The monsters gathered around those who struggled or were capable of fending them off. They were cornered and maimed by teeth and claws. Hands or feet were torn and severed from their body. Obviously it was easier to manage and carry off their prey if it was crippled. Screams for help and pleas for death slowly faded into the distance. The remaining grown-ups sealed the hatch way to the main access door for our section and stood between us and the approaching nightmares. They peeled away the hatch as if it were tin foil and were at the view ports and observation windows that lined the medical bay, hitting and scratching at the dura glass. They shattered it in no time and began swarming into the medical bay. Gunshots rung loud and screams from adults and children came from all directions. Monsters were leaping through the air, pouncing on any victim within their sight. They crawled on the walls and ceiling, plucking, running children off their feet by their hair or even by their entire head from large six-fingered claws. I cowered under an overturned medical bed when I locked eyes with a boy who couldn't have been more than seven. His arms were locked in a death grip around a support beam. Two monsters pounced on him and began pulling and jerking him violently. Somehow he maintained his grip around the metal beam and would not let go. I screamed in horror when they broke his arms and pried him off of that beam. His face had no expression or emotion. His limp arms trailed loosely behind him when they carried him away. He never screamed, not once. A woman flew across the room, smashing into a large, fume hood to the right and rear of the large room. Her broken body lay over the destroyed workstation. The impact had toppled over the instrument and dislodged its upper panel, revealing a narrow ventilation duct within the wall. In a flash, I remembered the school day trip last month to see the scientists. It was the same type of instrument, the one used for dangerous chemicals. It was a duraglass enclosure with two access openings for the hands. They would stick their hands through the access points and pour their chemicals from the inside without breathing the fumes. The scientists said the fumes were then removed from the complex by the exhaust fans. I got to my feet and dove for the tiny opening. Three monsters, hunched on all fours, charged from the destroyed viewport. I entered the duct only to discover it immediately went from ground level to a vent that went straight up the wall. I pressed my body as far as I could to avoid the claws that were reaching in for me. It pushed itself relentlessly into the small opening, wedging itself further into the duct. The slick coat of slime glistened on the claws that were inching closer. The tips of its nails were nicking my clothes. I could feel the pull of the fabric grow firmer each time before the threads would break. I had one chance. I stood and placed one hand on each side of the vent, hopped off the ground and pressed my feet against the walls to hold me up. I shimmied up the shaft bit by bit. Carefully but as quick as I could manage, I had made it more than half way of the duct's distance when the scraping and beating of claws filled my ears from below. When I lifted myself into the junction, I twisted myself into the opening and briefly my eyes fell on the monster beneath me. I had never seen one this close. Its arm was extended and wedged under its massive head. The elongated head was cocked at an abnormal angle to face me. Transparent lips were quivering and curled over long and shiny fangs. Thick, clear drool poured out of its open mouth. It didn't even struggle anymore. It just looked at me. It had no eyes, but it still looked at me. A low and deep hiss began to build from within its chest until it was a piercing shriek. It was speaking to me. It was trying to tell me something. It was screaming. It hated me. I turned from the shrieks of rage and quickly made my way into the ventilation system. It wasn't long before I knew exactly where I was. I disappeared into the network of ducts, shafts, and pipes, the maze I knew so well. I have been all by myself for two weeks now. This tiny subcompartment cradled in an entanglement of pipe and support strut beams of the environmental control system has become my home. The ventilation fan spins above me. The monsters keep their distance from its blades. The metal beams and large pipes keep me far out of reach from any monster's claws. I only leave my haven to scavenge for food. I avoid the main conduits in the ventilation system and stick to these smaller secondary shafts where the monster cannot fit. The monsters rule the corridors and hallways, but I own the vents and shafts. That is my playground. That was where I used to play games like Monster Maze and I was the best. The monsters are angry because I can fit into places they can't. I have every turn and corner memorized. I can go anywhere in this complex and never be seen, not once. The monsters can't see me. Monsters. My mommy used to tell me there were no monsters. No real monsters. But there are. Weird Darkness Returns in just a moment. This year, Overcoming the Darkness has a special treat, an original acrylic painting by the incredibly talented Steph Meyer. The painting is titled Night Angel and it's based on the Weirdling Woods episode, Guardian. What makes this painting even stranger and more unique than the story it's based upon is that there's almost a paranormal aspect to how it was created. Artist Steph Meyer had a head injury a few years ago and now experiences synesthesia, meaning when she hears a sound, she also sees a color or pattern, or both. Steph literally sees sounds and incorporates those colors and patterns into her artwork. Using her synesthesia, Steph Meyer listened to Chapter 3, Guardian from Weirdling Woods, literally seeing the colors and shapes of the music, the sound effects, and even my voice doing the narration. And she created a masterpiece. The painting, entitled Night Angel, is truly weird and dark and beautiful. It's a large, one-of-a-kind, original acrylic, measuring approximately 36 inches high and 24 inches wide. It's about 6 square feet of wall space. It's the only one in existence and the only one that ever will be in existence. You can see Night Angel right now and take part in the painting's auction at WeirdDarkness.com slash auction. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash auction. A young man in the front row frowned and raised a hand. Can you truly define peace as the absence of conflict? He asked. If people are not allowed to disagree, they are not at peace. They live in constant fear. She cocked her head, eyes narrowing. And so you disagree with me then? The young man nodded automatically. Yes, he said. And then his eyes widened. I mean, no, I… The veins in his throat seemed to bulge and twist as his hands grasped at his neck. He sputtered for a few moments and then fell on his desk. The teacher smiled gratefully at the class monitor as he removed the body from the chair. Version 5 is ten times faster than version 4, leaving no time for argument which is truly key, she continued. There was a meaty thump outside the door. But no one paid it any heed. The janitors would have everything cleaned up before the bell rang. And thus peace reigned over the classroom. Keep listening, there's more WeirdDarkness to come. People often ask me how I get everything done with as busy as I am. Two podcasts, working full-time for a radio station, running my voice over business, narrating YouTube channels other than my own, being a Chicago actor. I do love being busy, but none of this would be possible if not for a couple of things. One, getting a good night's sleep. And two, having energy and focus during my waking hours. The latter one I accomplished with something I discovered a few months ago called Dawn to Dusk which you can find at brickhouseweird.com. I take two Dawn to Dusk capsules right after lunch and suddenly I have energy and focus for the rest of the day. And with Dawn to Dusk, I don't get that afternoon crash I used to get with coffee and energy drinks. I'm not exaggerating when I say it has made a life-changing difference for me. I was so impressed with the product, I actually pursued them to be sponsors of my podcast. You can try Dawn to Dusk for yourself by visiting brickhouseweird.com. That's brickhouseweird.com. If you use the promo code Weird, you can also get 10% off anything you buy on their website. Give it a try, Dawn to Dusk at brickhouseweird.com. I went to a small fair in Steubenville, Ohio. The main street into town has an underpass that goes underneath train tracks. There are a number of stores located in the underpass. The fair was located directly beside the underpass. We had walked about a half mile to the fair and were returning to our cars. It was about 11 p.m. When we reached the underpass, heading away from town, my friend John asked me and his girlfriend to wait for him while he went up the hill to the tracks to relieve himself. The other people in our party had kept on walking and were almost out of sight. As John's girlfriend and I waited on the sidewalk for him, we heard him actually scream. He came running down the hill, still screaming and ran past the both of us. We were wondering what was wrong with him. I saw his girlfriend look down at the sidewalk. She then ran to catch up with him. I was standing there by myself wondering what the hell was going on when I saw it. It looked like a person's shadow, a silhouette of a head and shoulders, but stopped at what would be the chest. It wasn't my shadow because it was totally detached from me and its head was near my feet. At first, I thought it was another person's shadow and I looked down the sidewalk. There wasn't anybody there. By this time, I was well into the tunnel of the underpass. The shadow remained as strong as ever. Also, two cars came down the street and their headlights passed across it, but it still remained. Even though it was summer, the closer the shadow came, the colder it got. The shadow traveled across the ground and came toward me. As soon as it reached my feet, it disappeared. I then ran to catch up with John and his girlfriend. I asked him what it was we just saw. He said he didn't know, but when he was up next to the tracks, he heard a rock overturn and this thing came out from under it and chased him down the hill. I talked about this to a friend of mine. She said it was probably the spirit of someone who had been hit by a train and that's why the shadow was cut across the chest. Both my friend John and his girlfriend are in denial about what he saw, but I believe I came in contact with a shadow person. It started in 1986 when we moved to Texas. Rather than flying, my husband thought it would be nice to drive since I had never seen that part of the country. My husband had made this trip several times to see family in Gainesville. He always went the same route when he visited, but this time he decided to try something new. It was apparently a more scenic way to get to our destination. We were just on the Texan border when my husband realized that we were running low on gas and we had not seen a gas station for some time. The road we were traveling was deserted with not even a house in sight. I remember that there was a deep curve in the road and that both sides of the road were surrounded by trees that formed a canopy over the road. I remember that it offered a slight reprieve from the heat. As we got into the full curve, the road suddenly straightened out and the canopy of trees was gone. At the end of the curve was a very small and old-fashioned gas station with two of the oldest-looking gas pumps I had ever seen. I remember seeing bear hides hanging on a wooden fence. As my husband stepped out of the car, a young kid who looked as though he was about 11 appeared from nowhere. He was dirty, barefooted, and wearing overalls with one clip missing and hanging down in front. As my husband talked to the boy, I decided to go into the store and get something cold to drink, but what I found there I will never forget. There were two cases of Coca-Cola sitting on the floor in front of the counter. Nothing unusual about that except the bottles were very old, covered with at least a half inch of dust and cobwebs. The counter had a very old cash register, the kind that you pulled a handle to run it or add totals. It too was covered with dust. The more interesting thing was a really big cookie jar that sat on the counter with cookies inside. The jar was like the rest, covered with dust and cobwebs and no evidence of any disturbance. The store was extremely dark and musty smelling, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed that hundreds of what appeared to be animal hides were hanging everywhere. That's when I decided it was time to get out of that place. When I got back outside, my husband had finished pumping gas and was engaged in conversation with the boy. It was at this time that I noticed something else about the boy. All of his teeth that I could see were filed to sharp points like a carnivores. The short time that I stood there, I noticed that the boy kept looking at my husband's stomach and smiling. He was trying to convince my husband to go fishing with him. My husband asked him where he lived and he pointed to a cliff, but he saw no houses. I told my husband we needed to go, and the boy kept begging my husband to go fishing. I got in the car and waited about two seconds before yelling at my husband. He finally told the boy he'd better go before he got in trouble with me. As we drove away, neither of us spoke for several minutes. Then we turned and looked at each other and let out a sigh of relief as if we had just escaped with our lives. We drove about 20 minutes down the road and stopped at a cafe. As we sat down at the table, we noticed that the placemat was one of those paper mats that show a little map of the area. We tried to find the gas station on the map, but failed. We decided to ask the waitress about the little gas station. We were totally shocked at her reply. She said there wasn't a gas station in that direction for at least two hours, and she had lived in the area all of her life. Even the name did not sound familiar to her. She told us the heat had probably gotten to us, and we should remember to drink plenty of water. Many years ago, I was hitchhiking with my best friend at the time through northern France and Belgium. We were traveling light with just a small tent and sleeping bags and some stuff and backpacks. As often happens when hitchhiking, sometimes lifts were plentiful and other times non-existent, meaning that you had to trudge along the road until late into the night to reach your planned destination. Sometimes you simply didn't make it at all and had to find a place to camp in a field by the side of the road. One evening, that was entirely the case. Despite it having been a nice, sunny day, we had no luck obtaining a ride, and by about 7pm it was becoming obvious that we wouldn't make it to the campsite as we had planned. To add to our problems, the sunny day had given way to cloud, fog, and drizzle that dampened our spirits and made for a gloomy atmosphere. As a foggy darkness closed in, it got to the point that we could barely see a few feet in any direction. Around 10pm, we simply gave up and pushed through the bushes that lined the side of the road into what we believed to be a farmer's field on the other side. We quickly put up the tent and, tired, we soon fell asleep after a couple of beers and a snack. My friend awoke first the next morning. He peeked out of the zippered tent door and hastily pulled his head back in. He looked at me in this may. What's wrong? I asked a bit concerned. His face was pale and he couldn't or didn't want to say anything. Instead, he motioned for me to take a look. I peeked through the front door of the small tent expecting an angry farmer, a bull, or something that would explain the look on my friend's face. Row upon row upon row of small white tombstones for as far as the eye could see. We had camped in a World War I cemetery. It's just a good thing we hadn't known that. About 15 years ago, when my grandson was 3 years old, he, my daughter, and I were looking from my father's grave marker in the cemetery. The grave was just a marker without a headstone. My grandson ran over to one side of the graveyard and said, This is it! As he was brushing grass and dirt away from the marker. It was not my father's marker, but that of a person who had died in the late 1800s. As my grandson was pointing at the area, he said, Those people died, got their head broke. Later, I received a letter telling me that a close friend had died. Our little grandson came over and put his hand on my leg. Grammy, she died. I said yes, but did not think he knew what that meant. Then he said, She died in her car. Even though he was very small and had never met her. Indeed, she passed before he was born in a car wreck. So is it possible for children to have visions of the past? Or is this a second sight? More strange stories of both fiction and non-fiction when Weird Darkness returns. Hey Weirdos, our October Weirdo watch party is hosted by Mr. Molto, another horror host we've not yet had the privilege of having a party for. We're all gathering together online Friday, October 28th, as we together watch Mr. Molto presenting Halloween Inferno, The Boogie Man Cut, from Coleman Brothers Films, which follows our favorite immortal serial killer Michael Myers after the events of 2018's Halloween film. The Weirdo Watch Party is always free, so grab your popcorn, candy and soda and jump into the live chat too as we watch the movie along with our undead horror host. The Weirdo Watch Party is Friday, October 28th. The fun begins at 5pm Pacific, 6pm Mountain, 7pm Central, 8pm Eastern, 9pm in Hawaii and 1am for our friends in Greenwich Meantime. And until then, you can watch horror movies and horror hosts for free anytime, day or night on the Weirdo Watch Party page at WeirdDarkness.com. Hey Weirdos, this next story is a special one for me. It's been one of my favorite stories since before I was a teenager, I think. It was shared with me by my dad because, well, he's the one who wrote it. It was something he wrote in college and his professor told him that the story was a bit too morbid for her tastes, so it's obviously perfect for Weird Darkness. I shared this for the first time in Weird Darkness a few years ago when we were staying at my dad's house because we had been called in for an emergency. We really thought that we were going to lose him those couple of weeks, and the doctors wouldn't allow us to go in and talk to him because even in his medically induced coma, the voices of those he knew could possibly still trigger spikes in his brain waves and heartbeat, and that was too risky. Fortunately, he made it through okay, and he's just as much of a smart aleck as ever. But at the time, the only way I felt that I could be close to my dad was to take this story and share it with all of you. And now I do so again. It's called The Last Step by Richard A. Marlar. You stupid fool, don't you know you're just wasting your time. There ain't no lost city around here. It's just some silly legend that the local natives dreamed up. You damn college people are all alike. Think you know everything. As I looked at the storekeeper, I tried desperately to hold back my anger. Look, fella, I've come a long way, and I'm not turning back just because you say so. I've reason to believe that there is some merit to what these natives say, and by God I'm going to find out whether you like it or not. Okay, young fella, but you can't say that I didn't warn you. Will you there be anything else for you? Have you got enough food? Yes, I'm sure that's all, except for maybe a small stainless steel mirror. I like to be clean shaven, even when I'm out on expedition. All right, with the mirror, it comes to $37.12. I threw four $10 bills to the old man, picked up my merchandise, and walked out. The old boy had really started to get to me. He must have thought I was new at this sort of business. He would think that when a man reaches $35, people would respect him. It took some of the afternoon to get back to camp, and when I did get there I was ready for bed. Tomorrow would be a very trying day, but I hoped for it to also be a profitable one. I hardly slept all night. The excitement of the coming day kept creeping into my thoughts. This was the day I had so long waited for. The day that the whole world would be saying the name Allen Richards. At 4.30, I was up, had my breakfast eaten, and was almost through shaving. It was a wonderful feeling just to know that I was alive and healthy. If only Allen and Danny were here with me. Oh, Allen, why did it have to be you and little Danny that had to die? I couldn't have been someone else's wife and son. Allen, the lonely nights I have spent waiting for you to come to my side, wanting you, but knowing that you could never come to me. I may never see you again, but tomorrow our dream will come true. I'll find the city of Tyra. It was almost five when I walked out and got into my old jeep. It would still be over an hour before my search could start, for the road was narrow and very curvy. When the jungle finally stopped me from driving any farther, I slipped a pack with three days rations over my shoulder and started walking. The ground was very wet and slimy. It felt like a sponge under my weight. I had only walked a few miles when I noticed that the sky was getting darker. The foliage was becoming so dense that it was blocking out the light. It seemed like hours that I walked and cut my way through the thick and entangled undergrowth. My hopes were fading until I heard Allen's voice say, just a little further, my love, just a little further. I knew it was only my imagination, yet I pressed on. It was only a few minutes until I saw the first small building of Tyra. It looked very awesome with vines growing from its small windows and trees bending over its small roof. My heart began to pound with joy. I found it. I found it. I started running madly toward the building, not knowing of what might lie before me. I was only a few feet away when the world seemed to explode around me. For a second there was a crashing sound. Then I was falling deeper and deeper. Then I saw a flash of red. I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to, the world was black. I couldn't see anything and my body was engulfed with pain. I started to crawl about, hoping to find out just where I was, but found nothing except a pile of sticks and rocks. Giving up, since I couldn't see, I laid my head on one of the large rocks and went to sleep. Maybe in the light I'd do better. I woke to find the sun shining directly in my eyes and my head splitting. Looking down with horror, I saw that the sticks I found the night before were bones and the rocks were human skulls. My eyes began searching for an escape from this hell, but I found nothing, for I had fallen into some sort of pit which had steep, sheer vertical walls. Running over to the wall, I found that there were small steps carved into it. I began scrambling towards the top, but after climbing only 15 feet, I realized that the steps ended and that I was still 10 feet short of my goal. With all my might, I jumped, but crashed to the floor of the pit, convulsing with pain. I ran to the wall and attempted it again, but again crashed to its bottom. Aking from head to toe, I dragged myself back to the corner. I now knew how the steps had been carved. The men whose bones were now scattered around me had attempted their escapes by carving small hand holes in the wall. I could see the remnants of what they'd used as tools to do so. Knives, hatches, even nail files had been used, but none had achieved his goal of freedom. Now it was my turn to try for survival. I looked around but couldn't find my pack, so reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my knife and then started back up the wall. Screaming and scratching with my knife, I began carving more steps. First one, then two, and finally number three. It was almost dark then, so my work would have to wait until morning. The next morning I began to carve as soon as it was light. The steps went higher and higher, but as the day began to come to its close, my hopes closed with it. The blades on my knife were worn down until only a part of one blade remained. I sat on the floor in complete despair. My knife was only long enough to carve one more step, but it would take at least four, maybe five steps to get out. I began thinking of the men before me who had fallen into the pit. Each of them must have sat here just as I, knowing that death was coming, but also knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Oh Ellen, help me God, please help me. I can't get out. Please help me. My knife is almost gone. I can only carve one more. Please help me. I only sat there for a few more minutes before I realized what I must do. I walked slowly back to the wall, and then started climbing up so that I could carve the last step. Maybe, just maybe, the next guy would make it. I can still remember that evening when I first heard about the old witch named Kato. The year was 1937. My father came into the living room and switched off the radio. We children grumbled at first, but then he said he would tell us a tale of the supernatural. It was a story his father had told him. I sat still at full attention along with my younger brother and sister, I being the oldest at 12 years old. I always liked stories of mystery and horror, usually listening to the shadow or some other radio program. My dad was quite the storyteller, having inherited the skill from his father. My mother had gone to help her younger sister, who lived in the next town 25 miles away and had just given birth to her first child. Dad put another log on the fire to battle the cool icy winds whipping around the house. The sun was just setting on this chilly mid-October evening. Dad struck a match to light his pipe and, taking a puff from it, he gently exhaled. The sweet aroma drifted throughout the living room, mingling with smell of the burning oak logs in the fireplace. With just the light of the roaring fire, the mood was set. Clearing his throat, my dad started his tale. The legend of Kato, the witch's curse. There was once an old crone who lived outside of the small town of Carmi, Illinois. She was deeply wrinkled with a prominent nose and deep-set green eyes. She always cast forth an evil stare. She had once been beautiful with flaming red hair, now turned white, that still hung down near her waist. It was said she could cure diseases and speak to the wild animals. She lived out along the Indian mounds near the river in the woods. It was common knowledge that she could conjure up the Indian spirits from the ground. Many locals said you could hear weird chanting and wailing mixed with blood-curdling screams and howls. It was the spirits of the dead Indians coming back, doing one last war dance. These events always occurred between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m. Now the old witch had raised a large family of boys. These boys were wild, having grown up in the woods. They were as wicked as the devil in many ways. Everyone in town steered clear of them if they could. The boys had left the old witch by herself these last few years, though. Dad paused briefly to relight his pipe. He continued, now the old crone, being near 83 years old, was feeling that her disillusion was drawing very near. She informed a neighbor that she was without her magic powers and being all alone with death near, she wanted to make her last wishes known. Now her final wishes were certainly odd indeed. She stated that she was to be buried in a lonely spot which she had marked. The spot for her grave was near her home, close to a desolate roadway. Her other strange requests were to have the lid of her coffin to not be screwed down and that her grave not be more than three feet from the surface. I intend to appear before my children and tell them of their evil wicked ways, she said with the utmost authority. She passed away within the hour. Word spread quickly throughout the small community. Her children frightened at this prospect soon fled the surrounding area. Her small cabin sat deserted as rumors of weird sounds and unearthly apparitions were said to appear and disappear to any belated travelers who happened to wander by the now decrepit cabin. It was stated that where her grave was located there grew vast amounts of catnip, wormwood, whorehound, and tansy, plus many more herbs she had used in her performance of magical cures and spells while she was alive. According to legend, if you are near the site where the old cabin once stood and are brave enough to be there between the hours of midnight to 3am, you might just hear the strange bewitching sounds echoing along the Indian mounds and river valley. Maybe you'll even see the old witch dancing with the Indian warriors if you dare. Weird Darkness continues in just a moment. Weird Darkness is celebrating our seventh birthday this month and our way of celebrating is to raise money for organizations that help people who struggle with depression. It's called overcoming the darkness and you can make a donation right now on the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. A gift of any amount will bring us that much closer to our goal and your donation helps that many more people who are affected by depression, so no gift is too small. Our goal is to raise at least $5,000 and a huge thanks to everybody who's given just within the last 24 hours. Randy Lee Beasley gave $20 and he left a message saying, Darron, so proud of you, brother, not just as a friend but as a fan. Your work is awesome, love the campaign, it means a lot, much love and respect. Thank you, Randy. Appreciate that. John Taylor also gave $20. He said, because nobody is ever really alone, even if they feel like it. Jessica donated $10. She says, keep fighting the good fight, Darron. As a longtime sufferer of mental health issues, I truly understand the need for support during dark times and I think it's wonderful what you're doing at Weird Darkness to help such an important cause. Sharon gave $150. She says, Darron, I just listened to the October 4th Chamber of Comments and I heard you say, in order for this campaign to be successful, you need roughly $150 donated every day. I want to take care of one of those days. Thanks for what you're doing. Sharon, thank you. What a huge blessing that is. From all of you, I really, really appreciate everybody's generosity. That brings us up to a grand total right now of $1,660 and again, we're trying to get it up to at least $5,000 by the end of the month. If you've not donated yet or if you want to give again, or if you want to check out the Weirdling Woods painting that we're auctioning off as part of this fundraiser, which, by the way, it only has a bit of $1 on it right now, so it's pretty easy to outbid that. Just go to the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com or click the link in the show notes. And thank you in advance for everything that you can do to help us help those who are stuck in depression. The first time my uncle Bud felt anything was the week that he moved in. He says he was taking a shower and all of a sudden he felt as if he was being watched. So he jumped out, got dressed and went downstairs to see if someone had come into the house while he was showering. He saw nothing. A few weeks later he was spending time with his girlfriend when they heard footsteps on the stairs. They described them as heavy footsteps and even went so far as to turn their music down to hear them. My uncle thought it must be the house settling but he admitted that he had never heard anything like it in his life. The steps went on for about two hours off and on. A few days after that my uncle was having a morning coffee with my parents. My parents had stayed over at the house to help him with some gardening he needed doing. They were drinking their coffee, the radio was on and they were just talking. All of a sudden the radio's volume started to increase. My uncle tried to turn it off but it kept on blaring out. He stood with the plug in his hand trying to turn the radio off. Then all of a sudden they could hear running on the stairs and a door banging upstairs. My parents were absolutely terrified and couldn't wait to leave my uncle. Later that day my father was looking around the house. He walked into one of the bedrooms and started knocking on the wall. He thought there must be an explanation and wanted to see how soundly the house was built. He knocked on the wall a few times and someone or something knocked back. He stood there knocking and waiting for reply knocks. The reply knocks came every single time he knocked. Still later that day my mother and father tried banging the doors to recreate the sound of the door bang they had heard earlier. They banged every single upstairs door but none made the same sound. My uncle decided to get a priest in and he did. The priest did a service and everything seemed to settle down. Until one morning my uncle woke up to see an old man staring down at him from the side of his bed. The face was old and he didn't look happy. My uncle decided at that point to move out. My parents had taken some photos while they were visiting with my uncle. When they printed them out they could see fog on every single photo. It was like someone had been smoking but nobody had. The pictures were absolute proof to my parents that something was going on in that house. Whoever that old fellow was he didn't want anyone else living in his house. We heard that a few months after my uncle moved out the house burnt down. In 1997 we had just moved to a new neighborhood and I was about nine years old at that time. The new house was a big four bedroom house with two bathrooms and a pool but more importantly the rent was so cheap that my mother couldn't believe it when my dad told us. My brother and I liked to play cricket and there was more than enough space for that. It happened the first night while unpacking the boxes. I heard a baby crying in one of the rooms. At first I thought it was my brother trying to prank me but when I entered the room it was cold and damp and there was nothing there except for boxes of stuff to unpack and a rolled up carpet. I went to ask my mother what to unpack next and there it was again a baby crying from that same room. My mother asked me if I could hear the same noise of a baby crying and I said yes but that it was my brother playing a prank on us. She told me that my brother wasn't in the house and he had gone out with dad to fetch boxes from the other house. We went to check that room again and found nothing. We went back to the hallway and waited for the sound and there it was again. No windows were open either. That night while we were sleeping the babies crying became louder and the next day we moved out again. A couple of months later my mother found out that the previous family that stayed there had all been murdered in the house along with their baby. Last year we visited an area of Prague called Vizsad. According to Wikipedia Vizsad, Czech for Upper Castle is a historical fort located in the city of Prague, Czech Republic. It was built probably in the 10th century on a hill over the Vltava River. Situated within the castle is the Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul as well as the Vizsad's Cemetery containing the remains of many famous people from Czech history. Among them Antonin Dvorak, Bedriks Matana, Katočopek and Alfons Musia. It also contains Prague's oldest surviving building, the Rotunda of St. Martin from the 11th century. Local legend holds that Vizsad was the location of the first settlement which later became Prague though thus far this claim remains unsubstantiated. I found it a beautiful place but the cemetery truly freaked me out. Although the cemetery is probably the place many famous Czechs desire to be laid to rest, it took me several days to shake off the total gloom and despair that I felt after visiting it. The whole time I was there I kept seeing shadows in the shadows and when I turned around I could swear I was being watched. The presence was truly evil and left me with a feeling of being lost in a nightmare. I never actually saw a ghost so to speak but I am convinced something unpleasant resides there and it's not a place I would want to be in after dark. Maybe it's the Art Nouveau tombstones, the stark black marble tombs or perhaps it really is just haunted but I shudder recalling being there. In 2001 a startling discovery was made in Bernau during a survey of catacombs under the center of the city. Although disturbed by underground water and mud, the remains of 50,000 people were found stuffed in a small room. The room was floored to ceiling with the skeletal remains of the city's former inhabitants. After restoration work the Bernau Aguary was opened to the public in 2012 and is the second largest estuary in Europe after the Paris catacombs. So how did they get there? In the 16th and 17th century due to cholera, the plague, war and so on, people tended to die in large numbers periodically. They were buried in the churchyard near the Church of St. James inside the city walls. However, to cater for such numbers in a limited space, they were dug up again several years later and their remains stored in the crypt of the church. Their graves were then occupied or perhaps we should say rented by the newly dead who would also be moved 12 years or so later. Eventually, due to health reasons, the churchyard was closed and all the bodies moved to the crypt as well. During this time the crypt had to be expanded and made larger to hold all of the remains of what is estimated to be 50,000 souls. You can visit the Bernau Aguary and see the remains for yourself if you dare. I can tell you this, it is creepy and the thought of constantly digging up bodies and placing them in the crypt is pretty freaky too. Here in Bernau is one of the creepiest places I have ever visited. It is known as the Capuchin Crypt. On the outside, it is nothing but yet another small and ornate church, but inside it is Bernau's strange and creepy mummy show. The Capuchin monks who used the church for many years were in order who vowed poverty. As a part of this austerity program, they reused just a single coffin over and over again, laying the body of their dead colleague on the ground, rosary in hand in the crypt. Due to the nature of the soil and the air occurrence down there, the bodies became mummified. Each body was laid on the floor with its head on a pile of bricks that served as a pillow. The practice was later stopped by the introduction of new hygiene laws in the 19th century. The results, however, is that there remained 24 partly mummified monk bodies laying out carefully in the crypt. It is not just monks, however, in the creepy crypt, but also benefactors of the order, including Baron Trenk and Baron Franz Josef Katulinskić with his wife Eleanor. These and other notables lie in glass-topped coffins, adding to the gloom and eeriness of the place. A small entrance fee is all that it takes to visit the site where you will also be greeted with the sobering painted statement on the crypt itself. As you are now, we once were. As we are now, you shall be. A friend of mine at college moved into a new flat at the beginning of term. It was a nice, big, well-equipped flat and the rent was almost too good to be true. After a month, he moved out again. Here is why. Over a beer or two, he told me that the place simply seemed too good to be true. The price was too low for such a nice place so conveniently located. However, he took it and counted his lucky stars. At first, all seemed fine and dandy. Periodically, however, especially around pub throwing out time, the doorbell would ring. He would go to the door and find no one there. Given the time of night it usually occurred, he put it down to drunken and playful neighbors. Over the next two weeks, his neighbors began to play this trick at other times too. And when it started happening in the early hours of the morning, he felt it was time to keep an eye out and complain. He saw one of his neighbors in the corridor the next day and asked if perhaps it were he playing the trick, or perhaps they knew who it might be. The neighbor, an older man, simply stared at him and said nothing at all. My friend thought this quite odd behavior. When the owner arrived at the weekend as arranged, my friend was really getting quite angry. Several sleepless nights had put him in a foul and angry mood. He wanted this tomfoolery to end and end now, and he told the landlord this as they stood in the kitchen drinking coffee. The landlord went slightly pale as his new tenant explained the problem. He put down his coffee and said, come with me, will you? He led his new tenant to the front door and opened it and then said, ring the doorbell, please. My friend pushed the small round button as he imagined the practical joker in the building might have done. However, the bell did not ring. You see, the bell doesn't work. It hasn't worked in a long time because we unwired it. My friend sucked air like a fish in a bowl as he took in exactly what he had just heard, and then he understood. You mean there is no bell? He asked as if to make sure. There isn't and hasn't been a bell in a long time, said the concerned landlord. Unsurprisingly, my friend immediately moved out. DARREN's D-A-R-R-E-N WeirdDarkness.com is also where you can find all of my social media, listen to audiobooks that 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. And please, consider giving towards our Overcoming the Darkness fundraiser, where every dollar you give will be donated to organizations that help people who struggle with depression. The fundraiser ends Halloween night after our annual Halloween live-screen event, so please, give today. Visit the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com for more information. 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. You can find links to the stories from this episode in the show notes. WeirdDarkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright WeirdDarkness 2022. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Proverbs 12 verse 25. Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word shears it up. And a final thought. When you're ready to stop bargaining with God, he will lead you to a place of peace and blessings. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness. In 2025, neutron bombs wipe out much of the world's drinkable water. For the next several years, survivors exist in deplorable conditions and their rations are dwindling. One woman arises from the camp, determined to improve conditions. Charlotte is ready to do whatever it takes to ensure clean water for her fellow survivors. Water is almighty. Whoever controls the water rules the world. Can Charlotte prevent the power from falling into the wrong hands? Weird Darkness Publishing presents, working for H2O by Sara Faith. Now available in paperback, Kindle and audiobook versions on Amazon and at WeirdDarkness.com.