Can you change your personality? How does peer pressure work? Should you ever really trust your gut? These are just a few of the topics we've recently tackled on my podcast, Something You Should Know. It's a podcast where leading experts give you valuable intel that you can use in your life today. I'm the host, Mike Carruthers, and with over 1,000 episodes and over 4,000 mostly 5-star reviews, I invite you to check out Something You Should Know wherever you listen.
I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times. And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director. You might know me from The League, Veep, or my non-eligible for Academy Award role. And Twisters. We come together to host Unspooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-sees, and in case you missed them. We're talking Parasite the Home Alone. From Grease to the Dark Knight. So if you love movies like we do,
Come along on our cinematic adventure. Listen to Unschooled wherever you get your podcasts. Lincoln Matthews left the architecture firm he did marketing for about 30 minutes earlier than usual. It was Friday. Nobody else was really around. And if he stayed, all he could do is start a project he certainly wouldn't have time to finish. Better start fresh on Monday, he thought.
His commute lasted five or six songs. He always slipped a CD into his stereo and listened to the first half on the drive to work, then finished the album on his way home. On this sunny Friday, he'd chosen August Burns Red's 2009 metalcore classic, Constellations, a personal favorite from his youth. The breakdown to Whitewashed had stayed stuck in his head all day at work. The song Meddler finished and the final track Crusades began as Lincoln turned on to Versa Drive.
As he pulled into the driveway of 225, where his wife Annabelle, who always had Fridays off, would be surprised and, he thought, excited to have him home early, he got an unsettling feeling. He'd noticed the beat-up pickup truck parked on the wrong side of the road when he first turned toward the house, but he didn't think too much of it until he pulled into his driveway and saw Annabelle only left the glass storm door closed. The front door was wide open.
Squinting, Lincoln looked through the picture window on the front of the house. Though the sun's glare made it hard to discern details, he was pretty sure he could see the silhouettes of two people standing in the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Okay, Link. That was Annabelle's nickname for him. Don't jump to conclusions. Maybe this is just some friend or a cousin or somebody.
Oftentimes if he arrived home before the end of an album, he would sit in the driveway and let it play out while he decompressed and transitioned from work mode. This time, he shut the car off immediately, cutting the final song short. He tried to act cool as he exited the car, but his hands were shaking. He felt he couldn't get inside fast enough. He predicted Annabelle would have a soothing explanation, and he needed it now.
Pressure expanded in his chest and his throat tensed as he opened the storm door. He heard a man's deep voice trail off mid-laugh as the door hissed shut behind him. Link, is that you? Annabelle called from the kitchen, something foreign in her voice. Yep, got to leave a bit early today, he called back, forcing cheerfulness for the stranger's sake. He knew Annabelle would hear straight through it.
She popped out from the kitchen around the corner. He looked up at her as he slid his shoes off and found strange comfort in how genuinely relieved she appeared at the sight of him. But then he heard footsteps creaking down the hallway leading from the kitchen to the bedrooms. Was this guy, whoever he was, trying to sneak out through the bedroom, which had a door leading to the backyard? Everything all right? I thought I saw someone else here, Lincoln said, loud enough to ring down the hallway.
Glancing over her shoulder, Annabelle said, There's a guy here from the power company who says our house is showing high gas usage. Which power company? Lincoln asked, looking past her. He didn't see any trucks from the municipal power department or the local gas supplier, Gold Star Gas, on the street. Only that beat-up pickup truck parked facing the wrong direction. The footsteps started coming back up the hallway. Annabelle stepped closer to Lincoln, though not quite into his arms.
She looked worried, but Lincoln could tell she was trying not to. She practically whispered, Link, I don't know. He could tell she meant more than what company this guy worked for. She sounded worried she'd made a serious mistake. Well, hey there, you made it just in time, the tall stranger said as he entered the room. He wore a chartreuse shirt under gray overalls, over which he wore a fanny-packed tool bag fastened too tightly around his wide waist.
none of which bore any power or gas logos or anything denoting him as from the city. He played with the rubber band holding back his ponytail of curly orange hair. It had been weeks since he shaved, but he hadn't bothered to style his thin beard in the least. His clothes smelled of something rusty or metallic anyway. It smelled sort of sour, bridging from pungently sweet into mildly offensive.
The stranger said. We registered abnormal gas usage coming from this residence, sir. Whenever that happens, we always send somebody out to check for a leak. Today, that lucky guy happens to be me. Lincoln refused to answer the man's multicolored smile with one of his own. The man's smile quickly faded, and he studied Lincoln the way a fighter sizes up an opponent at the weigh-ins, with a long study from Lincoln's feet to his face.
Physically, Lincoln knew he stood no chance against this imposing figure who'd entered his house. He also felt there was no chance the man actually came looking for a gas leak. He'd tricked Annabelle with this urgent ruse. The man asked, mind showing me where I can find your gas main? I'm guessing it's down in the basement. If you could just lead me down there. Where's your truck? Lincoln asked.
The man pretended to look out the picture window as if confused not to see his work vehicle parked directly outside. He pointed sideways and said, It's just around the corner from here, says Gold Star Gas across the side. Guess you must have come from the other way.
Problem is, I did come from that way, and I didn't see any gas company trucks, said Lincoln. In a sweet tone, Annabelle said, Hey, Link, maybe... Lincoln snapped his fingers to cut her off. He pretended to smack himself in the forehead and said, Honey, I'm sorry. I forgot my phone in the car. Would you mind getting it for me while I show this guy where the gas line is? He cocked an eyebrow at the stranger and said, Probably best she's not inside in case there's a leak anyway, right?
Annabelle got the message. Get out. Call for help. He never called her honey, and he wasn't one to leave his phone anywhere. But Lincoln's clever attempt to send his wife to safety backfired. As soon as Annabelle moved toward the door, The stranger unzipped the large pocket on his fanny pack and drew out an eight-inch knife with a serrated spine and lunged toward her.
Lincoln caught Annabel's arm and pulled her toward him, but the stranger caught a fistful of her hair. He yanked her head back and raised the knife in the air. Lincoln turned his body inward as if pulling Annabel close for a dance to put himself between her and the hovering blade. He shouted, no, over and over again without realizing it. He used his free hand to wrench his wife's hair out of the stranger's meaty hand.
Ice froze his shoulder and caused his left hand to quit working, just as Annabelle's hair became free. The cold sensations spread down his back and up his neck, freezing his mind as well as his arm. He lost his hold on Annabelle. The stranger reclaimed his. As all feeling drained from his face, Lincoln turned to look at his shoulder, saw it wet and sticky with girdling blood. His left arm simply did not work anymore.
The stranger held his now bloody knife against Annabelle's throat and, gripping the back of her shirt, began dragging her backward toward the hallway. Lincoln's head filled with static but he still had some fight left. As long as he could still breathe he would fight. With his left arm swinging uselessly at his side, he charged forward. The stranger pressed the serrated spine of his knife so hard into Annabelle's neck the teeth made red marks as she struggled to pull away from it.
Lincoln stopped. The man had already stabbed him. His threats could not be dismissed. Now the world was starting to blur. A spontaneous grunt from the hulking man brought some focus back to Lincoln's mind. The man dropped down to one knee. Suddenly Annabelle was free and running towards him. She had landed a brutal kick to her assailant's groin, crushing him through his overalls with one of her heels.
The man tried to stand, but the pain only allowed him to get halfway before knocking him back down. Annabelle turned around and struck him with a straight punch directly to one eye. Her diamond-encrusted engagement ring sliced through his eyelid and drew blood. Let's go! Lincoln shouted as Annabelle raised her fist for a second blow.
The stranger fell to the floor to dodge, at the same time taking a swipe at Annabelle's shins with his knife. It just barely caught her left ankle, enough to draw blood and make her stumble in shock. Lincoln caught her with his good arm and repeated, Let's go!
They found themselves with the stranger crouched between them and the front door. Annabelle pulled Lincoln toward the hallway, leading him to their bedroom to escape through the backyard. Lincoln's vision continued to worsen. Nothing had sharp edges anymore. and darkness was beginning to creep into his periphery. At the bedroom door, Lincoln separated from Annabelle. She went directly to the outer door while he went to his bedside table. Link, don't, she begged.
knowing why he went there instead of following her. Uneven footsteps pounded up the hallway toward them. Though weakened, the stranger was in pursuit again. Run for help, Lincoln replied as he pressed his thumb against the biometric safe on top of the table. You don't need to, Annabelle pleaded. They didn't have time to argue. Link knew he didn't have much time left on his feet. He needed to end this before he blacked out. From the safe, he removed his 9mm Smith & Wesson's wasn't hand gone.
He pressed the slide into the mattress and jammed the gun forward to cock it without using his left hand. The stranger appeared in the doorway, knife raised and ready. He saw Annabelle about to leave and rushed to stop her. He completely missed Lincoln, slumped against his bedside table, holding the loaded gun. Ready to launch your business? Get started with the commerce platform made for entrepreneurs. Shopify is specially designed to help you start
and grow your business with easy customizable themes that let you build your brand. Marketing tools that get your products out there. Integrated shipping solutions that actually save you time. Shopify is made for entrepreneurs like you. Sign up for your $1 a month trial at I don't have much time. I am being transported by the ecclesiast vassal Markava to stand trial for heresy of the highest order. But I will not renounce my work.
And to my last breath, I will speak the truth of this plague-ridden world. That ours is not a loving God, and we are not its favored children. The Heresies of Radolf Bundwein, Chapter 2. Now available throughout the known world. Six months later, Lincoln and Annabelle Matthews stood with their arms around each other in the empty foyer of their new home at 816 Greeley Avenue.
Annabelle's fingers traced the rigid scar on Link's left shoulder. The nerves in his shoulder would never fully recover, but he'd regained about 80% of his former strength and control of his arm and hand. He'd been able to wait out the shooting investigation in a hospital bed, and in the end, he'd been cleared of all charges. annabelle's physical injuries healed quicker than lynx but she carried the guilt of letting the man
the man they learned to be called Eric Ranger, into their house that day. Eric was a habitual creep with a laundry list of crimes almost exclusively against women who looked like her. When they were away from any recording devices, the detective thanked Link and Annabelle for, quote, putting him away for good. He expressed certainty that Annabelle would not have been Eric's last victim.
Link carried emotional scars of his own away from that day, but since he and Annabelle were alive, mostly okay, and now had a new home free from the nightmare memories of their previous one. He thought he'd buried the trauma with Eric Ranger's giant corpse. At the hospital, he was referred to a therapist who he went to three times before deciding he didn't need further help. Annabelle tried to talk him into continuing his treatment but even she had to admit he seemed fine.
Every therapy appointment he went to cost them a $50 copay, and Link argued the money would be better spent on furnishing their new house, which would, in his words, do way more for his mental health than talking about the worst day of his life over and over again with basically a stranger. The very same night Annabelle agreed to lay off her insistence that Link get help, she felt urged to break that promise.
Link reacted to a noise in the house with what she could only describe as a hyperparanoid response to a simple squeaking sound that could have just been a duct settling. I swear to God I heard a door open down there. He hissed in a whisper, walking back to their new bedroom, one of three rooms upstairs, four if you included the bathroom.
He'd just returned from the landing, where he'd spent two minutes shouting threats at whoever was supposedly in the house. He'd come back to the bedroom for his gun, which was empty when he took it out of the safe. Annabelle, we need to get out, he whispered, staring at the useless weapon in disbelief.
No, we don't, Annabelle whispered back. No, you don't get it. He's already been in here. He took my magazines. I had one in the gun and an extra in the... He stopped when he realized his wife was holding up a fist with two full magazines clenched in it. What are you doing? He demanded. I'm making sure you don't hurt yourself, or me, she added diffidently.
Link swiped at the magazines, but Annabelle pulled them away from his reach. He crawled to her on the mattress and whispered right into her face, There might be somebody downstairs right now. I need to protect you. Give me the magazines. Get your phone and check the cameras, Annabelle replied, nothing diffident about her tone now. Link wanted to argue but couldn't. He checked the chamber to make sure the gun really was completely empty, then sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his phone.
He opened the Ring app to view the three indoor cameras they had placed around the house. He almost tapped on the one positioned on the landing facing the front door and part of the living room. But then he noticed an orange motion alert icon above the camera pointed through the dining room and kitchen. He tapped on this camera. It took a second to load, then displayed the dark kitchen and dining room in infrared.
Annabelle, give me the magazines. He whispered in a voice so low it blurred his words. She did not respond in word or action. Lincoln whipped around, shoving the phone in her face, and hissed, Give me the damn magazines now! The door to the garage was wide open. Annabelle dropped the magazines on the mattress and hurried to dress herself as quietly as she could. Link loaded his gun while instructing her what to do next.
Wait on the landing until I clear the stairs. I'll make sure you're safe to go out the front door once you're outside. Wait a second, Link. She interrupted. Did the front door or backyard cameras catch anybody coming up to the house? Link didn't think that mattered at the moment and kept telling her what to do. Dressed in the clothes she'd worn that day, Annabelle swiped his phone off the bed and rapidly swiped through the various cameras. Five in total, three indoor, two outdoor.
The only one which detected any motion was the kitchen camera currently showing the garage door open, but no one inside. No one had approached the house either. She checked. Link went to the bedroom door and said, When I give you the signal to Link, please come here. Annabelle begged. The fear in her voice made Link believe she had located the intruder on one of the cameras.
Needing this valuable insight, he went to her side without argument. Instead of a live feed, she showed him the recorded motion the camera picked up The video started a split second after the door started opening. It swung inward at a painstaking rate as if someone was being careful not to make the wood creak or the hinges squeal. Where the hinges pinched together. The door made the sound which had originally sent Lincoln to his frenzy. He resisted telling Annabelle he told her so.
The door swung open until the doorknob hit the rubber stop embedded in the wall behind it. But no one entered the house. At no point did the video show any sign of a person. Only the swinging door. I'm gonna go check the garage, Link said. You keep an eye on that camera and yell if you see anybody. If I yell, I want you to run downstairs and straight out the front door, okay? Get outside. Call for help.
Annabelle nodded, her throat too tight to make any audible agreement. Without another word, Lincoln rushed out the door. She watched him descend the stairs on the first camera, then switched to the second to spot him through the living room. She kept thinking she saw shadows shift in every corner, behind every chair, couch, bookshelf, and lamp. Lincoln turned on lights as he cleared the rooms.
Annabelle's screen flashed softly as the camera switched from night to day mode. The flash left lingering dark spots on her screen, and three times she nearly shouted at Link to watch out or look behind him. She was glad she caught herself each time, because Link appeared nervous enough to react by pulling the trigger first and looking second.
Annabelle switched to the third camera, the one which showed the open door as Link entered the picture. She heard him call out, hello, and waited for an answer. She felt a direct channel between herself and her husband, as if their mutual anxiety bound them over the space separating them.
She was his eyes, and she felt as if she could warn him through Morse code tapped by her pattering heart. But in reality, she kept her thumb hovering over the microphone button that would allow her to speak through the kitchen camera. Hello? Link called into the garage again. This time, Annabelle pressed the microphone button and whispered into her phone, I haven't seen anything.
Link jerked so suddenly it's a miracle his gun didn't go off in his hand. He whipped around to make an angry face of the camera before returning his focus to the garage. Sorry, Annabelle whispered only to herself. Then, Link disappeared into the garage. She watched the light turn on above her black Nissan and his gray Chevy. Twenty seconds passed without any other changes or motion. Then thirty. utter stillness utter silence
She turned the volume on her phone all the way up and held it as close to her ear as she could while keeping an eye on the screen. She couldn't even make out the sounds of Link's feet on the garage floor. She reminded herself he was barefoot and told herself to be grateful she couldn't hear.
any sounds of struggle or god forbid gunshots she couldn't imagine what would become of her husband if he was forced to shoot another human being Link appeared again, rising between their two cars from a slight crouch and lowering his gun. He looked through the open door straight into the camera and emphatically shrugged. All clear, but how strange he meant this shrug to say.
Annabelle breathed for the first time in at least a minute. Link's psyche damage was one thing to worry about, but her own deserved concern as well. She still hadn't fully forgiven herself for letting Eric Ranger into their home that fateful Friday afternoon. It seemed like such an obvious and preventable mistake in hindsight, even if at the time she was only doing what she thought she needed to for her own safety.
She'd been taught not to let a stranger into the house since childhood, but she never pictured an intrusion happening in broad daylight, let alone with such a convincing excuse. A potential gas leak? What was she supposed to do? Just stay inside and see if she slowly faded away? Of course, she'd thought of at least half a dozen different actions she could have and should have taken instead of letting the man in without question. But in the moment, she'd simply reacted.
And then there was the thing she tried hardest not to ever think about. What would have happened if Link hadn't decided to leave early on that particular day? What if he had done what he usually did? Finish whatever loud, growly CD he'd put in his car that day before coming inside? Anytime she began to speculate about what could have happened, she felt grateful for what did happen in a way she didn't think Link could.
In a terrible way, she felt guilty for entertaining. Link got to play the hero that afternoon. She was sure he would gladly trade in his scar and the invisible badge he earned to regain full use of his hand, and she could tell the weight of a man's life now hung heavy around his neck. But despite all that, She couldn't quite understand why he seemed to have so much trouble moving on when she'd left that day in the past with relative success.
link closed the garage door locked it and returned to her side on the bed she kept the camera on her screen as they briefly discussed what could have made the garage door open on its own Link said, it didn't look damaged. I guess we just forgot to lock it and maybe the air conditioner pulled it open. that's a good theory i was wondering if the door just didn't latch and sort of you know popped open
Oh, sure, that's possible. Either way, there's definitely nobody down there. The garage door is down and the back door is still locked. I locked the kitchen door too, so we should be fine. Link, what if... what if it was a... Annabelle suddenly threw the comforter at him and quietly shouted, Ghost! She threw her arms around him, tackling him to his pillow. He laughed. She kissed him and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him to her shoulder.
Muffled, he said, we've been married three years and I just realized I've never asked you. Do you believe in ghosts? Not until maybe right now, she replied. She chuckled, but she was only half joking. Link gave her smothering shoulder a big kiss and pushed her back to her side of the bed. Think I'll be able to sleep, he asked. she said she thought so but then only pretended to fall asleep she stayed awake watching link watch the cameras through the slits in her eyes
He didn't listen to music or put on a podcast. He just laid there next to her, staring at the downstairs rooms until the sun began to rise. How'd you sleep? Annabelle asked the next morning when Link finally slumped down the stairs with his tie draped around his shoulders and his socks in his good hand.
She'd gotten out of bed too anxious to sleep anymore due to a job interview scheduled that afternoon. She didn't like the way her old co-workers looked at her now and decided it was time for something new. Not too bad. Link lied. His eyes looked bleary and swollen. Annabelle lied back. I just noticed whenever I stirred, it seemed like you weren't really sleeping.
Yeah, not really, I guess, Link said. He poured himself some coffee, then went to the fridge for creamer. Annabelle stayed silent, knowing her husband would fill the void if she left it open. sure enough as he mixed the creamer into his mug he said I think I'm a bit paranoid after what happened. That's understandable, Annabelle replied.
It's just this house is in a much better neighborhood. We have so much more security. I think I'm being more alert, but then we go and just leave the garage door unlocked. I don't know, Anne. Sometimes I feel like it doesn't matter what we do. There's always going to be some vulnerability. He didn't say it out loud, but Link clearly had a specific vulnerability in mind. Her.
She remained quiet as Link spread cream cheese on a blueberry bagel and carried it over to the dining room table. She waited for him to sit, then went to join him. She pulled out the chair to the left of his, sat, and tenderly touched his bad hand. I'm sorry, she said. For what? I could have tricked the door too, Link said, chewing. She kept her eyes aimed at him as if attempting telepathy. He set his phone down on the table, sensing a serious conversation.
Annabelle finally said, I'm sorry for causing all of this to happen. For letting that guy into our house, for getting you stabbed, and for making you... We should stop tiptoeing around it. For making you kill somebody. Link winced, swallowing his bite of bagel, then wiped cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. He curled his mostly functional fingers around hers and squeezed delicately, which was about as hard as he could squeeze.
And you don't have to apologize to me. Eric Ranger did those things to me, not you. You've learned from what happened and now it won't happen again. So we're good. You don't have to be sorry. What about what Eric did or would have done to me? Annabelle wondered. But she told herself Link cared about that too, deep down, and was only too tired to remember to acknowledge them at the moment. What came out of her mouth was,
I feel sorry, though. I know you barely slept last night, and I just have a hard time not feeling like it's my fault. I wish I could fix it. That's kind of why I wish you would have kept going to your appointments. I guess I hoped you could have worked through this stuff so that... Well, so I could stop feeling so guilty. Link smiled before taking another bite of bagel.
He set the bagel down and, with his good hand, gestured in front of her like a priest, making the sign of the cross. Speaking breathily, he said, I hereby absolve you of all previous sins. You are forgiven, my child. Annabelle couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face, but she looked down to hide it. It felt wrong.
She felt like Link still harbored blame for her even if he wouldn't admit it. Even if he wasn't aware of it. But if he was able to joke and laugh it off like this, did that mean it was really her being paranoid? Had he really moved on after all? She wondered if she was reading too much into his night of no sleep, blaming herself instead of the open garage door.
I guess, she thought, maybe we're both still a little damaged. But we're still here. We still have each other, so I guess I'll just try not to worry. DC High Volume Batman The Dark Knight's DC comic stories adapted directly for audio for the very first time. I have to make them afraid. It's not a motorcycle. Get after him or I'll have you shot. You mean blow up the building from this moment. None of you are safe. New episodes every Wednesday.
In humanity's search for other worlds, we found something unexpected. But when we explored those stories things didn't go as planned. Subscribe and listen to mutes. date and writer's movement and realm. Lincoln left the office early that day, this time asking his boss if he could take half of a sick day. He could not keep his eyes open and none of his current tasks required less than his full focus and ability. He knew he would do more harm than good by trying to push through his exhaustion.
Plus, if he didn't make up for the lack of sleep at some point he feared his paranoia would eventually get the better of him. The paranoia lurked beneath every passing moment he wasn't right by Annabelle's side. Though six months had passed since the incident, he still felt an explosive pressure in his chest any time she didn't reply to his texts right away.
He knew it wasn't right to expect or demand an immediate response from her at his whim, but he couldn't stop the physical reaction which overcame him at any time she stayed silent for more than ten minutes. More often than not, he simply avoided texting her to avoid the anxiety and actually get some work done. But that day, the tiredness, the paranoia, the anxiety, they all won before he even pulled out of the driveway.
After the incident with the garage door, he found it nearly impossible to leave Annabelle alone in the house, even though they both agreed the door probably just opened due to some fluke. he drove home in silence parkway drives horizons was in his cd player but his mind needed quiet or maybe it did need noise to blare out the paranoid thoughts he never really made a decision but the stereo stayed off he pulled into the driveway opened the garage door and noticed annabelle's versa was gone
He pounded a fist into his forehead when he remembered why. Out loud, he chastised himself. You idiot, she had that job interview today. You didn't even ask how she was feeling, if she needed anything. You selfish prick. He punctuated this last self-flagellation by stomping the brake hard in the garage. His car slid forward a couple of extra inches after the wheels stopped turning.
He thought about texting or maybe calling her, but he looked at the clock and guessed she was probably right in the middle of the interview. The worst part, he thought, was that she would likely forgive him when she got home
She'd act like it didn't matter, and that she understood, and she would tell him the interview went fine even if it didn't. Even if his staying up all night watching the cameras also kept her awake and made her tired and ruined her chances of presenting her fullest, best self. Any company would be lucky to have her, he thought. So why couldn't he remember how lucky he was?
Disguising his sadness with anger, Lincoln punched the stereo to turn it on the dissonant guitars in the intro for idols and anchors rang out at a volume far too loud for the garage but he still turned the song up as the beat switched and the song intensified his sadness ripped off its mask Lincoln bowed his head in shame. He held back his tears until the harmonized guitar breakdown made him lose his grip on them.
With his hot eyes hidden in his hands and the music blaring all around him, Lincoln did not hear the garage door rolling shut behind him. you He could vaguely recall the ambulance ride after he woke up at the hospital with Annabelle at his side. He tried, but could not convince the doctors or psychiatrists that he had not attempted suicide, that his near death had been caused by someone or
or something else, nor could he convince Annabelle. She called his boss to ask why Lincoln hadn't been at work, and his boss told her Lincoln seemed distant, almost vacant all morning, prior to him excusing himself for an illness. Lincoln's mentions of the door opening on its own the prior night didn't help his claims to sanity much either, even though Annabelle backed those up. She seemed too hesitant for the doctors to put much stock in her agreement.
They placed Lincoln on a three-day involuntary hold for assessment. On the third day, Annabelle came back from the cafeteria without a smile but with a glimmer in her eye. She hadn't been allowed to see Link for much of his stay, but now that he was nearing the end and things were looking positive, she'd spent most of the day with him. Just got off the phone, she said. I have good news. Did you get the job? Lincoln asked.
Oh, so you did remember, she replied, sounding gracious but also unable to keep a lingering ache from her voice. Link said, I did, right when I opened the garage door and saw your car was gone. Annabel, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't wish you good luck. I'm sorry I didn't make sure you had everything you needed. I'm sorry I didn't show you that I cared. I've been so distracted and just worked up about keeping you, us, safe.
I forgot about all the rest of what makes us us. When I get out of here, I'm going to get back into therapy. Well, they're making you, Annabelle interrupted, giving him a crescent peek at her teeth. Link laughed through his nose. Okay, yes, but everybody here thinks I need to talk about depression or something. I don't. I need to get through this fear I have of something terrible happening to you.
You're right here. You're safe. You're fine. But for some reason, I can't let myself enjoy you because I'm so worried about what might happen when we're apart. Annabelle nodded, looking down. Link could feel the tension from her holding back tears. She said, We'll get through this. Maybe you're right to be worried. I've been back to the house a couple of times and it feels... Oh, I shouldn't be telling you this now. Uh, too late, I guess.
Maybe it's just in my head, but it feels like something's wrong there. I keep telling myself it's just that you're not there, but... She trailed off, making the room silent. Link tried to think of something reassuring to say, but how could he when he'd been the paranoid one in every other moment? Or had he been? If Annabelle was feeling what he felt now, too, did that mean perhaps there was something to it?
Let me ask you something you asked me the other night, she said. Okay, shoot. Do you believe in ghosts? Lincoln kept quiet. In truth, he wasn't sure. Annabelle took a long, deep breath and looked at the ceiling. She said, I've been waiting to tell you this. Actually, I wanted to not tell you at all but it's not going away. What's not going away? Link asked.
Annabelle looked down to meet his eyes, but quickly looked away. It's probably just in my head, but I keep smelling him in the house. The guy, Eric. His clothes had this weird sort of metallic smell. Or maybe it was his skin, I don't know. But it wasn't like a shampoo or a cologne or something. He smelled like a work site, like construction.
I'm probably not describing it well, but I... Link cut in. I think I remember what you're talking about. It was all so crazy, obviously, and everything happened fast, but yeah, there was like a sort of tangy smell to him, I remember. Well, I'm not trying to freak you out, but I smelled it the last couple of times I went back to the house. I know he's dead, but... You think his ghost is back? Link asked point blank.
Annabelle stayed still and quiet for a few seconds, then shook her head. No, that's crazy, isn't it? Ghosts aren't real. Maybe you being in the hospital again just has my mind back there. I don't know, Anne. I swear I didn't close the garage door on myself in the car. All I wanted in that moment was to have you home so I could tell you I love you and apologize for the way I've been acting lately. In general and specifically towards you.
I was ready to change. I didn't want to die. I don't want to die. But what if something else wants me dead? Do you mean Eric? Annabelle whispered. Lincoln shrugged, but then nodded. I'll be home tonight, he said. We can figure out what's going on then, but for now, I want you to stay away from that house. What if he finds me before I can bring you home? She asked, not quite whispering anymore, but speaking very softly. Now who's sounding paranoid? Link joked.
Annabelle didn't so much as smirk, and he felt bad for trying to make light of the situation. He said, We don't even know if it's really him, okay? It's just a few more hours. Just try not to be alone, and I'm sure you'll be fine. Lincoln felt more anxious than ever that night as he and Annabelle prepared for bed. So as not to spook any potential ghostly visitors, they went about their normal routines and met on the mattress at 1030.
The psychiatrist prescribed Link a strong sedative to help him get to sleep since sleep seemed to be a sticking point for him. He told Annabelle he wasn't going to take one of the pills that night just in case something happened. At first, she concurred with this plan. But by midnight, when nothing abnormal had occurred, she thought twice.
Link, if you don't get your sleep under control, they're going to want you back under observation. I can't sleep here alone again. Nothing's happened the past two nights besides the smell, which could really be anything. I'm sure I'll be fine if you take one of your sedatives. I don't need it. Link lied. In truth, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep until after dawn.
It's okay, Annabelle assured him. I'll stay up and wake you if anything starts happening, okay? And we can turn our phone alerts on, so if the cameras catch anything, they'll wake us both up. I thought you were going to stay awake, Link nudged. Okay, in case I fall asleep, Annabelle replied with an eye roll.
Link hated the plan, but still took the sedative. He knew he needed to sleep. Besides, he checked the cameras as soon as he had access to his phone, and Annabelle was telling the truth. Not one door had so much as cracked open while he was gone. The cameras obviously couldn't detect the strange, lingering smell she'd reported, but he supposed that smell could have come from any number of things. She may have even subconsciously invented it in her head.
The very moment Link's head hit the pillow, his and Annabelle's phones chimed. Kitchen camera alert. Motion detected. The alert read. Wink, Annabelle chanted, shaking him even though he could not have possibly fallen asleep yet. They opened their phones, Annabelle slightly before Lincoln. She looked at the live feed as he pulled up the motion recording. He watched the door to the garage open again on its own. On Annabelle's screen, it was already wide open.
This didn't happen at all while I was gone, Lincoln whispered. Annabelle looked up from her phone, eyes like light bulbs, and shook her head. That's not a coincidence, Lincoln's internal voice warned. But externally, he already had enough to focus on. The camera's night vision did not show any living forms which would have appeared to glow white in the infrared in the dining room or kitchen, but a shifting in the shadows created a subtle motion effect on their screens.
It looked like someone walking through the rooms, blocking the light, only that someone was entirely absent from the picture. Lincoln thought about getting out his gun but decided to leave it in the safe. It wouldn't do much good against a ghost, and he feared it might be used against him. A new alert popped up from the tops of their screens. Living room camera alert. Motion detected. Lincoln tapped it.
Annabelle stayed on the kitchen camera, watching Lincoln's screen simultaneously. The same undulation of the room's shadows occurred in the living room, yet still no form which the camera could have detected appeared. The shadows in the living room stopped bending just as another alert dropped down. Stair camera alert. Motion detected.
The white walls of the foyer looked like daylight in the infrared. They both watched, yet nothing appeared on screen. It was unclear what had triggered the camera. They listened, wondering if ghosts made any sound when they traveled through a quiet house. Lincoln thought he heard the bottom stair pop. He thought it may have been his imagination reacting to his expectation. But then Annabelle pointed across her own screen to a place on his and whispered, Look!
At the tip of her finger, Lincoln could just barely make out a shadow moving across the far wall. It almost distinctly bore the shape of a tall man and it moved diagonally up and across following the grade of the stairs. While he found this sight terrifying, another sensation vibrated in the basement of Lincoln's mind. This vibration, unlike the jagged, shaky one at the front of his head, felt soothing and warm, like the sound of a distant ocean.
Sedatives trying to kick in, he whispered to Annabelle. He didn't think he could possibly fall asleep with a ghost actively climbing the stairs toward them, but he also felt it could happen if he simply allowed it to. He toyed with the sensation, drifting back and forth from the edge of sleep for a few seconds. I think he's in the hallway now, Annabelle said, startling him.
he nodded he realized he should not have played with the magnetic pull of sleep because now it was actively trying to drag him down before he had simply been aware of it now he was actively fighting it And just when the ghost of Eric Ranger, if that's who it was, reached the top of the stairs.
A door down the hall swung open and slammed against a wall. There were no cameras upstairs. With no ways in or out besides second-story windows, Lincoln and Annabelle had put upstairs cameras low on their priorities list. They'd already blown too much money on the five cameras on the ground floor. They could only listen as the ghost advanced toward them, slamming doors open along the way. It or he seemed to enjoy tormenting them.
It flickered the hallway light on and off in the cartoonish style of a children's Halloween movie. The couple could hear the light switch just outside their bedroom door clicking repeatedly as the light flashed in the crack under the door. The flashing light partially hypnotized Lincoln in his disassociated, sleepy state. As he watched it, his eyes began to blur. Without realizing it, he started leaning backwards until he passed his center of balance and almost fell on the mattress.
Are you falling asleep? Annabelle hissed. Sedative, Lincoln weakly replied. The light stopped flashing. spurring himself into action with his last dregs of cognition lincoln swung his legs off the bed and dashed for the door he grabbed the knob at the very moment it began to turn Open the window, he told Annabelle. We can't get out that way, she argued. Lincoln said. If we have to we will.
And also, it'll make it easier for someone to hear us scream. Annabelle did as he asked. He could smell the invoking stench of Eric Ranger's overalls. It brought his mind right back to that horrible day in their old house. He couldn't stand anymore. He slumped down, sliding his back against the door until he sat in front of it. If he passed out, he reasoned, at least his weight would buy Annabelle some time. you
Should we call someone right now? She asked him. Somehow the thought hadn't crossed his mind yet, but now it seemed so logical, so rational. Before he could answer, the door bulged against his back. It slid him forward an inch, which he quickly reclaimed,
sliding down the door in the process until he lay on his side. In a vision which may have been the beginning of a dream, he saw Annabelle climbing out of their bedroom window from outside the house. She was stepping down onto a ladder. He had a ladder in the garage, one that
One that could probably reach the bedroom window. If only he'd had the forethought to set it up when he got home from the hospital. Should we call someone right now? Annabelle's question replayed it in his dream. Yes, call Sarah, he thought. What? Annabelle asked. Apparently he'd answered her aloud as well as in his mind. I said,
The door slammed against his back, the edge digging under his sore left shoulder. He winced away, allowing it to open a few more inches this time. Annabel came to the rescue, throwing herself against the door with an animal growl. Lincoln pushed himself against it once more, then said, Call Sarah next door and ask her to set up the ladder outside our window. It's in the garage.
Annabelle said, Link, it's after midnight. He shook his head, letting it lull forward after the effort. He muttered, She'll wake up. Just do it. Are you really going to fall asleep? Lincoln shrugged, or at least thought he did. He was watching Annabelle climb down the ladder again. It seemed to take forever. For each rung she descended, the ladder grew. She climbed and climbed, never getting any nearer to the ground. If she didn't hurry, Eric was going to be able to reach her.
Lincoln was looking up at the window from outside, praying he would not see Eric Ranger standing near it, holding up his dirty knife. But he did not. He saw himself. He. Lincoln. was standing by the open window holding the knife, the very same which had pierced his shoulder six months prior. He was looking down on Annabelle not with anger or hatred, not pity, but disdain. Soundlessly.
She climbed down, down, down, but still came no closer to the lawn beneath her. Put the damn knife away, he thought not to, but at himself. To his great surprise, his avatar did just that. Now go down there and help her, he thought. His dream self followed his command, climbing out the window and descending the ladder above Annabelle. She, it seemed, finally began making some progress.
soon she reached the grass and ran toward the sidewalk lincoln's avatar followed closely behind her they embraced even through the dream lincoln felt the warmth of her touch the love and her squeeze it put his mind at ease and the rest of the night was black. Link, hey, wake up.
Annabelle's voice sounded soft and gentle, yet it startled him out of sleep. Sunlight radiated from the open window. His back was still planted against the door, but now he lay on his side. A pillow lay under his head, but his neck still hurt. How long was I asleep? He asked. It's just about 9.30, Annabelle replied. And don't worry, nothing happened after you fell asleep.
The ghost laughed, he asked. She said, kind of, I guess. I literally mean nothing happened after you fell asleep. It's like the whole thing just ended. Over, just like that. She snapped her fingers. Even the smell went away. You could smell it too, he asked. She nodded. She came toward him, turning as she sat on the floor beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. That sedative must have really done something, she said.
Yeah, we'll be taking another one of those until we figure out how to solve... He waved at the door. This. Annabelle said, I'm not sure how to say this so you won't take it the wrong way, so I'm just gonna say it. Please, just know I'm not trying to hurt or upset you. Oh boy. Okay, go for it. Link, I think the ghost might be connected to you somehow. Lincoln opened his mouth to protest, but Annabel talked over him. As soon as you got knocked out, everything stopped.
When I say the smell went away, I mean it completely disappeared in like less than a second. And I didn't think much of it until after it all stopped and I had some space to think. But I noticed you drifting off while you were sitting against the door. It seemed like every time you started slipping away, the pushing on the door stopped. and when you snapped back awake suddenly the ghost would be at the door again
No, it was the ghost waking me up, Lincoln argued. But then he took a moment to think and remembered, no, his wife was right. Something else had always startled him awake, and then the ghost would hit the door afterwards. Annabelle watched him wrestle with this realization, giving him silence and space to work through what it meant, what she had spent the past several hours processing herself. It is me, he finally said. I'm causing this. I'm, what, manifesting it?
Don't put it all on yourself, Annabelle said. I'm sure it's not something you can control, Lincoln burst. I swear I'm not doing anything. I don't know how this... I know, Annabelle caught in, soothing him. I know it's not anything you're doing intentionally. She bit her lip and thought, then said, I think you moved on from what happened six months ago too quickly We both did, I think, but you especially seem like your anxiety is still driving you.
I mean, look, I was all for the cameras in the house at first. I'm freaked out that something like that could have happened too, and I can't stand thinking about what else might have happened if you didn't come home early, but... Do you know what it's like being here all day, wondering if your spouse is watching you? Lincoln finished for her. She looked away, which was answer enough. He said,
I can't say I never check them, but I promise I'm not being creepy, just checking in. And besides, when you start your new job, you won't be here all day anyway. Okay, the cameras aren't the main point I'm trying to make, Annabelle said. The point is, you need to do whatever you need to do to move on. This fear, anxiety, it really is paranoia at this point, Link, and it has to stop. Otherwise, you and, by association, I will never feel at ease. That's no way to live for either of us.
Lincoln thought for a long time. He didn't possess the words to express that he knew she was right, so he drew her in and held her instead. Just like in the dream, he felt the love in her squeeze. They fell asleep that way, late that night, holding each other close. Lincoln let the sedative work without fighting it, and they both slept through the night. In the morning, they checked their phones for notifications from the cameras and found none.
That wasn't the last time the door to the garage opened on its own, nor the last time shadows moved through the house. but it was the last time the shadows ever reached them. When his anxiety became too much for him to battle alone, Link knew to turn to Annabelle, who could always put him at ease. Over time, the smell of Eric Ranger's clothes stopped accompanying his shadows.
which became formless, ambiguous things. For a while, that made them scarier to Lincoln, but eventually he came to understand it meant they no longer had any connection to reality, not even to of his past. You made it out. Congratulations. If you enjoyed the story, please rate, like, review, or subscribe. For ad-free episodes and bonus Into the Woods episodes, become a patron with the link in the description. You can also support the show by buying merch.
That link is also in the description below. To stay up to date, follow me on Instagram at TheWarningWoods. And if you feel ready, meet me here next week for another journey into The Warning Woods. Thank you for listening. Alright girls, this is the place. We'll get everything loaded over to the boat and we'll lock up the truck. Don't leave anything behind. Wait, is that it? That's where we're going? Yeah, that's it. Sailskin Rock.
Gracias. Return to the mystery Subscribe now to catch the premiere. You are now entering Springfield. Where's the body? Off the side of the ditch down there. You know, surrounded by all this Am I dead? My name is John. I'm the new forensic pathologist. That's how we'll figure out. He took this away from all of us. male impaled on a construct. I'm dead, John. This is about the last... number 101. A wife blended her husband in a wet vacuum. Dad, I can't beat that.
It's okay. It's just you and me now. Who are you talking to? Uh, no one. Let's keep this between us, huh? Listen to How I Died, a full cast, police, and medical procedural with over 40 episodes available now on all podcast apps.