 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, we'll talk about the year we had two thanksgivings in the United States. A Weirdo family member shares a freaky true thanksgiving story with an explosive ending. Two brothers solve an almost 200-year-old murder mystery thanks to a Thanksgiving ghost story that was told to them by their grandfather. And I'll share a horrific thanksgiving tale from the latter part of the 19th century. If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, my newsletter, to enter contests, to connect with me on social media. Plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression or dark thoughts. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. The year was 1939 and President Franklin D. Roosevelt was busy trying to both drag the country out of the Great Depression and to prepare the nation for the war clouds gathering on the horizon. When Thanksgiving 1939 rolled around, his mind was clearly focused on the Great Depression. As of 1939, thanksgiving wasn't an official holiday. To be sure, Abraham Lincoln had decreed it would be the last Thursday of November when he declared it a holiday back in 1863, but that wasn't set in stone, so FDR had an idea. I, Franklin D. Roosevelt, President of the United States of America, do hereby designate Thursday the 23rd of November 1939 as a day of general thanksgiving. How appropriate that Roosevelt's proclamation was issued on October 31st, Halloween, a day known for tricks or treats. More the former, though, as upon hearing this proclamation, the average citizen felt like it was a trick, both irritating and confusing them at the same time. FDR just made everybody's yearly calendar a moot point for November 1939. At the time, it was up to the President to issue a Thanksgiving proclamation to announce on what day the holiday would fall. However, Thanksgiving had always been the last Thursday in November because that was the day President Abraham Lincoln observed the holiday in 1863. FDR's first Thanksgiving while in office occurred in 1933, a year that featured the rare Five Thursdays. Then, as now, the Christmas shopping season didn't officially kick off until after Americans had dug into their turkey. But as there would only be 24 shopping days left after Thanksgiving fell on November 30th, one business leaders urged Roosevelt to declare the fourth, not the last, Thursday as the National Day of Thanksgiving. FDR was inundated by requests from businesses to make the change, including the National Retail Dry Goods Association. Everyone who had something to sell wanted to extend the Christmas shopping season by one week. But Roosevelt rejected the idea at first on the grounds that such a change might cause confusion. That was 1933, but the Great Depression wasn't going away, and in 1939 the same issue rolled around with Thanksgiving again falling on November 30th, meaning another shortened Christmas shopping season, raising the same worries from merchants and the business community, who to be fair had gone through a lot during the Depression years. FDR's eventual giving in to businesses in 1939 likely proved him more right than he probably would have liked about people getting confused. Smaller businesses complained that they'd lose business to the larger stores. Other companies that depended on Thanksgiving as the last Thursday of November, they lost money. Schools were disrupted by Roosevelt's decision. Most schools had already scheduled vacations by the time they learned of Thanksgiving's new date and had to decide whether or not to reschedule everything. Football coaches scrambled to reschedule games set for November 30th. Families didn't know when to have their holiday meals. Some families had no idea about the change because their calendars still indicated the traditional date, and of course people weren't sure when to start their Christmas shopping. Some folks found mirth in the situation. Mr. President, I see by the paper this morning where you want to change Thanksgiving Day to November 23rd, of which I heartily approve. Thanks," wrote one Shelby O'Bennett of Shinston, West Virginia, whose letter has been saved by the Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum. She continued, Now, there are some things that I would like done and would appreciate your approval. 1. Has Sunday changed to Wednesday? 2. Have Mondays to be Christmas? 3. Have it strictly against the will of God to work on Tuesday? Thousands, more letters, most not so lighthearted, poured into the White House. Opposition grew. Americans were angry that Roosevelt tried to alter such a long-standing tradition and American values just to help businesses make more money. While governors usually follow the president's lead with state proclamations for the same day, in 1939 some states took matters into their own hands and defied the presidential proclamation. Some governors declared November 30th as Thanksgiving, and so, depending upon where somebody lived, Thanksgiving was celebrated on November 23rd, and November 30th. This was worse than changing the date in the first place because many families did not have the same day off as family members in other states and were therefore unable to celebrate the holiday together. 23 states observed Thanksgiving Day on November 23rd. 23 states celebrated on November 30th, and Texas and Colorado declared both Thursdays to be holidays. Now, that's an idea I can get behind. Double the turkey and stuffing, count me in. The Jackson County Journal pretty much didn't care, and in a brief editorial said people should just pick the day that suited them best, the 23rd or the 30th. The journal wrote in a piece titled Two Thanksgivings quote, we will have two thanksgivings in North Carolina this year. President Roosevelt has claimed November 23 as a day of national Thanksgiving. In consequence, the Federal Courts, the Post Offices and the National Banks will observe November 23 as a holiday. State banks, schools, state offices and county and city officials will observe November 30. Take your choice. Have your turkey either day you wish, but above all, let each of us be thankful every day in the year that we live in the United States of America that our forefathers bought for us with their blood and suffering the inestimable privileges that we enjoy, and that a divine providence has showered innumerable blessings upon our land, and upon each of us individually." In other words, celebrate the spirit of the holiday and although the federal government would observe it one day and state and local governments another, no harm, no foul. But most folks, to put it mildly, went ballistic. The main opponents to moving Thanksgiving were traditionalists, but one industry sector in particular almost collectively lost their minds. Calendar manufacturers understandable. John Taylor of the Budget Press in Ohio wrote to FDR and described the apocalyptic scenario the President had gifted his business with, writing that most calendars are sold in January and that his firm had printed $2 million that month. If very many customers demand 1940 calendars to correspond with your proclamation, Taylor wrote, hundreds of thousands of dollars will be lost by the calendar companies and in many instances it will lead to bankruptcy. FDR declared the next to last Thursday in November as Thanksgiving two more times, but even after the outbreak of World War II in December 1941, Congress saw the issue as important enough to act. On December 26, 1941, it finally passed a law nailing down the fourth Thursday of November as the official Thanksgiving and there it remains. This story was sent into us from Weirdo family member Rachel Gates. I had the creepiest Thanksgiving happen when I was a young teenager in the 90s. You first have to know some facts for this story to make sense, so let me explain. Fact one, my mom had a balloon business at the time. That means there were strings of fishing line hanging through our living room. Fact two, I was in love with Keanu Reeves after Speed came out. My prize possession was a giant poster given to me a few years earlier. It was huge and would fall down all the time. The edges were covered in tape from being hung up over and over again. Fact three, my mom had been a single parent for years until she remarried. She worked a lot, which means we kids were generally unruly and messy to put it kindly. We were slobs. It took me joining the military to gain much better cleaning routines, so our house was generally chaotic. Fact four, our house was haunted. We think we know by whom, but I will share that next. The house we lived in was a cute Victorian in Belvedere, Illinois. We rented it from the son of someone mom used to do home care for. She was a sweet old lady who was very clean. The house was all decked out in 70s shag carpet and heavy gold blackout drapes. She loved me and I loved visiting her, so when she died and we found ourselves needing a place to move to, her son was more than happy to rent to us. But shortly after moving in, things started happening. All the cabinets opening by themselves, things flying off shelves, orbs flying through rooms like actual balls of light flashing or floating around, not dust on a camera lens. Electronics turning on and off. TV channels changing by themselves. Voices you can't make out speaking. Whistling in your ear while on the toilet. Strange lights in the heating vents. You name it. Maybe some can be explained, but put them all together and it doesn't add up. Even if we had some kind of environmental issues, you'd still have to explain shared identical hallucinations. I've tried to explain it away. This is how I can be an atheist who believes in ghosts. I think now this sweet old lady was trying to scare us out of her clean, beautiful home, which now looked like a bomb had gone off inside. This all culminated to an epic Thanksgiving event in 1995. We actually cleaned every year before the feast, so the house was put together. We were starving as the smells of all the best homemade dishes wafted through the house. My dad, step-dad but I always called him dad, invites his old friend over from the reservation for dinner. So he got the guest of honor seat at the head of the table, which happened to be the only chair facing the kitchen with his back to the living room. Dinner was almost ready when I realized my speed poster had fallen down. I didn't have time to hang it up and didn't want it to wrinkle, so being me, I decided to hang it up in the living room on the fishing line with clothes line clips. That means all through dinner I could look over at Keano's dreamy face. This is important later. Finally, dinner was served, piping hot and smelling magical. One thing about my family is we have extra padding because we are great in the kitchen. Even my mom, who is a health nut, is just amazing at cooking. We all sit down around the dining room table, pray, I would say Catholic at the time, and dig in. Slowly we started hearing this flapping noise. Looking around, we noticed my poster bouncing around. It was an old house, so we thought it might be a draft. It didn't seem windy out, but we were inside, so it must be. We kept eating and laughed it off. But it kept going up and down, up and down. The flapping became bouncing, bouncing became whipping, until the sound of paper wrinkling as I now wonder how the poster even stayed put, let alone how the fishing line wasn't ripped from the wall. Now we aren't eating. We're staring, slack-jawed. No one made a sound. It kept going and going for minutes. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, there was a huge explosion. It shook the living room. Mom's instinct was to grab the kids in glasses like you do when you hit on the breaks too hard in the car. The food shook. It was like an earthquake. My ears were assaulted from the noise. Our heads snapped around to the kitchen. What we saw was crazy. There was a huge box of foil balloons in the doorway. It took two men to move that box under the desk in the dining room. You don't think about it when you buy foil balloons, but deflated and stacked close together a big box is basically a brick of metal. It was at least four or five feet away, right in the kitchen doorway. There was only one witness as to what had happened. My dad's friend, having an awkward position, was the only one to see what was going on, as we were mesmerized by the flying poster. He turned around to see movement catching his eye. Right before him, he watched as the impossibly heavy box lifted off the ground of its own accord. He said it floated out from under the desk and flew up and up about six or seven feet off the ground. Then, as we were all distracted, the box just fell. Gravity suddenly turned back on, and the resulting explosion was the equivalent of an acne anvil dropping straight into our dining room minus the cloud of dust and wily coyote. Holy cow. That actually happened. And we lived in that house for years. People who live there now don't even believe in ghosts, and nothing happens to them. I don't know them, but my cousin does, and she was astounded when I told her what used to go on in there. But then the old lady must approve of them, as they updated and improved the whole house. Moral of the story, clean your house, or ghosts will ruin your holidays. And speaking of, I'm going to go clean right now. My house is predictably a mess, but not for lack of trying. I promise. A grandpa's haunting Thanksgiving ghost story appeared to help two brothers uncover a nearly 200-year-old murder mystery. Bill and Frank Watson were told a chilling tale about 57 Irish immigrants who died at a railroad site in Pennsylvania during the cholera epidemic in 1832. The area is now known as Duffy's Cut, as the rail worker's boss was named Philip Duffy. It's a stretch of tracks located around 30 miles from Philadelphia. The brothers were told the chilling tale by their grandpa, a railroad worker, every Thanksgiving. They believed the rail workers died violently, not from cholera. Frank told CNN in 2010, this is a murder mystery from 178 years ago and it's finally coming to the light of day. According to local legend, a man walking home from a tavern claimed to see mysterious green figures dancing in the mist in September 1909. The documents quote the unnamed man as saying, I saw with my own eyes the ghosts of the Irishmen who died with cholera a month ago, dancing around the big trench where they were buried. It's true, Mr., it was awful. Frank inherited the railroad papers from his grandpa and said one of the documents said X marks the spot. They suspected that the files contained clues to the location of a mass grave. Bill and Frank delved deeper into the case. They started digging in 2002 and years later found forks and tobacco pipe shards. The brothers didn't believe struggling laborers would discard valuable items. Researchers in March 2009 found a bone raising suspicions that cholera may not have killed the rail workers. Teams also uncovered a skull that had been pierced by a bullet and cleaved by a hatchet. Bill, a historian said, we have no idea what percentage of these guys were murdered but if we have 57 it's the worst mass murder in Pennsylvania history. He said the average age of the workers was around 22 years old. Forensic anthropologist Janet Mong said the case provided vital clues about the lives of Irish immigrants. She said it was a cruel and rugged existence that characterizes the immigrant experience and it speaks very broadly of the xenophobia that existed at the time. Mong discovered bones from at least seven skeletons including four adults. She said one skull has a little divot on what would have been the side bone of the skull. That little divot is something that did not happen when they excavated it out of the ground. The anthropologist speculated that one of the laborers must have been clunked on their head before they died. Researchers believe more bodies are underneath the surface. Bill Watson said the coffins had been shut with more than 100 nails per coffin. The remains of five men and one woman from those who died at Duffy's Cut were laid to rest at a ceremony in Pennsylvania in 2012. The body of teenager John Ruddy who was from County Donegal was repatriated to Ireland and a burial took place in County Tyrone for Catherine Burns in October 2015. Forensics believe that injuries to her skull indicated that she had been murdered. Duffy's Cut later became part of the Pennsylvania Railroad's main line. Up next on Weird Darkness, I'll share a horrific Thanksgiving tale from the latter part of the 19th century and I'm honestly not sure if it's true or false. 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 jackfrost 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 slash weird. That's the number 4 Patriots.com slash 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 slash weird. As Americans gather for the Thanksgiving holiday, it is perhaps time to turn the clock back to one family feast that did not raise quite as much cheer. It tells of the terrible incidents that took place in a house in Oakville, Georgia, USA, in the latter part of the 19th century. This spot has earned a high place amongst haunted localities and in its day was comparable with the famous house in Berkeley Square. Situated in the midst of picturesque but lonely country, this house, the property of a farmer named Walsingham, had a worldwide reputation among psychical investigators. For some time, the house had been left deserted by its owner, and it would seem that during the temporary absence of its material master it passed into the hands of beings or forces, call them what you will, who wished to remain in undisputed possession. When Walsingham and his family decided to return and take up their abode in the house, they were struck on the very first day by the peculiar feeling of the place. They could not decide in any way what this feeling was, but on analysis linked it to claustrophobia, an overpowering dread of being alone within any four walls. Their dog, Don Caesar, absolutely refused to enter the house. On being dragged in, he immediately broke out into furious barking. His back bristled with rage, and he showed every sign of terror. This occurred several times during the day, and the same evening, being attracted to the spot by his wines and hulls, Walsingham saw his dog attacking some invisible enemy. Don Caesar, the dog, at last sprang in the air, as if at a man's throat, but fell back as if he had received a heavy blow. When picked up, the dog's neck had been found to be broken. The Walsingham's cat, on the other hand, manifested every sign of delight at being in a house. It strolled from room to room, purring loudly, and was seen on several occasions twisting its head from side to side, and arching its back as if someone were stroking it. To say that the Walsinghams were amazed at these things would be to describe their feelings mildly. They were very much upset, but had not as yet any suspicion on the score of supernatural causes. But that evening, just towards the desk, the house was suddenly filled with shouts, groans, and hideous laughter heard by all the occupants and putting them into a veritable panic. Miss Amelia Walsingham, while sitting in front of her mirror, saw a man's hand upon her shoulder, yet there was no reflection of it in the glass, nor was there any arm or body apparent. Walsingham himself saw footprints forming in the dust of a garden path before him as he walked, yet no mortal could be seen. But though these things were uncanny and terrifying, and were sufficient to make the family realize that some force out of the usual was at work, they paled into insignificance before the later incidents which took place during the evening meal. The family was seated at supper with one or two guests when their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud and horrible groan uttered apparently in the room above. Little notice was taken of it until one of the guests pointed out a stain of what looked like blood on the tablecloth, and it was then seen that some liquid was slowly dripping from the ceiling overhead. This liquid was so much like freshly shed blood as to horrify those who witnessed its slow dripping. It would be hard to imagine a more gruesome occurrence at any time, but the peculiar form of this horror and the theatrical way in which it was carried out would put it down as the invention of some most evil-minded but decidedly clever person. It flashed into the minds of all sitting at the table that some terrible deed had been committed in the room above, some frightful murder. For a few seconds, all sat silent with white faces, looking out of the corner of their eyes at each other in terror. Then, Walsingham shook off this paralysis of fear and ran out of the room, followed by his son. They went quickly upstairs to the room over the dining room and flung open the door, dreading what fearful sight their eyes should meet. But it was empty. They tore up the carpet and there found the boards to be soaked with the same red gruesome liquid as was dripping into the room beneath. But there was no explanation, nor was any afterwards discovered. The liquid was later examined under a microscope by a medical man and pronounced to be human blood. This incident was too much for the Walsinghams and they left the house and removed to another. Walsingham House then fell into entire disuse, and stories of the occurrences being put abroad, the place was shunned by day as well as by night. This neglect obviously did not tend to make the spot look more cheerful and it is stated that, in addition to the gloom that generally settles on the most ordinary of empty houses, there was an undoubted feeling of depression in the air around the place. Quite normal people said it felt to them as if the atmosphere of the locality weighed more than anywhere else. The house had not been approached for several months when a young man named Horace Gunn decided to make it the subject of a wager, betting a friend a fair sum of money that he would stay alone in the house for one night and have no aid within call. This enthusiastic young man carried out his intention and went to the house one evening before it was dark. His story is best told in his own words. Quote, I had been in the house about an hour and nothing had happened. It was just beginning to get dark and I thought that I would set about lighting of fire. Though I did not consider myself an expert in this art, I was very much surprised being absolutely unable to do so. My matches went out one after the other as if blown out by a strong draft. Once, when I had succeeded in lighting a piece of paper, it only smoldered for a few seconds and then went out. This was bad enough as I had to give up the idea of a cheerful blaze to keep me company, but to my disgust I found that my lamp would not light either. It was as if it were filled with water instead of with oil. It was now quite dark and whilst I was looking about for some means of getting a light, there came a terrible yell of pain from underneath the house and this was the signal for an outbreak of the most hideous and devilish noises. There were shouts, screams, groans, laughter, thumping, and the continual running up and downstairs as of several heavily shot people. My hair bristled. I stood by the window, practically paralyzed with fear, and had I then been able to control my limbs, I would have fled from the house. I would have lost my wager and a hundred like it rather than stay in that haunt of fiends. Then suddenly, the noises stopped. Complete silence fell on the place. But far from reassuring me, this made matters worse, for now I dreaded the silence even more than I had the ghostly noises. All the time I listened, listened for something. Now and then I thought I heard soft footsteps drawing near me, but it was nothing. This waiting and dreading was far worse than the pandemonium of terror. I did not have long to wait for the next move, for in the darkness, there suddenly appeared a small spot of grayish light on the wall opposite me. It grew larger and larger, altering in shape, until it assumed the outline of a human head, at the same time losing its flatness. Soon it was a real head, floating in the air. Its hair was long and gray and matted together and it had a deep and jagged cut in one temple. The whole face indicated suffering and misery. The eyes were wide open and gleamed with unearthly fire, while they seemed to direct their gaze upon me. The head moved about the room, but always the eyes were turned in my direction. Then it vanished. But their broke out in the room allowed an awe-inspiring wail as of several souls in anguish. I thought then that I could see indistinct shapes flitting about, and mustering up all my courage, I attempted to pass them and gain the door. But just as I reached it, I felt my ankle seized in a firm grasp. I was thrown down and felt fingers grasping at my throat. At this point Mr. Gunn's story ceases. He was found by his friends the next morning, unconscious on the floor by the door, and bearing on his throat the marks of long, thin fingers with cool, curved nails. After this experience no one was found to have anything more to do with the house, though a few people interested in such matters attempted to find out some reason for this terrible haunting. Though several avenues of investigation were explored, nothing very conclusive was discovered. The house had by this time acquired such an evil reputation that no one would occupy it, and it was ultimately demolished. Many human bones were found under it and in its grounds. How they came there it was never known, but it was supposed that they had lain there for many years and were the bones of people who might have been murdered when the house was a roadside inn of very bad repute. And herein perhaps lies an explanation for the hauntings of the house. A few days before returning to his house, Mr. Wallingham, having discovered in the grounds some old, dried bones and not able to decide whether they were human or not, settled the matter as he thought by ordering them to be thrown into a lime kiln. Is it possible that the spirits of the men whose bones were thus so indecently treated summoned to their aid certain dark forces in order to make the place uninhabitable by mortals in revenge for the insult offered to their remains? Before I end this Thanksgiving episode, I want to share a moment to express my thanks, gratitude and appreciation to you, my weirdo family. I am so thankful to God for you. You have no idea. I was praying today and giving thanks to God for the blessings that we have. I daily thank him anyway for saving me, for bringing my bride into my life, for giving me the skills and talent to do what I do, as I don't think I'm qualified to do anything else. I thank God for the roof over my head, for food on the table, for allowing us to give back to others in a variety of ways. Those who were in need. And in praying these things today, I realized that you, my weirdo family, have helped make a lot of that possible. I didn't create this podcast for any reason other than to entertain people, but you've invited your friends and family to listen. You've shared links to the episodes in your social media, emails and texts. You've stuck with me all these years and what I began as simply a creative outlet for myself has become a full-time career that has kept food on the table, the house payments on time, and you've shown your generosity in so many ways through being patrons or buying merchandise and donating to the fundraisers. I am so grateful to God for you because you have given this man a true calling and purpose for being on this planet to entertain, enlighten and bring hope to those who listen. William Shakespeare said it well, I can no other answer make, but thanks and thanks and ever thanks. 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 Weird Darkness aren't purported to be true unless stated otherwise, and you can find source links or links to the authors in the show notes. The year with two thanksgivings was written by Dave Tabler at AppalachianHistory.net and Jim Buchanan for the Silva Herald. Thanksgiving Explosion is from Weirdo family member Rachel Gates. Grandpa's Thanksgiving Go story is by Chris Bradford for The Sun, and Feast of Terror was posted at Freaky Folk Tales. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright Weird Darkness 2022. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Psalm 100 verse 4. Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise, give thanks to him and praise his name. In a final thought, be thankful for what you have. You'll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never ever have enough. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.