I'm Liz. So, and this is Ghosts In The Burbs, a podcast of ghost stories from Wellesley Massachusetts, a warning adults who use adult language told me these frightening tales. These ghost stories aren't for kids. March marked the seventh anniversary of this podcast. Seven years, 70 stories about Wellesley Spooks plus another 12 out of the swells, a handful of random episodes and Claire and Lila in all honesty.
And I think I've said this before on episode two, I thought, I don't know how much more of this I have in me and yet here we are still chugging along and yes, that was Bernie crying in the background because he's closed out of my office. I love our spooky little corner of the internet and as has always been the case, my highest hope for this podcast is that it just finds people who enjoy the same sort of cozy horror escape that I do.
So, here's to seven more years and 70 more stories chock full of cozy terror. Stay after this episode. For details about my annual April birthday charity fundraiser too. Now, this episode is dedicated to the memory of Nan Gardner. Nan was an incredibly enthusiastic and supportive listener of this podcast. She was responsible for creating the Ghosts in the Bourbons Facebook Group and Instagram page.
And in doing so, she created spaces where people who love spooky things could come together to share spooky silliness and spooky recommendations with each other. What a legacy. Thank you, Nan. I know you will be missed and I wish you happy haunting. Now, we're on to ghost story number 70 the drip and we're moving again for real. The house is sold, but I haven't any idea where we're headed. Of course, we'll stay in Wellesley.
You'd have to drag me out of this spooky little town, kicking and screaming. But house hunting this time around has been interesting and by interesting, I mean, uniquely draining. The girls are old enough now to have an opinion about where we live and boy do they, Chris and I feel too old to take on a mature house that needs updating, but that is exactly what our budget can handle. And this will be our fifth move in about nine years. I've grown to despise moving boxes.
I appreciate them and all they've done for me. But the simple truth is they give off bad vibes. All of that will sort itself out. It always does. And truth be told. I'm at my very best in chaos. I love a change of scenery. I love a deadline though. You can all attest that I am not very good at meeting them. I love figuring out the best way to set up a room and hang the art and organize the cabinets.
It's all busy work that must be done and results in such a nice tidy little sense of accomplishment, but there's a whole other layer. This time around last week, we toured a house that was built in 18 86. A ghost followed me room to room begging me to buy the place and restore it to its former glory. She was particularly pissed about the ship lap in the first floor powder room and the vinyl fence in the backyard. I actually liked the fence and the house was adorable but still a hard pass.
I politely ask Claire not to tag along to open houses with us. We've got enough cooks in the kitchen, but before we commit to a house, I'll absolutely ask for her take on it. One thing I do know for sure is that she is happy we're moving. She doesn't like where we are now at all. You need to get closer to town. She advised when the idea of moving came up away from these woods and far away from that goddamn lake. That's no surprise. There are gnomes. One street over tunnels across the lake.
Time slips in the woods and a monster at the end of our cul de sac. I asked what she meant about the lake and she wouldn't say so. I can only use my overactive imagination to conjure what the hell is swimming just beneath its surface. I let the girls canoe around there in the summer and it's only like three or four ft deep. So I shudder to think what slimy little creeps are swimming around in there. So sure the neighborhood is a little dodgy, but give me a break.
You can't take two steps around here without tripping over something weird. There's a majorly powerful demon just across town, ghosts everywhere and creatures for that matter, as evidenced by the interview, we're about to get to, not to mention countless other peculiar things. There's nowhere else to go. Not for us anyway, the girls school is the most wonderful thing I could have imagined their teachers and their little friends are simply perfect for them and I know how charmed and rare that is.
So we couldn't take them away from all of this. Even if there were gnomes spilling apocalyptic secrets in every backyard in this town, we just have to live with the weird. It's not like they notice any of it. I mean, sometimes I wonder if cat but that's a topic for a different time anyhow. You know, there isn't too much that Claire can share about the time we were unable to communicate. But she did say this nothing is as it seems here or anywhere for that matter.
I can't see the future and I can't make predictions and Claire won't offer any hints, but I can sort of sense. A vibe change is in the air everywhere and a lot of it won't be fun, which is why I'm so grateful for the spooky stories. People tell me about this town. It's the best distraction you could ask for and you know what? This is.
Sort of a, well, another side note but someone brought up the tunnels beneath Wellesley College to me recently, I had the chance to tour them with a faculty member years ago, but I chickened out. I still want nothing to do with them. Especially after what happened at Hannah B. Branson's house on Sabrina Lake. And that's a coincidence though. Right? The college is on Lake Wain more tunnels near a lake. I don't know. Weird. Someday we'll piece it all together anyway.
I'm glad we're moving even if I have no idea where we'll land. Now, let's distract ourselves with one couple's wealthy Nightmare grant. Maher emailed me. He and his wife, Sally had a problem in their home and they wanted advice. He invited me over for coffee, which yes, is risky. But Chris recognized his name. Grant is in real estate too.
But on the development side, and one of my friends actually know Sally through the friends of Brookside Community Gardens, text in brackets if memory serves, which honestly it might not, but I'm pretty sure that community garden actually came up in ghost story 19. Whenever I see your smiling face. I have to run away screaming and brackets. With those two vague connections. I considered it safe to visit their home. And then when Grant gave me their address, I was psyched.
I draw gobs of inspiration for my writing in this town, as evidenced by this freaking blog and podcast. And I actually wrote their house into one of the earlier versions of the ever being rewritten. Cul de sac. It's this little cottage at the end of a dead end street, backed onto the Brookside path. One of the many walking paths through town, the Brookside runs about two miles to the heart of Wellesley, maybe three miles.
Actually, I can't remember which, but either way the house came up for sale about a year ago and I actually creeped the photos because I've always been so curious, nosy about it. Oh, wow. I breathe. Stepping through the front door. You guys have done such a great job with this house. Thank you. Sailor. Replied, closing the door behind me. Have you been here before? Caught? I grimaced, an embarrassment. No, sorry.
I've just walked past it so many times on the path and then when it was up for sale, I was all over the listing photos. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but I definitely caught her irritation, fresh paint and curtains can work wonders. She said dismissively, I'm grant her husband offered here, come in. We can sit at the kitchen table, we are so grateful you're here. Sally looked anything but grateful.
A few years back, the effortlessly pretty devastatingly thin, highlighted blonde would have intimidated the hell out of me now. Not so much. I have enough to fret about without wondering if someone I don't particularly care for likes me. So I sat at the table and made small talk with her while Grant made coffee. She warmed up a miniscule amount when I mentioned our shared acquaintance, but man, her guard was up. Grant delivered the coffee.
I sipped an espresso black with two sugars from a dainty glass mug, suppressed a wince and smiled reassuringly at the troubled couple across the kitchen table. You sure you don't want any creamer grant asked? Thank you. No, this is perfect. I replied, thinking longingly of my soy vanilla chemical wash at home. Again. I continued gazing out the picture window behind them overlooking a small well landscaped lawn and the wooded path and stream beyond. You did a beautiful job updating the house.
Thank you. Sally replied, we did enjoy it for a time. It really has been the perfect house for us. Grant enthused earning a huff of disagreement from Sally ignoring her. He went on. It was brutal in the city during quarantine and we started daydreaming about space a small yard, our own washer and dryer someplace we could fix up ourselves. And then this listing came up on Zillow and we totally fell in love with it, it was a well laid trap. Sally muttered. Well, sure.
He said his gaze is momentarily sliding towards his wife. It feels that way now, but we couldn't find a thing wrong with it at the time, the kitchen was original to the house. The floors are uneven, the roof leaked over the sun porch and the basement is damp. She countered it was what we could afford. Grant pointed out. The location is awesome and it got us out of the city. That's my point. Sally insisted the timing, the price, the location were too perfect like we were lured here.
You think something in the house influenced you to buy it? I asked, no, not in the house. I mean, it didn't come until we lived here for a while. Grant explained behind them. An orange tabby leapt effortlessly up onto the window ledge, startling me and causing me to jump. Sorry, that's our evil ginger Christopher Michael Joseph Grant said affection in his voice. I laughed at the perfection of the name. Then squinted at the cat. What happened to his poor tail? The couple exchanged looks.
Sally's was markedly angry. Grant's decidedly frightened. I'm out of here. Claire remarked, wait, what I blurted, instantly panicked, forgetting that I shouldn't talk to her in front of people that I don't really know. That thing is fucking creepy. I turned my head to follow her gaze towards the far corner of the room where a small pink corduroy chair, sat kitty corner in front of a window overlooking the front yard. The couple now wearing matching looks of concern were watching me.
Sorry, I just um, how much do you know about my blog and everything I've read every interview Grant replied enthusiastically. He caught me up. Sally said, sounding quite skeptical. Ok, good. So it won't weird you out to know that my guide the ghost that usually helps me navigate. this stuff was here. But she just left. Oh, no, Grant ground. If Claire left, it must be really bad. Not necessarily I offered maybe she thinks I can easily handle whatever is going on here. Oh, ok. He enthused.
I totally trust her judgment. Sally held up a hand. Slow down who is Claire Grant actually turned his body toward her in his seat. Long story short, Claire was a teen girl who was accidentally murdered. At least that's what her friends claim at. Morse Pond. The teens trapped her soul and cast a spell so they could make wishes for their future, but it got out of hand and then she started haunting them and brought back her boyfriend who sadly took his life the winter after she died.
Fast forward and the teens are now middle aged and still trying to keep a handle on the witchcraft. They started way back. Chris met them and Claire sort of attached to her and then Liz realized she could hear ghosts and eventually see them now, they're like a team. His wife watched him, her expression changing from amused disbelief to barely concealed hostility. Grant turned from her to look at me. Sorry, I don't mean to speak for you. Is that right? That's long and short of it.
I said avoiding eye contact with Sally. I only mentioned she's not here because I'm sort of flying blind for the moment because there actually aren't any ghosts in your house. So that's good. At least your house either isn't haunted or the ghost left for the time being. Well, that is a relief. Sally snapped. We aren't worried about spirits. Grant explained. It's something else, some kind of creature he calls it the drip. Interesting. What does it do? It's kind of mischievous.
Grant began just lots of nuisance stuff. Stripping the hair off the cat's tail isn't nuisance stuff. Grant Sally spat. It's violent and it, well, I think you might feel a little differently about it if you were the one being targeted. Oh, so you're getting the brunt of it, then I surmised you can say that Sally pulled up her sleeve and pushed her left arm towards me. There was a small oval shaped mark above her wrist. I leaned forward to get a better look and immediately regretted it.
It was a bite, a tiny nasty bite scabbed over and surrounded by a fading blue green, actually more green than blue, which was concerning Bruise Otho would have described the color more accurately as Meridian. I pulled back. It did that. When Sally pulled her sleeve back down three, maybe four days ago, I was just sitting on the couch trying to read and Grant was on a work call and I asked him to lower his voice and then this, she pointed to her arm. It looks like it hurt. It did.
What about the cat that happened last week? We aren't exactly sure how, but it doesn't seem to have hurt him at all. I considered what they were saying and began to assume they were dealing with an earth spirit, some kind of mischievous and relentless thing whose attention they'd unfortunately caught. I wondered how they would react to being told they had to move. Wait, why do you call it the drip? I asked, well, that's how it all started with the noise dripping. Explained Derek.
We had the roof fixed in the sun room. Sally jumped in, there was a leak there but nowhere else we had a new roof put on. They assured us it was all secure, but we still heard the dripping. It sounded like it was in the wall beside our bed. We called a plumber, but she told us there weren't any pipes in the wall or the ceiling above the bed for that matter. We do have steam Heat Grant pointed out the scene with buddy, the Elf calling Walter about the horrible noise coming from the box.
Beneath the window popped into my mind. I nodded at understanding. You thought maybe it was the pipes. Yes and no. Said Grant shaking his head. It was definitely dripping, not knocks or bangs or anything. It came and went and it actually moved around the house. It felt like it followed me wherever I went. Huh? I thought you were being the one targeted. Sally nodded. I am. I waited for her to go on but she just looked down at her hands. Grant put his arm around the back of her chair protectively.
It's been hell for her. It won't let her sleep and it keeps on hurting her. How I'm lucky I didn't break my neck on the basement stairs. It grabbed my leg when I was on the second step down and she hesitated. I don't know how I survived that fall. Grant shook his head. Sadly, my makeup is destroyed. It pinches me the second I fall asleep. She drew on a deep breath. I'm afraid to go anywhere alone. I see it peek around corners at me. It's just a flash, but I see it.
I felt the urge to glance back at the pink corduroy chair again, knowing that's where the thing was crouched listening to us. Like we said, we both work from home. She went on, I set up in the family room and Grant is usually here at the kitchen table. I would work in the bedroom so I could close the door when he's on calls, but I'm too freaked out to be in there alone. It knocks on the walls and the ceiling. But when I'm out here it darts around to distract me.
I never quite catch sight of it, but it's there. And none of this happens to you. I asked, directing the question at Grant. He lifted his hands and shrugged. I feel terrible, but it doesn't bother me. It feels like it's trying to drive me insane. Sally finished. I was about to break the news that they had to move as soon as possible. When I heard tiny screwing steps behind me, I spun around and watched the thing cross the kitchen and beeline towards Grant. Oh, what is it? Is it here?
Yes, it's kind of cute. Oh. Oh, dear. I whispered as the furry foot tall creature morphed into a slimy frog crossed with a snail looking thing. What, um, it can shape shift. That makes sense. Said Grant in what world Sally demanded? What does it want? Asked Grant, ignoring her. I suppressed a shudder as I watched the thing glide towards Grant and lean its gelatinous body against his leg. Maybe it just wants to amuse itself. I can't tell if it's malevolent or not. I began not malevolent.
Sally, his, look at our cat. Look at my arm. Grant nodded in agreement. It certainly does seem intentioned. How do we make it go away? Well, unfortunately, I think you guys just sort of caught its attention if that makes sense. What is it? The word comes to mind. I replied, trying to keep my expression neutral as the thing shifted again this time into a terrifying version of a troll doll with greasy brown hair, greenish gray shimmy skin and impossibly large muddy eyes.
I grant echoed like a fairy. Sally snorted in disbelief. Kind of, I hedged but more like a lower level demon. Jesus Christ. Sally muttered and before she'd even finished saying it, the, I was at her feet. Ouch. She hissed. Do you see the fucker? Just pinched me. Oh, no worried. Grant. Are you? OK, Sally swatted him away. I am fine. I just, her voice cracked and her eyes grew watery. I can't keep living like this.
I pulled my feet under my chair trying to stay as far away from the thing as I could, but I leaned down so I could make eye contact with the little devil. What do you want? I asked, it gave a gravelly laugh that turned into a coughing fit. Sally began to protest, but Grant shushed her. The thing took a step towards me and I pulled back in voluntarily. It stopped in its tracks and morphed again this time into a plump pear shaped creature covered in spiky brown fur.
There were angry looking black quills down its back and its arms and legs were impossibly thin. Somehow, I knew that it was its natural form. It smiled, showing me a double row of countless tiny sharp teeth lining its mouth. You know, I can get rid of you. I said, Shakily, why are you here? It walked backwards and rested against Grant's leg. It didn't say anything. It didn't have to. All of a sudden I understood what it wanted.
Unwillingly, I took my eyes off the thing and looked up at the couple silently. I wished it was an earth spirit, a fairy or some kind of elf or something that just toyed with people with detached amusement. Now, I understood by Claire beat feet out of there. What did it say? Sally demanded? I met her gaze and held it. You can't stay here. Where will we go? Grant began? I shook my head. What I mean is Sally, you can't stay here. Is there a friend you can stay with?
Or maybe you could get a hotel room and until we, and what am I supposed to do? Grant demanded? You can stay here or not? It really doesn't matter. It's just that the two of you should split up for a bit until I can get you the help. We're not doing that. Grant's tone broke. No argument, obviously startled. Sally began to protest enough. Grant apologized and then I'm sorry, I'm tired.
The tiny demonic imp crawled up Grant's body and perched on his shoulder, resting a nubby little arm on his cheek. I know it's been targeting Sally. I said carefully. But besides the dripping noises, has anything changed for you? Grant stared at me for a long moment. Seeming to not really see me. Grant. Sally said softly then to me, what the hell are you saying that I take off to a hotel by myself and leave my husband? I nodded.
You shouldn't be alone together until I get a priest to come and a priest. She shrilled. Absolutely not. We are not religious at all. And I'm not interested in having some deluded man come to my home and Grant put a hand on her arm. So I think we should listen to her. This woman blogs Grant. Why would you even entertain? Are you? OK? I asked him, I don't know, what is she talking about, Sally demanded, sorry.
Sal, it's just sometimes I get these ideas and I know they're not mine and I didn't feel like I could tell you ideas. Sometimes I do things that I don't mean to. It's like I'm not really me. She stared at him what things he looked like he was about to start crying. I didn't mean to scare you. It wasn't really me. I, she pushed back from the table and stood up. I'm going to my brother's, she said her voice shaky. I don't know what this is. She pointed between the two of us.
But if you did all of this as some sick prank grant, I swear to fucking God. No, I just thought if she was here, I could get you to understand. It's not me. Something really is happening here. I'm not doing this on purpose, Liz, explain it to her so we can. But Sally was done. She abruptly left the room for the kitchen. Returned not three seconds later with a purse, a hot pink size medium long champ tote with brown love their handles really very cute in one hand and car keys in the other.
Then she walked out the front door without another word. Immediately. I felt like I was in significant danger. I stood, I'm sorry, I didn't realize sooner. I thought it was just a I trailed off noting the change in his demeanor. He was angry and barely containing it. Look, I will call you as soon as I have someone who can help. Ok? He rubbed his beard roughly, then let his hands drop to his lap.
Suddenly he looked utterly exhausted as if he had spent the very last of his energy on the conversation. I'm really worried. He said I know once outside I rushed to my car and locked the door. Creepy little fucker. Huh? I screamed and dropped my phone between the car seat and center console. Damn it, Claire. Leave it. You need to get out of here. She insisted I did. I drove to Lyndon Square and scored a parking spot right in front of the Starbucks and then dug out my phone looking at the screen.
I sucked in a breath. Oh, no. What is it? I click the screen and scan the text. Kate Divis wants to meet me for coffee. Oh, wow. Said Claire already. I feel like I just have to apologize. Every single recording. All three dogs are in this room with me. It is the only way to keep them quiet. They have been barking. They've just been on a tear all day. So it's not demons. It's Ivy snoring. Thank you for being patient with the recording.
Um But in other news, April is a season and that means it's time for my yearly birthday charity fundraiser. And that means I'm bringing back the cozy old school ghost in the Burbs gray and white baseball style t-shirt. You'll find the link to the fundraiser on the Ghosts In the Burbs Instagram page. All proceeds will be donated to heading home in one of my favorites. They're a leading provider of housing and support services for homeless families with Children and individuals.
A champion of innovative solutions that moves people out of homelessness in greater Boston. This fundraiser only goes through April 14th the day after my birthday. So get to it if you'd like to support a great cause. Make my birthday extra happy and score a really cozy cool t-shirt until next time. Good night, sleep tight and don't forget your night light