S1: EP 8 — “It Sent a Shiver Down My Spine”

is local. We all are kind of tight kit all live in the same area. We're all from Alabama. My great grandmother, she was kind of the glue that held everyone together. We all called her mama. Even her kids called her ma ma when they came over. It was just like her name for us. Her real name is Maude stereotypical old school name, I guess. When I think of my great grandmother, I would describe her as tiny, frail, your typical great grandmother. She had

kind of a raspy voice that echoed her age. You know, it was very distinct. If you just ran into her out somewhere and didn't see her, you would know from her voice that it was her. She was very loving and her home was always very welcoming. Everyone just came to her house and it was just a meeting place. Honestly, if you ever came to her house, it would be kind of like a family reunion. A typical day for her, I guess would be doing puzzles and crosswords. She always

had QVC playing in the background. I don't think she ever watched it. I think she just liked to hear it. But I just think of her sitting on her couch, just in her certain spot she sat in. She definitely did have her quirks. She grew up through the Great Depression, so she was kind of set in her ways. So a quirk she had was that she didn't really say I love you ever. It was just something she did not say. It was not in her vocabulary, even to her own kids. She

never really said I love you. It was always evident that she loved you, but she never said it made her very uncomfortable. That was just something the family respected and we all knew, like, don't get your feelings hurt. I have shared this story with my parents and that's pretty much about it. Outside of my grandparents, who experienced it themselves, I don't really talk about it much. I just kind of keep it to myself. It was late August 2005 , about a week after the passing of my

great grandmother. She was ninety two years old at the time. I was twelve years old. I'm visiting with my grandparents. Nothing out of the ordinary. I'm very close with them, so going to visit them is a common occurrence. we're sitting around the living room just talking, checking on each other, seeing how we're doing. She had just passed a week prior, so she was definitely coming up in conversation. It was just me, my grandmother, and my granddad. While we were talking, the phone rings.

My granddad. He picks up the phone, looks at it, kind of looks kind of puzzled and turns it around and shows us the caller ID. It just shows ten zeros. No name, no number, just ten zeros. Usually when they receive a phone call that you know, it doesn't recognize, it says unknown name, unknown number. That's kind of the standard. But this had no name or anything, just all zeros. He does this thing when he assumes it says spam call.

And he held it up and was like, I. Don't know anyone named zero zero zero zero. And the answering machine can get it. He just lets it go. Maybe a minute or so later, the phone lights up. There's a new message. My granddad doesn't like messages on the machine. He likes to clear it all. He picked up the phone and he plays it on speaker. When he hits play, there's just static interference, like someone

has a bad connection. I don't want to say as extreme as like TV static or something, but like it was kind of like rustling, and there was some crackling in the message, just like someone was trying to get through and Maybe they were like going into a bridge or something. You know. About ten seconds after the static, we heard the words. It was the distinct voice of my great grandmother. We all just kind of looked at each other and we're just kind of shocked and kind of in disbelief.

Did we hear what we think we just heard? My granddad he was like, what was that? Did you hear what I heard? We actually played it back a few times, and sure enough, I love you it was her voice. From the look on everyone's face in the room, we all knew that it was her. It definitely sent a shiver down my spine when you let your mind go there that it could possibly be her. The static of it really gave you an uneasy feeling. It wasn't just I love you, It was a sound like something was

struggling to like get that to come through. Twelve year old me was like, we're definitely going to try to call this number back. I grabbed the phone and hit re dial on the caller ID. Sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. typical like robot voice thing says that this is not a valid number. That just kind of blew my mind. I expected it to, you know, call someone or some thing, you know, like I didn't expect it to say that.

It was just a repeat of basically the original call, just like wide eyes and staring at each other like. What just happened. I expected someone to pick up, some old lady to pick up that had their own number. That did not happen. I was very stunned to find out that it was not an actual number. Up until the very day of her passing, she still never even told my granddad that she loved him. I feel like she had regrets or she just needed to let him know that before moving on.

It does provide another sense of comfort, especially for my granddad because that was his mom. I definitely feel like it was something he needed to hear. I feel like it gave my granddad closure and some comfort, just knowing that maybe she's okay, that she does definitely love him, even though he knows. But it's just a comforting feeling, even for me, so I know it has to be for him, you know. It definitely has changed

my perspective. When you see a number pop up that you don't know, there's always someone on the other end trying to reach you for whatever reason. It does make you stop and think, because once it hangs up, you know that's it. You don't get a second chance. But if instead of it going to voicemail. If we had answered, could we have communicated back?

It's scary and I don't know what to do. My name is Kim, and there was something in the house with me. Back in the seventies, my family moved into this old farmhouse. It was on a hill, white with black shutters and a porch that went the entire length of the front of the home and the side of the home, with a large living room and seven bedrooms, four on the second floor and three on the third floor.

When you come up the street, that's the first house that you would see, and I think it was one of the original farmhouses for that area of Bucks County, Pennsylvania. My mother found records and she talked to the previous owners. They lived there from the forties the fifties the sixties until we get this in the seventies. They said the farmhouse was built in nineteen hundred and then in about nineteen thirties it was taken over by a woman named

missus Dagandesh. She was an old, heavyset woman and I think she was German. She started a boarding house for nuns and single ladies and whomever for a brand new high school that was being built in Southampton. When we moved in in the seventies, my father put an addition on the back of the house. He put a rec room, another set of stairs, another bedroom, and a big bathroom. So it was a big and beautiful old house. from the moment we moved into that house, From the very

first night, I would hear footsteps. If I was in my room, I would hear footsteps, and I would look down the hall and there would be no one there. It wasn't every night, but it was consistent, and you just knew that it wasn't a brother or sister because they wouldn't head down that part of the hallway. And it was never in the new part of the house. It was always in the old part of the house.

It was creepy as hell. When me and my sisters used to sneak in late at night, we always thought it was either our mother or our father finding out that we were sneaking in late at night. And you would turn around and there would be nothing there. Or I would walk up the long stairway and there's footsteps behind me, but I'm alone. Usually I would hear these footsteps on the way to this back room that we called the Agnes of God room. My mother named the room the Agnes

of God room. That was from an awful movie with Jane Fonda about a nun who murdered a baby. It was creepy and weird. So this particular hallway to the right was the Agnes of God room. To the left of that was the nursery, and then another room, and the Agnes of God Room is the room that missus Dagandash apparently died in. I was always too scared walking down the hallway towards the Agnes of God room, because as soon as you hit the landing, I hear footsteps. I turn around

and there's no one there. It was a heavy footstep, it was a good sturdy shoe. They were just footsteps. When I told my mother this story of Missus Dagandash and the footsteps. She said, you don't need to be scared here, because we're always safe with me. My mother called herself a strega, which an Italian means witch. She was named that through a woman from South Philadelphia who sat on the corner, who all the children were very, very frightened of, who was also a strega. When this

woman passed, she gave this kit to my mother. It was a hollowed out wooden, beautiful carved crucifix maybe a foot tall, and inside was special oil, holy water, and sage. That kit stayed underneath her bed for as long as I can remember. I was always too scared to even open it up. But that is what kept her from being so frightened of anything in the house, because she had the kit, and she was convinced that Missus Dagandash or whatever they were good spirits, that they would not

harm us. So flash forward to when I have a beautiful set of twin babies, and it was a lot to take care of. The apartment that my husband and I lived in would not allow children, so we moved back in with my family. It was always a very busy household with kids and sisters and siblings and aunts and uncles and grandparents and everything else. This one particular day was just me and the babies in the house. And these babies didn't sleep a wink the night before.

They were both sleeping in the same crib at the time. When I got them up in the morning, they were hysterical, inconsolable. The blankets were in the corner of their crib. I took them out of bed. I was trying to console them. Are they hungry? Are they sick? Do they need a doctor? I'm frightened. I'm not usually by myself. I usually have people here to help me. There was nothing I could do to make these babies happy. I'm scared, and I

don't know where to turn. So I put them both down in their crib and ran downstairs to get them a bottle and some medicine because they are clearly not feeling well. I could hear them screaming and crying the whole time as I ran down the hallway into the kitchen. Then all of a sudden, they stopped crying, but I heard something. I ran to get the monitor, and when I turned it on, I hear humming and then singing. But I am home alone, but I could hear a lullaby.

A woman is singing a lullaby to my babies. And I have no idea who this is. It was an old German lullaby. I stopped dead in my tracks. I dropped the bottle and I stood still for a moment. I didn't move. It didn't make any sense. There was no one home who could be singing to my babies. There's no radio in there, there's no television in there. There's no one else home who could be singing. And then reality strikes. I flew up the stairs two at a time, ran down the hallway, ran into the room

as fast as I could. When I get back to them, my two babies, beautiful babies, are sleeping soundly. They are safe, with blankets over them, without a care in the world. There is no one there. They had blankets over them. I can't even tell you how that happened. There was blankets in the crib, but they certainly weren't on them when I went down, because they were kicking and screaming and crying, so someone or something had pulled the blankets

over them. It felt surreal. I'm looking at two babies who are calm and sleeping, and I remember feeling relief and thankful, but not understanding who was singing and who covered them up. It's scary and it's wonderful all in the same moment. I feel like I want to say thank you to missus Dagandash, because she put these babies to sleep. And there were many nights after that that I said to her, Missus Dagandash, where the hell are you? I could use you today.

And look at that Len decided to rezip his shorts into pants After all.

your story could be featured in one of our upcoming episodes. Now, everyone wish Len good luck on his date and tune in next week for the dirty deets because on this pod, we haunt, we hoe, we kiss, we tell love you all.

Nancy Glass, Trey Morgan, Ben Fetterman, and Kristin Melchiorre. Additional production support by Todd Ganz. Additional voice acting by Trey Morgan as the character producer Len Walker. Editing and sound designed by Matt Delvecchio with additional editing by Nico Arouca. Mixed and mastered by Dave Saia. Operations, and production support by Kristin Melchiorre. Haunting's theme and original compositions were composed by Oliver Baines and Dorry Macaulay of Noiser. Music Library

provided by Mibe Music. Special thanks to Speakeasy Sound Studios in Burbank, California. Follow us on social media by searching for Glass Podcast or by visiting glasspodcasts.com . For more shows from iHeart Podcasts and Glass podcast, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts