 Before I begin this episode, I want to give a warning. I know I place a disclaimer at the beginning of each show, but for this particular episode, the intro and first story are especially gruesome and describe acts you do not want younger minds with an earshot of. Even some adults might want to click the fast forward button to avoid the details. Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Seduction, theft, threats, burglary, breaking and entering, arson, sexual assault, rape, attempted robbery, attempted murder, and murder. These are all crimes Peter Curtin, also known as the Vampire of Dusseldorf and the Dusseldorf Monster, would eventually be convicted of. Hidden beneath his mild-mannered exterior and gentle demeanor was a diabolical maniac filled with lust and sexual rage. His homicidal murder spree would last nearly two decades as Curtin spread terror in Germany from 1913 all the way until his capture in 1930. Curtin was the monster of all monsters, with zero remorse or empathy. He would kill, will, even in broad daylight, brazenly and with complete disregard. His compulsion for murder was unmatched. While most haven't heard of him, Curtin was every bit as brutal as any modern serial killer. The psychiatrist who saw and assessed Curtin would go on record saying, Curtin is the king of sexual delinquents because he unites nearly all perversions in one person. He went on to say, That is the dreadful thing. The man Curtin is a riddle to me. I cannot solve it. The criminal Harman only killed men, Landru only women, Grossman only women, but Curtin killed men, women, children, and animals killed anything he found. The depravity and brutality of Curtin's bloodshed still baffles psychologists today. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Welcome, Weirdos. This is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved, and unexplained. Coming up in this episode of Weird Darkness, When you think of methods of execution, what comes to mind? Electric chair, hanging, firing squad, lethal injection, or perhaps something a bit more historic like guillotine or even stoning? But I'm guessing the last thing you'd think of for a method of execution would be death by golden shower. Had Daniel Lambert been alive today, he would have carted his more than 700 pounds around in a motorized scooter as too many morbidly obese people choose to do. But in the early 1800s, such amenities weren't available because there was no market for them. Lambert was a true anomaly and people couldn't get enough of them. A woman describes how frightened she was when working in a school after hours, so frightened that now, over 23 years later, she still has trouble sleeping due to the fear she experienced. An eerie painting spooked many who just saw it. Those who owned it, fared worse. Could this piece, painted in 1972, truly be haunted? But first, from murdering children to drinking blood, Peter Curtin was the king of the sexual perverts and perhaps the worst serial killer ever, so it's no surprise he would be tagged with the word Vampire to describe him. We begin there. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the weird darkness. The early morning sun was rising over the grounds of Klingelputz Prison in Kelowna, Germany as a man named Peter Curtin entered the execution courtyard on July 2, 1931. Just shy of 50 years old, he was of average height, with neatly combed hair, and one of those faces that could resemble anyone. In fact, if you looked hard enough, he almost resembled a far more famous German citizen whose rise to fame just a few months later would vastly overshadow this man's crimes, effectively hiding him from the pages of history. Flanked by the prison's priest and psychiatrist, he was on his way to the guillotine to answer for the heinous crimes he'd committed over the past 17 years. His crimes included burglary, arson, attempted murder, rape, cannibalism, and murder. The list of his victims surpassed 30 and could have been anywhere from 35 to 70. The more one learns about Peter Curtin, the worse it gets. Known as the Vampire of Dusseldorf and the Dusseldorf Monster, Peter Curtin spent almost 20 years fulfilling his deepest, darkest desires. As a child, he'd been subjected to abuse, beaten by his alcoholic parents, and forced to watch them have sex. Before he even entered his teens, he had attempted to drown one of his playmates and had befriended a local dog catcher who taught him how to torture and kill the animals he caught. At the age of 13, Curtin formed a relationship with a girl his age, though she resisted having sex with. To channel his sexual frustrations, Curtin resorted to bestiality with local farm animals. Worse, he admitted to mutilating the animals in an effort to achieve an orgasm. He was forced to end his behavior when a farmer noticed him stabbing a pig. In the next few years, Curtin stole all the money in his household and ran away from home to begin a relationship with the prostitute two years his senior. He would then spend a month in jail for petty theft and four years in prison for fraud. In 1904, Curtin was drafted into the German army, though he soon deserted. He began committing acts of arson, watching from a distance as emergency teams arrived on the scene. Eventually, he was arrested for arson, was discovered to be a deserter, and tried by the military system. During his imprisonment, his third, so far, he claimed he encountered severe forms of punishment and developed deranged, erotic fantasies which caused him to spontaneously ejaculate while remembering them. Finally, in 1913, he was released from prison and moved to Mühlheim-Amrhein. Though his crimes before were awful, the worst was yet to come. In May of 1913, Peter Curtin's urges could no longer be satisfied by prostitutes and farm animals. His time in prison hadn't deterred him from committing crimes and shortly after his release, he burgled a home in his neighborhood. While inside the home, he happened upon the homeowner's nine-year-old daughter. Overcome by the erotic fantasies he had thought up in prison, he strangled her and slashed her throat with his pocket knife. Upon hearing the girl's blood drip to the floor, he ejaculated. The next day, he returned to the scene by visiting a tavern across the street. Hearing the locals talk about his crimes was something of a high for him, and he reveled in hearing their reactions. Over the next few months, again overwhelmed by the need to see the effects of his crime, he would visit the girl's grave and touch the soil under which she was buried for sexual satisfaction. Two months after killing the young girl, Peter Curtin committed the same crime, this time burglarizing the home of a 17-year-old girl. As he had before, he strangled the woman and ejaculated at the sight of her blood. Though he intended to continue his spree, he was fortunately arrested for arson and burglary later that year. He spent eight years in a military prison in Brig, Germany, before being released in April of 1921. Upon his release from his fourth period of incarceration, Curtin became engaged to a woman named Augusta Scharf, a shop owner and former prostitute. It was also a perfect match, as Augusta had previously been accused of fatally shooting her former fiance, whom Curtin had previously posed as to evade arrest. However, the union was hardly a happy one due to Curtin's increasing infidelities. Upon realizing that her husband had been sleeping with not one but two of their maids, she encouraged one of them to press charges, claiming Curtin had forced her into having sex. The charge held up in court, and Curtin was sentenced to his fifth prison sentence, this time for six months. After his release, Curtin of course picked up his old habits. Over the course of one month, he murdered two people and attempted to murder a third, though she survived her injuries. Peter Curtin's preferred method of torture and murder was stabbing, usually with a pair of sharpened scissors. In addition to physical mutilation, he would sexually abuse his victims and strangle them into unconsciousness. He also occasionally returned to the crime scenes to discuss his crimes with police under the guise of a concerned citizen. Over the next several months, he attempted to strangle four women, but each of them got away from him. Then in August of 1929, his killing spree reached an all-time high. Over the course of the month, he murdered six people. The first was a woman he had stalked for almost a week, whose body he wished to crucify on a decomposing tree in order to cause a scene for the public. Eventually, he settled for burying her, though he did follow up the murder with a detailed letter to police, including a map to her body. After writing the letter, in an attempt to throw police off his trail, he switched from his signature pair of scissors to a knife. Additionally, he randomly stabbed three people, an 18-year-old girl, a 30-year-old man, and a 37-year-old woman who all escaped but described their attacker differently, effectively confusing police. Three days after the random stabbings, Peter Curtin murdered a pair of sisters, one by strangulation, the other by slicing her neck. For the first time, Curtin engaged in cannibalism, drinking the blood of the younger girl as it poured from her neck. The next month, Curtin murdered two servant girls, this time using a hammer to strike them over the heads. He also stabbed a child, leaving her for dead in an alleyway in what would be his final murder. On May 14, Curtin attempted to seduce and murder a 20-year-old woman named Maria Budlik. She made it as far as his apartment before realizing his intentions and fleeing the scene. However, she didn't report her ordeal to the police, instead detailing the event in a letter to a friend. As luck would have it, she incorrectly addressed the letter and it ended up in the hands of a postal worker who, thankfully, passed it on to police. At the same time the police were reading Budlik's letter, Peter Curtin was confessing his crimes to his wife. Incredibly, she had managed to stay married to him and apparently remained completely unaware of his crimes. As Curtin knew there was a reward out for him, he suggested that his wife be the one to turn him in. That way, there would be money left for her after his imminent incarceration. As soon as he was arrested, Peter Curtin folded and immediately confessed to the crimes while expressing no remorse. In all, he ended up admitting to 68 crimes, including 10 murders and 31 attempted murders. He justified the crimes, claiming that they were revenge for the horrors that life had inflicted upon him during childhood and that he was simply claiming what was due him. Horrified by his confession, police ordered a psychological evaluation, the first ever performed on a sexual serial killer. However, the findings would horrify them even more. Despite his colorful and detailed confession, his admittance of multiple ironic psychosexual fantasies involving blood, mass murder and fire, five separate psychologists concluded that he was, in fact, perfectly sane and fit to stand trial. Peter Curtin's lack of remorse only presented itself further when a judge asked him about his conscience, questioning if the man felt he had one at all. I have none, he responded. Never have I felt any misgiving in my soul. Never did I think to myself that what I did was bad, even though human society condemns it. My blood and the blood of my victims must be on the heads of my torturers. The punishments I have suffered have destroyed all my feelings as a human being. That was why I had no pity for my victims. For ten days, the prosecution and the defense argued about Curtin's motives, his crimes, his conscience and his punishment before the jury ultimately reached a guilty verdict. He was found guilty of murder and awarded nine death sentences to be carried out by guillotine. Upon laying his head down on the machine, he turned to the psychiatrist and asked a question. Tell me, he asked, after my head is chopped off, will I still be able to hear, at least for a moment, the sound of my own blood gushing from the stump of my neck? That would be the pleasure to end all pleasures. The executioner then dropped the blade. Following his death, Peter Curtin's head was removed for forensic analysis and eventually found its way to Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum in Wisconsin. I'll place a link to a photo of it in the show notes if you're curious what it looks like. Doctors were sure that something must have been wrong with him for him to have been so passive regarding his crimes. Shockingly, the exam revealed nothing abnormal about him. Peter Curtin was simply a deranged serial killer plagued with erotic visions of death, seeking retribution for a childhood lost. Up next, when you think of methods of execution, even ancient ones, you probably never think of death by urine. In the 1800s, people just could not get enough of Daniel Lambert and his display, but then Daniel had plenty to go around, as he weighed more than 700 pounds. And a woman describes an incident decades old that still haunts her. These stories and more when Weird Darkness returns. October is birthday month for Weird Darkness, and this makes eight years of doing the show. But while it's our birthday, we want the gifts to go to those who help people who suffer from depression, anxiety, or thoughts of suicide or self-harm. That's what our Overcoming the Darkness campaign every October is all about. You can bring hope to those who are lost in the darkness. You can make a donation right now at WeirdDarkness.com slash Overcoming. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash Overcoming. I'll close out the fundraiser at the end of October and announce how much we raised. Our goal is to raise at least $5,000 this month, but the more we raise, the more people we can help to climb out of their own personal darkness. If you've not donated yet, or if you'd like to give again, visit WeirdDarkness.com slash Overcoming. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash Overcoming. The fundraiser ends on Halloween, so please give right now while you're thinking about it, WeirdDarkness.com slash Overcoming. Humans have invented a variety of amazingly cruel and unusual ways to kill or maim one another, often for shockingly arbitrary reasons. And of course, wars tend to bring out the worst in people, so it's not surprising that wartime executions can occasionally be among the most bizarre and cruel. On that note, I was recently reading the first volume of John Masters autobiography, Bugles and a Tiger, and came across one of the more bizarre execution methods, death by drowning a person in urine. This method of execution was used by the Pathons, also known as ethnic Afghans and Pashtuns. The women of this group, particularly in the Afridi tribe of the Pashtuns, who today primarily reside in present-day Pakistan and Afghanistan, would occasionally execute people this way, as mentioned by the British John Masters, who was stationed in British India when he was 18 in 1933. Quote, if they, Pathons, captured any soldiers other than Muslims and especially if the soldiers were Sikhs or British, they would usually castrate and behead them. Both these operations were frequently done by the women. Sometimes they would torture prisoners with the death of a thousand cuts, pushing grass and thorns into each wound as it was made. Sometimes they would peg the prisoner out and, with a stick, force his jaws so wide open that he could not swallow, and then the women would urinate in his open mouth, taking turns till he drowned. This kind of cruelty was not confined to war, but was as much a part of the Pathons' normal lives as were their sturdy independence. If a man suspected his wife with the most minor infidelity, he would cut her nose off. The Pathons punished an adulterer by forcing a thick and knobbly thorn twig down his penis. They rewarded infringements of lesser laws by tearing a man's tongue out by the roots, unquote. If that all weren't cringe-worthy enough. Quote, it is still customary among some tribes in Assam, northeast region in India, to punish an unfaithful woman by tying her to a post with her legs apart over a quick-growing kind of bamboo, and leaving her there until the bamboo grows up into her womb and stomach and she dies, unquote. Bizarrely, particularly given their stance on women and adultery, there are also a few reports of these death by golden shower executions being preceded by the women first gang raping the condemned man before drowning him in their urine. Lest you go away thinking that it was just the Pashtuns who instituted various cruel punishments during these various skirmishes that Masters was involved, he gives an account of a lot of cruelty on both sides. For instance, in one case, a wounded tribesman, both his legs broken, was captured. Contrary to an order given by the commanding officer of his battalion, no prisoners, his soldiers brought him in as a prisoner. The officer was furious and then ordered the prisoner to be pegged out, face up in front of the quarter guard. There was no shade and the sun temperature was probably about 130 degrees. The further order was that every man who passed should kick the prisoner in the testicles. The prisoner died later that evening and his body was placed in a location where a British soldier had previously been flayed alive by the Pashtuns. Had Daniel Lambert been alive today, he would have carted his more than 700 pounds around in a motorized scooter, as too many morbidly obese people choose to do. But in the early 1800s, such amenities weren't available because there was no market for them. Lambert was a true anomaly and people couldn't get enough of him. Lambert, once known as the fattest man in England, is the first heavy-set man believed to make a living by exhibiting his weight. Born on March 13, 1770 in the parish of St. Martin and Leicester, Lambert grew up bigger and more powerful than other kids. He enjoyed swimming and while in the water, he could reportedly carry two men of ordinary size on his back. He enjoyed other sports as well including cockfighting, dog racing and fishing. Lambert's weight increased steadily as he reached adulthood. By the age 23, he weighed 450 pounds, but before he decided to become a professional fat man, he held a job as the keeper of the town's prison. This position lasted until 1805 at which time the facility closed. Lambert was left with a 50-pound annuity. By this time, Lambert's size had grown considerably and so did his reputation. Curiosity seekers wished to see this unusual man for themselves, but Lambert had no desire to put himself on display for anyone. The book of wonderful characters from 1869 by Henry Wilson and James Caulfield shares this amusing anecdote. A gentleman traveling through Leicester conceived a strong desire to see this extraordinary phenomenon, but being at a loss for a pretext to introduce himself, he first took care to inquire what were his particular propensities. Being informed that he was a great cocker, the traveler thought himself sure of success. He accordingly went to his house, knocked at the door and inquired for Mr. Lambert. The servant answered that he was at home but that he never saw strangers. Let him know, replied the curious traveler, that I called about some cocks. Lambert, who chanced to be in a situation to overhear what passed, immediately rejoined, tell the gentleman that I am a shy cock. Such cases began happening all too often, and Lambert realized that he, a former keeper of the prison, was becoming a prisoner in his own home. In April of 1806, with his funds running dangerously low, he finally chose to embrace the curiosity and allow people to give him money to visit with him. To maximize his potential, he moved to where the most people could find him, London. Lambert had a special vehicle built to carry him to the big city and took up residence in Piccadilly. Spectators were not only impressed with his size, but they appreciated his intelligence and enjoyed his personality. Visiting him became quite fashionable. Of course, not everyone treated Lambert well. When they were obnoxious, the large man returned the favor. Wilson offered this example. A person asking him in a very rude way the cost of one of his coats, he returned him no answer. The man repeated the question with the observation that he thought he had a right to demand any information, having contributed his shilling, which would help to pay for Mr. Lambert's coat as well as the rest. Sir, rejoined Lambert, if I knew what part of my next coat your shilling would pay for, I can assure you I would cut out the piece. For the record, a suit of clothes cost Lambert roughly £20. By September, Lambert had earned enough money to end his London exhibitions and returned to a life of sporting events, which included a passion for breeding sporting dogs and fighting cocks. However, he didn't entirely give up on capitalizing from his girth. Lambert continued to travel to various towns where many thousands beheld with admiration his astonishing bulk. His tour ended in Stamford in Lincolnshire, where he suddenly passed away June 21st, 1809. No specific cause of death was reported. His specially made casket was six feet four inches long and four feet four inches wide. It included wheels to help it roll down the slope into the grave. His tombstone has this epitaph. In remembrance of that prodigy in nature, Daniel Lambert, a native of Leicester, who was possessed of an excellent and convivial mind and in personal greatness had no competitor he measures three feet one inch around the leg, nine feet four inches around the body, and weighed 52 stone 11 pounds. He departed this life on the 21st of June, 1809, aged 39 years. As a testimony of respect, this stone was erected by his friends in Leicester. Despite his death, exhibits of Lambert continued. A wax figure of his likeness was sent to America by 1813. It was eventually acquired by P. T. Barnum and placed on display in his American Museum. A fire in 1865 melted it. More recently, the town of Leicester celebrated Daniel Lambert Day in 2009, marking the 200th anniversary of his death. The local newspaper called him one of the city's most cherished icons. Even though I may be tough, I am often scared of what I can feel, so I take my cues for a response from people around me. I also have such a wild imagination that I am fully capable of freaking myself out, which I have owned up to on occasion. What happened here scared the holy crap out of me, but I did not allow myself to acknowledge out loud whatever it was at the moment. I very strongly believe in intention and try not to give in to negative energy, sort of the awake version of putting one's head under the covers, hoping it goes away when a monster crawls out from under the bed. This story is not one that has anything I can prove to myself by what other people saw or experienced with me, but it terrifies me to this day. I could not sleep last night, thinking of it, still scared. The location and names I will keep for privacy. I hope I make sense explaining it to you. I was already grown up when my parents moved to a tiny desert base town in Utah. This story is embarrassing because I was too scared to act or respond. My mom was the school librarian for 23 years at the little public school, built in the 50s, 60s. The main building was kind of an H layout with some outside modular classrooms. The admin office, staff WC in lounge, gym and cafeteria were all by the front, south entrance hall on the center bar of the H. My mom's library was a couple doors down on the outer side of the lower leg or southeast wing of the H. There were self-locking exit-only fire doors at the end of each hall which can be used but not held open without setting off the alarms. The entire campus was demolished the year after my mom retired. I do not know if the new school got built there. As a visitor, I always went in through the front doors to the office. I may have been in the cafeteria once, but I never really went past the hall where you go from the office around the corner to my mom's library. I had entered a few of the classrooms on that wing in the teacher's lounge during daylight hours. I had only visited my mom a few times during school in her little library. It had a reading dragon and a life-sized statue of a beloved fictional character. I was not personally fond of this odd adorable statue, but my mom talked to it and dressed it for holidays. The little kids loved it too, of course. I always felt overgrown and out of my place, even in her library. One time I was there to see my sister-in-law dressed up as Clifford the big red dog for the book fair. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. I chalked up my general dislike for the building to the fact that it always stunk like dirty children and rotted wood. I disliked how the school felt, but shrugged it away. Many public schools out west are flat, plain, painted, cinderblock buildings with upper inside windows along the halls. The open layout makes it so you can see into most hallways and classrooms from outside or the opposite wings. All my elementary schools had looked dismally more or less the same. Many of them also had given me the same used, unpleasantly familiar, crowded but empty, old feeling when I was young. So, no biggie. Some schools I'd visited were much larger, older, and creepier in the poor rural regions of my childhood. I'm looking at you, Middleton Junior High School. However, I had never been to any of them alone after dark. When my mom retired, I came from the west coast to help her clean her library and trim the collection. She struggled with tossing anything. I flew to help close her deadline to clear out. I love my mom and I also hoard books, but I pushed her pretty hard to save what she could and damn the rest. I've worked in used books, so I'm accustomed to the heartache of discards. We filled many boxes of donations, piles of books lying the halls outside. We also had to pile up the trash there as we'd been locked out trying to get to the dumpsters. The custodian was on vacation. My mom was worried about how he would react to all the piles of trash bags and recycling in the hall when he got back. Anyway, on my previous visits, I'd found the teeny tiny stalls and tinier toilets in the student bathrooms were way too little for my large person to use. So I'd avoided going in there since. And I'd never been on the boy's side until I needed garbage bags to help my mom clean that summer day. The custodian supply room was just inside past the doorway to the boy's side bathroom. Because I've worked as a janitor, I have a habit of announcing my female self when entering a men's room. These restrooms had no doors and were side by side where the entrance hall met my mom's wing opposite the staff lounge. When I first went in on the boy's side, I felt what could be the normal elementary school transgressiveness of being in the wrong bathroom, even though we were for sure the only ones there. Alas, I've spent way too much time cleaning bathrooms for there to be much novelty in that. With each trip to the closet for supplies, my feelings grew to a more specific and very, very unwelcome menacing absolute of something bad watching me and lurking close by. Eventually I just grabbed up a bunch of stuff and decided not to be in there again. This was on my first day of the trip. I felt like a nanny for being scared, even though it was a strong, involuntary, physical response. That night we stayed until 7 or so, before it was dark. Mom said she wanted to be out by 9, and I assumed it was district policy. The next day was Friday. We barely had time to meet the deadline. Once again, after 3 or 4 pm, we were the only people in the whole school. I was a little out of patience with my loving mother when I discovered that, in addition to the treasures of her library, we also needed to clear out two large storage spaces. These unused areas were located across the hall from the bathrooms, between the teachers' lounge and office area. Leaving my mom to tearfully catalog a stack of stragglers, I set out to basically toss or recycle 20 years worth of holiday and bookfare decorations. That whole time I was very much aware that I was not alone, and I worked as fast and as quietly as possible. I did not want to be there in the hall or those strange cubbies after dark, no, sir. The lurking feeling got stronger and more ominous. It seemed to seep down the hall, up to the doorway of the library, coming from the bathrooms. I felt cornered in, followed, and watched in the small storage areas. It was all I could do to not run away back to my mom. After a stern lecture to my coward heart, I gave up on sorting the mess and just shoveled it all into trash bags. Thus, I quickly finished the storage areas. My mom was tired and sad to leave her school. We still had a very steep amount of cleaning and at least three sections of shelves to trim. We were up to our eyeballs in dust and books, working until it was dark and only the emergency lights lit the halls. She had turned on the real lights right in our part of the hall, though. The evil feeling was still there, but worse. My mom also locked us in once it was dark, without saying anything. I felt safe enough with her in the library, even if I felt like something was lurking near us in the empty hall. I felt very much like we were cornered by some angry, vengeful watcher. Eventually, mom said she wanted to go home. I looked at my watch. It was only 8pm. We still had an hour, so I said we should grind on. The end of our task was in sight. We powered through and managed to catalog or trim all the relevant materials. All that was left was to load some personal things and donations to take them away. We decided to do it the next day, because the car was full. At least the district's to-do list was complete and time for her to turn in her keys. I do remember forcing myself not to look back as I walked to the end of the hall and the lights of the fire exit. I waited, arms full, while mom locked her classroom door. Mom went around the corner to drop her keys off to the office, then hit the hall lights off. I have never in my adult life been more afraid of the dark than in those few moments that it took for my mom to come back down that very short hallway. I have huge goosebumps now trying to write this. The dark shadows from the rest of the school seemed rushing to eat us both alive. I mean to say that I could feel with every inch of my being that something or many things was angry and present, like the predators actually right beside you about to gobble your ass now run type of physical animal certainty. My mom moved slow and tired toward me. I tried to be cool and not scream. There was nothing to be seen or heard. I felt like if I showed an inch of fear or acknowledgement my mom and I would both be done for. My mom is a tough cookie, but her retirement and gutting her collection had her in an emotional state. I had also further upset her by throwing stuff away, which she had just found around the corner. Note I am not much of an actor and a worse liar, so I did not say anything or run screaming outside. We left, checked the door behind us and crammed into the car. Since I was also tired and I watch way too many movies, I just shook off the horror show feeling. Honestly, everywhere I go in Utah has some level of scary crappy energy. I did not want to complain or to scare my mother. I was just very glad to be done. Also, I did not want to admit what a chicken I am. My mom said something about how she hoped any restaurants might still be open, and I realized my watch was on Pacific time, so we had left the school around 11.30, not 9.30 like I thought. The next morning we went back to fetch the remaining items. School started that next week. Many of the staff were prepping their classrooms. One of them waved and sent his teenage kid to open the fire door for us, the one we had exited the night before. Everything was too sunny and loudly fine. My mom went into his classroom, and after introductions, the kid politely offered to help me carry things to the car. My mom stayed to chat with her colleague. The boy says casually as we walked up the hall, so you were here late last night. Did you hear the ghosts? Trying to be cool, I was all, no. Does that happen to you? Then this young kid tells me, all nonchalant, how he has heard ghostly children voices, that people had seen ghost figures or heard footsteps across empty halls and the empty roof of that wing for many years, how no one ever stays at the school alone or after dark, even the janitors. I tried not to barf or cry. He sort of smiled kindly at the look on my face and said, it scares my dad too, and that his dad won't be here anymore alone or at night, since the one night he and another teacher chased some voices that also slammed doors, but no one was here. Felt like someone was pouring ice into my guts. Even the dusty sunlight seemed scary. I could tell he was trying to be nice by changing the subject to conversation. I did not tell him what happened or how scared I was, but he seemed to feel bad for bringing it up. Needless to say, I packed up fast and with his help made just that one last trip. Once we were both safe in the car again, I brought up what the kid had said. I told my mom how scared I was in the bathroom and the night before and just then in broad daylight with other people. In response, she just casually threw out the staff at all heard and seen creepy stuff for years, especially in the tunnels which go from that boy's bathroom under the school to the other side of the gym. She calmly said that that's why she tries to be out by nine because she knows she cannot fight whatever it is alone or after dark since she wouldn't let it into her library. At this point, nothing on this earth could have got me back in that school. She is very religious, so her matter-of-fact reaction surprised me. Three cheers to my mom, the brave little librarian who apparently educated several generations of kids while terrible lurking nastiness crept around their school. Her beloved fictional characters' statue got moved to the office for that last year. I like to think he helped guard my mom and then that very last class of students after she left. I had no idea if mom coped with that same level of hateful, lurking carnivorous evil energy for twenty-something years day after day, but damn. I did not know what to say sitting there in the bright summer sun. I just cried. It was a terrible, no good, very bad weekend. I really hate to visit Utah. When Weird Darkness returns, an eerie painting spooked many who just saw it. Those who owned it fared worse. We'll learn about the possibly haunted painting titled The Hands Resist Him. You can hear the snarls right behind you. The faster you run, the closer the creatures seem to get. How can the undead run this fast, you think to yourself. Now you're drenched in sweat, but your mouth is dry. You need to find somewhere to stop and think about how to survive the next few minutes of your life. Then you see it and run towards the water station. The zombie fun run will have to wait until you quench your thirst, but bottled water is expensive and you don't even want to know what might be in tap water or much less fresh water. Fortunately, the horde of horror fanatics at this water station planned in advance and brought Patriot pure outdoor filtration water cooler system. It gives you clean cold water wherever you go. Its five-gallon tank keeps water cold, keeps ice for days on end, reduces the levels of over 200 contaminants with a two-step filtration technology which you can use with tap water, well water, river water or any water source you find. It's UV resistant, so it works just as well at any time of day. And you're avoiding the cost of bottled water while also avoiding the unnecessary use of plastic, all in one system. It might be the only non-terrifying thing at your Halloween or fall themed activity. Get the Patriot pure outdoor filtration water cooler system at 4patriots.com. That's the number 4patriots.com and use the promo code WEIRD to get 10% off everything you order. That's 4patriots.com promo code WEIRD. Uh oh, zombies are back. There's no doubt the painting is disturbing. It shows a young boy standing next to a girl doll with hollow eyes and a sad, downturned mouth. The doll is holding a strange device with wires coming out of it. The eeriest part of the painting are the many disembodied children's hands reaching toward the boy through the glass panels of a door just behind him. But even more disturbing than the painting itself are the stories of what has happened to people who come into contact with it. It has an ordinary enough beginning. It was painted in 1972 by the artist William Stonem, who was on a contract to produce two paintings a month for $200 each. In 1974, it was put on display at the Fine Garden Gallery in Beverly Hills, California. It was reviewed by the art critic for the Los Angeles Times, Henry Seldis, and purchased by the actor John Marley, perhaps best known for waking up next to that horse's head in The Godfather. But then the story gets weird. A few years after the painting was sold, the art critic, Henry Seldis, died. Then the gallery owner died. Then in 1984, John Marley died. The painting disappeared, not surfacing again until 2000, and a bizarre posting on eBay. The new owners were trying to sell it because they said it was haunted. They claimed the boy and the doll in the picture would fight with each other during the night, terrifying their four-year-old daughter. They set up a motion sensing camera in the room for three nights and claimed they captured the boy in the picture, leaving the frame and coming into the room, apparently fleeing in terror. In what a skeptic might think was a marketing ploy, the owners warned buyers not to bid on the painting if they were faint of heart or unfamiliar with supernatural events. More than 30,000 people visited the auction page. Many reported just looking at the painting made them feel ill or upset. The painting ultimately sold for $1,025 to a buyer in Michigan who was reportedly keeping it in storage and refusing much, much bigger offers to buy it. Because of the internet sensation, Stoneham came forward with what inspired him to paint such a haunting scene. The boy, he said, was himself. It was modeled on a photograph taken when he was five. The title comes from a poem written by his then wife. It reads in part, The Hands Resist Him, Like the Secret of His Birth. Stoneham was adopted. The children's hands, he says, represent other lives, the glass door, the barrier between worlds, and the doll, his guide between those worlds. The theme of the haunted painting led to commissions for more works, and Stoneham has painted a series of sequels. The most recent called The Hands Invent Him depicts the scene from the other side of that glass door. In 2016, Darren Kyle O'Neill published a dramatized account of the notoriously haunted work. Entitled The Hands Resist Him, Be Careful What You Bid For, O'Neill's narrative uses the painting as the basis for a fictional tale about a serial killer known as The Life Swapper. Unsurprisingly, O'Neill has his own eerie experience with the sinister artwork. He said, I first saw it online when I was living in Dubai. I printed it out and left it on a side table next to some other documents printed on the same printer with the same paper. Anyway, I went to Italy for a month. When I came back, the air conditioning had gone awry. Everything was green mold. The TV, bed sheets, my daughter's cotton clothing, all of my suits in the closet, and the documents I had printed all green. But right next to them, the only thing that was perfectly untouched was the printout of that painting. If you made it this far, welcome to the Weirdo family. If you like the podcast, please tell your friends and family about it however you can and get them to become Weirdos too. And I'd greatly appreciate you leaving a review in the podcast app you listen from. That helps the podcast get noticed. While you're listening, you might want to check out the Weird Darkness website. At WeirdDarkness.com you can find transcripts of the episodes, paranormal and horror audiobooks I've narrated, the Weird Darkness store, plus you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression, anxiety or thoughts of suicide. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Do you have a dark tale to tell of your own? Fact or fiction, click on Tell Your Story at WeirdDarkness.com and I might use it in a future episode. All stories in Weird Darkness are purported to be true, unless stated otherwise, and you can find source links or links to the authors in the show notes. The Abominations of Peter Curtin, Vampire of Dusseldorf, was written by Katie Serena for all that's interesting and Joe Duncan for Listverse. Death by Urination is by David Hiskey for Today I Found Out. Daniel Lambert, Fat Man on Display, was written by Mark Hartzman for Weird Historian. Horrible No Good Very Bad Schoolhouse is by Bettina Marie from Your Ghost Stories. The hands resist him, haunted painting is from the lineup. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Psalm 133 verse 1, How Good and Pleasant It Is When Brothers Live Together in Unity And a final thought from Stephen M. R. Covey. When you make a commitment, you build hope. When you keep it, you build trust. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.