Secret Sasquatch Research Facility Report

the highlights of our research. In nineteen eighty seven, a small group of scientists were brought to an Air Force base where they were briefed on research they'd been conducting involving a deceased sisquatch that had been hit by a train. Over the next thirty seven years, the program grew. Today, over one hundred individuals are involved in research. The facility is located in a mountain and it is guarded like Fort Knox. Employees pass through three checkpoints before reaching the

entrance in the mountain wall inside. An elevator takes employees more than one hundred feet underground to the research facility. There are one hundred sasquatch cadavers of multiple ages and subspecies in freezers. There are thirteen that are living, captured at great human costs to the military members supporting the program. Over the last three decades, there have been several helicopter crashes in the area of the facility. Entire squadrons and

teams have been lost. Cover Ups told the media the tragedies happen during training missions. The real explanations are far more feral, relating to fail attempts at bringing more creatures in. The project began with an autopsy aimed at determining how the creature could survive even in the harshest climates. With each new discovery, the government found ways to apply it to Our military. Secrecy is a top priority. If the research leaked, it could cause problems homeland security, brain drain,

and stolen tech. Our research showed the specimen had two more ribs than humans and was considerably larger and denser by comparison, dense enough to withstand the impact of a thirty caliber bullet fired at close range space So closely together they act like plated armor under the chest, and we theorized that their bone density involved due to the amount of calcium they consume. Gained by eating the bones

of animals they hunt. The skulls are curved like a bear's and more denser than a human's, able to deflect most rounds of ammunition. The only way to penetrate the brain is a direct shot into the orbital socket or directly under the base of the skull. The digestive system is impressive. A nine hundred pound creature can consume one hundred and eighty pound deer in one sinning, including the

bones and the organs. This allows them to hunt and consume every three to four days, supplementing their diet with fruits and nuts and other opportunistic hunting. This creature has forty eight chromosomes, the same as apes, but two more than humans. This implies the creature is not a human subspecies. The first life specimen was obtained in nineteen ninety nine, and research grew exponentially after that, focusing especially on its

camouflage abilities. Perhaps our greatest finding to date is that the creatures are capable of generating an electric current. The energy is channeled to their hair and used to reflect their surroundings its electric camouflage. We also believe the current powers their ability to see at night, similar to thermal scope. When witness, the subject's eyes and skins will warm, making

the eyes appear to glow. When the animal is dead, this camouflage ability ceases to function, and you can imagine what the commercial hunting industry would do for this information. The creature has three sets of vocal cores which it uses to create infrasound. Our next leg of research examined how the males use infrasound to affect emotions fear, anxiety, and confusion. Some are capable of inflicting memory loss, lasting

for several minutes to in some instances, several days. The female's infrasound is different, having a calming, soothing effect, though it was also noted to create confusion. When live deer or livestock are dropped into the containment area, the animals do not panic or try to flee. They appear confused, unaware of the creature feet away, even as it charges and attacks. The creatures appear to communicate not only with infrasound, but also with an oral language of clicks and grunts

and hand signals. They have a community and a hierarchy within their groups. There's typically one alpha male and a group of females and juveniles. If another large male is introduced, there will be a fight to the death. Similarly, when a juvenile male becomes a threat, he will be attacked by by alpha and he will be driven off. Now this has resulted in the facility having multiple containments for

different males. However, research suggests that if there are no females, resent males can coexist without aggression, even to the point of sharing meals. Females are not receptive to breeding until the last offspring matures to the age of three to four years old. They rarely give birth to more than one offspring at a time. The offspring cling to the mother for the first year and then become more independent

after that time. There were several documented events of female staff experiencing vivid images described as waking dreams of places and events experienced by the female creatures. Examples include capture, childbirth, confrontation with rival clans. Other examples include the creature projecting to the female's staff their favorite foods. There are no records of male staff members experiencing these visions. We have also documented their behavior in the presence of staff members.

The females are present, the specimens are calm, observant, and open to accepting offerings. When there are males present, the creatures become cautious, observing from a distance and refused to accept any type of offering. When the uniformed or arm staff are present, the creatures retreat to the furthest corners of the containment area and will sometimes project aggressive infrasound. To this day, the facility has released four specimens back into the wild, all of which are non aggressive and

showed no hostility toward our research staff. All four were implanted with GPS tracking devices. The first two were released where they were captured and then tracked along a malgration route for the next four years, traveling as far south as East Texas and as far north as northern Ontario, Canada. The other two traveled an average of forty to fifty miles a night, spending several weeks in one location at

a time before moving to a new location. Their movements suggest these creatures have learned routes that they teach to their offspring, and on several occasions the signals have vanished, only to appear again several days later fifty miles away,

suggesting the creatures use cave systems to move underground. As for the foul smell the creatures emitt, we have discovered there are different musks for different situations, for example, when females are receptive to breeding and when one feels threatened again, those are just the highlights. I'm sharing the information with you because of your viewer's base and your non judgmental approach. I appreciate everything you have done sharing information with the public.

I'm doing this for my late colleague. He would have wanted me to do this. Okay. I didn't say any thing before I read this story, but I got this email quite a while ago, and I've actually read it two or three times, and I've to be candid, I've used it for some research in my Steve Lilly stories.

I finally sent it off to Rebecca and she kind of cleaned it up a little bit, and it's the man who wrote the email did a great job on the front end, but she kind of organized it for me so that I can because I'm not real smart, and so she uses smaller words and stuff for me that I can pronounce. I thought this was interesting if you're interested in secret government operations where they actually capture

sosquatch and keep them captive and examine the bodies. I thought this might be an interesting It was very interesting to me. I thought you might enjoy it, so I appreciate the writer for sending it. Sorry you lost your buddy, and we really enjoyed this email. Thank you, sir. This event happened almost fifty years ago when I was a young teenage boy growing up in rural Blunt County, Alabama,

thirty miles north of Birmingham. This area of north central Alabama is considered the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, and in nineteen seventy eight, it was far more country than it is now. Back then, we had two gas stations, a general store, and a caution light, but today the community has several fast food places, a Mexican restaurant, a pharmacy, and a bank. At the time of my encounter, I

was in my early teens. I had not gotten my driver's permit yet, so my main mode of transportation was my bicycle. My friends and I used woods as our playground. We hunted squirrels, and we fished, and we swam in the river and camped out on the weekends. I was comfortable outdoors as any other twelve or thirteen year old boy who had spent years exploring the woods. Strange noises

and critters or bugs did not easily spook me. Even today, working as alignman for the local power company, my job requires me to spend a great deal of time alone in the woods at all hours of the day and night, so I'm not one who worries about things going bump in the night. In nineteen seventy eight, a friend taught me into putting out trotlines down on the Locust Fork River behind my house. I don't remember what possessed us to undertake such an adventure, but I agreed to help him.

We chose a remote spot where the river made a U shape ben and all the water ran slower. To get to the river, you had to walk down a steep terrain that was heavily wooded, and going down wasn't too bad, but coming back up the road could be a little taxing, even for a couple of kids. We set out our lines, and for the next few days we went after school and we checked them. It didn't take long to realize this wasn't at all that great

of an idea. We caught two or three fish a day, but usually by the time we got to them, turtles had eaten everything but the head. As a teenage boy, I started thinking of other ways I'd rather spend my time, and I was seriously debating on quitting after a few more days if the lack of success continued. But little did I know that decision would be made for me.

One day, after we'd been doing this for a few days, my friend told me at school that he had something he had to do that afternoon, and he asked me if I would check them by myself. I wasn't thrilled about it, but I said, yeah, I'll do it that evening. I hooked it down the steep hill alone to the river for what I expected to be a total waste of time. I began to check the lines and I heard something grunt across the river on the opposite bank. At this spot, the river was about forty feet across.

The opposite bank was also heavily wooded, and thick underbrush lined the bank. It was so thick that there were very few spots where you could even see through it, and even then it was only in small gaps that were few and far between. Whatever was across the water was now grunting and growling, and it was shaking small trees, all the while making sure it stayed completely concealed behind the brush. I told myself it was probably a hog rooting around, but I knew immediately that was not the case.

It wasn't a pig with its nose stuck in the dirt. It was grunting and growling, not snorting and squealing. I could tell by where the sounds came from that whatever it was, it was at least as tall as me, and wild pigs don't grab and shake twenty foot tall hardwood trees like their twigs. Well, I try to ignore it, hoping whatever it was would tire of messing with me and just go away, But it continued to parallel me. As I moved down the bank from line to line.

It became obvious to me that it had no intention of going away, and I eventually lost my nerve. I began to be afraid that something would burst through that thick brush and into the river and get me. So I said, to hell with the fishheads, and I scurried up that steep bank. I think I completed it in

about half the time it normally took us. Even as I did, I could still hear this thing causing a commotion, no doubt, making sure that I would not change my mind and come back it didn't have to worry about that happening. The next day, I told my friend that I was out of the trotline business and would not be going back to that section of the river. When I told him why, he scoffed at me, But I didn't care. I don't know if he went back down

there or not, nor did I give a damn. Over the years, I had thought about this event and tried to rationalize what hap As my dad was a Bigfoot enthusiast, I had known about the legend of it since I was a young kid. We watched every one of those cheesy seventy documentaries and of course the Patterson film. But Bigfoot was something that lived out west. At the time of this event, sightings of this creature in Alabama were unheard of. Years later I learned that other sightings in

North Alabama were actually quite common. I can't say for certain what it was. I never saw it. It wasn't until I listened to your podcast and heard others discussing episodes of tree shaking, that I allowed myself to consider this possibility. Like I said in the beginning, this story doesn't contain any of the more exciting aspects of many of your other submissions. But this did happen. My brother told me it was probably some moonshiner running me off

of it. Still, as most of the counties in North Alabama around this time, we're all dry. Moonshining had once been widespread in those hills and haulers, but by the late seventies the illicit liquor trade had pretty much dried up. There were still bootleggers around, but they wouldn't have any reason to be that deep in the woods. Others have also said somebody was messing with me, maybe even some of my friends, trying to scare me. But if that had been the case, and knowing my friends, they would

have spilled the beans and told me about it. They were the kind of kids who if they ever got anything on you, they weren't going to let you live it down. But until this day, no one has ever admitted to such shenanigans. And I doubt a teenage boy could shake a tree like that. I don't think a full grown man could either. When I shared it, even with family members, I get ridiculed as such. Over the years,

I've quit talking about it. It's only after hearing your podcast that I now feel comfortable relaying it to you. Thanks for your podcast. I love listening to it and hearing all the accounts that you read, and I've turned my dad onto your show. Thank you for that. After hearing some of the more terrifying ones, I'm glad mine was as unspectacular as it was. Sometimes in life, the less exciting it is the better. Oh that's the damn truth. He signs it. I'm not gonna tell you his name,

but North Alabama. I spent some time in North Alabama up around Fort Payne and five, Alabama and gunners Full. I got to do some fishing at Gunnersville and Lakewise, and I really like that area. Very nice people, good people.

I thought this was a real exciting story. I mean, imagine you're a kid and you're running trot lines, and you got to run them if you really to me, if you're going to run trot lines, some people put them out, they'll run them once a day, but you know, to really run trot lines and do it right, you probably need to run them about every three or four hours. So he found that out. The turtles and the guard and everything else that eat what's on your hook. It's a fun thing to do, or it used to be

for me when I was younger. I used to run trot lines with I'm sorry, I just keep talking about me. That's not what I mean to do. I guess I'm just running at the mouth. I'm just rambling. Anyway, Let's just put it this way. This was a good story. I identified with it, and knowing people in North Alabama, I could almost hear them telling me this story. So I'm sorry I got choked up, but it was really good. I wanted to say thanks to the writer. I appreciate it.

This morning, as I was slowly waking up for the day, I felt a finger touching my foot under the covers of my bed. This in itself is not unusual, except that I live alone. Somehow, the experience finally prompted me to write to you. My father was born in a small town in Germany. When the grave digger in the town retired, he informed his successor when someone passes, there would be a knock on his door. Letting him know

it was time to get up and start digging. When my grandmother in Germany died, doors knocked at two homes that day, one in Germany and one in Canada, within two hours of each other. My father opened the door to see who was there, but our entrance was empty, and there was in a single footprint in the fresh coating of snow outside our door. At around thirteen years old, I was shoveling grain into the auger that was supplying

a feed meal. The grain bend sat in a plywood barn with a ladder nailed to the wall for getting in and out there. I was hauling the grain when I looked up and saw my uncle wearing a black tuxedo. I stopped and stared at him curiously, and I told him hello. Then I got back to my work. It wasn't until later that night, after my chores were done that I found out that he had died. Moved into

a farmhouse, and immediately started seeing apparitions once. I even watched a glass move across the kitchen counter in front of me. Last fall, my father came to visit for a night. He insisted on sleeping on the couch that night, and the next morning he asked which talk show I was listening to on the radio at three in the morning. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I told him I had been asleep all night. He looked at me like he regretted even asking, and we didn't

talk about it anymore. My old neighbor is the son of a man who was born in this house over one hundred years ago. Next time I see him, I tell him to take his relatives home with him. They aren't paying rent. Two winters ago, I woke up on my back with my arms crossed onto my chest. I felt a light pressure holding them down, and when I tried to lift them, something pushed them back with such force that it pushed me into the Matre. Immediately said

a prayer and felt the pressure disappear instantly. Many occurrences have happened, but became so frequent in my everyday life that I've been able to find normalcy in it. All. Normal sea. It's a normal normal sea. Is that even a word? Normalcy? Anyway? Normal sea, and at all I've never felt afraid, nor have I ever found reason to be alarmed by it. Looking at it objectively, it's just energy, different between human and animal. Each of us has a soul, and when we leave our bodies, we pass into the

spiritual realm. Depending on our development and experiences, some of us move on toward the light, while others stay earth bound. Sometime those who have moved on will come back for a visit to see how we're progressing here on Earth. I'm convinced that if we could see the wider spectrum of light, we would see the spiritual realm. But since we can't, the spirits have to do the hard work gathering enough energy by siphoning it from the living or

drawing it from energy of the environment. If there's enough energy around, they can make themselves known to us by knocking on a door, or moving a glass, or turning a light on or off. As a believer in reincarnation, I often question the role of ghosts and why they exist. Fortunately, I found a book written by a Catholic minister in Germany after World War One. His name was Johannes Greber. Maybe it's Johanness Grieber Johannas Godeba if you'd like to

look it up. The information he shared is monumental. It will make you see the world and your life from a completely different perspective. Thank you for what you do. I hope my story is of help to people seeking the truth, and thank you to those who have the

courage to write about their experiences and off. And this was a story about multiple experiences with ghosts and other apparitions, family members, neighbors, neighbors, parents, and I've never experienced anything like this, but we get a few emails like this, and people believe different things, and that's fine. You can believe whatever you want. But sometimes I wonder when my light goes out, what am I going to see? What?

You know, I'm a believer in Jesus, But other than that, I wonder what the experience is going to be like. Is it going to be a bright light? Is it going to be a woosh through space? Am I just going to go to sleep? There are a lot of different theories about it, and as many theories from the secular community as there are from the religious community. And the truth is, we don't know. It's funny because billions of people have lived and died on this earth and

nobody has any idea what happens moment of death. But it will definitely be a new experience that I've never experienced before. So I'm kind kind of in a way looking at it as sort of an adventure, you know, A wonder meeting my creator. I think that's going to be pretty cool, and I hope it happens instantly. I hope we don't just go to sleep and sleep for a million years, because not that we would even know if we were asleep. How would you even know it

had been a million years. I want to be cool to wake up and say, hey, how long has it been since I died? And somebody there tell you, oh, it's been a million one point two million years since you died? What? Man? I missed all that? Anyway, just stuff I think about. You know something else I think about.

I get up in the morning and I drink some coffee and I'll try to just clear my mind for about fifteen or twenty minutes, and then I'll pull up my phone and I've gotten I'll be honest with you, I've gotten on this TikTok rabbit hole kind of thing, and I've come They're ass some of these do you guys know who these First Amendment auditors are? These guys who just sit on a sidewalk and film stuff and

try to provoke reactions from people on the street. And they're testing their freedoms just what they're doing, and they're making money off of it. But what I find really spectacularly interesting and I love watching people and trying to figure out what the what is the psychology of what is going on here? What makes people do and think

and behave the way they do. What amazes me of the people that the people who will confront these auditors and they say they don't want to be on camera, but they step right in front of the camera and they start a big fight with them or an argument with them. They'll even chase them around. Some of them will get violent with the auditors. A lot of them get pepper sprayed. What is it about? Is it? Is

it a need to control your environment? If I walked in a shopping mall and there was somebody there with the camera just filming people going in and out, I wouldn't think anything about it. I just walk right by them and go in. I have no need, no desire to find out what they're doing. Or somebody standing at a lot of times they'll stand in front of post office.

Is you know sometimes they'll stand in front of these cannabis dispensaries, get people going in and out of the marijuana dispensaries, which I think is kind of which is brilliant because you're always going to get someone to confront you there, which is that's what they want because that's what people watch, and that gets clicks, and that gets full views, and that's how people like us creators make money.

If you listen to a video, in their case, watch a video from front to end, that's when you do the best financially. Nobody's getting super rich doing it, but a lot of them make their living doing it, and they and the auditors have become extremely crafty at how they respawn to people. But I'm just curious from you, the audience, what is it that makes these people tick that confront the First Amendment auditors? Why do they Is it just a control thing? Is it a pride thing?

What is it? You guys? Tell me what you think of is if you haven't watched any of you won't even know what I'm talking about. But if you've watched any of them, and I know a lot of you have, I find them fascinating. Not because of the controversy I just look at the people that confront these people and I go, what is going on in that person's brain? And so along with that you get to see like the police cam, the bodycam footage of people that the

police arrests. Like they'll pull somebody over and they'll say, well, you were going sixty five and a forty. I need to see your driver's license, your registration, and your insurance. And instantly these people become a problem. They won't roll down their window, they won't give the officer their driver's license.

They know they were speeding, but they won't cooperate at all, and it eventually winds up after thirty or forty five minutes of the cops saying, if you don't get out of that car and give me that information, you're going to prison. And if you don't roll down your window, I'm going to break that window and drag you out

of that car. They will take it so far, so far that they'll go to prison, when all they had to do was just say, yeah, I was speeding, I broke the law, Take your lumps, give them the license, give me your insurance, all that stuff, and just get it done and move on. What is it? What goes on in the mind of these people that bow up on the police when they've obviously done something that rated

them being pulled over. What is it you guys? Let me know in the comments what you think is going on with these people, Like the people who won't roll down their windows or give up their drivers. Are they trying to control the cops. You're never gonna win. The cops are always, always, every time, gonna come out on top. You're gonna do what they say every time. If they ask you to get out of a car, you are coming out of that car. If they ask you to turn around and put your hands on the back trunk

of the car, they're gonna search you. They're gonna handcuff you, put you to the ground. It's gonna get done. Why do people continually bow up on this stuff? Anyway? I'm just fascinated with the psychology of people and the trouble they get themselves in when it's not even necessary. It is not even necessary in the least bit. Is it just a need to win? Is it a need to come out on top? Is it a need for control?

Tell me what you're think in the comments. I know that was a big tangent, but it just popped in my head. Thought I'd just talk about it. When I was six years old, my family took a vacation a little ways north of Cadillac, Michigan. We stayed in a small cabin that belonged to some family friends. They had a sun ma age named Jeff, and we got along pretty well. We spent a few days playing in the woods and by the creek that ran along the hill.

On the fifth night, we saw a dog man. It was well past midnight, and Jeff and I were up away past our bedtime, goofing around and looking at comics with a flashlight. The bedroom we were staying in was small, in a loft that we'd climbed into with a lighter. In the loft, there was a round window below the peak of the roof where we could look out and see the driveway in the large front yard dotted with trees.

Next to the drive was a small wooden shed. Beside that was a telephone pole with a big yard lamp casting pale bluish light on the ground. On the other side of the shed, just out of our site of our little window were metal oscar the grouch style trash cans with lids secured down by black bungee cords to keep animals out of them. We were sitting there, flipping pages over in our comic books when we heard something

getting into one of those trash cans. We crawled to the little window, hoping to see a raccoon or maybe even a bear, But what we saw was something else entirely. It was darker than the night around it, blacker than black, a walking silhouette. It was bigger than a bear, but narrower in some parts too, and moving slowly and low to the ground. We waited for it to come into the pale blue light, but it seemed to know better.

It disappeared into the darkness of the lawn where the light couldn't reach it, and then it circled around and went back to the shed the long way. We lost sight of it when it got to the vehicles, and then we saw it again, clearer than before, as it stood up beside my dad's vehicle. Dad had a lifted charger so high that the floorboards were my eye level. I was an average sized, healthy six year old kid, but my dad still had to pick me up and

set me in the car. It's head and shoulders towered above the charger's roof, I could make out a neck a long muzzle. In twenty years, we lost sight of it after that. The next morning, while our parents were just dragging themselves out of the bed, Jeff and I rushed outside to look at the trash cans. Sure enough, the bags inside were torn to shreds, like something with claws had ripped through them looking for what it wanted.

But the strange thing was that the lids were still on and the bunges were still secured when we got there. Whatever had gotten into them had taken the lids off and then put them back on afterward. We never told anybody about it, even at six. We knew our parents would never believe us. And I can't say for certain that I saw a dog man, but I can't say that I did either way. That experience taught me to

keep an open mind. Since that day, I'm always cautious in the woods, and I advise anyone who hears this story to be cautious too. Yep, I would be cautious at least in your area if you saw a dog man. But here's what confuses me about this story. Who lifts a Dodge charger. That doesn't make sense to me. You generally left a truck, like a four wheel drive truck. Your dad lifted his charger to where you couldn't even get in it. I've never seen a lifted Dodge charger. Anyway,

this was a great story. Kid six year old kid thinks he sees a dog man by the garbage cans that opens and closes trash cans with bungee cords. Amazing, It's amazing. Okay, here's a short, little Bigfoot story you guys might enjoy. In October of nineteen ninety one, my ex husband and I had rent into a condo in Mammoth, California. On our first day there, we decided to go fishing

at Lake Mary. The whole time we were at the water, I felt as if someone was watching me, but I didn't make a big deal of it, and we went about our day. The next day, we decided to hike to Inyo Crater. I Nyo never heard of that. I think that's unless that's a Typo. That's a crater I've never heard of. We took the moderate trail and we were about halfway there when we heard something crashing through the forest to our left, a huge buck came bounding

through the trees right in front of me. It was so close I could see the color of its eyes. It had been so frightened by something it couldn't have cared less about running right past us. We looked in the direction that it came from, but nothing was chasing it that we could see. But still the experience spooked us. I thought about the eerie feely God had while fishing the day before, and I found myself looking over my

shoulder the rest of the height. That evening, there was a light snowfall, and as I stood on the balcony and listened to the silence, I pondered the day, unable to get the look of fear on that animal's face out of my mind. I've heard other people's stories on your channel about animal behavior and sisquatch, and to this day, I wonder if that buck was being chased by one. That's a really good question. Normally, if a deer's running, they they'll see you and they'll veer off. You know,

they'll stop, hit the brakes, turn, they'll do something. But it sounds like they didn't even see you. So that's kind of a creepy story. It could have been a big foot chasing it. You never know, you never know. Thank you very much for the story. I thought that was short and concise and very good. Thank you very much, ma'am for the story. All right, I'm going to add a story from the archives, just one behind this one

to finish out this podcast. Hope you guys enjoy it, and I'll sign off now until you I hope you enjoyed this last story, and after that we'll see on the next one. Veronica Amber had no recollection of her first encounter with the wisps that came as inconspicuous and unexpected, like flurries of indoored dust that float and fly when bathed by a sheen of sunlight. At the beginning of their residence at three point fifteen Copacitic Lane, just before

their street transitioned into the main road in town. Her home knew a time when it was vacant of the wisps, and the only specters filling the inside of their projections from the old films that her father would display on dark velvet walls of the house. The walls of their Victorian used to hold no haunting tendrils of their existence.

The hallways her no shrills or cutawalls from a life silenced by death, and the marbled floor of their historic home at one point had less of a tendency to send shivers up one's another regions and into the spine. The wisps were invisible inhabitants of their home, but to the rest of the world they were simply called ghosts. Veronica Amber's acquaintance with them was far from the horror filled nonsense she'd read about in books and watched in movies.

For the more the whists made themselves known to her, the more annoyed she became. It seemed they were always around, causing mischief, popping out at the most inconvenient times, and filling her ears with macabre groans in the dark in an attempt to inflict fear into her soul when she only wanted to have a good night's sleep, and since then she had scarcely known a moment's peace. Veronica Amber, as she liked to be called, awoke on Halloween morning

with an abrupt opening of her eyes. She lay on her back in her attic room, watching the warmth of the dawning sun changed the color of her slanted ceiling. She heard a shuffling of feet, moved her eyes to the foot of the bed, and there stood a lady Wisp looking at her with a cocked head, her spaghetti strands of hair falling onto a ghostly shoulder where the clavical and humorous were exposed underneath decayed and stretched out

torn skin. This particular wisp never bothered Vam like the others did, but the gaze she gave her always made her feel uncomfortable because she knew the apparition was trying to say something through those glassy, unblinking eyes. Perhaps it was due to the dislocated jaw and missing tongue that kept her from saying what was on her mind, but regardless, Vam had no time to feel sorry for something that had the same design as a fart in the wind.

It's Halloween today, Paprika Vam said, lifting her head from the pillow and using her elbows to hold her up as she faced the wisp. A Vam named all the wisps after spices, and Paprika happened to fit this specific one. Not only that, but it's my last time as host now that I'm eighteen. After this I'm relieved of all duties. Vam gave a quick stretched and moved her body into

a sitting position on the side of her bed. She felt the moist hot fog surround her feet, and when she looked down, she glanced at the open mouth of a Regano, an older wisp who was bodyless and used his old man head to roll around their home. His gurgily foaming mouth was stretched wide in an expression that would make any normal humans soil themselves and fright. His cracky lips clung around Van's feet, leaving strands of ghostly

saliva on her ankles. Fam rolled her eyes and wiggled her toes, visible through the rotted eyelids of his head, and she kicked him, making him vanish into nothing. You're disgusting, she muttered, moving toward the bathroom. Before she reached the toilet time, a young boy whisp who looked about six or seven, popped up from the floor and shrieked like

a banshee. She gasped more from the suddenness of it than from fright as his face collided into hers, and before she had a moment to swat him away, he disappeared. Time was the one who bothered her the most, and as many endeavors to frighten her, and failing to do so, it made him the one she also felt closest too, almost like a little annoying brother, but with maggots crawling out of his nose and ears. It was in the alone hours of the morning that Vam felt the most

connected to the house. Her parents, who taught night classes at nixt University, remained asleep for the majority of the day, and it was in their solitude that she learned to speak to the house. Just one touch to a chimney stone or a beam of wood was enough for the house to remind and speak to her about how it was before their wisps had occupied the space. She would get images of her mother and father, and their pale

faces contrasted with the black exterior of the home. The oldest and most abandoned, neglected house on Copastic Lane was the one they had imprinted on. Could it be genetics? Her father, Professor Victor Ambrose Prior asked one night during dinner over his stake Flombay, many years ago, when Vam had confided in him about the wisps. When we adopted you, we knew at some point your health would become a

source of worry for us. He said, well, that is a possibility, my dear, but we must also not reule out the screen time. Her mother, doctor Vivian Amelia Pryor, had said, placing a cold, pale hand on Vam's forehead, that new iPad we got you for Christmas has become a bit of an addiction for you, darling. Are you sure you aren't hallucinating these images? A young Vam had smiled at them, half lovingly and half disappointed that her

parents couldn't see the wisps. She shook her head. No, mother, I'm not imagining them there as real as you and I father. I can touch them, I can smell them, but when I try to scream, they disappear. At this point, being scared isn't an option. I just want them to leave me alone. Her mother's plumb, lipstick stained mouth formed a sympathetic frown. I'm so sorry, dearest, I wish there was something we could do to make it go away.

That had been many years ago, and since then, numerous wisps had appeared to her as real and as vexatious as ever. For better or for worse, but not for long. Comes springtime, when Van was due to graduate, she'd leave her home, seething with wisps, to start a new life and leave the nest, a phrase her father despised and regarded with contempt pishposh. He always said when that phrase was uttered. We aren't eagles, for goodness' sake. So I

want no more talk about leaving nests and whatnot. Now, Vam, my darling, I couldn't be prouder of the person that you become and the one you are yet to be. And like any father, I'm disconsolate at the idea of seeing you go, but exhilarated at the prospects that await you. Not flesh of our flesh, nor blood of our blood. But once you were handed into our arms, the darling child with the eyes as dark as coal, who appeared to us as a stranger, suddenly became the most beloved daughter.

A most beloved daughter rang in Vam's head, and she dressed herself for the day. In the mirror, a young girl Wisp, whom Vam had named Coriander, manifested herself beside Vam. She opened her mouth and let out a shrill scream that penetrated the ear drums with a searing intensity, and Vam covered her ears, but ignored her and quickly placing a clip on her hair before making her way downstairs

to finish the preparation for the night's Halloween party. A most beloved daughter, she thought to herself again, and a most beloved host. And when Vam was a young girl, shortly after the Priors had adopted her, she was given the responsibility of hosting a Halloween evening in their home. Mommy and Daddy have to sleep, dearest, and can only join later in the evening once we awaken, who will be there to entertain our guests. Well, that is where you come in, said her mother. But I'm only a child,

Vam had objected. Well, that works to our advantage, darling, her mother had said, kneeling to her level and pressing her pale forehead to Vams, they are more likely to trust you, and so they did. Every Halloween evening, the Priors would appoint Vam to welcome guests and passing trick or treats to their home. At the beginning, guests would question her on the whereabouts of her parents, to which Vam would reply no worries. They are resting and will

be with you shortly for dinner. In the kitchen, Vam started the ord'eures baked brye made to look like Mommy and she's in cracker platter with bat and Jack o' lantern cutouts, a bowl of checks mix and candy for a monster munch, and guacamole with vegetables arranged to look like the face of a whim. It was all coming together, and it was still hours to go until lunchtime. By the time it was sundown, Vam had decorated and set

the food in the dining room. A meat loaf shaped to resemble the anatomy of a human body was left cooling on the counter when she went upstairs to change, and she opted for a simple black dress that hugged her slender frame. And putting on the final touches of her makeup, she heard a wheezing, echoey sound behind the curtain of her shower. Pushing the curtain back, Time jumped at her, squealing and laughing as she went through her

body and exited out the bathroom door. Another wisp, A young looking male around Vam's age, stood staring at her. Underneath showerhead. A harsh cut to the throat revealed a sliced trachea. Vams sighed and crossed her arms. Do you think you can keep it down, Nutmeg? Our guests are due to arrive soon in the wheezing is distracting. Nutmeg said nothing but nodded, watching Vam roll her tube of lipstick back in. You're lucky. You're a handsome one, even

more of a looker. Before Vam turned back to him, her hand on the light switch of the bathroom, you know, she used her index finger to swipe under her throat in a slashing manner. The sound of the doorbell below made Vam return to her responsibilities, and with a clap of her hand, she turned off the light and clambered down the stairs, remembering the meat loaf and placing it

on the table. Before reaching the entrance, she stopped in the fourier, where above the grinning candlelight jack o' lantern hung pictures of the hosts that came before her, the other priors, her sisters, the sisters she had never met, the sisters who had left to start a new life at eighteen. Once the new host was chosen, just like she would in the springtime the sisters, who had taken the same vow their parents had taken when they were

each adopted into the family. We will take care of you if you will take care of us, they had said. None of the previous prior daughters had been hosts at three point fifteen Copestic Lane when their nomadic parents staked to claim on the property, Vam had been the first one. With each passing year of Vam's life, she was slowly coming to terms with the truth about why the wisps were part of their home and why they were visible

only to her. Vam doesn't remember her first encounter with a wisp, but she remembers when Peperika, who in her previous life was called Monica, entered in her fleshly human form as a guest in their home, and Oregano, who was once Mister Franks her English teacher time, used to be Spencer, a classmate she would play with in elementary school, and was the first guest she entered in her first

year as a host. Nutmeg was a packaged delivery worker who thought Vam looked rather pretty standing on the porch of her house in her black dress. Last Halloween He went up the steps to introduce himself and entered, and unbeknownst to him that he would not be coming back out. The whiffs were who they were because they had all made the decision to be guests at three point fifteen Copacetic Lane. What bound them together other than death, was

their decision to trust Vam. Another ring of the doorbell sounded in the Fouryer, coming, Vam called out, straightening her dress. Opening the door, she came face to face with a group of tricker treaders, young and old, friend groups and families. No one wanted to miss out on the opportunity to sneak a peek inside the old, creepy Victorian house that sat like a tempting siren on Copastic Lane. Hello, she exclaimed, putting on an unnaturally inviting grin as she opened the door.

We've got candy for your buckets, and if you'd like to stay, we have snacks and food. We hope you can join us for a while this evening. Stepping aside, she allowed the group of guests to walk into the fourrier,

directing them with her arm towards the parlor. In the formal dining room, a murmur of excitement washed over the crowd, and they stepped over each other and pushed bodies away to be the first one to explore the house, and within a few minutes, the parlor was full of guests, socializing with each other, stuffing their faces with Vams snacks and cooked meals, and taking pictures with their phones of the interior of the house and ooing and eyeing like

museum lovers. Vam stood and watched the energy that filled the room, and with no friends or relatives to invite over, the prior house was for the most part empty and deprived of visitors. Halloween night was the only time when people wilfully invited themselves over without arousing suspicion. Outsiders who saw the crowd beckoning to the front door of the prior house didn't have to think twice about coming to a conclusion to explain the number of people entering the abode.

It's Halloween, they'd say, with a shrug. Halloween's for friends and strangers to come. A knocking a perfect cover up. As many of the moocher played in the room, causing an uproar with people singing along, Vam slinked away from the parlor and ambled over to a door leading to the basement. Pitch black darkness swallowed up any traces of the light from the main floor as she squinted in her eyes to see what was below. Father, mother, she called out quietly, it's time to wake up. Our guests

are here. The early bat catches the worm. She heard a stir in the darkness, and then heard her father speak, Hello, darling. Is the black tarp laid out in the parlor? Yes, sir. Every year I get compliments about the noise that it makes when they walk on top of it, but no grievances from this group so far. They're a pretty good crowd. Not a drop of blood will make its way to the marble floors and the doorbell, camera and projector. Have

you tested that out? It works like a charm. I tried it earlier, and the projection of myself passing the sidewalk and coming up the steps was reversed perfectly to make it look like I came back down. Anyone watching our home, we'll see our guests leave after the evening is over. Her mother spoke, now, have you prepared the needles and the collection bags? Yes, mother, they're beside the plastic bins that hold the peroxide, bleach and enzyme solvents

we use for cleanup. All the backup freezers have been up and running since this morning. I counted at least forty people who arrived. Once we break apart ligaments, it should be enough to fit everyone without tacking up space in the basement. It's quite a bit of Burger's and steak Flambays ready for us to enjoy for another year. I hope we have more oh negatives than we did last Halloween. The flavor and the sauces we made just wasn't the same without their kick. Her father gave out

a dark chuckle. Should we wear the fangs I got for us three years ago? My love? He spoke to his wife. Why ever would we want to do that? She responded. Vam couldn't see her father shrug, but felt them do. So. It's Halloween. If the people want to see Count Dracula, then who am I to deny them that pleasure? They'll be busy screaming, Dearest Veronica. Amber has

everyone sipped their refreshments, Vam nodded yes. Mother. In about three minutes, the anesthetic solution will take full effect if you and father want to make a show of your entrance. It had better be quick before you lose them. Well, that's a good girl, and now run along and see that our guest are enjoying. The party will be there very soon. Vam closed the door and walked to the kitchen. She opened a drawer that held all the knives she had used in previous years. She grabbed a hold of

a meat cleaver. This baby was her favorite, made it easier to cut through the skin and bone. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the wisps of her home had gathered around her, all the ones she conjured by the work of her own hands. She gave them a sly smile, ready for some new roomies. Shutting the drawer with her hip, she walked past the wisps who were protesting. Hiding the meat cleaver behind her, she clenched it behind the shoulder blades of her back and used

her free hand a mute the music. All the eyes of her guests looked at her, with their ears perked in bodies frozen. Vam smiled at them and gave her final announcement of the night. I just wanted to give you all the big thanks and a grand welcome to our humble little home. My name is Van Pryor and i'll be your host for the evening