Episode 498: Listener Tales 78
2023-09-28 01:07:23
<p>It’s a lighthearted nightmare in here, weirdos! Morbid is a true crime, creepy history and all things spooky podcast hosted by an autopsy technician and a hairstylist. Join us for a heavy dose of research with a dash of comedy thrown in for flavor.</p><p><br></p>
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I'm Dan Taberski. In 2011, something strange began to happen at a high school in upstate New York. A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms and spreading fast. What's the answer, and what do you do if they tell you it's all in your head?
Hysterical, a new podcast from Wondery and Pineapple Street Studios, binge all episodes of Hysterical early and ad-free on Wondery Plus.
Your hair looks really good.
Oh, thank you.
Hey weirdos, I'm Ash and I'm Elena, and this is morbid.
I feel like we should leave in the part where you said, my hair looked really good because that was a very nice moment. I was going to say it before.
Or I was going to say it again, I mean.
No, I just like it. It should be before the episode starts, okay, like that should just be the beginning.
Yeah, that's how the recording started. Let's keep it in, let's keep it in, keep it in, take out....
Keep it in. Did we burp before we started? No, we didn't. I don't know, you never know.
Not in this one, at least, yeah.
You know, Oh, did you burp?
Mikey burped, Leave it in, leave it in, mention it all. Oh, sorry, p.
Also, quick update In one of my last cases, Jack Tupper, I mentioned a fucking horse owner named Bill Frankel and one of our....
Horse trainer, right? wasn't it a horse trainer?
He was a horse owner. Oh, okay, and he hired Jack Tupper to be the trainer. And his name was Bill Frankel, and one of our listeners said that that's Bethany Frankel's late father.
I myself need to do some digging to make sure that's true, but could be.
When you said the name, I almost was like, Is she?
Any relation to Bethany?
When I wrote it, I thought it, but I was too involved in the case that I forgot to go back and look at that little part.
We all thought it, none of us said it.
But like, is that him like for real, Bill Frankel?
I mean, it's a very quick Google search that we could do.
It's her dad.
That's her dad, shit, look at that.
He was called Bobby, though, so I'm like, Bill Bobby.
I mean, I don't know, people call people all kinds of things. That's a wild little...
That's cray, cray.
Tidbyup.
That is cray, cray.
That's wild. Tidbyup.
Wild tidbit Wow, sorry, I just got lost in a headline.
I was like, Ah.
You were like, Hey, we're doing something here, all right? So it's listener tales, and you know what that means, it's brought to you, by you, for you, from you, and all about you.
Yay.
We're loosey goosey, it's listener tales.
Listener tales, listener tales. This one, I don't think, has a theme, it's just an episode with crazy tales in it.
Can I start? Yeah, awesome. My tale is called The Time I was accused of being an international spy for taking a picture of a mountain that looked like a butt.
So that's why I wanted to start. Because they took a picture of a mountain that looked like a butt. I already love this, and it does look like a butt. They sent a photo.
All right.
It says, Hi, Ash, Elena and Deb, Deb just wanted to start off by saying how much I love the podcast. I'm so glad that my coworker recommended it to me because it's really kept me sane. Over the past few weeks as I've been dealing with a severe concussion. Oh my gosh, and I haven't been able to do a podcast in a long time.
I haven't been able to do pretty much anything other than listen to podcasts. Listening to your episodes have kept me entertained and saved me from overwhelming boredom. So thank you. You're welcome, you're welcome.
I'm not sure if this story is something you'd want to share on Listener Tales. It is, but I figured you might get a kick out of it. Either way, I attached a double-spaced putt-a-fuh and some pictures to this email. I've also changed the names for privacy purposes.
Thank you for reading.
So this happened while I was on a language immersion internship program. Into a country, a country, nope a county, nope a country.
A country?
I gotta go a country in East Africa. I've changed all the names for privacy reasons. Stop laughing at me. On this particular day, I had gone on a site visit to a pro shut up.
It's not just me laughing, Mikey is too. I know everybody's laughing, it's not just me being mean.
Everybody's mean to me all the time. Please rescue me.
Rescue her, rescue me.
Disharmonizing BRB. On this particular day, I had gone out to a site visit to a rural woman's banking collective. With some employees of the non-profit I was interning with, and a woman from the U.N. who funded the non-profit. That's pretty fucking cool. The day had already been longer than expected because we had to stop for about an hour on the way to the village for a road to be built.
Oh, you know.
Just gotta pause. This road is being built now, I still have a lot of questions about the road being built. Because if it wasn't there in the first place, why were we going that way? That's what I was gonna ask. Maybe it had been built, then destroyed, and they were rebuilding it.
I don't know who knows, we'll never know anyway. We were running late because of the road situation and I was extremely hungry because I hadn't eaten anything all day after. The woman from the U.N. had regaled, regaled.
Regaled regaled me with stories about getting typhoid from food she ate in a similar context.
Oh, that'll get you hungry.
That will make you not want to eat anything ever. I felt bad for not accepting the food from the generous woman who offered it to me. But I have already had enough stomach issues as it is, and I really didn't feel like I could take the risk. I was also starting to get nervous because the sun was starting to go down. And I had been mourned many times about the dangers of being out after dark. Ah, so, you can imagine my delight when my co-worker pulled the car over for no apparent reason and pointed, exactly, excuse me excitedly out the window, saying, Look, Anna, what does that mountain look like?
Being the annoyed, wet blanket, I was feeling like in that moment, I replied in a monotone A butt, Gemma, it looks like a butt. Do you want to take a picture? I did not. I just wanted to get home before dark and eat something, so I sat grumpily in my seat as everyone else in the car took pictures.
In hindsight, the mountain really did look a lot like a butt, and it was pretty funny. But I was not feeling it in that moment and it turns out that was probably a good thing for me. Oh man. My annoyance quickly turned to panic, though, when a man in a dirty t-shirt and cargo pants stuck his arm into the driver's side window. Reached over to Juma and pulled our keys out of the ignition.
The way my entire body would shut down in that moment.
I would just cease to exist.
The fight-or-flight response that I am currently feeling, just thinking, being in that position, is outrageous right now.
Gotta go, naturally. Juma, who was in the driver's seat, asked the man what he was doing and demanded the keys back. The man responded that he was a police officer. Doubt it and couldn't give the keys back. Because we were a threat to national security since we were taking pictures of the landscape close to the border and foreigners were in the car now. This was clearly bullshit because the village we had been at earlier was much closer to the border, and we had been taking a buttload of pictures there without issue.
No pun intended.
I'm also not even sure he was a police officer since he didn't give us any form of ID and was definitely not dressed like a police officer.
I wouldn't count on it. Yeah, no.
I explained to him that I was not in fact a spy, but rather a student, and offered multiple times to show him my passport and visa. He was uninterested. After a few minutes of back and forth, he demanded that Juma get out of the car. To, quote-unquote, settle this.
I hate this.
Like, are we going to have a cage match? What the fuck? This is where I started to get really worried. I bet the police in this country did not have the best reputation. And while I knew he probably just wanted a bribe, I was scared. He might beat Juma up if he didn't want to pay, and Juma was a stubborn but not very large guy.
After a few minutes of me craning my neck to try and see what was going on next to the car, unsuccessfully. The next thing I knew, Juma was getting back into the driver's seat, and the police officer, quote-unquote, was hopping into the back seat of our car. Getting real cozy with my co-workers, who were now sitting four people in the back row of seats.
What?
We're all going to the police station to get this figured out, he announced.
What?
What, No. I was actually pretty shocked by this development. Oh, were you? Because up to that point, I was fully convinced that he was not a police officer, but rather a random guy trying to make a quick buck.
To be honest, me too, so this would also be shocking.
I'm still not convinced that he's not. Per this guy's insistence, Juma drove the now very crowded car to the local police station, where we went in one by one for questioning. I began to feel very glad that I did not take any pictures of Butt Mountain because they demanded to see my camera roll. And had the pleasure of seeing my progress. Pictures from my workout plan and a few shots of monkeys stealing stuff from trash cans. The rest of my co-workers frantically tried to delete their Butt Mountain pictures before their interrogation. Much to my chagrin. The woman from the U.N. decided to use this moment to take a moral stance and refused to show them her phone because of diplomatic immunity.
Being that, my main goal was getting home before dark and getting something to eat. I tried to convince her to just let it go and show them her phone. She had already deleted the pictures of Butt Mountain. So I didn't get the big deal. Because she didn't speak the local language and the police officer didn't really speak English, I got the pleasure of being her interpreter. The police officer repeatedly demanded to know if she thought he would steal her phone and insisted that he had no reason to because he had his own iPhone.
He's like, Bitch, I have my own phone, he's like, I don't need your fucking phone.
He also clearly did not know much or care about the U.N. or the idea of diplomatic immunity. The whole situation was just ridiculous to me and I had no interest in being the middleman, but there I was. In total, we were probably at the police station for about three hours before the quote-unquote supervisor. Again. I have no idea if any of these people were actually police officers, but I think the place we were at was a police station, unclear.
What?
I'm so confused, came to see what was going on. This supervisor did have a healthy respect or fear of the U.N. And when the U.N. Woman told him she needed his name and badge number to report to the U.N. Why she was checking in late. He insisted that we leave as soon as possible with a deluge of apologies.
Wow.
Unfortunately, I did not make it back before dark, but did get home safe despite having to jump into some underbrush filled with rats. To avoid getting hit by a car. There were no streetlights on my road, so cars generally couldn't see pedestrians after dark. At this point, I still have a lot of questions about what happened that day, but I'm just happy to be able to look back at the story and laugh. Thanks for reading if you made it this far and keep it weird. But not so weird that you pretend to be a police officer and steal nonprofit workers keys and drag them to a maybe police station for hours when they're really just tired and hungry.
For obvious reasons, I can't attach any pictures of Butt Mountain, but I've attached some pictures of the road being built here.
I have no idea how to react to that one.
That's funny because I thought the picture that you did attach looked like a butt.
I was going to say I didn't see the Butt Mountain, so I thought I was just missing it.
Yeah, it's not a mountain really. now that I look at it, it's just a tree and some brush. But now I really want to see....
What a wild story.
That's insane.
Truly a wild story. Wow, dang Anna.
Imagine, Anna.
That's not your real name, I know that. don't worry, we're not using real names. Never. But dang, I just like that. Butt mountain was the thing that almost got you guys putting the clink.
Oh, that's not what I meant to say.
Oh.
Man.
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I'm Dan Taberski. In 2011, something strange began to happen at the high school in Leroy, New York.
I was like at my locker and she came up to me and she was like, stuttering, super bad. I'm like, stop around. She's like, I can't.
A mystery illness, bizarre symptoms and spreading fast.
Like doubling and tripling, and it's all these girls.
With a diagnosis, the state tried to keep on the down low. Everybody thought I was holding something back. Well, you were holding something back intentionally. Yeah, well, yeah.
It's hysteria, it's all in your head, it's not physical. Oh my gosh, you're exaggerating.
Is this the largest mass hysteria since the Witches of Salem, or is it something else entirely?
Something's wrong here, something's not right. Leroy was the new dateline and everyone was trying to solve the murder.
A new limited series from Wondery and Pineapple Street Studios, Hysterical Follow Hysterical on the Wondery app, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge all episodes of Hysterical early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+.
All right, well, I'm going to move on to.
Listenertail My husband was kidnapped as an infant by child traffickers.
What?
What?
What?
Let's see what this is about, it says. Thank you so much for the opportunity. Deb, hey deb, Deb shut up, Hello weirdos. First of all, my husband is alive and well and was unharmed in his kidnapping.
Good, I put the subject line as a question because this was my reaction when my mother-in-law told me the story. You can call me by a name I have always loved for a little girl, Siggy, short for a Norwegian name, Sigrid.
Oh, I like that. I was originally planning on using my real name and coming up with an attempted witty and humorous introduction, considering my name is androgynous and is often mistaken for a man's. I am not a man and unfortunately have the postpartum bodily scarring. To prove it, however, for the purposes of this story, and to bend to the will of my catastroph, I can never say that word.
Catastrophizing.
There you go, right, anxiety sounds good. I will be using aliases. That's totally fine with us.
A few things before we get into it. Number one, I feel I should be shunned from the podcast universe for not having heard of your show prior to my book club. Picking The Butcher and the Wren for the month of October last year. Hey, that's awesome, Alina, your novel was amazing, and I loved every bit of that book.
Thank you. In my defense, I tend to stay within my comfort zone when it comes to books, podcasts and movies, and my particular podcast, Love is True Crime. But one-story seasons such as Up and Vanished and Serial Really.
Yeah, however, that has all changed now because I cannot stop listening to your podcast. Thank you, shout out to my fellow morbid, weirdo listeners Lauren, Erin, Andrea and Katie. They all gave me permission to use their real names.
Hell yeah you guys. Hell yeah yeah.
Number two? Since listening to the show, I've literally laughed out loud hearing Ash's unique vernacular term, including terms such as mans, thickums, mcgee, and engodged.
Engodged?
Congrats by the way, thanks. Also. Being that I'm a sixth generation Appalachian or Appalachian, Appalachian, I always say it wrong.
Okay, Appalachian mountain woman, I can confirm you just told me how it's pronounced. it's pronounced Appalachian. thank you.
I will hold on to that now. I firmly believe that anytime Appalachian is mispronounced. An ancestor of mine rolls over in their grave, saying, Bless their heart, dripping in old Southern lady condescension. So, for the sake of my gone but not forgotten family members with cool ass names like Icy and Zeta.
Oh, hell yeah.
Just say it correctly, folks.
Appalachian, Appalachian from here on out.
Honestly, it feels right, it feels better. Finally, this story is not mine to tell. I take pride in sharing it because my husband was kidnapped is a great addition to two truths and a lie, truly.
But ultimately, the only morbid, worthy happenings in my life have involved my father in a ski mask trying to scare me and a local criminal trying to escape the law by entering my house.
Those are pretty good, I feel like the second one in particular.
And though both experiences were equally traumatizing, this story is much more entertaining and just freaking insane. I myself even found it hard to believe when I first heard it, but it's as true as a dog's love for its human. I do have a few what I've called ciggy side notes scattered throughout the story to clarify things or to add interesting tidbits. Those are from me, but the bulk of the story is from my mother-in-law's perspective. So, without further ado, here is my mother-in-law Drew's story of her five-month-old baby T, kidnapped in Hawaii.
Oh my god.
She chose the name and it made me laugh. Considering the podcast, we are submitting this to Hey, Ash's fiance, it is long, so if it doesn't get played on the podcast, I completely understand.
But I felt y'all would appreciate the read. Given the story. I've attached the double-spaced Putafa, another term I'm now obsessed with, for your viewing ease, as well as the newspaper article about the story. So, you know, it's real. And some picture of my mother-in-law, my husband and I and my own little guy for reference. Oh, my God.
The most beautiful child. He is adorable. so beautiful by the way, Ash, she is a Libra and I'm a Virgo, okay?
Oh, there we go, we got a Libra in here. Oh, one more side note My dad has some creepy stories, like waking up in a cemetery across the street from their house as a kid. And my nana pronounced Nana being temporarily paralyzed by otherworldly beings. So if you'd like me to share those, let me know.
Please do.
We would like that.
Keep on keeping it weird, my gals. Siggy, Oh, your family is so beautiful. Truly a gorgeous family. Oh my God.
You're a little bipey, all right. Many of us have had moments in life that we can look back on and realize how extremely brave and lucky we are for having gotten through them. For me, the kidnapping of my child was such an event, I would think.
I just got full chills down my body.
My body warmed.
I remember the day, clearly, October 10th, 1989.
My son was just one day shy of five months and was very much still an infant. We had just relocated to Waikiki from Cupertino, California. We had been living with my mom and my unhinged stepfather and wanted a new living environment for the health and safety of my son and I. I was a radio DJ by trade and had decided to go to Hawaii to work for my friend, who was a new program director at KPOI, Honolulu's rock station.
A few weeks prior to this incident, I had managed to secure a small studio apartment in Waikiki for T and myself. I recall being shocked at the extremely high cost of rent. I was on the hunt for a babysitter so that I could work in the evening hours. My general shift was going to be from about 10 p..m. to 2 a..m.
After failed attempts at finding care through the people I had met, and after scouring the newspaper ads without success, I decided to place an ad myself. Several people responded to the ad. And in Hawaii, a lot of ladies take on child care from their homes. Surely I'd be able to spot someone who was not a legitimate caretaker, right? This area is known for being very welcoming and family-oriented. One person, in particular, responded and left multiple messages.
I was going through a few others and had not called her back yet, however, she called me again, sounding almost pushy about the job. I should have seen that as a red flag, as none of the other applicants had that same approach. But I really needed to find a sitter and I honestly didn't think much of it. I finally spoke with her and we talked for about 30 minutes.
She sounded nice, she had kids of her own, she was a retired nurse, etc.
Etc. all the normal-sounding stuff. So we set up a time to meet in person. This initial contact was right around the time of my birthday, October 7th, so it's easy to recall the events in the timeline. I remember going into her apartment, which was very close to my own. It was a tall, high-rise building sitting in the Ala Wai Canal in the middle of Waikiki.
This is important to the story, as being familiar with this building was one of the main factors in knowing what happened to T. Since it was close to my birthday. We agreed that this woman, who we will call Stella for the purpose of the story, would try out an hour or two with my son and see if it was a good fit for us all. I was super overprotective of him, being that I was a 25-year-old single mother living 2,400 miles from home. Therefore, I always had anxiety when anyone else watched him aside from my mother. I'm that way anyway, so don't worry.
Except it's me that gets to watch them.
I decided to go out for a few hours to the Hard Rock Hotel and casino it had recently opened and was supposed to be an amazing experience. We decided on a date and time, and I really looked forward to a few hours on my own. When I arrived at her apartment, the initial time Stella watched t she was wearing a house dress was about. My height of 5'8, was thin, with bleach-blonde hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses.
She literally looked like a younger grandma type and appeared to stay home most of the time. That night for me was everything I wanted it to be. And the check-in calls with Stella went equally as well, with her giving me frequent updates on how T was doing. I felt very excited to be moving on with my life and away from living with my abusive stepfather. After a few hours of dinner and drinks, I called a cab and headed back to the apartment complex.
When I got back to her 21st floor apartment, Stella quickly opened the door and invited me in. The baby was sleeping soundly in a bed we had made on the floor and he looked peaceful and happy. We talked about how she was feeling, how I was feeling, and confirmed that we both wanted to do this again in the future. I scooped the baby up, went down to the awaiting cab and back to our new apartment. Stella and I continued to talk on the phone in the coming days, and she always asked how t.
Was doing and what he was up to. On any given day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, conversations were normal. She listened to my request and she seemed like a genuinely nice person. I never once felt any weird vibes or feelings when we spoke.
Isn't that so scary?
That's terrifying.
Some people just don't give off the vibe that they're a fucking monster.
The next opportunity for her to watch him was on the night of October 10th. I had to go to the radio station to train before I could go on air, so I was scheduled to be there in the early evening, late afternoon for this purpose. I thought it would be a great time for Stella to watch the baby again and do another trial run. Before I had to work full time, as I had done before. I bundled the baby up, filled his large diaper bag with all the things he could possibly need and caught a taxi back to Stella's apartment.
Everything once again seemed normal when we arrived, and she answered the door, inviting us in. However, I distinctly remember two things one. She was wearing a house dress like before, but this time she had regular clothes laying out on her bed, which I could see from the living room. That struck me as a little odd, but I said nothing. Two, she had placed two very large suitcases directly adjacent to the front door.
Those suitcases had not been present during the previous visit. I asked her about them, and she said she was taking them downstairs in the morning to her storage unit in the garage. This didn't seem unusual, as many of these buildings had subterranean parking, with private storage units for tenants items for an additional fee. The baby was sleepy, so after sticking around for a few minutes chatting, I handed him over to get ready to leave. I recall saying something like, you don't have plans to go anywhere, right?
And she laughed, as though the idea was preposterous. She was drinking a coca-cola from a glass with ice, and I watched her swig and refill it several times. While I sat there, I stood up to leave, and as I left, I remembered that the lobby of her building had a large bank of phones. I'd been meaning to call my best friend Bill for several days and had not gotten around to it.
So I decided I would use the phone in the lobby to update him on my new job and our life in Hawaii before going to work. This proved to be a very critical decision in all of this, because had I not stopped to call him in the lobby, Stella would have likely gotten away with kidnapping my five-month-old. Ooh, I just got full chills all over again. Ooh. I walked to the bank of phones that is some like, Mama power in there, that you were just like, you know what I'm going to stop right now?
Yeah, I'm not going to wait till I get to the station, I'm going to stop right now. I walked to the bank of phones and remember getting him on the line immediately. He sounded relieved to hear from me and was asking all about the baby.
I told him about the job and the new apartment, that I was excited about finding a babysitter and that I was in a really decent place mentally.
Oh.
The phones were situated in the lobby so that when you used them, your back was turned away from the front door. Therefore, if anyone were to exit the building and walk by you, you would most likely not see them. Just before Bill and I said goodbye, he said, Please take care of T. And if I were you, I would go back up there one more time to check on him. What fucking bill?
Why would you say that, too? Like, that's kind of you wouldn't think your friend would just say that randomly.
He's just like, You know what?
You just got a feeling.
This was the best piece of advice I have ever received. I hung up the phone and jumped in the elevator, heading back upstairs to Stella's apartment. I remember walking up to the door I had just left 15 minutes earlier and seeing that it was slightly ajar. It caught me off guard and I pushed on it immediately. Calling out her name, no one answered.
I ventured further into the apartment and realized Stella's house dress was thrown on the bed. The clothes she had laid out earlier were gone. The lights were off, the TV was off, and, more importantly, my son Stella and those two suitcases had vanished.
Oh my god.
My heart just dropped for you truly. I began to freak out, and I could literally feel the fear and adrenaline pumping so hard in my heart. This could not be happening, I must have been seeing things wrong.
She had to be here. Where was my baby? My thoughts were racing and I started hyperventilating. I was completely overwhelmed. My first thought was that perhaps she had just gone to take the garbage out.
They had a separate garbage room in these buildings, requiring you to walk down the hall to throw your trash away. I ran as fast as I could down the hall, shrieking her name, because I was just so scared. Where had this lady gone with my baby?
Oh my god.
I jumped back on the elevator thinking I would ride down to the security desk to the lobby and ask them if they had seen her or the baby. When I approached the desk, I asked the two men sitting there if they had seen Stella come down the elevator or leave the building in any way. They both nodded their heads and pointed to the door. I asked, Did she leave? They both nodded again. And one said she was carrying a baby and almost slipped on the floor, nearly dropping him on her way out of the building.
I could not believe what I was hearing. Why? why did she leave? I asked the officer at the desk to call 911 and report a missing child. I talked to the police and gave them a brief account of what happened. All in between sobbing and hyperventilating.
The police assured me they were on their way after I hung up with the police. I asked the security people to begin calling all taxi services in the area so they could determine which taxi may have possibly picked her up. They called at least six or seven cab companies, and each time they were told that no one had anyone that sounded like Stella or a baby in their car. By this time, I had gone out to the front lawn in front of the apartment building and was sitting on the grass, bawling my eyes out. I had been through so much, bringing this baby into the world alone just a few months before and thought, after everything we've been through, this is how it's going to end.
Oh my god.
Before long, several police vehicles pulled up. I recall there being a large police presence with an ambulance in tow as well. It was during this period that I kept trying to figure out a way to make it. Back into the apartment building and up to the very top to jump off the roof. Oh my God, I know it sounds scary, but I really thought that if my baby was gone, that I really did not want to be on this earth anymore.
The police asked me questions, mountains of questions. How did I meet Stella? what did she do for work? what did she look like? what phone numbers did I have for her?
How many times had you watched them before? Today? And on and on? I was completely overwhelmed and to this day have never cried so hard in my life. After sitting outside with the police, I could hear the radio traffic on their police scanners as the situation progressed.
I couldn't understand everything as they were using codes, but evidently they were pursuing some leads in the case and we were to stand by. I cannot recall exactly how long we sat there waiting for any type of news, but it seemed like two hours at least, probably more. I remember one of the officers, a large Samoan man, sitting next to me on the grass, reassuring me everything would turn out okay. I really didn't believe him, but I kept nodding my head.
Just then, an officer on the radio said the words my entire body had been aching to hear. We got him, we got him, we found the missing baby.
Oh my God, my whole body is covered.
Literally, I was just going to say, chills.
Like, I have goosebumps on my legs right now.
Everyone around me cheered and high-fived. We were all so excited. But this was still very much a police investigation. Even though they had somehow managed to find him and Stella, things still needed to be sorted out. And the place to do that was the police station. I was in a squad car and driven downtown to the Honolulu Police Department. It was a low-slung building on a side street, with yet another subterranean parking structure beneath it.
I was led into a fairly large room that was dark inside, with windows covered by dark drapes. I was asked to sit at a large rectangular table in the center of the room, with a very large reel-to-reel tape recorder in the center. It was the classic we-just-need-to-ask-you-a-few-questions mantra being said to me. I agreed, but kept asking where my son was and when I would be able to see him. They asked me numerous questions over and over again, framing it in different ways.
Why did I give my child to Stella? Wasn't it true that I no longer wanted him? So she must have said she sold him? Had I called to check on him while I was gone, either tonight or on the previous occasion, she had watched him. I simply tried to calm myself down and answer all their questions clearly and honestly, to the best of my ability.
I understood they had a job to do, but it was an interrogation-style interview. I felt confident in my heart that everything would work out and that I would be getting my baby back soon. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door of the interview room and we learned that they had arrested Stella and were bringing her downstairs to the jail. They wanted me to go down there and see if I could identify her. I recall feeling so much anger that she had done this and was really looking forward to seeing her face-to-face.
As the patrol car rolled in, I could clearly see a set of legs kicking at the glass of the rear door of the squad car. No face, no torso, just legs.
That's so creepy.
When the car came to a stop, an officer got out and walked around to let Stella out of the car. They grabbed her by each arm and walked in my direction. Immediately, her eyes met mine and she began cursing at me, saying I had given her my baby. That I was a liar and that she was taking care of him because I wasn't. And so much other utter bullshit. She is disturbed, I screamed back, and I think I called her every name in the book.
I was feeling homicidal at that point and really did not care about anything else aside from getting to her. The police had to repeatedly hold me back as she passed by and went into the jail. By this time, it was dark outside and the officers escorted me back inside the building to wait. They informed me that T. had been taken to the hospital as a precaution to be checked out for any injuries or signs of abuse from Stella. I remember sitting in that police station for another four or five hours.
It felt surreal and very out of body. I had a hard time thinking about what had just happened because I was in shock and I was not responding to things as I usually would have.
She struck him with her motor vehicle, she had been under the influence, and then she left him there. In January 2022, local woman Karen Reed was implicated in the mysterious death of her boyfriend, Boston Police Officer John O'Keefe. It was alleged that after an innocent night out for drinks with friends, Karen and John got into a lover's quarrel en route to the next location. What happens next depends on who you ask.
Was it a crime of passion? If you believe the prosecution, it's because the evidence was so compelling. This was clearly an intentional act. And his cause of death was blunt force trauma with hypothermia or a corrupt police cover-up?
If you believe the defense theory, however, this was all a cover-up to prevent one of their own from going down. Everyone had an opinion and after the 10-week trial, the jury could not come to a unanimous decision to end in a mistrial. It's just a confirmation of just how complicated this case is. Law Crime presents the most in-depth analysis to date of the sensational case in Karen.
You can listen to Karen exclusively with Wondery Plus. join Wondery Plus in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Scammers are best known for living the high life until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Sachi Cole and I'm Sarah Hagee.
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After about five hours, an officer came to get me to walk into a different area of the police department. When I rounded the corner, I saw T wrapped in a sheet with nothing on but a diaper. He saw me and started crying. I walked over, grabbed him and gave him my biggest, longest hug I could imagine. He immediately relaxed and he appeared to be very tired.
I asked the police if I could leave and go home and they said yes. They stated Stella would be in jail for a while as they were charging her with.
You combined the two.
Felony custodial interference in the first degree, a major felony. There were additional charges as well, but that was the main charge. I was contacted the next day by police and they told me the story of how she was caught. I was chomping at the bit to learn the story of her capture and her motive for kidnapping my child. Yeah.
According to police, she had gotten into the cab with the baby. She had directed the cab driver to drive her to downtown Honolulu to Bishop Street. The taxi driver immediately felt weird vibes from her as she was too old to have such a young baby who was only clothed in a diaper and a sheet. He asked her whose baby he was, how old he was and whatever information he could glean from her. Wow, this guy's like, great.
Seriously.
She told him she was caring for a friend's child because the mom needed a break and could no longer care for him. Wow. Her response to his questions and her vague answers really grabbed his attention. Good for this guy. While the taxi driver was driving to the destination, he told her he needed to make a stop for gas.
She agreed, and he pulled over to a gas station. When he got out. He called into the taxi stand, explaining that he was driving an older lady with a baby and that he was concerned for the baby's welfare. It was then that the taxi company realized their driver was driving around with the missing child everyone was looking for. The driver was instructed to act normally and take Stella to wherever she wanted to go, but to stay with her. To find out her actual destination, they pulled in front of a large high-rise in downtown Honolulu.
Since she had two full suitcases and a baby, the taxi driver brilliantly offered to help her take her luggage upstairs.
Smart.
So he would be able to see the apartment she was entering and provide valuable information to the police. When he got to the apartment with her, he saw an older man and the baby was taken into another room. The driver immediately contacted police with all the information he had on Stella, including her exact location. They waited several minutes for other officers to arrive before going upstairs to confront Stella and her apparent boyfriend, who was part of the entire plan. When they knocked, no one answered at first.
I'm certain they were wondering who could be at the door. After several tries, they opened the door and were confronted by the police. At first, Stella denied knowing anything about a baby and denied knowing me.
Like, they're not going to find the baby in the apartment, girlfriend.
Yeah, the police asked to come in and talk and go over the information that they had with Stella. While they were in the apartment, they heard a baby crying and immediately knew the gig was up. One of the officers walked to a closed back bedroom door and opened it up. Inside, they found tea laying in a sheet and nothing more than a diaper, no bottles, no diaper bag, nothing.
I'm not sure what happened to the diaper bag I left with her, but it was gone. What? Both she and her boyfriend were handcuffed and searched. It was during this time that the police discovered passports, other identification and over $30,000 in cash.
What the fuck?
It was clear that something nefarious was going on, and both parties were immediately arrested and taken into custody.
This is so bizarre.
The key to this whole story was the taxi driver. If he had not been alert and aware when talking to Stella, he would have never stopped and called in to report what he was dealing with in the taxi. Since it was already a major response by the police in looking for a baby, and we knew Stella was in a cab at some point, the driver's call was the one we were all waiting for. I was able to get my baby back at the police station. So T and I went home to our new apartment. And called my father, who is an experienced police officer for the Sacramento Police Department, and explained what happened. Siggy side note.
My husband's grandpa was not only a Sacramento PD officer, but one who had worked the Golden State Killer case and retired as a captain. A real badass.
Are you guys trying to kill me out here?
Like, what?
The story is like, just the twist and turns.
Seriously, all of it was very hard to believe, and he asked me many questions and for many details. After speaking, he decided the best thing for me was to gather my stuff and hop on the next available plane back to the mainland. I must say it was very disappointing as I had high hopes for my time with T in our new state. But ultimately, our island time had run its course and wasn't meant to be.
I do not blame you.
We flew back to Sacramento, not Cupertino. There was no way I was going to put myself and my child back into that unhealthy situation. My father was very well connected and was able to find an apartment for me within a few days. He helped us furnish it and I began looking for work. We were contacted by the Honolulu District Attorney's Office letting us know of victim-slash-witness Kokua services.
I'm not positive, that sounds right, though.
Who could assist me with the resources I may need, as well as to help me through the criminal justice system in Hawaii? They also told me that it might take some time for the case to go to trial and that Stella had been released on bail with restrictions. The fuck? She was not allowed to leave the state for any reason, and she had to check in regularly with a probation officer to stay free until trial. She agreed to this.
It took approximately two years for the case to wind its way through the court system. And I was surprised when I received the call that we had a trial date. The advocate told me they would be needing me to travel back to Hawaii to be a witness for the prosecution. Oh man, I was excited that I might see some justice for what had been the scariest, harrowing and most traumatizing event in my life. It was a warm summer day as I flew out to Hawaii to attend the trial.
My mom stayed behind to take care of T as I had no intention of ever having him step foot in Hawaii again. Immediately upon arrival, I was called down to the victim witness offices. there I met with both prosecutors and their staff. I was asked to repeat the story of what happened from my perspective, and they helped me to recall certain parts of the kidnapping. My mind was unsteady as I felt I had mentally blocked out much of the incident.
It was not something I wanted to talk or think about, but I did my best in recalling the events for about three days. We met every day and went over the questions they were going to ask me. It made certain I responded truthfully, but with an emphasis on certain things that had happened. It was like going to school. The biggest pointer they gave me was to look directly at the jury when answering. And to express any emotions I might be having after recalling the events of that day.
The following day was the start of the trial. I remember walking into the courtroom and the entire jury box was full of jurors. It was strange seeing Stella sitting at the defense table as I had not seen her in a long time. I was placed on the witness stand and my testimony began. It soon came to feel like I, not the defendant, was on trial.
The defense attorney painted a picture of me that said I was a bad mom and had let Stella take the baby because I wanted to go out and party. He also stressed that I had willingly given tea to Stella and that the only thing she was guilty of was being concerned for the welfare of my child.
Once it came time for the prosecution to question me, I immediately began crying on the stand. It was super emotional, recalling the events one by one and having to explain my thoughts and my actions at every step. I made it clear that in no way had I given my baby to Stella or anyone, and that she never had permission to leave the apartment at any time. With my child. I ended up being on the witness stand for three days.
I gave honest testimony and told the facts as I remembered them. On the third day, I was released as a witness and sent back to my hotel to wait the next step. I felt completely spent and cried several more times, recalling the events that I had tried to push down for so long. I was never allowed in the courtroom, while others testified, so I had no idea about what other things had been said other than my own testimony. On day four, we were told the verdict had been reached.
Siggy side note I became a Susie Sleuth, as my mother-in-law calls it, and I ended up finding the basic docket information on the case. Hell yeah, Susie Sleuth, the jury debated. For less than two hours, this spineless bottom feeder was done.
Hell yeah. I was asked if I wanted to return to the courthouse and I declined as I was scared and nervous. And just wanted it to be over so I could get back to California and my baby. The verdict came in that afternoon, and Stella and her boyfriend were found guilty on all counts against them. Her boyfriend was convicted of lesser charges because his involvement had been significantly less than Stella now. Remember, she was out on bail, waiting for the trial, so her attorney asked that she be allowed to remain on bail until sentencing?
Like, she's a literal kidnapper.
The judge agreed against the protestation of the prosecution. Oh, fuck. They set a sentencing date for about two months away to allow Stella to prepare for prison.
I don't know about that.
I left Hawaii and flew back home, and I continued my life in Sacramento and was working and going to school. T. was two and a half by this time, and his only concern was teenage, mutant ninja turtles. The story does not end here, though. I was contacted by the prosecutor's office about two months after the trial and told that Stella had jumped bail and was on the run. She had somehow managed to get off the island and was on to an unknown destination.
The way my stomach is in knots for you.
The prosecutor assured me that T and I were safe and they had hard leads, indicating that she had escaped to England.
How the fuck did she get to England?
They had Interpol and the Scotland Yard searching down leads trying to locate her to bring her back to the United States for sentencing, as a bench warrant had been ordered by the judge in the case. Several more months went by and they continued to search for her. I was not in the loop in any of this and just assumed they would find her and bring her back. After a few more months had passed, I called down to the Victim Witness Program to inquire about the sentencing status. I really did want to know the outcome of everything.
It was during this call that I learned from the advocate that Stella had been located. But when they arrived to arrest her at a location in London, she was found dead, strangled to death.
Wow.
Womp. I was shocked and felt so many emotions about this. I was not given all the details of what happened, only that she had been found dead by someone else. It was a sad and scary conclusion to a case that would eclipse my life for several years. From my recollection, I was told that she had intended on selling my baby.
She had been found with a passport, 30k in cash and plane tickets upon her arrest. It was clear this was a trafficking case and she had no intention of keeping T, but was using him as a pawn to make money.
That's so scary.
I have often wondered if she had done this to any other people. To take full advantage of a young single mom living in a different state than her family, with little money and resources, and literally kidnap her baby to try to sell him, was the stuff of television dramas and crime shows. I will never forget the look on my baby boy's face. When they turned him back over to me from the hospital, he was so scared. I remember that his photo was taken before we left the police station and he was turned into a news story in the Honolulu star advertiser.
Oh my god.
My mother-in-law says that she remembers seeing a front page news story with T's picture on it. However, neither of us were able to locate it. When we searched online, I found the articles pertaining to T's kidnapping, but both were small little snippets in the crime section of the main Honolulu newspapers. I've attached them to my email.
And Fyi? They report that Stella was Drew's roommate, which was solely untrue. They did not interview Drew for the story for reasons unknown to her, so some of the details are reported in error. Nice. My true thanks and gratefulness go out to the Honolulu Police Department for finding T so quickly and for really pursuing a case against Stella. I'm just so thankful.
They believe me. I also want to thank the Honolulu's prosecutor's office for getting the conviction in court and for taking such good care of me through the process. T is now 33 years old, happily married with a toddler son. I often think of this experience and cannot fathom my life if he was not found and brought back to me. Oh.
I'm like, gonna cry. I know it is sad that all too many cases like mine do not conclude with positive results. I'm a very lucky girl and I thank God every day for getting me through this experience. Going on to live a happy, successful life and for making me a Grammy to the sweetest little boy on the planet, ruin me.
Holy hell, what a fucking story I holy shit.
I am without words.
It's crazy that we're just like looking at a picture of T 33 and Happy, and he's the little boy at the center of the story.
I'm like, I feel tearing up here.
Can you imagine being his wife?
And big t.
There's no way I ever would have known you.
Like, I would have never known you, we wouldn't have our baby.
Who is like, such a beautiful baby.
I know.
Like this little baby, I know their baby is so perfect.
Oh, I just want to smoosh your baby, but you guys are so beautiful together and your mother-in-law is so beautiful and it's just like, Holy shit.
That is on another level.
Thank you for thank your mother-in-law, Drew, for writing that down. That was incredibly written by the way. what an incredibly told story. Holy shit, and thank you for sharing it with us.
And thank goodness, T is here and that's awesome. Wow, and you guys are beautiful. And I'm just my whole body is like on fight or flight mode right now.
I'm just so stressed out for your mother-in-law.
That is one of the craziest tales that we've ever gotten.
It's so scary that you have to be worried about that stuff.
It is, and it's sad that you can't trust someone to babysit your child.
And it's even worse that a lot of people because it takes a village, absolutely, you know, and it's really. I always feel really fortunate that I have so many people around me that I trust. And that I, you know, my kids are comfortable with and that are willing to help and able to help. And a lot of people don't have that.
No, especially single mothers.
Oh, we think about it constantly, like John and I are constantly like, how do people do this without their village near them?
Seriously, and I should say, single fathers, too, yeah.
Crazy wow, thank you for that.
I feel like we need something haunted after that.
Yeah, bring me a haunted shit, all right. Thank you for sharing that.
Yes, Siggy, that was incredible. All right, we've got listener tale. Does a demon come with everyone's college tuition or just mine?
I'm obsessed already.
It says, Hello beautiful, spooky listeners. my name is Addison. Yes, you can use my name. Of course, I have to start my listener tale off by saying how amazing and inspiring y'all are. Thank you.
Y'all have such an amazing bond with each other and never fail to brighten my day enough with all this mushy stuff. Though. Let's go down to the nitty gritty of the scariest fucking night of my life that I still think about to this day. So hang on to your tits, it's going to be a wild ride.
Remix, Remix So. I'm from Greensville, South Carolina, and attended college at the Good Old University of Southern Carolina. I remember pulling up to my assigned dorm building with my dad's car packed to the brim of an absurd amount of unnecessary dorm stuff that I planned to decorate my room with. But hey, a girl can't have too much decor.
Am I right?
No.
You are right.
You are absolutely right.
On the short commute from Greenville to Columbia, I was picturing my dorm to be super cute and homey, but boy, I was wrong. I stepped one foot into that apartment-style dorm and took one look around. Thinking to myself that there is no amount of home decor in the world to fix this place up, I mean, the place literally looked like Satan himself lived in that very dorm.
Was it goth?
Maybe.
My roommate Elena, maybe it was goth, came in after me and we looked at each other as if we were thinking the same thing. What the actual fuck? My dad, of course, started to do the typical dad inspection of the apartment, and my mom kept assuring me and Elena that the place wasn't that bad. Mom, be fucking for real. We hugged our parents goodbye and started to make our little hellhole our own.
In the first few months, there were very little strange things that would occur. Cabinet doors would be open when we knew we'd left them shut and the TV would turn on in the middle of the night. By itself, these little things didn't particularly scare us because we just thought we were carelessly leaving cabinet doors open or leaving lights on. Valid. A few months later, we both found ourselves a boyfriend.
They are now our piece of shit exes. But I digress, oh shit.
I'm sorry.
We both started to basically spend every night with our boyfriends because the apartment was just flat out eerie and scary to be in. I always felt like I was being watched and I had the feeling we weren't alone in that nasty ass dorm. As the holidays rolled around, everyone started to pack up and head home for Christmas break, including our boyfriends. So we had to tough it out and stay a few nights in the hellhole. I had to stay an extra few days because I had a job at a stupid ass pizza place and was scheduled to work for the rest of the week.
I made Elena stay with me that whole week because I would rather sleep on a park bench than sleep alone in that piece of shit apartment.
I like that, I'm part of this, I do too, I feel good being part of this with you.
I like it a lot. She begrudgingly agreed, but broke the news to me that she was leaving a day early. Fuck her. Sorry, I'm just kidding, but still.
She gave me a hug, grabbed her things and walked out the door. I wanted to break down crying. But it's only one night alone. How bad can it be? Luckily, I had to work a double shift that day, so I wasn't in the apartment most of the day. I got back around 10 p..m.
That night and made myself some dinner, sat on the couch to watch my comfort show, Hell Yeah, Rick and Morty. As I was eating my canned soup, dinner and goldfish, I heard what sounded like a cabinet door opening in the kitchen. The place was old as dirt, so literally everything creaked and made noises. I've seen way too many horror films in my life to get up and investigate. So I quickly ran to our room and locked the door.
The apartment is set up where me and Elena share a big room with two twin beds, and the bedroom door has a big latch lock that you could not get into without a key that me and Elena tied around our wrists. I got in bed and listened out for any more noises and didn't hear anything. So I basically gaslit myself into thinking that I was being absolutely ridiculous and there was nothing there.
We've all done that, yeah.
I turned the lights off and got into bed. My bad thoughts went away quickly as I got lost scrolling through Instagram, which was part of my nightly routine. About 30 minutes passed by when I heard the fucking latch lock on my bedroom door unlock itself.
Oh, that's horrible.
I was frozen in fear and laid in my bed, paralyzed, staring at my bedroom door. We had blackout curtains in our room, so the room was literally pitch black, except the light coming from my phone that barely illuminated the room. The door slowly started to creak open and I shot under my covers because I wanted to become invisible to whatever was on the other side of that door. I started to cry and even pissed myself a little. I'm such a pussy.
I feel you, man.
I wouldn't have done the same thing. I knew, for a fact, that I locked the front door to my apartment and the door to my bedroom door. And the only key to get in was literally still tied around my wrist. All I could hear was heavy breathing and a slow shuffle, like someone was dragging their feet coming into the room. I literally mustered up, or, excuse me, I finally mustered up the courage to call out. No answer. Elena's like, It's not me, bitch.
It wasn't me.
The breathing and the shuffling got louder and louder. There was absolutely no way in hell that I was going to look at what or who entered my room. I could hear things being thrown around on the floor, and I knew that it was the pillows being tossed on the ground from Elena's bed. Then I heard the creaking from her bed, as if someone was getting in bed to go to sleep.
What the fuck?
The breathing continued, and I just sat there and silent cried. I am a religious person, so I silently repeated the Lord's prayer over and over again, until somehow I fell asleep. I can't believe you fell asleep.
Just holy shit, there's a literal daemon in the other room.
And you're just like, Nighty night. I woke up in the morning and looked over at Elena's bed and what the fuck do I see? All of the pillows were on the ground and the comforter looked as if someone had slept on top of it. Chills flooded my body because I watched Elena flawlessly make her bed before she left.
I went to check the front door, which was still locked. I called my mom crying and told her what happened. And without hesitation, she said. Addison, We need to bless that apartment and get that thing the fuck out of there. I told her that I was just going to come home for now because I could not spend another minute in that place alone. I called Elena to tell her what happened and she completely believed me and apologized for not staying with me. Apology not accepted.
Shit, I don't blame you, Elena's like goddammit. After we came back from our month break, we walked into the apartment to find all the cabinet and closet doors open, even our refrigerator.
Hate that?
We dropped our stuff in the doorway and ran out of there. I called my mom and I told her that we will not be staying another night there. And my mom said, Yes, you are. We are paying good money for you to be there. Thanks mom for the guilt trip. But fuck no.
I love that. She's like, we're going to bless that place, and then she's like, you're going to stay the fuck in there.
We paid your tuition.
We paid your tuition, we had a deposit on that place that we won't get back.
Stay with that, diamond.
Damn, my angel of a mom drove up to Columbia that day and made me and Elena walk through the room with her. She yelled, Get out of this house, you are not welcome here and read Scriptures from the Bible. I'll tell you what. The people on our floor probably thought we were crazy as hell, but fuck it.
My mom took us to lunch and dropped us back. I love that. She was like, You guys want to get some lunch after that?
Let's get some appies.
Let's go to Applebee's and dropped us back off. When we walked in the place, it felt lighter and not as eerie. Thank the Lord. We didn't have any more activity since that day. But we quickly learned from other students who resided in the building, quickly learned from students who resided in the building. Had strange things going on in their rooms, too.
Move Out Day did not come soon enough, but we survived. Me and Elena continued to be roommates all throughout college and are still sisters to this day.
That's beautiful.
As for the building that fucker got torn down this year as it should. Thank you so much for listening to my tale. It literally gave me chills to write this five years later, as it is still the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. I love you both and I hope you have the best day. Much love, Addison.
Oh, Addison.
AdDison That was terrifying.
We hope you have the best day and thank goodness you were out of that fucking dorm.
For real?
Because, holy hell, no pun intended.
My god.
Maybe a little pun intended.
That was totally intended. Maybe don't lie to the girl.
Don't lie to the girl.
That was intended.
Wow, Addison.
That was a lot.
Should we do one more? All right, let's do listener tale of a haunted Airbnb told by an East Coaster playing the character of a Midwesterner obsessed.
Damn sorry if I'm like slipping over my words. I had like, a dental procedure done yesterday and you know, that shit happens, you better get it together, sorry.
Hey Ash and Alayna, I finally found the courage to write in my listener tale, so I hope it makes it onto the pod.
It did.
As the phrase goes, I've attached a double-spaced putafa and some pictures as well for your enjoyment. I look forward to more morbid episodes. Yours truly, Chelsea. The New Yorker who ended up in Wisconsin by way of Oregon also. I know Massachusetts pretty well and was never a fan of mass holes, but somehow you two make me want to visit more.
The b-k-l-y-n Italian in me makes it hard to like Boston, though.
You don't like Boston.
We'll forgive you.
Can we read this? I'm just kidding.
We can do it because, you know what, we'll forgive you. You have a really cute cat. Airbnb host that was a ghost.
And you know what that rhymed?
It does.
So there we go. It says, Hey Ash and Alayna, I'm Chelsea, you can use my name because I'm a 37-year-old Aquarius with Leo rising, who still thinks they're 27..
I love it.
So I love me some recognition flips hair.
I recently discovered Morbid in May of 2022, but thankfully, my life is uneventful, so I was able to catch up to the present day pretty quickly. I first started listening to you when I had a month off from work, so I was painting my home and doing odd jobs around my house. Now, every time I'm in a certain room or staring at my porch. I think I painted that to BTK over the exterior door frames, I painted that to John Wayne Gacy. So you're forever stuck in my home and brain.
Now I'll never forget painting my kitchen to Albert Fish and laughing my ass off at the two of you. Trying to explain why they used to, why they, what? Why they used to use the boy scouts. And the fact that, no matter what, there's always an issue with managing paperwork, boy scouts doing police work, who knew?
Cops dropping the ball, Who knew?
Who knew?
For the last few months, I've been wanting to write in because I have little moments in my hundred-year-old bungalow. With my old man ghost who watches me when I've had too much to drink. Or with the old Polish lady who insists I'm playing with Ivan, my cat after 2 a.
M I'm obsessed with your cat, by the way, I'm obsessed with all of that, and Ivan, I love that name for a cat. If you yell at her that it's bedtime, she stops.
But this one is about my Airbnb experience in Grand Rapids.
Please give us the other ones too, later.
Please do I live in Milwaukee? Please note I was not born in Wisconsin or Wisconsin. I am a new yawker, Brooklyn-bred badass. I just want to clarify, I live here because it's cheap.
Also now I understand why you don't like Boston.
It makes sense.
You honestly think this dime-piece lesbian would live here at a free will and not inflation?
Back to it, most, every Halloween weekend, I drive over to Michigan for sog-a-tuck, sog-a-tuck. I got it.
Sog-a-tuck Douglas adult-only Halloween Parade.
Oh, that sounds fun.
It's a must for your bucket list if you love the arts, the gays and damn fun weekend. I do that sounds amazing, love all of those things. I always try to get one night in Grand Rapids since it's a little less than an hour drive from the parade.
This one weekend, I booked an Airbnb instead of my usual Bougie Marriott suite. This house was built in the 1800s, so it was freezing even though the heat was on, and it was overall creaky and creepy, but so adorable. I got in, didn't unpack, threw my food in the fridge and went out exploring. When I came home to cook and unwind, I opened the fridge and found my chicken breasts wrapped in very nice linens that had chickens embroidered on them like they were hand-sewn. I stood there, confused and triple-checked my brain that I didn't do that.
I drank a lot at this time and smoked a lot, too. I could have done it, but I know I didn't. Why would I cover my breasts?
I ignored it, made dinner and went to the living room, where I proceeded to pass out. However, many hours later, I woke up freezing, so I got up to hit the bedroom. And I passed the bathroom, where I noticed all the bathroom products were on the floor. Like someone went in and had a hissy fit over the fact that Tresemme was the shampoo, provided it was me, I knew that I didn't do that, so I took note and headed into the bedroom.
I love that you're just like, I didn't do that. In the bedroom, my stuff was neatly placed at the foot of the bed, and one side of the comforters was folded down as a way of inviting me into bed.
What the fuck?
I also knew I didn't neatly place anything and the bed originally did not look like this. So now I'm spooked and I creep into bed totally wigged out of my brain, thinking, Is my Airbnb host a ghost? And as I'm laying there, trying to fall asleep, trying not to wig out, I hear pacing in the kitchen, as if someone is preparing a meal, pots moving, someone walking around the island, the fridge opening, opening.
So suffice to say I did not fall asleep, I also did not go out and investigate. Fuck that, it can't be a mean ghost. If they're trying to meal prep, right? I don't think so.
My ex-girlfriend joined me the next day because that's what lesbians do. We break up and then take a mini-vacay together just to make sure we know the reasons why we broke up.
Wow, if that's not the truth, I love you.
I told her about my exhaustion and experience, but she doesn't believe in that stuff and said I was drunk. Well, guess who heard the meal-parping after 2am? Who's the drunk now? Still me at this time?
The morning of checkout, I messaged the host and simply said, Your place is haunted, to which she simply said.
Hey, by the way, your fucking house is haunted.
To which she simply said, Yes, we know, and she's very nice, to which I simply said, Yes. She felt motherly to me, trying to take care of me. I rated her 5 stars, she rated me 5 stars and I left.
That's incredible.
I live in a spooky house, but I'm very cordial with my ghosts. They do nice things for me, like fix my lights or play with Ivan. That's awesome. I'm also an Airbnb host and I've only been told some folks hear footsteps. My medium, Yes, I have a medium, came to my home and told me all about the folks who live with me and how they watch me when I renovate and paint. And they love Ivan.
Sometimes Ivan and I hear walking around downstairs, or we smell cologne, but meh, it's just the ghosts. But that Airbnb stay was perhaps the creepiest experience I've had. I'm sure the tequila did not help the situation.
Never does.
If you're ever in Milwaukee and need an Airbnb in a classic 1920s bungalow, look me up. If you end up going to Saga Talk, I hope that's how you say it. I think it is. For the dope-ass Halloween parade, make time for Grand Rapids. The old houses are off the charts there. Google Heritage Hill. And thank you if you ended up reading this on the pod.
I told my homies if you did, I would make them listen to it daily for a month straight. Because again, Aquarius Leo flips hair.
Well, homies, get ready.
Attached is a picture of Ivan and a picture of the front of my home that Zillow took clearly during the month of October because I had it all decorated. Peep, that handmade, life-size Michael Myers Ooh, handmade. I gotta see it. Out of all the things I've accomplished in my life, this is in the top three.
Let me see it, let me see it right now.
Let me see this, let me see this.
Oh my God, look at that.
Holy shit.
I didn't spot it at first, but then I did. Damn, that's terrifying.
You should put that in the top three also, Ivan is beautiful.
I love Ivan and also you are beautiful.
You are you are a dime piece lesbian, a dime piece lesbian. You correctly described yourself.
I'm obsessed with this entire story.
Chelsea That was an amazing story.
Also, I like the color of your bathroom. Good call.
I just love that your ghosts take care of you and play with your cat, I know that's nice.
That's awesome.
I really like that.
Sometimes you're tired and you love your cat, but you don't want to play with them and you wish somebody else would.
Well, I like that your medium came and confirmed that you know what they like you and they're going to take care of you and play with your cat.
Yeah, I also like that you have a medium. Yeah, that's fun. I like a medium that I just have.
I would also love that.
Let's look into that. I feel like we could make that happen. Let's get a fucking medium.
Chelsea, that was great.
Chelsea Siggy fucking. Who else did we read from? I don't know if we were supposed to say the first person's name.
Nope, Anna, Anna okay and Addison, yep, yep, all of you.
All fucking fantastic, you killed it, I love it. That was a fun one.
That was a good one. We needed those haunting ones to be the bread.
Yeah, those last two were the fun ones, I didn't mean all of them.
All of them were not fun.
Yeah, crazy, whoa. Well, I guess it's time for me to go now.
So we hope you keep listening, keep sending those listen-a-tales.
And we hope that you keep it weird, but not so weird that you live in a haunted house, or you try to steal somebody's baby, or you haunt a fucking dorm room. Because that's really terrifying, and I think you should keep it so weird that you're a mountain that looks like a butt.
Definitely be that weird, yay.
Mountains that look like butts, butts, butts, butts, butts.
Love you.
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