 ads heard during the podcast that are not in my voice are placed by third-party agencies outside of my control and should not imply an endorsement by Weird Darkness or myself. Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. When a young woman was found staggering down an unpaved road in Malabar, Florida in 1985, bound, pale and nearly naked, the passer-by who rescued her could barely believe her horrifying story of kidnapping, rape and sadistic bloodletting. When law enforcement confirmed the veracity of her story, John Brennan Crutchley's neighbors and co-workers were shocked to learn that a criminal who was eventually dubbed the Vampire Rapist had been living and working next to them for years. Eventually, officials discovered evidence that caused them to believe Crutchley had murdered a number of women over the course of several years, but they were never able to find enough evidence to charge him with a single killing. Consequently, the Vampire Rapist was released from prison after a disturbingly short time, giving him the opportunity to continue his sadistic crimes of rape, torture and possibly even murder. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Welcome, Weirdos. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. If you're new here, welcome to the show and if you're already a member of this Weirdo family, please take a moment and invite someone else to listen. Recommending Weird Darkness to others helps make it possible for me to keep doing the show. And while you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com where you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and more along with the Weird Darkness Weirdos Facebook group. Coming up in this episode… The Spooklight phenomenon caused panic in a small Missouri community in the late 1800s, frightening many to the point of moving their family away. And today, the Joplin Spooklight is still a mystery that remains unsolved, despite appearing several times a year even today. Based on its name alone, you would think the Gimpy Gimpy plant is a small, cute and harmless little thing. In reality, it's one of the most dangerous plants in the world and you'll want to stay as far away from it as possible. We'll end the show with one of the strangest funerals you've likely ever heard. But first, John Brennan Crutchley was no ordinary rapist and murderer. He added vampirism into his modus operandi. We begin there. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. On November 21, 1985, John Brennan Crutchley's wife and young son were visiting family in Maryland for Thanksgiving, leaving the 39-year-old husband and father with the house all to himself. While driving near his home, Crutchley picked up a hitchhiker and offered to take the 19-year-old California woman to the nearby city of Melbourne, but not before stopping at his house. Once in his driveway, instead of running into his home to pick up the notebook he claimed he needed for work, Crutchley tied a ligature around the teenager's neck, choked her into unconsciousness, and dragged her into his house. Then he removed all the young woman's clothing and strapped her to the counter in his kitchen. When the young woman regained consciousness, she discovered John Brennan Crutchley had tied her to the top of the kitchen island in his family home, and he had also set up lights and a video camera. Crutchley used the video camera and lights to film himself as he brutally raped the teenager, presumably so that he could watch the footage later to relive the horrifying sexual assault. However, the young woman didn't realize that in addition to raping her, Crutchley intended to document himself, subjecting her to even more disturbing and horrifying acts straight out of a horror movie. After he raped the young woman, John Brennan Crutchley used medical tubing and needles to drain blood from the teenager's veins into a container. As he took the blood from the woman's body, Crutchley told her he was a vampire and he was going to drink her blood. Over the course of more than 20 hours, Crutchley alternated between raping the teenager and draining her blood, leaving her incredibly weak and traumatized. Medical experts later determined Crutchley had removed nearly half of the young woman's blood, leaving her very close to death. After repeatedly raping the young woman and draining approximately 45% of her blood, John Brennan Crutchley left his captive locked in a bathroom while he went to work. Despite being near-death, the teenager was somehow able to summon the strength to push the bathroom window open and climb outside. Wrapped only in a towel and with handcuffs around her wrists and ankles, a passing motorist discovered the young woman staggering down the road not far from Crutchley's home. After showing her rescue or the house where she had been raped and held captive for nearly an entire day, the young woman was taken to the hospital for urgent medical attention. After escaping John Brennan Crutchley's home, the 19-year-old received the medical treatment she desperately needed and a hematologist later stated the teenager would have died of blood loss within 12 hours if she had not been able to get help. Once law enforcement learned about the horrific rape and torture the teenager had been subjected to, they got a warrant to search Crutchley's home and they uncovered enough evidence to corroborate her story and place him under arrest. However, the young woman had been so traumatized by the terrifying ordeal, she didn't want to press charges against the man who had kidnapped her, raped her repeatedly and drained nearly half the blood from her body. Eventually a rape counselor was able to convince the teenager to press charges, telling the young woman that convicting Crutchley would prevent him from being able to harm additional victims. Born on October 1, 1946, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, John Brennan Crutchley did not have an easy childhood. According to Crutchley, his mother was distraught over the loss of her eldest child, Donna. Donna had died during surgery the year before John was born and his mother had hoped to have another daughter to replace the child she had lost. Consequently, she wished John had been born a girl. When John was born, she was disappointed by his sex, but according to Crutchley, it did not stop his mother from dressing him as a girl for the first six years of his life. In addition to being forced to wear a dress, Crutchley also claimed his parents subjected him to severe child abuse, which included beating him until he lost consciousness and burning his fingers. Following the allegations made against John Brennan Crutchley by the young woman he abducted and raped, police searched his home and they discovered the video camera he had used to document his crimes. However, when law enforcement reviewed the tape in the camera, they found Crutchley had erased the footage that he had taken of himself raping the teenager and drawing her blood. The search also uncovered the 19-year-old's ID card, as well as identification belonging to a number of other women and multiple locks of hair and several necklaces, leading the authorities to suspect they were trophies that Crutchley had kept from other crimes he committed against other victims. When they searched the engineer's office, they found a number of sexually explicit photographs of a woman tied up and gagged, and some of the images depicted Crutchley choking the woman with his hands. In addition to the ID cards, hair, photos and necklaces, the police found in John Brennan Crutchley's home and office, they discovered a box of index cards the middle-aged husband and father had used to keep track of his various sexual partners. One of the cards referenced Deborah Fitzjohn, Crutchley's former girlfriend, who disappeared in 1978 while they were both living in Washington, DC. Several months later, her naked body was found in the woods, and while Crutchley was the only suspect in her murder, DC authorities were never able to gather enough evidence to charge him with a crime. Florida officials also linked one of the ID cards found in Crutchley's house with a hitchhiker who went missing in 1985 but had never been found. Plus, they discovered that during the time Crutchley was living in Florida, a number of skeletal remains belonging to unidentified women were found within miles of his home, and after he was incarcerated, these ghastly discoveries ceased. According to Crutchley's cellmate, the vampire rapist admitted to killing several women, including his ex-girlfriend, but law enforcement officials were not able to collect enough evidence to charge him with any murders. After Crutchley was convicted of kidnapping and sexual battery, Robert Restler, a renowned criminal profiler, testified that while there was nothing concrete to prove that the admitted rapist was a serial killer, he exhibited the traits of someone who had murdered several people. Despite his troubled upbringing, John Brennan Crutchley was extremely intelligent and he excelled at school, particularly in math and science. After graduating from high school, Crutchley earned a degree in physics at Defiance College in Ohio and married his first wife in 1969. Then he got a master's degree in engineering from George Washington University, but he and his wife divorced shortly after he finished school. Over the next several years, Crutchley got remarried and worked as an engineer at several different companies all over the U.S. In 1983, Crutchley moved to Malabar, Florida with his wife and young son, and he got a job at the Harris Corporation as a NASA contractor. Due to the nature of his work, Crutchley had top-secret security clearance at the Pentagon that gave him access to classified documents. After John Brennan Crutchley's wife learned that her husband had been arrested and charged with kidnapping, sexual battery, aggravated battery and possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia, she wasn't exceptionally upset by what her husband had been accused of doing while she and her young son were out of town for Thanksgiving. When asked about the serious accusations made against her husband, Mrs. Crutchley said he was a kinky sort of guy, but she refused to believe he was guilty of the charges against him. Eventually, Crutchley pleaded guilty to rape and kidnapping so his wife was no longer able to deny the charges made him. However, instead of admitting that her husband had subjected his young victim to horrifying and depraved acts, Mrs. Crutchley claimed he had committed a gentle rape, devoid of any overt brutality. While the police and prosecutors suspected John Brennan Crutchley was a serial killer, they were only able to charge him with the 1985 kidnapping and rape of the 19-year-old hitchhiker. In April 1986, Crutchley accepted a plea bargain. He pleaded guilty to abducting and raping the young woman while the prosecutors agreed not to charge him with other crimes related to drug possession and draining the teenager's blood. In June 1986, Crutchley was sentenced to 25 years for his horrific crimes. However, he was released in 1996 after serving just 10 years for the terrifying ordeal he subjected his young victim to. But Crutchley was not on the streets for long. Almost immediately after he was paroled from prison for good behavior and time served, John Brennan Crutchley was sent to an Orlando halfway house where he was required to take a drug test. Crutchley tested positive for marijuana, which was a violation of his parole, and he was sent straight back to prison. Eventually, the vampire rapist admitted to officials that his cellmates had thrown a party to celebrate his release from jail and the festivities included smoking marijuana. Consequently, Crutchley was deemed a habitual offender and he was sentenced to life in prison. After being sent back to prison to spend the rest of his life in jail, John Brennan Crutchley ended up in solitary confinement because he had 13 body piercings in his genitals in violation of prison rules. One of these piercings allowed him to place a padlock on the end of his penis which he claimed was a symbol of his faithfulness to his former wife, who discovered him after he was sent to prison in 1986. Shortly after he was returned to jail for violating his parole, he told prison officials that he was unable to remove the piercings from his penis and scrotum, which was later determined to be a lie. Consequently, Crutchley was given time in solitary confinement for his dishonesty. Less than six years after he was sent back to prison to spend the rest of his life in jail, John Brennan Crutchley was found dead in his cell on March 30, 2002, with a plastic bag on his head. Initially, officials thought the 55-year-old convicted rapist had committed suicide, but the Florida Department of Corrections released a report in August of that year that confirmed Crutchley had accidentally died while performing auto-erotic asphyxiation. While Crutchley has now been dead for several years, officials are still trying to identify women they believe he might have killed. In 2010, the Brevard County Sheriff's Office released an image of a skull reconstruction based on the remains of an unidentified woman whose skeletal remains were found in 1985 in a wooded area not far from Crutchley's home. Coming up on Weird Darkness, we'll look at the mysterious Missouri spook lights. We'll see what's happening on the dark line, and we'll learn about an extremely dangerous plant you've probably never heard of, but you definitely want to stay away from. To what lengths will someone go in order to survive? Does the survival instinct override their conscience and allow them to commit not only murder, but also the taboo act of cannibalism? What happens when a person crosses the line from dark fantasy to real-life acts of brutal rape, murder, and cannibalism? Are these people driven by a desire so insatiable that they're incapable of controlling it? Murderous Mind's Volume 3 Stories of Real-Life Murderers that Escape the Headlines is the latest offering in a series that takes you inside the lives of killers who committed cold-blooded murder for a glimpse at events that drove them to kill. Authored within a historical context, each chapter is an unbelievable venture inside the dark and twisted world of real cannibal killers whose names and crimes might not be familiar to you. By weaving a tale in which dark fantasies become reality, this audiobook invites you to see life from a perspective few ever witnessed, from that of the killer. Along with a historical look at cannibalism through the ages, these stories beg the listener to answer the question, was the murderer committing cannibalism because he was incapable of resisting the urge to kill and consume, or is the explanation simply pure evil? Murderous Minds Volume 3 Written by Ryan Becker and Curtis Giles Vasey narrated by Weird Darkness host Darren Marlar. Here are free samples on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com. Floating lights that bounce up into the treetops appear to be about the size of a basketball and frequently are seen in pairs haunting the area where Oklahoma, Kansas, and Missouri converge. The lights can be seen from a country road, known as Spook Light Road, many times of the year. Sightseers and hundreds of cars will be driving two roads, East 40 in Hornet, Missouri and East 50 in Miami near Quapaw, trying to get a glimpse of the light that some say is rectangular, others claim is spherical. Theories have been offered over the years to explain a strange phenomenon. Some require a belief in the supernatural. Some are more scientific, and some claim the lights are just plain hallucinations. Some, as the name implies, claim they are ghosts, Spook Lights, but the light's source still remains a mystery. An Army Corps of Engineers unit from nearby Camp Crowder, Missouri, studied the Spook Light for several weeks during 1946 and concluded that the phenomena was a mysterious light of unknown origin. Similar Spook Lights found in many other parts of the world have baffled observers for centuries. Glowing in the night with an eerie soft color they sometimes pulse, sometimes dance about, usually near the ground or the horizon, their source is still a mystery. The phenomenon known as the Tri-State Spook Light, the Quapaw Spook Light, the Joplin Spook Light or the Hornet Spook Light, caused panic in the small Missouri community of Hornet when it was first noticed by settlers in the late 1800s. Many area residents packed up and moved away out of fear. But the Quapaw Indians reported legends about their ancestors seeing the lights in the early 1800s. Among the earliest legends was that of a handsome young American Indian man who fell in love with a beautiful woman and eloped after her father refused to allow them to marry. Fearing they would be captured, the couple committed suicide by jumping from a high bluff overlooking Spring River known as the Devil's Promenade. According to the legend, the light burns as a symbol of love between the two young lovers. At least three early legends involve people using lanterns to search for their heads after being beheaded. The Quapaw legend involves an old Indian looking for his head which his wife had cut off. A similar story involves a minor who was decapitated in an accident and is using a lantern in his search. Another early legend is about an old sergeant who was captured during a civil war battle and was executed by using a cannon to shoot off his head which was never found. The old sergeant's ghost somehow obtained a lantern and since then has been searching for his head. A Joplin librarian said in 1997 that she always figured it was an accumulation of gases and you saw it when the time was right. A Spooksville Museum was operated for several years but it has been closed now for some time. It displayed photographs and a collection of stories about the lights as well as a viewing platform. It also offered for sale pamphlets about the Spook lights. Some experts claimed the light is simply the glow of minerals and gases in the area. UFO experts have claimed the light is a controlled machine from outer space, flying saucers from other worlds. Popular Mechanics Magazine sent a reporter and a photographer to the area in 1965 to investigate the light and a number of theories concerning its cause. The reporter later wrote in an article published in the September 1965 magazine that the light was produced by automobiles traveling east on US 66, about 10 miles from the point where sightings of the phenomenon had been reported. The magazine said the light's unusual shimmering effect and the golden hue were caused by layers of air with varying temperatures. But area residents pointed out as soon as the magazine was published that the light was seen long before there were automobiles or highways in existence. When we think of plants, we generally think of gardens, flowers, vegetables and herbs. There are plants we keep in our home, in our garden, or visit when we're out in nature. Some plants are pretty and smell nice, some provide shade, some are even used for medicinal purposes. Then there are those we rarely think of, Poison Ivy, Poison Oak, Poison Sumac, all of which tell us in their name to stay away. But there are others that can be far more deceiving. The Gimpy-Gimpy plant is an excellent example. Based on its name alone, you would think it's something small, cute, harmless. In reality, the Gimpy-Gimpy plant is one of the most dangerous plants you can come into contact with. The Dendric Nydmeroidus, also known as the Gimpy-Gimpy plant, Stinging Brush, Mulberry Leaved Stinger, Moonlighter, or the Suicide Plant, is common to the rainforest areas in Northeast Australia. It can also be found in Indonesia, and as the plant requires sunlight to germinate, it is most often found in rainforest clearings and along creek lines and tracks. Its common name, Gimpy-Gimpy, comes from the language of the indigenous Gooby-Gooby people of South Queensland. This plant grows as a single stemmed plant, reaching anywhere from 3 feet 3 inches to 9 feet 10 inches tall. It has large, heart-shaped leaves that range anywhere from 5 to 9 inches long and 4 to 7 inches wide. The thing that makes the plant so dangerous is its stinging hairs, which cover the whole of the plant. These hairs, when touched, deliver a potent neurotoxin by injecting the toxin via the small bulb that is found on the tip of the stinging hairs, which is broken off and penetrates the skin. These hairs make the leaves look as though they are covered with a soft sort of fur, making them appear soft and inviting to the touch. Interestingly, the plant produces a fruit which looks like a bright red raspberry at first, but upon closer inspection, you'll find it is simply clumped. The fruit can be safely eaten by humans so long as the stinging hairs are removed first. The effects of the Gimpy-Gimpy plant were first documented in 1866. A. C. McMillan, a road surveyor in North Queensland, reported to his boss that his pack horse was stung, got mad and died within two hours. Fortunately, furry animals aren't usually bothered by the plant, though there are numerous stories of horses getting stung and jumping in agony off of cliffs. Marina Hurley, an entomologist and ecologist, spent a vast amount of time studying stinging trees, which includes the Gimpy-Gimpy. In 1994, a former Australian serviceman, Cyril Bromley, wrote to Hurley, describing the after-effects of falling into the plant. It was during his military training during World War II and he ended up strapped to a bed for three weeks. He was administered a multitude of treatments, none of which proved successful. Bromley said he was sent as mad as a cut snake by the pain. He also related a story of how an officer mistakenly used the leaf of the plant for toilet purposes and shot himself to escape the agony. Hurley's own encounter with the plant led to the discovery that the Gimpy-Gimpy and stinging trees in general can cause intense sneezing, nosebleeds and possibly major respiratory damage if you remain in close proximity for more than 20 minutes without protection. You can feel the effects first with a tingling sensation in your nose, followed by incessant running and dripping. Then the sneezing starts, intense and continuous bouts of sneezing. Being stung is the worst kind of pain you can imagine, like being burnt with hot acid and electrocuted at the same time, said Marina, who at the time was a postgraduate student at James Cook University investigating the herbivores that eat stinging trees. The last story that I'll relate about this is that of Ernie Ryder. One day in 1963, he encountered a stinging tree. It touched his face, arms and chest. I remember it feeling like there were giant hands trying to squash my chest, he said. For two or three days the pain was almost unbearable. I couldn't work or sleep. Then it was pretty bad pain for another fortnight or so. The stinging persisted for two years and recurred every time I had a cold shower. Years later, Ernie would continue to maintain that it was perhaps the worst experience of his life. There's nothing to rival it. It's ten times worse than anything else. Scrub ticks, scrub itch and itchy jack sting included. Stinging trees are a real and present danger, he said. It should not need saying then, but just in case, given the severe stinging properties the Gimpy Gimpy plant has, it's never recommended for gardening or landscaping purposes and should be avoided in its native habitat. Nature is both beautiful and deadly. After all, this is just a plant. Did you know cyanide comes from a bacteria? When Weird Darkness returns, we'll have a story from one of our Weirdo family members, plus I'll tell you about one of the strangest funerals ever held. Nothing goes better with chocolate than vanilla, and nothing goes better with the darkness than vampires. So we've combined all of them into a new blend of weird dark roast coffee called Very Vampilla. This bloody good blend combines a medium dark roast coffee with hints of chocolate, vanilla and just a tad bit of dried cherry too. So good, you'll want to sink your fangs into the fresh roasted bag itself. Weird Dark Roast Very Vampilla, the only thing at stake, sorry, not sorry, bad pun, is your dissatisfaction with your old coffee. Sip it while the sun is down if you're one of the undead. Or when the sun is up if you just feel dead and need a bit of a boost, get your Weird Dark Roast Very Vampilla at WeirdDarkness.com slash coffee. Here's a story from one of our Weirdo family members. I am 33 years on this earth and a truly independent single parent. I have two lovely daughters, 13 and 6, and a Bombay cat named Bhopal. They'll never know this story. I grew up in Fort Collins, Colorado, nuclear family, mom, dad, and a big older brother. My father worked for Kodak in the neighboring town of Windsor, Colorado. He often worked nights except on church days. Needless to say, I grew up in a very strict, devoted Christian home. Church and I never agreed. Those days filled me with dread. So growing up, there was always a rebellion in me. But things started to really change at about the age of 13. This was the start of cell phones and dial-up internet. Many nights I would stay awake, sneaking downstairs to get online. Chatting at that time was the only way I felt I could make any sort of friend. Feeling completely out of place with the church crowd, I found myself withdrawn from my family. Using the internet was becoming a problem. Well, as I got on in my teenage years, I'd say about two full years I had turned dark inside, full of angst for religion and angry because, as all teens say, my parents didn't understand me. Well, at 15, things with my family got really bad. I was prescribed an antidepressant, but it took me to even darker depths. Weeks on end, I'd go without sleep. The meds and lack of sleep started to take a toll on my mind. I'd look at myself and I couldn't recognize my face. I would then smash the mirrors. So with weeks of no sleep, chat rooms, and journals filled with my thoughts, things started to happen. One night while watching TV in my bedroom, I see the living room lights come on. Thinking it was my mother going downstairs to get a snack, I peeped open the door and called out her name. The house was silent. I closed the door and an unsettling feeling that someone was with me wouldn't subside. The next day at school, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched and followed. One of my fellow classmates came up behind me and in his deepest voice, he just said, Boo! And it scared me so bad, I fainted into my locker. I came too with teachers and the principal trying to wake me. I spent the rest of the day in the nurse's office, so shaken there wasn't any way I could go back to class. My mom came and we went home. She had to make a few more calls that day, as she was a top-notch real estate agent, so I was home alone. The feeling of a presence would not subside. I remember grabbing the phone off the wall and hiding underneath our office desk, trying to find the phone jack. Once I plugged it in, I desperately tried to call my mother back home. The phone lines were all dead. That night, in my room again, I see the hallway light come on and looked to see if my mom had gone for that midnight snack. I looked over the banner and the kitchen was still. I crawl back into bed. A few moments later, I feel a tug on my blanket at the bottom of my feet. Instinctively, I pull the covers back and clutch them to my chest. The blanket was then ripped from my hands. Stunned, I laid still. Then, slowly, I can feel the bed compress as if someone was crawling or trying to sit on my bed. Terrified, I run to my mother's room. She lets me in and I laid close to her. The room was perfectly dark, but when I closed my eyes, I could see everything so clearly and vividly it was impossible to shut down and sleep. Then, white noise arose in my ears and my thoughts were blank and blinding. I woke up my mom and begged to go downstairs. In the living room, we had a sectional couch and a big lazy boy chair from my father. The lazy boy was the best set in the room as it faced the entertainment center perfectly. The entertainment center was large with mirrored glass doors. Usually, looking into it, you could see the front door and chandelier. I sat in the lazy boy, feet planted firmly and my nerves shot to pieces. Looking into the reflection was a dark figure. I can remember seeing it stand next to the chair and then slowly it began to rock the chair I was sitting on. I was then flung from the chair with such force I felt my blanket sprawled flat next to me. My mom was so terrified she called the local mental health for teens facility. I was screaming for her to look at the chair as it was rocking violently. At that moment, she helped me stand and said, Let's go. Heading to the garage, something snaked across the floor, grabbing me hard by the foot. My mom again helped me stand but my foot was frozen in place. You could see a handprint on the bottom of my pajamas. My mom shouts in the name of Jehovah, release my daughter. With that, searing pain washed over my entire body. I felt like I was on fire. Then, in a flash, I was able to move. We got in the car. I drew my legs up to my chest. Ever so softly, the bottom cuffs of my pajamas started to swirl like someone was playfully twisting them and then they would go slack. We made it to the facility, a well-lit doctor's office, but mind you, it's about 3 a.m. In that office, I started to hear hundreds of voices calling my name in every direction. The chair I was still sitting on began to vibrate, so I jumped up to a new chair. This time, I sat near a plastic ficus tree. The tree started to vibrate when I looked at it. It started to grow human fingers, and the scariest voice I've ever heard came forth from that tree. By this time, I had pretty much lost my will to fight. We go into the next room for intake. My mother had picked up a book in the lobby. She was flipping through the pages until the tips of the page that she was on began to doggier or fold. She slammed the book down. The pens on the intake desk all started to spin in place, then they were knocked off the table, and as the nurse came in, her keyboard started to type. Just several clicks on the spacebar. She said, hmm, well, that's odd. She picked up the keyboard and gave it a once-over, found nothing and was checked in. It's about 5 a.m. at this point. I'm laying in the hospital bed and I hear the softest sounds, like parting of lips right next to my ear, almost like a kiss. At that moment, all fear had left me, but the entity stayed. I would then speak to it. I asked if you're real and not just me being crazy. Breathe into my pillow. Under my head, the pillow began to rise and fall as if I was resting on a lover's chest. Then into the mattress, the same rise and fall. It actually soothed me so I was able to fall asleep. I was awakened by the screams of the girl that I was roomed with. She saw the dark figure hovering over my bed. She was moved to another room that morning. While the next day, I began to ask my entity questions. I asked for its name. Then a soft voice spoke in my ear. It said that I cannot say my name. I asked if it would continue to harm me. Softly and sweetly it said, no. I asked if it would follow me forever. Soft and sweet it whispered, yes. Again, that night it would breathe into my pillow and mattress. The rise and fall became so comforting that I would fall asleep. I would wake, though, to all the faucets in the room running at full speed and scalding hot. The last day was the best and worst. I told the entity I wanted to go home. I couldn't though if he stuck around. While walking down the hallway that day, it unsnapped my undergarments and it well grabbed me. I excused myself to the bathroom and looking into the mirror, I saw myself and this beautiful face right next to mine. But it was just a flash. After coming out, I went into the recreation room and I laid on the couch. Then I felt something slide up my thigh and stop. The voice had gone. To this day, I have never felt or heard from it again. But there have been times where I can feel a soft breath on my forehead, as if someone is giving me a kiss. Let me share another story from one of our Weirdo family members. This one comes from Gene Stewart and it's called Shared Worlds. Using Morton's salt in one of those blue cardboard canisters, when it rains it pours, I made a pentagram, set up appropriately colored candles, and made a magic circle around all of this for protection. Stay inside it and I'd be fine. The book said so. I knelt in the center. This happened on the floor of my bedroom at the back of the house at 600 West Lloyd in a small town in the hills. I prepared myself and all else, so I began reading aloud the invocation I'd found in one of my old books. As I did this, the dark closed in on the small dome of light made by the candles. I heard wind gusts. It sounded like they were inside the room, but nothing was moved, not even the candle flames. I kept reading. It said to stop could be bad. Conjuring a minor demon takes focus and either guts or naivete, maybe both. As the conjuring continued, I broke a sweat, even as cold chilled me. My hands shook. I got sick in the stomach. Pretty soon my eyes blurred and I felt swirled, dizzy. I came to naked, sprawled out, spread eagle, my arms, legs and head all outside the obliterated magic circle. Realizing I must have passed out, I then realized I'd never finished the ritual. Too late now. Reddish light came into the room. I had slept or bent out for the whole night. Nervous about being caught in such an odd position, I got up, dressed and cleaned up to scattered candles and salt, gathering all the items I'd so carefully arranged just before midnight of the prior day. Why I was naked upon waking I didn't know. I recalled nothing past getting dizzy, feeling like I was spinning. Had I released a spirit? Had it been demonic? Where was it? For the next few days I winced at every movement caught out of the corner of my eye. I cringed from shadows glimpsed as I walked by them, half expecting one to leap at me with teeth and claws. Kids of school told me I looked blurred or like the light wasn't quite getting to me. At night I slept frozen in suspense. I heard growls and terror shot through me, even if it was just my hungry belly. I noticed how moonlight fell between parted curtains. I'd shut them tight, only to find them parted. To illuminate an old Bible my maternal grandmother had given me, because she knew I liked old books. For as long as moonlight touched that Bible's spine, I could hear it shriek and howl. Its agony sounded in my head, piercing, not to be ignored. On our next visit to her I gave the old Amish Bible back to my grandmother. It screamed at me, I told her. She nodded. So you heard it too. She smiled as if I'd passed a test that I hadn't known I was taking. To be rid of the tortured soul attached to the old family Bible, she gave the book away at the next rummage sale in Belleville where she'd found it. Dark portents continued to stalk me. I'd find my books rearranged or particular volumes pertaining to the occult lying on the floor. A collection of a dozen or so animal skulls found on hikes in the woods over the years which I kept on my dresser, cracked and scraped at night. One of them, a tiny mouse skull, kept vanishing, only to turn up inside a puzzle box I had, one only I could open. Something shuffled and breathed heavily in my closet. Shadows flitted through the whole house. Something invisible caused our dog to bristle and snarl, squared off to defend my sister's. She did this for nearly an hour, growling and in a crouch, staring fixedly at the empty air in the middle of the dark bathroom. The dog stood in the doorway of my sister's room staring across the hall. When I, my mother, my aunt who was living with us at the time, and then my father came upstairs to see what was causing the angry dog sounds, my dad told me to go check the bathroom. I approached the doorway, reaching in fast, turned on the light and retreated. The light coming on did nothing to affect the dog's furious defense. My father asked if I was afraid in a scoffing tone. I told him I didn't see him going in there. My mom and aunt looked at him. He didn't move. Finally, our dog stood down. Her hackles smoothed. Her defense posture melted. She not only stopped snarling but wagged her tail and licked my sister's hands. All clear, she seemed to say. Before my dad could say another word, I crossed the hall and went into the bathroom. I checked all over, under the sink, behind the cast iron lion's footed tub, behind the toilet. No sign of anything showed itself and I found no hole through which a bat or rat or other vermin could have entered to so alarm the dog. Besides, the dog would have attacked a mouse or baby raccoon or anything else that might have intruded and that would have been on the floor, not in the middle of empty air. We never figured it out and didn't repeat itself. My friends told me separately and different times my house was haunted. They had observations and experiences supporting this assertion. What else could I do but concur? Each time they said this, I worried about what I might have released through that conjuring ritual. That book called it a minor demon easily controlled, motivated mainly by mischief, dominated by a sharp sense of humor. What I had sounded harmless, described in words, proved nerve-wracking in reality. Once, a friend and I playing with a Ouija board on a folding TV tray between us watched the planchette sweep off one side in upward arc, leave the board, hover for maybe three seconds, then drop straight down. That ended our session at once. When my parents moved from that house to one on a high hill overlooking town, we left its shadows and thumps behind. No more footsteps on the attic stairs, no more glimpses of people, shapes standing in corners or flying across walls. Their new place, by this time I had moved from home to begin my marriage, proved oppressive in other ways. It brimmed with dark thoughts and feelings of despair. We learned later a sadist had lived in it before my parents bought it. He kept a padlock on the refrigerator, starved his family, beat them and locked them in their bedrooms when he went to work. Other cruelties happened in the basement, left unspecified by the realtor. There was a shower down there so I imagine blood was involved. None of that house's oppressive atmosphere linked to my short-circuited demon conjuring in the prior house. At least that's how it felt to me. How could any of it be proven one way or another though? Some places are shadowed. Darkness pools there. Many reasons arise if we seek to explain what is essentially inexplicable. We never know, except for what we choose to accept as knowing. It's subjective. How many naive, stupid teenagers testing limits, exploring the world, poking at how it works, dredge up even minor demons by sheer happenstance? How many demons are released from the bondage of other realms to take abode in houses or forests, in junkyards or schools, in playgrounds or anywhere else people gather, such as theaters or dance halls? We all hear of haunted hotels, prisons or abandoned hospitals and asylums. We all hear of the ghosts of Civil War Gettysburg and at battlefields all over the world. Is there a place not haunted in one story or another? Haunted ships, haunted seas, haunted skies and airplanes, certainly haunted caverns and mines all become familiar nightmare territory through experiences related, stories told. People conjure hauntings somehow, sometimes on purpose, often accidentally. Maybe we need unseen companionship. Our longing to deny death's finality is strong motive to conjure poltergeists, shadow figures, ghosts of all kinds. Does this make them less real? Perhaps these wraiths and demons and spirits share our very human unfathomable deep urge to exist, to seize incarnate life, to be free from vague, non-entity status, even only for a short while. My conjuring taught me not to mess around with what no one understands, but if any good came of it, I hope a spirit got at least a taste of the solid world. It's our best treasure. We should share it. The following was printed on page 4 of the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper on August 20, 1892. I have added nothing to it. This is exactly as it was written. Headline. Poor Polly Buried. Killed by cold water or watermelon. A funny funeral in No Valley. Ubsuquease of a Dead Bird. Taken to the grave in a goat carriage. Story. There was a strange scene in No Valley, a way out Castro Street on Thursday, and those who witnessed it will not soon tire talking of it. To most of those who took part in it, the occasion was fraught with more of curiosity than of deeper interest, but it was not so with all. In a little front parlor at 1414.5 Castro Street stands a big, empty bird cage. Rising from the top of the cage, a staff on which a flag hoisted half-mast high tells the visitor that the one-time occupant is dead. All around the little doorway where she fluttered in and out bits of black and white still further emphasized the fatal fact, and bouquets of flowers fitted into feeding and drinking cups and hanging from a swinging perch where Polly used to swing are tokens to her memory. It was only a parrot, this recent dweller within those walls of wire, but seldom has a bird left more sincere mourners behind it, and many a man or woman would be proud to think that such an elaborate funeral was in store for him or her. Less than two years ago, this poor parrot was hatched out in the wilderness of Panama. John Stranigan, an honest sailor lad, came into possession of the bird on one of his coast-wise trips and brought it to his uncle's home in No Valley. Just one year ago was presented to Mr. and Mrs. Augusta Tash, and in their pretty little home on Castro Street, the bird really began to live the life that has now so suddenly ended. The parrot's name was Loretta, but owing to the difficulties parents find in pronouncing the letter T, she called herself Loretta, and those who knew her and loved her learned to accept the abbreviation. Loretta was the pet of the entire neighborhood, but she was the apple of Mrs. Tash's eye. There were tears in both of Mrs. Tash's eyes last evening as she related stories illustrating the genius and accomplishments of poor Loretta. In appearance, the bird had been quite like any other green parrot with gold trimmings. Her size was roughly but kindly stated by Mr. Tash, who was a carpenter, she just fitted into a box 13 by 3 inches, said he, and there stood the box on a pedestal just in front of the empty cottage. It was a dainty box, more like a young lady's glove box than a coffin, covered with baby blue silk and lined with the same and quilted squares. Yet in it poor Loretta had been laid out. By the silken handles on either side, the pallbearers had carried it to the graveside, and there the darkened parlor it now stands, with other evidences of a woman's strange devotion to the memory of a dead bird. The lessons that Loretta learned in her home on Castro Street seem all to have been good ones. She could not only talk and whistle like other parents, but as a singer she had an enviable record. Her singing of the chorus of old Lang Zine is said to have made many of the residents in No Valley weep copiously, and Mrs. Tash herself was very much overcome last evening in endeavoring to give the reporter an idea of Loretta's rendition of Amid the Raging of Sea. She had a sweet and lovely voice, said this fond mistress of a pretty pet, but Mrs. Tash did not seem to agree with her. There was also a slight difference of opinion as to the cause of Loretta's demise. Both agreed that the parrot died of cholera morbus, but Mrs. Tash declared that the disease was due to Mr. Tash feeding the bird on watermelon, while the latter contended that death had been due to too frequent bathing at the hands of Mrs. Tash. Whatever the cause, poor Loretta was taken ill on Monday last. She was off her feet, as Mr. Tash puts it, all the afternoon, and when night came she could muster up no words from her voluminous vocabulary save poor Loretta poor poor Loretta. It should be mentioned here that she never referred to herself as Polly and never made the stereotype suggestion regarding the proverbial cracker. Just as Monday was turning into Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. Tash snugly stowed away in the adjoining bedroom heard a terrible scream. They knew at once that Loretta was on her last legs. Mrs. Tash promptly got out of bed and went to the rescue. She also did what a mother would have done for a dying child. She took the bird to her bosom and sat with it on her own bed. Poor Loretta lived but a short hour longer. After the one shrill scream there came but these words, bye-bye Loretta, bye-bye. They were the last words indeed. Written by the afflicted mistress these words are still pinned to the wires of the empty bird cage. The rider and her husband are as subdued in their grief as if a child had been taken away. The funeral took place at 4 p.m. on Thursday. The neighbors turned out in goodly numbers. The house at 1414 and a half Castro Street was crowded and there were more flowers than city officials have sometimes been honored with. But the most unique feature of the occasion was the hearse. The son of a neighboring grocery man offered the services of his goat wagon. Certainly nothing could have been better suited to such a service. The goat was a well trained animal and did not run away. Two little girls, Gay Spencer and Maggie Delmore, carried the casket out of the house and placed it in the little wagon. Then, taking their places, one on each side, and the other children walking two by two behind them, they led the way up Castro Street to Clipper, where in the garden of Mr. Stranahan at 424 a grave had been dug to receive all that remained of Loretta. The older people stood by when the blue casket was exchanged for a coarser one and when the earth was filled in above the lowered coffin there was more than one genuine sob audible. On the top of the little mound in that no-valley garden, flowers faded in the warm sun of yesterday and the incident will no doubt soon fade from the minds of most of the participants. But the grief of that honest couple at 1414 and a half Castro Street is as touching as it is strange. And yet it may not be so strange after all, for their ten years union has not been blessed with children and poor Laura could talk and sing and cry. And now poor Laura is dead. Thanks for listening. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters or unsolved mysteries like you do. You can email me anytime with your questions or comments at Darren at WeirdDarkness.com. Darren is D-A-R-R-E-N. And you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Mines, Miwi and the show's Weirdos Facebook group on the contact social page at WeirdDarkness.com. Also on the website, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell, click on Tell Your Story. 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 true story of The Vampire Rapist is by Kat McAuliffe for unspeakable times at Ranker. The mysterious Missouri Spooklights is from TulsaWorld.com. The deadly Gimpy Gimpy is from TheScareChamber.com. And Polly What A Tombstone is by Chris Woodyard for the Victorian Book of the Dead. Weird Darkness is a production of Marlar House Productions. And now that we are coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Psalm 73 verses 23-26 Yet I am always with you. You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh in my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. And a final thought, don't give up just because things are hard. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness. Hey Weirdos, our next Weirdo Watch Party is coming up fast. It's Friday, February 9th. A gruesome two-some of Graveyard Cinema, Horrible Henry and Mad Marty are presenting 1950's Quick Sand, starring Mickey Rooney and Peter Laurie. In the film, a man takes $20 from his employer to go on a date, planning to replace the money the next day. But he falls increasingly into more disastrous circumstances and further in need of more money. And it spirals out of control. Join us Friday, February 9th for Quick Sand. It's free to watch online, and you can chat along with the rest of us Weirdos as we watch the movie together. The show begins at 8pm Eastern, 7pm Central, 6pm Mountain and 5pm Pacific. You can watch a trailer for the film and watch horror hosts and schlocky B-movies anytime, day or night on the Weirdo Watch Party page at WeirdDarkness.com. I want that coat and I'm gonna get it for $2,000 for whatever it takes. 1950's Quick Sand, starring Mickey Rooney and Peter Laurie. You better come and see me or else. Or else what? Or else something is going to happen to you, to you, Danny Boyd. Friday, February 9th on the Weirdo Watch Party page. Hey Weirdos, be sure to click the like button and subscribe to this channel, and click the notification bell so you don't miss future videos. I post videos seven days a week, and while you're at it, spread the darkness by sharing this video with someone you know who loves all things strange and macabre. If you want to listen to the podcast, you can find it at WeirdDarkness.com.