Paranormal Activity with Yvette Fielding

Two listeners. Two encounters with something that reached out. One through a child, one through the land itself.

Bronwen's five-year-old is given an old hand-stitched doll from a neighbour's late mother, names it Sally, and invents "the answering game." Soon Anya is describing a life no child could invent: a coal stove, a copper washtub, a baby brother who "went in the ground." Then Bronwen hears two voices from the room where her daughter plays alone.

Then Dale, a Colorado rancher, has kept a dozen dogs that all refuse to cross the same invisible line near an old rise on his land. When drought pushes him to dig there, the third scoop brings up small bones, laid with care. That night, he and his wife hear faint singing from the hollow for one night, then never again in thirty years.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the handmade doll that becomes a lodging for a child's soul, and the burial ground that dogs read long before any spade confirms it.

What happens when the thing reaching out isn't a threat… just something that wants to be heard?

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375 files. 5 tranches. The Pentagon still can't explain any of them.

• A fighter jet shot down an unknown object over the Great Lakes.
• 4 objects flew in formation over Iran with no visible propulsion.
• The CIA tracked a disc with rotating lights over Zimbabwe and reported it to the White House.
• A nuclear weapons plant went into lockdown over a silent, diamond-shaped craft.
• And a triangle the size of a football pitch blacked out the stars over Afghanistan without making a sound.

Yvette and friend of the show, Glen Hunt are back to break down the biggest cases from the latest PURSUE releases on this week's Paranormal Activity.

The shootdowns, the swarms, the nuclear connection, and what the government still isn't telling us...

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Two listeners. Two encounters that live on in objects — a photograph, and a clock.

Sorting her late grandmother's photos, Georgia keeps finding the same woman: at the edge of a 1911 wedding, in a 1950s Christmas, at the back of her own 1982 christening. Same age. Same dark coat, always half-turned, never named. And her grandmother's lifelong saying suddenly lands: "Count everyone in."

Then Colton's granddaddy wound the family clock every Sunday, swearing a clock and a life were tied together. When he died in 2009, it stopped at 4:12. The minute he passed. And the night his grandmother died, Colton heard it chime once in the dark, from a movement a restorer later confirmed was rusted solid and incapable of sound.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the "extra one" that follows a bloodline down the generations, and the death clock bound to a house that keeps the time not of a day, but of the family itself.

What happens when the thing that walks with your family doesn't haunt a house… but attends every photo and rings every passing?

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This week, Yvette Fielding takes Paranormal Activity to a bog-standard street in Wombwell, South Yorkshire, and through a little front door that opens into something extraordinary: the Old Bank House, a former Victorian bank now packed floor to ceiling with the strange, the sinister and the downright unsettling.

From the outside it's a flat above a shop. Inside, it's a Tardis: two floors of pure Victorian menace, where dark red walls crowd in on death masks, spirit photographs, a real lead-lined coffin and hundreds upon hundreds of dolls, all watching.

Yvette takes you through the house room by room, then sits down with owners Ria & Matt Readman to separate the stories she's inherited from the things she's seen with her own eyes.

• The dolls named William and Billy, said to move on their own
• A hatchet that tilted on the wall while the team stood talking
• Guests scratched by unseen hands, describing a burning sensation that comes first
• A crawl space so sinister that paramedics have reportedly been called

And then there's the teddy bear in the miners' room. The one that kept moving when no one was looking. This week, Karl was there. And Karl saw it happen.

Lock the door, mind the crawl space, and whatever you do, don't turn your back on the dolls.

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Two listeners. Two encounters with something older than any ghost. A bargain, and a journey that never ended.

On the family land near Ballycastle stands a lone hawthorn over a spring, and Fiona's family has kept the same rule for generations: never cut it, and every May tie a strip of cloth to its branch and leave milk at its roots. Nobody remembers why. Then her cousin brings a chainsaw to it and the engine dies five times, a wind rises around that one tree on a still morning while the grass twenty feet away stays motionless. He backs away. Within a year his cattle sicken, his roof tears off in a storm that spares everyone else, and he breaks two bones on that same field. Her father, from his sickbed: "He broke the bargain, and now it's collecting."

Then Wesley, a long-haul trucker, picks up a young woman freezing on a dark Oregon highway in the mid-eighties. The heater's roaring, he gives her his jacket and she never gets warm. She points out a house, walks up the path toward the porch light, and vanishes halfway, in full view. The woman who answers the door says her daughter died on that road twenty years ago. Then: "You can keep the jacket, son, she'll have it now." His jacket was gone.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the lone fairy thorn you must never raise a blade to, the ancient bargain a bloodline keeps without knowing to whom, and the phantom hitchhiker forever repeating the journey home her death cut short.

What happens when the debt isn't a haunting… but something you were always meant to keep paying?

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Yvette Fielding is back with five of your strangest, most spine-chilling stories, and this month they range from the comical to the genuinely unnerving.

• Two orbs caught on a home camera as a glowing light drifts toward the window — what did our listener really capture?
• A ghost hunt at a Lancaster hall where a spinning glass flies off the table and shatters, a ball of white light glides down a staircase, and a haunted new home may be hiding a Dalek-obsessed spirit — a Victorian chimney sweep, or a beloved late father?
• A lady in a bright yellow rain jacket, soaked and carrying a lit lantern, who walks in from the dark asking for someone by name… while three dogs that bark at everything stay completely silent.
• A 15-year-old on the Welsh border whose family cottage turns nasty after a box of old clothes — and a traditional tall Welsh hat — is disturbed in the attic.
• And a driver who pulls over to tell us about the ethereal choir music and trumpets she heard singing from inside her bedroom fan.

Plus a Fact or Fiction from Lancaster: was Crookhey Hall, the atmospheric ruin where our listener went ghost hunting, really built as a Victorian lunatic asylum?

Got a story, photo or voice note? Email [email protected] or find us @paranormalactivitypod.

Early episodes + bonus content? Join us on Supercast

Stay safe, and stay curious.

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Two listeners. Two encounters that bent the rules. One of time, one of a single life.

On a dark road above Aberystwyth in 1994, Gareth pulls over to watch a silent amber light hang motionless over the valley. Then it slides sideways in two seconds across a distance that would take a car ten minutes and stops dead, the way nothing with real weight can. The next thing he knows, forty minutes are gone from the dashboard clock, he's cold through, and there's a taste like metal in his mouth. For a week after, he wakes at exactly three in the morning, certain something in the room has just been looking at him.

Then Marisol, a practical Louisiana nurse, describes the eight months her three-year-old spoke calmly of "the other mama". A grown-up life by the big water, a white dress, helping the sick people, getting sick in the chest. Then the girl points to a woman in an unseen family photo and says, "that's me, before." It was Marisol's great-aunt Alma: a nurse who moved to the Gulf coast and died of pneumonia in 1946. A woman her daughter had never heard named.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the Welsh belief in time knocked out of true by the fair folk, thresholds where attention swings both ways, and the returning soul that comes home along the bloodline to be recognised.

What happens when the thing you witnessed doesn't haunt you… it just proves the rules aren't what you thought?

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This is what you're missing.

Every Saturday over on the Supercast, Yvette sits down and tells you a proper ghost story.

No investigation, no crew, just her and a tale to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and this week, we're letting you in on one.

In the winter of 1913, a rumour tore through the tenement streets of Chicago.

Behind the walls of Hull House, something was being kept hidden away: a child born with cloven hooves, two sharp horns, black ink-drop eyes, and a whip-like tail. They called it the Devil Baby, and within a week hundreds were pressing against the railings on Halsted Street, staring up at that second-floor window.

But the rumour was only the beginning. The house already held its dead: a pale woman waiting at the glass, footsteps pacing the halls at night, blankets folded by unseen hands. And after the crowds came, something woke hungry. A thin, mewling cry rising from between the floorboards at three in the morning, lasting exactly thirteen minutes. A small, low shape dragging itself toward a locked door. A wet trail leading up the stairs to that same cold window.

Yvette tells it the way they've always told it in Chicago for over a century: lights low, after dark.

This is exactly what you get every single Saturday on the Supercast: a brand new ghost story every week, plus main episodes a full day early.

So if you ever find yourself looking up at that window on a cold Chicago night... walk on. Don't stop. Don't stare. Because whatever is standing behind that glass might just stare back.

Goodnight. Sleep well. Or at least, try to.

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We think we know what a coma is. The lights go off. Nobody's home. A blank, a gap, a nothing, until the machines bring you back.

This week, Yvette Fielding and her paranormal partner in crime Karl Beattie go somewhere they've never taken you before: not a ruined castle or a cold, empty asylum, but inside the sealed-off human mind.

Because the people who've been there and come back tell a very different story. They didn't find darkness. They found whole lives — marriages, children, towns they knew street by street. And then they woke up and had to grieve everything they'd lost. So this week we chase the strangest haunting of all: the one that happens inside your own head, in a life that feels realer than this one.

Yvette and Karl meet five people who went into the dark and came back changed, and ask the question that unsettles believer and sceptic alike: if you can love a family for years, and grieve them for years more, where exactly did that family live?

You'll hear five journeys the doctors can't quite explain

• Dr. Alok Kanojia's patient — a car-crash survivor who lived a whole marriage and raised two daughters in seven silent days, then woke to mourn a family he knew never existed
• Clélia Verdier, Lyon — nineteen years old, three weeks under, seven years lived; she woke and told her parents they were grandparents to children who were never born
• Keenan Acton, UK — a father who came round asking after twins that didn't exist, and remembered a watch counting down eight days, the exact length of his coma
• The Reddit case — an anonymous stranger who still glimpses his son at the corner of his eye, perpetually five years old, forever trying to say something he can't quite hear
• Caroline Leavitt, USA — a novelist who came back mapping an entire town she'd lived in, and insists, present tense, that she's still dreaming it

Then the big question: where did they actually go? The bed never moved.

• Parallel lives - the family you grieve is the family you lost, in a layer of reality running alongside our own
• Soul travel - the deepest, longest out-of-body experience a living person can have, and return from
• The threshold - Keenan's field of huts, where you're taken, sorted, and told your time is coming
• The sceptic's cold water - sedatives, stress, and a brain spinning stories to fill the silence
• Plus this week's Fact or Fiction, and Yvette and Karl's own verdict on where these travellers really went

Keep the lights on. You may need them.

📧 [email protected] | 📱 @paranormalactivitypod

🎧 Early episodes + exclusive bonus content: paranormalpod.co.uk

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Two listeners. Two brushes with a threshold. One at a deathbed, one in a fold of time itself.

In the last three days of her life, Priya's nani begins talking to people who aren't there: not frightened, but delighted. She greets her mother, her sister, and names an infant brother who died in India seventy years ago, a child the family had to phone across the world to confirm ever existed. On the final afternoon she looks at Priya, lucid, and says: "They're all here now. Look how many came." And the corner of the room feels crowded, a fullness Priya, her mother, and her aunt each feel on their skin and only admit to one another afterwards.

Then Darnell, a Chicago electrician, describes a moment that repeats. Twice, twenty years apart, a wave hits him and he knows in specific, testable detail, exactly what the next two seconds hold. The second time, something is different: the moment feels like it's watching him back, holding still, waiting to see what he'll do. And his late mother's two-word warning from the first time surfaces just in time: "Don't chase it."

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the deathbed "gathering" that comes to collect its own, the "roll call" that names the dead the living couldn't have invented, and the fold in time that becomes a door once it knows you've noticed it.

What happens when the threshold doesn't just open for the dying… but notices the living standing at the door?

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