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critical hits fan favorites must sees and in case you missed them we're talking parasite the home alone from grease to the dark night so if you love movies like we do come along on our cinematic adventure listen to unschooled wherever you get your podcasts and don't forget to hit the follow button I went for my first ride in a police car last night. The officer decided to teach me something before I brought any trouble to my new community. I'm not sure if I'm glad he did or not yet.
Sure, he probably saved me, but now I'm stuck wrestling with what he showed me afterwards. I just moved out of my parents' house for the first time. My dad's last words to me before I drove off with my single suitcase of belongings were, Stay out of trouble, son, and never forget to lock your door. Less than 24 hours later, I walked out of my unlocked apartment into the night, only to get stopped by the police.
Now, I didn't exactly get into trouble with the police officer. He actually saved me from the true danger. I'm glad he saw me, really. Otherwise, that disregarded warning might have been the last thing my dad ever said to me. I stepped out onto my second-story deck at the Garden South Apartments late at night after a four-hour interruption-free Warzone session to admire my new view. I couldn't believe it was mine.
The lit skyscrapers in the near distance looked like monolithic statues to the dominance of humanity. A little stoned, I wondered if the ancient Egyptians once looked at the pyramids the same way. or if the Incas once gazed upon Machu Picchu and felt as indestructible as I felt. When I heard the first muted sobs, I thought I was hearing whispers from those lost civilizations in my head.
but they grew louder. I looked down at the parking lot and instantly backed away from the railing. I made myself small to not be seen as I watched. tall woman with her face buried in her hands shuffled behind the row of parked cars in front of the building. Her shoulders and the hair curtaining her features shook with each tiny step she took. She wore a simple white dress with short sleeves. I thought her bare arms and legs must have been freezing. I felt chilly in my hoodie and sweatpants.
The slow way she shuffled made me worry something terrible had happened to her. I thought about yelling down to ask if she needed help, but I didn't want to bring any more attention to her until I figured out what was going on. Garden South isn't exactly in a safe neighborhood, if there are even any of those left around here. And yeah, despite how many times my mom has told me how sexist the damsel in distress slash knight in shining armor trope is,
I'll admit I thought I could maybe be a hero to this poor lady. Sue me. Like I mentioned, I left my apartment unlocked and ran down the stairs to the front door, which let me outside about ten cars ahead of the shuffling woman. I walked out from behind a maintenance van and faced the sobbing figure head on. Cupping my hands against the sides of my mouth, I prepared to whisper shout to the woman. I wanted her to know I was there. I didn't want to alarm her.
As luck would have it, a police officer cruised by our complex right at that moment before any sound escaped my lips. I raised one of my cupped hands to wave him down. I realized he'd already been slowing down, as if intending to turn into our parking lot. Had the sobbing woman called him, I wondered, or someone else who had seen her? The police officer stopped at the turn-in and rolled down his window.
I looked at him and he beckoned me, so I jogged over. You live here? He asked me, his face straight and businesslike. He made no move to exit his car, leaving it running with 90s hip-hop thumping faintly from his stereo. Yeah, I just moved in, I told him. Then I pointed to the lady shuffling toward us, still not looking up, and said,
I was just going to check on her. She's crying and, I know, he said in a voice which silenced mine. He asked, nobody talked to you about her when you moved here? Maybe one of the old timers? I literally just moved in this afternoon, I said. The officer replied, Well, you should try to meet some of your neighbors. They might have interesting stories to tell. Alright, I said. So, you know this lady?
Do you think she's on drugs or something? I took a subtle step back, suddenly quite aware that I might still smell like the tangerine dream I'd smoked earlier. I also peeked over my shoulder to make sure the woman was still there. Don't look at her. The officer scolded. He said, she's a trap for innocent people like you. My head spun to both of my shoulders and I turned around to face the parking lot again.
I searched for a running vehicle or a person hiding behind one of the dumpsters preparing to jump good Samaritans who came to help the woman. Not that kind, the officer said, reading my movements. He said, You probably won't believe it unless I show you what's going on. Hop in. I blurted, no, that's okay. He said, look, I smell the weed, okay? Do you have it on you right now?
Like an idiot, I patted my pockets to check before replying. No, sir. Well, then I won't hold you up over it. Just get over to the passenger side and get in for a minute. Feeling like I'd better obey, I nodded. The officer adjusted his reticulating laptop mount to make room for me in the seat beside him. He picked his coffee mug up out of the center console and took a long swig before replacing it and shutting off the stereo.
His car smelled like stale beer, urine, and weed, which I hoped wasn't from me alone. I could also smell nitrile gloves and cleaning products. It smelled like an operating room upstairs from a dive bar. I checked my door to make sure it opened from the inside before shutting it. Typing something on his computer, the officer told me, It's super important that you don't look her in the face, okay? I just need to say that up front. Do you happen to have your ID on you?
I left it upstairs, I said, also remembering I'd left my door unlocked. I didn't even have my keys with me. If somebody went in there and locked me out, I'd be screwed. Want me to go get it? I offered. He said, just give me your name and date of birth. Alvin Young. Y-E-U-N-G. Alvin is with an A. Birthday is April 2, 2006. The officer typed and waited.
scanned his screen, then said, Okay, Alvin, let me change your world. Remember, don't look at her. Keep your eyes down as we pass by. I promise it's gonna make sense. Okay, I replied. wondering how I was supposed to see what he wanted to show me if I wasn't allowed to look up. When we passed the lady, would the officer tell me to turn around and look then? I thought about old ghost movies.
Would I peek at my side-view mirror and see the back of her head cracked open with blood and brains running all down her back? Would she have an axe sticking out of her shoulder or something? The car prowled forward, and we rolled toward the sobbing woman. The officer barely touched the gas pedal, allowing the car to roll at a leisurely pace. I followed his command and kept my eyes down.
but I heard the officer press the door lock button, double-checking our security as we got close. I also noticed, in my periphery, he drove by staring at his side view mirror, using the reflection to keep himself going straight. Enough time passed that I knew the woman must be behind us, yet the officer didn't instruct me to look up or look back. He kept rolling forward until we reached the exit where he turned to face the road.
The driver of a lifted pickup truck hit his brakes, slowing down about 10 miles per hour when he noticed the police car. The officer said, you kept your eyes down, right? Yeah, is she still there? I asked. See for yourself. I leaned forward to see around him. There she was, still shuffling ahead as if nothing happened. The back of her head was intact and nothing protruded from any part of her.
I almost wish I had seen something so extreme just to make sense of what she was. The ghost of some murder victim would have frightened me far less than the truth the officer was about to expose me to. Sit tight while I pull up the camera. he told me a minute later he turned his computer to face me just to show you that this isn't some pre-recorded thing and that i didn't mess with the footage let's start here
He pressed play, and we watched the front of his car turn into the Garden South parking lot. Is that me? I asked, pointing to a figure who blurred as the camera shook over a bump in the pavement. The car stopped with the dashcam pointed away from me, but a few seconds later, I heard my own voice speak through the camera. The officer paused and turned his computer slightly toward himself, though I could still see the screen.
He said, I'm going to scrub ahead so you can see what I need to show you. Feeling anxious with that strange woman behind us, I turned to look over my shoulder and find her. Don't look at her, the officer repeated. He didn't look at me, but he sounded stern. I'd almost forgotten he was a cop until I heard that tone. He said, here you go, and turned the screen back to me.
The camera showed the parking lot with the sobbing woman standing slightly to the right, just behind all the parked cars. She did not seem to notice or care as the car began rolling toward her. She didn't stop. didn't move further to the side, did not change anything at all. When the push bumper out front lined up with the woman, the officer reached over and paused the video.
He stopped it just as she disappeared off screen. Gotta switch to the rear cam, he said. He pressed an icon and the screen showed a camera view pointed at the caged back seat. Okay, he said. Get ready for this. He started tapping the right arrow key, moving through the video one frame at a time. The woman's shoulder and elbow appeared through the blurry rear window.
The officer tapped a few more times, and we could see her hair, her head, the side, not the back. The woman was turning toward us as if to watch us leave. The officer muttered, Here it comes, and tapped the key again. Frame by frame, the woman's hands lowered. Her hair kept most of her face covered. until she started lifting her head. The hair fell away from a smooth-skinned void where her face should have been. The front of her head was totally bare
except for two dark handprints where her hands had pressed before. In the dark, blurry image, I could not tell what the prints were made of. but somehow they imprinted on the glass, remaining there in a ghostly mist after the woman disappeared out of the camera's view. Before the officer could stop me, I whipped around. The handprints were now gone.
And so was the sobbing woman. What was that? I asked, Dunn trying to mask my fear. The officer shrugged. He turned his computer back to himself and started tapping. Some people say it's a witch or a spirit, he finally said. Nobody really knows, I guess. But you're not supposed to look at it, that's for sure. I've only talked to one person who says he looked at that thing and lived, and he was riding back there.
Blind drunk. I wouldn't lean too hard on his word. So she's wandering around and people are just supposed to know not to look? I asked. The officer smirked with his lips trained to smile on dark humor. He said, not wandering, no. She only walks in front of this building, here at Garden South. It's weird, but she pops up here at the same time every night.
Some of us try to swing by here to make sure nobody got caught outside with her or is out here testing their luck. He gave me a pointed look. I said, I didn't know, and he said, That's the point. You can get out now. It looks like the coast is clear. Have a good night, and it might not hurt to make sure all your doors and windows are locked. I remembered my unlocked door, thanked him, and hurried back to the building.
Shania Sandborn, 79 Anyone who returns to the same place over and over again has either found something they love or is looking for something they've lost. Unless we're talking about somebody with a job they don't like. People only stay in the same place if it feels like home, or if something has trapped them there. To that rule, I say there is no exception.
So which is it for the devil that lurks outside this building every night? Is it home or work? Has it just found what it wants here, or is it searching for something? Or... And this is the most terrifying possibility, if you ask me. Has something trapped it here? These are all questions I ponder late at night, peeking out my window at the parking lot.
waiting for it to give me a clue about why it's here. Sometimes I wonder if this is all my life has built up to. All those years waiting tables to get through college. the following decades working my way up the ranks at the public library, each marriage and every fling, all of the friendships, every family member I buried. Were those chapters of my life all preparing me for this?
Standing guard in this dirty apartment complex against a figment of the universe's dark side? Everyone else who lives here is content to just ignore it, to do their best to avoid it and pretend like maybe it isn't real. It appears at 2am during daylight savings time, and it disappears again at 2.13. For 13 minutes it walks the earth, and anybody who's unfortunate enough to cross its path during those minutes is taken.
To where I cannot say. They die of unknown causes. Their deaths are attributed to old age, drugs, side effects of medicine, chance coincidences. and all of this even though the police are well aware of the devil of Garden South. They drive by here between 2 and 2.13 all the time, but not quite every time. Nearby churches of all denominations refuse to help.
I've invited all of the pastors, ministers, and priests to come watch it appear any night of the week so they can see that they're wrong when they tell me evil spirits don't appear this way. No one has taken me up on this offer. My downstairs neighbors, Vera and Don, they regularly attend First Baptist. They say their pastor avoids them in the halls after services and refuses to answer their calls. They've seen the devil of Garden South.
They know it's real. I once waited with them in their apartment for it to appear, and when it did, I stood in its path holding a cross and a Bible. I did not look up at it. I suppose if I'd really wanted to bring faith into it, I would have looked. I would have trusted God to protect me against that evil thing. But I've never before held a strong enough conviction to allow me to risk my life and soul.
These past few years, I've worked as a psychic medium, attempting to communicate with the dead for those they've left behind. It's how I know that that thing outside is not a ghost or an echo from the past. I cannot communicate with it or connect to it in any way. I can only sense the heat wave of hatred and contempt which radiates from it when it passes by.
I've tried contacting the souls it's taken from here, but I cannot find them. I generally have no trouble contacting a spirit, especially in a space that meant something to them. I've visited the apartments of all the deceased, and never once have I been able to contact them. Whatever the Devil of Garden South, or the Morning Witch, as some call it, really is, It is separate from us in every way, and it separates us from everything we are if we dare look upon its terrible face.
I've made a list of everyone taken under my watch. Corey Marshall, resident, outside smoking a cigarette. Official cause of death, asphyxiation. Mateo Lockwood. Passerby on a walk. Official cause of death. Aneurysm. Gretchen Prada, overnight delivery driver. Official cause of death. Run over by her own van. Police say she forgot to put it in park. Charlie Crisholm. Resident. Cat got out in the middle of the night. Official cause of death. Heart attack. Samantha Gasket. Resident.
Unknown reason for being out, possibly to take a phone call. Official cause of death, apparently struck in suspected hit and run. Multiple bone fractures and breaks, including her spine and skull. Cheyenne Iberis. Uber driver. Pulled into our parking lot to check her text messages. Cause of death. Smoke inhalation. We woke up to the fire department pulling her out of her burning car. I consider every name on the above list a personal failure of mine.
Not that I could have prevented each of their individual fates, but by continuing to allow this devil to haunt Garden South, I've enabled it to claim everyone I just named. I've decided not to let it claim another single soul, unless that soul be my own. I've been searching the general consciousness for an answer on how to defeat this devil. and every signal i've received has agreed that i need to show it i am not afraid
In so many cultures around the world people dress up as variations of demonic and evil spirits in order to ward the real spirits away. That is what I will do tonight. I've put on a black horned mask with fangs and hideous angry eyes. I'm wearing a white robe to show that, despite the mask, I'm not trying to hide. I want it to know I want to be seen, to challenge it. I'll bring with me a Bible, a crucifix, and holy water.
These symbols represent the strongest connection to the pure side of consciousness in this region of the world, and will instill me with the most power to ward off this evil. I'll broadcast out a spiritual plea to garner any assistance I can in my frightening task. I pray that even if I should fail, the good spirits who hear me... will whisk my soul to safety before the devil of Garden South takes it. Wish me luck.
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integrated shipping solutions that actually save you time from startups to scale ups online in person and on the go shopify is made for entrepreneurs like you sign up for your one dollar a month trial at shopify.com slash setup Oh, Canada, a vast, idyllic land filled with beavers, loons, lumberjacks, and polite, friendly folks. We have those things for sure, but there's a darker side to the great white north, full of mystery, crime, the paranormal, and dark history.
Join me, Mike Brown, and co-host Matthew Stockton every Monday for the Dark Poutine podcast as we tell dark stories from north of the 49th parallel with the Odd Away Game covering more international cases. You can listen to Dark Poutine for free wherever you go. Michael Fortress, 44. I'm Mike Fortress, the guy nobody believes because I'm just a drunk.
Uncle Mike, they call me over at the smoke shop. Those kids there, I think they look up to me, sorta. So it sucks that they just laugh at me whenever I tell them the most fearless thing I ever did. Yeah, Uncle Mike took on the morning witch boys. It's true. I looked her right in the face and lived to tell the tale. Maybe you'll be the one who believes me, huh? Tell you what.
I wouldn't keep telling my story if it weren't true. It wouldn't be worth the ridicule, man. At the smoke shop now, whenever one of those kids is exaggerating a little or maybe bending the truth, they call it an Uncle Mike. They say stuff like, you pulling an Uncle Mike right now, or get out of here with that Uncle Mike BS. I laugh along with them, but it cuts me up inside, man.
The story goes back to the day I helped my buddy Tony put up his fence. We did good work and got that fence standing up straight, perfect 90 degree angles all the way around, by 10 o'clock that night. It was the summer, so the sun only went down about an hour before. The night felt young, and we'd been drunk since three, so Tony and I went inside for some hot dogs and watermelon.
Tony put the TV on, and Comedy Central was running back-to-back Eddie Murphy specials, so next thing I knew, a couple hours had passed. More than that, I guess, because I started walking home a little before two. Which, you know, on a Friday night in July ain't abnormal for me. I'd actually seen the Morning Witch a couple times before that night. I'm never sure if it's the Morning Witch, like...
M-O-R-N, or the morning witch, like M-O-U-R-N. Both of them make sense, and she comes out early in the morning hours, and she's always looking like she's crying. Man, it's haunting watching her slide on by. She doesn't acknowledge you, but you know she knows you're there. It's a feeling that'll sober you up for sure. By the time I got back to Old Garden South, I needed to pee bad, man.
I couldn't wait to get up to my apartment. If I hadn't already been busted once for public urinating, I might have picked a tree along the sidewalk and just let loose. But I wasn't taking that chance again. Cops are always rolling by Garden South at night. I approached from the rear side of the building, cutting through the grass to get around to the front. You see those hedges they put up around the building there? They need to be trimmed up, I know. They're stingy on the landscaping here.
Anyway, those hedges are where I ducked when I realized what time it was, and when I saw the Morning Witch. She was walking away from me, slowly as usual. I should have just stayed behind the bushes till she left, but I had to pee so bad and she was just moving so slow. I couldn't help myself. I don't know if it was two hours exposure to that Eddie Murphy swagger or just the beer.
but something gave me extra confidence that night. I stood up and yelled across the parking lot, What's up, you crying? But before I could say what I was going to call her, she whipped her head around.
I tried not to look at her like you're supposed to, but she turned so quick I didn't even have a chance to look away. I saw her face, clear as day, under the street lamp. It weren't nothing there, though. Her face... was just smooth with these like pockmarks it sort of looked like the moon she's so pale and her hair
I swear it moved itself out of the way to expose that blank face all the way, like making sure I didn't miss an inch. Because everybody knows, once you see the witch's face, you're marked for death. Nobody makes it to sunrise after they see what's behind her hands and her hair. Nobody but me, that is. I gave that blank-faced witch the finger and spat on the ground.
Then I turned and ran back toward the street. I ran like I never ran before. I heard her burst through the hedges behind me and started praying to whoever would listen. I swore I'd give up drinking if I got away. That should tell you how much I thought I was dead. I'd never been scared to die before, but that's because I never looked death right in the face before. I never heard exactly how the morning witch gets ya. Folks always put it the same old way.
Nobody who sees her makes it to sunrise. So when I ran blind into the street and instantly got clipped by a passing car, I had something like an epiphany. Ah, so that's how it works. She's clever. I fell to the ground with that genius thought in my head. It went out like everything else when I hit the pavement. I woke up getting pulled out of the police car that hit me.
Officer said I'd been babbling about seeing a witch the whole ride over, like it was something I should be embarrassed about. I told him he didn't have to believe me if he didn't want to. I already had something to be embarrassed about. My soaked jeans. He read me my rights, again, according to him, and helped the medics wheel me into the emergency room to get checked out. I ended up mostly okay and the officer went easy on me, probably so I wouldn't sue him for hitting me.
I've thought about doing it, but there's a key part of my story that probably won't hold up in front of a judge. Anyway, I down low sort of believe that cop saved my life that night. I saw that morning, and the one after... and the one after that. I'm still alive and kicking. Still haven't decided if I'm gonna give up drinking. It was just some cop who rescued me that night, and I sure wasn't sending those prayers and promises his way.
Julian Handy, 37. I couldn't get to Garden South Apartments last night because another officer stopped a drunk driver and needed me to assist with the field sobriety tests. It's not the first night I haven't made it over there by 2, and it's usually no big deal. Once a guy got choked to death, which I feel bad about, and another time a guy just walking by had an aneurysm. But who knows, that could have just been a coincidence.
I've saved more people from the thing that shows up there than I've lost, that's for sure. Last night might have scarred me, though. I'm not sure if I'll get over it. Definitely not anytime soon. Right as I was finishing up with those sobriety tests, dispatch put out a call that a woman was on fire in the Garden South parking lot. Now an aneurysm I can second guess, but when I looked at my watch and saw it was 2.08am,
I knew I'd lost this burning lady to the morning witch. Which is what a lot of people call the evil spirit that shows up over there each night. The other officer had to take our drunk driver to the station, so I sped over to the apartments alone. I arrived before anyone else, before fire, medical, before any other residents even came outside to try to put the lady out. She was still alive, screaming.
running, knocking into parked cars with her hands clasping at her belly like she had a stomach ache instead of flames all over her. Her robe gave me pause. She almost looked like she could have been the witch. and I thought for a wonderful second that maybe somebody had finally beaten it. She had this horrible mask on too, black with horns and these big eyes and creepy smile that the flames hadn't touched yet.
I got out, yelled at her to get to the grass and start rolling around, and ran to my trunk for a fire blanket. She heard me, I guess, and when I got to her, I told her to lay still so I could drop the blanket on her. I jumped on top once she was covered and beat at the flames until nothing but smoke spilled out from the creases. Her mask fell off while she was rolling around. I saw it was Shania Sanborn.
who I knew from stopping by the apartment so often, especially at night. She claimed to be a psychic and acted as a sort of guard dog for the building. She was old though, 70-something I think. and she couldn't stay up all night every night, I suppose. It seemed like that night, the brave old gal decided to take on the Morning Witch. I'm 6'1 and 210 pounds, mostly muscle.
I've got a gun and backup a radio call away, and I never would square up with that thing. Shania put me to shame, but paid with her life. When I pulled the blanket off her, Yes, she was badly burned, but the fire's not what killed her. The reason she'd been clutching her belly while she ran around the parking lot was because the snapped half of a 12-inch crucifix was sticking into her belly.
I'll never forget the smell of scorched blood when I lifted that blanket. Before she passed, she said this to me. Julian, I'm so glad you're here. They're gonna need you. I couldn't do it. I'll do my best, Shania. Rest in peace. You are now entering Springfield. Where's the body? Off the side of the ditch down there. You know, surrounded by all this crime scene tape. Hello? Am I dead? My name is John.
I'm the new forensic pathologist. I can see you, and that's how we'll figure out how you were murdered. He took this away from all of us! 31-year-old female, pronounced dead on the scene approximately 3 a.m. after a 911 call. File number... Three, three, six, seven. Male impaled on a construction site. I'm dead, John. This is about the last amount of fun I'll have. Case number 1017. A wife blended her husband in a wet vac. Case 2457. Not dead. I can't be dead. It's okay.
It's just you and me now. Who are you talking to? Oh, 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. Perfect City is a principle of the ones and zeros. You don't own anything. You lease your survival. Your every move. Trapped and compiled.
The revolution is coming. It's almost here. Stay alert. Stay human. Stay free. Recursion and the Realm Podcast Network. Listen before they silence the signal. Don Pedler, 64. I'm usually home from visiting my mother by 9 or 10 on Wednesday and Saturday nights. My brothers and I set up a rotation so that somebody goes to see her every day.
They both still live in our hometown, so it's no big deal for one of them to pick up the extra day each week. For me, seeing mom means an almost two-hour drive both ways every time. I typically leave at 8 in the morning or so. get down there around 10 and spend the rest of the morning with mom i'll usually go to one of my brothers for lunch visit with anyone else who happens to be around and check on our old house in the afternoon
Typically, once everything's squared away, I'll go back to the nursing home for a couple more hours before I hit the road by 6 or 7 to get home. I didn't leave Mom the afternoon she finally passed. I knew it was the end. I called my brothers around one to tell them they should come say goodbye. They came and brought some of their children and grandkids with. Some people from mom's church caught wind and came to send her off as well.
Mom's room got so crowded I stepped out while the church folks bid their farewells and said their prayers. I got back just in time to hear her final breath slip out. Must have been about 5 o'clock by then, but I sort of lost track of time. Official duties kept my brothers and I busy for a couple of hours. I called Vera to let her know I'd be late. Then we brothers went out to make a toast in Mom's honor.
At my age, one beer does all I need it to, and by the time the buzz wore off so I could drive, my watch said it was ten o'clock. I drove my youngest brother home. My sister-in-law thanked me and asked how I was holding up. That led to a 45-minute conversation in the driveway, shivering because we both knew if she asked me to go inside, I would say, oh no, I'd better get going, like a good Midwesterner should.
All this is to say I got on the road home a bit before 11. Feeling tired, I kept the speed low and stopped frequently to keep myself awake. I didn't make it home until almost 2 in the morning. Lucky for me, nobody took my favorite parking spot, the one right in front of mine and Vera's patio door. That's just about the only thing we enjoy living at Garden South, how we can get inside so easily from the parking lot.
It's a big help when you're carrying loads of groceries and your back and knees aren't what they used to be. I pulled into the spot, shutting off my headlights beforehand so as not to shine them directly through the glass. I hoped Vera had been able to fall asleep. She has a hard time sleeping when I'm not there, but she's cranky as the devil in the morning if she doesn't get her rest. I saw I needn't have worried about the headlights. As soon as I turned in,
Our living room light turned on, and there was Vera, waiting for me at the patio door. I bet she stayed up watching Unsolved Mysteries, her first 48. She loves all that murder stuff, my wife. It relaxes her somehow. Me, it just makes me wonder what miracle has allowed me to live as long as I have without getting gunned down, strangled, or stabbed in the street by some lunatic. I could tell by the look on Vera's face she'd been worried about me.
It was comforting to see her like that. I waved to show her I was okay, not to bother coming out to me like it looked like she was about to. Now I'm somebody who's usually pretty aware of the time. If you're not early or late, is my feeling. But that night, I was just so tired and sad that I didn't realize how late it had really gotten. I realized my mistake when I watched my wife's face fall.
and saw her turn off the living room light. She remained behind the glass door, her shape faintly outlined by the light from the single street lamp above the parking lot. She pulled the sheer curtain in front of the door and started wringing her hands and shaking her head at me. I looked down at the clock and knew my mistake.
Typically, I'm asleep hours before I need to worry about the devil of Garden South, so I'm not used to thinking about it like some of the younger folks who live here. You're not supposed to look at the devil, that much I know. I learned all about it from the strange upstairs neighbor who gave psychic readings out of her apartment. She's dead now. Died last year, right around 2.13am. I had pulled into my parking space.
about ten after two. I looked at my wife and crossed my left arm to point over my right shoulder. She shook her head and pointed left. Even though I knew the rules, I snuck a peek at the side-view mirror. I saw it dressed up like usual, as a lady crying into her hands, stumbling through the parking lot.
sure to attract the attention of anyone with a willingness to help who didn't know what she really was. Hell, first time I saw her, she almost convinced me to ignore my neighbor's warning and check on her. It goes against everything in me to watch somebody in need walk by like that. There's a specification I learned about later. You can see it, you just can't look at it. Am I making sense?
It senses your curiosity and uses it to lure you in, or something like that. Regardless of whether or not you look, it knows you're there, and sometimes it might try something new to try to make you look. That night, as I stared straight ahead at my wife, hiding behind the reflection of my own car, I tried not to pay attention to the soft white shape moving so slowly behind that reflection.
I should have just closed my eyes, but I couldn't make myself do it. I had to know where it was. I wondered how long it would take it to pass by and get far enough away for me to slip safely inside. I watched Vera take a deep breath and hold it as she raised her hands to her mouth. I knew that wasn't good. My eyes flicked to the soft white shape in the reflection, but it was gone.
hidden behind my car. Then my trunk latch popped open. Panicked, I looked down at the little lever by my feet, but I saw my shoe was nowhere close enough to have pushed it by accident. Suddenly, the whole car dipped toward the back. I was too scared of looking into the devil's face to turn around, so I looked at the clock on the stereo just for somewhere to settle my attention. It was now 2.12.
Somehow, only two minutes had passed since I pulled in. I felt like I'd been stuck there for half an hour. Another latch popped. This one belonged to one of the back seats. I heard the one directly behind my seat collapse forward with a pillowy thud, and the whole car rocked slightly to the left.
A rotten smell, like the morning breath of the dead, wafted up around me so thick I thought the thing had wrapped one of its ephemeral hands around my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe, but that might have just been due to panic. I looked back at Vera, my eyes surely wide and desperate for help, but I didn't want her to get involved. I wanted her to look away, to save herself. I could hear it right behind my seat.
It didn't make any sound, but it sounded like the air around it was getting sucked through a vacuum. It made this low, whooshing sort of sound, and I worried I might get pulled into it and never escape. But I did not look. The smell got so foul. I had to breathe, though, and sucked down a throat full of the most toxic air I've ever tasted. It coated my mouth like a spoiled milkshake. I was going to vomit. There was no escaping it.
So I threw open my door and stumbled out of the car, landing on all fours and crawling to the grass. Vera ran out to me as the vomit found its way out. I tried to shout a warning, but my mouth got full. Vera looked up just as I caught a break, but I was too late to stop her. The time spared my wife from eternal damnation.
or whatever awaits those who look upon the face of the garden south devil whatever brief period it is allowed to walk this earth in search of victims ended before her eyes met the face behind its gnarled hands Once the stupor lifted, I quickly checked my watch. 2.13am. You almost made it, didn't you, Shania? I'm tempted to wait up tonight to see if I can pinpoint the exact time and place it appears. Might be good for people around here to know.
But the longer I think about it, the more it feels like seeing that thing this last time was enough. One close call for me, for Vera, is one too many, if you ask me. 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 everything feels too loud to me these days
Everything feels like too much, and I find myself in a body that is both the one I have always lived in and one I no longer recognize. I am filled with worry, doubt, but not fear, because I know what's out there now. There are shadows around me, around us all, that are darker than I ever thought possible. There are monsters just outside your door. The undead walk among us. They need help. And I am one of those who is tasked with helping them.
Not because of any particular calling or destiny. It is my day job. Well, night job, now. My boss brought me into the other side of our world, one I never thought could ever be real. Because I died. and she brought me back from the darkness into a whole world of night. From the creators of Parkdale Haunt comes Woodbine, a podcast about monsters, mysteries, and new beginnings. Season one is out now, distributed by Realm.
Enjoy the world and all its terrors? Interested to learn more about unexplained entities and dark legends from across the globe? Join myself and Dr. Sophie Yang as we share horrors, fears, and taboos from her home in Taiwan and discuss the similarities and differences between what scares souls in the East and West. Learn about what haunts the Taiwanese mountains, what comes for you in death, and much more. Check out That Scares Me Too, available now. That's too like boo.