Hey, it's Michelle, and this week's three calls take us into a former mortuary in Michigan, a terrifying encounter on a dark road in upstate New York, and a hundred-year-old story of loyalty at a pet cemetery in Los Angeles. Now available as a full video episode on both Spotify and YouTube for the first time.

Tony from Ypsilanti, Michigan calls in with a story from the early 1990s about his college girlfriend's Victorian-era apartment, where a full loaf of bread once vanished from one cabinet only to reappear moments later in another. Beds shook. Showers turned on in the night. On one occasion, with every roommate confirmed away and the building otherwise empty, Tony heard what sounded like ten people walking through the house. A hidden trapdoor system running from the basement to the top floor suggested the building once had a small elevator, and research at the local historical society revealed the house had operated as a mortuary around 1890. A camcorder left recording overnight in a corner nobody could reach without being filmed shut off on its own after thirty-five minutes, with a fully charged battery. Ten years later, Tony returned to find new college-aged tenants who confirmed everything was still happening exactly as it had before.

Angela from upstate New York calls in with a genuinely harrowing encounter on Route 9 late at night. A woman in a long white dress stood motionless in the middle of the road, hair covering her face, refusing to respond. As Angela hesitated, a man emerged from the trees and began walking toward her car. She reversed away as the woman slowly turned her head, revealing a face Angela describes as simply wrong. Police found no trace of either figure at the scene, but told her she was far from the first person to report a woman in white on that same stretch of road, a local legend that has persisted for decades. Angela still cannot decide which possibility unsettles her more, that it was a ghost, or that someone was using the legend as bait.

And Tessa from Los Angeles closes the episode with the story of Kabar, the beloved Doberman of silent film legend Rudolph Valentino. When Valentino died suddenly in 1926, Kabar reportedly began howling at the exact moment of his owner's death nearly three thousand miles away, later running off and returning with his paws worn down as if he had tried to walk cross-country to find him. At Kabar's grave in the Los Angeles Pet Cemetery, Tessa called his name as a dare. She felt a cold, wet sensation move across her hand exactly like a dog's nose and tongue, and when she looked down, her hand was visibly damp, on a dry, sunny day with no water anywhere nearby.

Three real callers. Three true ghost stories.

If you have a real ghost story of your own, a haunting experience, something you heard, something you cannot explain, I want to hear it. Call 1 (701) 484-2666 or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠tellmeaghoststory.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to share your story.

You might end up on the show.

And if this episode moved you, leave a comment on Spotify. I read every single one, and your comments help new listeners find the show.

Support us with official merch at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠newmanmedia.shop⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, catch us on YouTube at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ @tellmeaghoststory⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and follow along on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tellmeaghoststorypodcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Theme music is Sexy Sax by Cool Cascade.

Production by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Newman Media⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

1. Tyler from Colorado --Tyler shares a deeply unsettling paranormal experience that began after his kayaking accident left him clinically dead for three minutes. Since being revived, he's been experiencing disturbing phenomena, but here's what makes this truly terrifying: other people are experiencing it too. His roommate heard Tyler's voice calling from an empty bedroom while Tyler sat right beside him. His girlfriend heard it coming from his car while he stood next to her. His own father heard it from the basement. Most chilling of all, Tyler himself has heard his own voice calling to him from empty rooms. He also sees patches of "glitching air" that look like TV static, and his friend Marissa witnessed one materialize at a coffee shop.

2. Emma -- The Life-Sized Clown That Wouldn't Stay Gone Emma recounts a childhood nightmare involving a life-sized knitted clown her cousins purchased from a thrift store. The clown would move on its own, appearing in different rooms despite being locked away. When they finally locked it in outdoor dog kennels, it was found inside the house the next morning, sitting on the couch. But the most terrifying moment came when Emma, her sister, and their cousins saw the clown running, like a human, through tall grass 50 meters away before vanishing completely. When they checked, it was no longer on their uncle's truck, where he'd placed it for disposal. The clown was never seen again, but the mystery remains: where did it go, and what caused it to move?

3. Carlos from San Antonio, Texas -- Danny Still Works the Night Shift Carlos shares his brief but terrifying experience working the night shift at a 24-hour diner off I-10. On his first day, his manager showed him a memorial shrine for Danny, a beloved cook who died of a heart attack in 2015, and casually warned him, "You'll see him sometimes. Just acknowledge him." Carlos thought it was a joke until his second week, when he encountered a figure in a cook's uniform blocking the walk-in freezer doorway at 3 AM.

4. Jenna from Boise, Idaho -- The Red Eyes Outside Her Third-Floor Window Jenna describes a two-month nightmare involving two red eyes that appear outside her third-floor apartment window every night around 11:30 PM. Despite being three stories up with no balcony, fire escape, or ledge, just a sheer drop to the parking lot, these glowing red eyes hover and stare through her window with malevolent intent. Her boyfriend witnessed them too, and shockingly, her neighbor on the second floor has been seeing the same red eyes outside her window for months.

5. Marcus from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania -- The Battlefield That Refuses to Be Photographed. Marcus, a professional photographer, recounts his eerie experience at Triangular Field near Devil's Den in Gettysburg. While attempting to photograph the Civil War battlefield at golden hour, all of his high-end camera equipment simultaneously stopped working: multiple cameras, backup batteries, and even his phone. The moment he stepped away from the field, everything powered back on perfectly. Later research revealed dozens of similar reports: cameras malfunction at Triangular Field, photos come out blank or washed out, and visitors feel watched by unseen presences. Marcus experienced an overwhelming sensation of being observed by many eyes from the rocks, trees, and the field itself. 

6. Tony from North Dakota -- The Clown in the Ceiling Who Made Deals Tony shares a disturbing childhood memory of a clown doll that would speak to him every night from a hatch in his ceiling. The clown was friendly, listening to Tony vent about his day and having conversations—but with one terrifying rule: if Tony slept with his hands or feet outside the blanket, the clown would come down and take them. To this day, Tony cannot sleep with his limbs uncovered. This only happened in one specific house, ruling out hallucination. 

Hey, it's Michelle, and this week's five calls include a glass that exploded with nobody near it, a deacon whose prayers had a disturbing track record, a hospice patient who found his way home right on time, a real Cold War legend that still haunts Eastern Europe, and a headless ghost who just wanted in on a card game.

Christina from Phoenix, Arizona calls in again, this time about moving into her aunt's house, where she'd sensed something before she even signed on. A tall shadow figure slipped into the garage the first day she visited. After moving in, constant footsteps and distant voices filled the house whenever she was alone, and a warning feeling stopped her cold at the garage door one night, the kind of instinctive dread she describes like the moment right before a car accident. After her aunt moved out and the house sat mostly empty, a freshly washed glass exploded on the drying rack with nobody near it, followed days later by a glass candle holder that split perfectly in half on its own. Both her husband and her best friend insist the activity follows Christina specifically, stopping when she leaves and starting again the moment she returns, something she's lived with since childhood in the form of doorknobs that visibly shake as if something is trying to get in, something she refuses to open.

Helen from Tupelo, Mississippi calls in with a story about her Uncle John, a respected deacon known for unusually powerful prayer. When his daughter fell in love with a man he disapproved of, he asked her to wait while he prayed on it, and within three days her fiancé died suddenly of spinal meningitis. It was only afterward, in conversation with her aunt, that Helen learned this wasn't the first time someone standing in her uncle's way had met a sudden end, and her aunt's only explanation was four words that still haunt her, "there have been others."

Donnie from New Mexico, a hospice nurse, returns with a story about his friend Nicky, a resident with Down Syndrome and part of Donnie's daily coffee routine. One morning Nikki arrived in tears, having spent the night hearing his mother calling him home for dinner and unable to remember the way. He seemed better after their usual visit. He died before lunch that same day.

Dimitri, calling from Chicago but raised in Poland in the early 1980s, shares the Cold War legend of the Black Volga, a black car with white curtained windows said to snatch people off the street, never to be seen again. Some said it was the KGB. Others said organ thieves. Dimitri's grandmother was certain it was the devil himself, collecting souls. At nine years old, Dimitri and a friend watched one slow past them on the sidewalk, curtain shifting as if someone inside was looking out, before they ran the entire way home.

And Cindy Ketron from Avon, Indiana closes the episode with a story from her great-grandfather's card game the night before a funeral for a man decapitated in a farming accident, his head never recovered. Partway through the game, her great-grandmother looked up and asked who exactly had joined them, a headless figure sitting at the table, apparently there to play cards.

Five real callers. Five true ghost stories.

If you have a real ghost story of your own, a haunting experience, something you heard, something you cannot explain, I want to hear it. Call 1 (701) 484-2666 or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠tellmeaghoststory.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to share your story.

You might end up on the show.

And if this episode moved you, leave a comment on Spotify. I read every single one, and your comments help new listeners find the show.

Support us with official merch at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠newmanmedia.shop⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, catch us on YouTube at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ @tellmeaghoststory⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and follow along on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tellmeaghoststorypodcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Theme music is Sexy Sax by Cool Cascade.

Production by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Newman Media⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Hey, it's Michelle, and this episode is a little different from our normal format. Instead of separate callers with separate stories, this week is five people, including me, sharing our experiences with the same ghost, in the same apartment, over the same span of years. Apartment 3F in the Mission District of San Francisco. The hub of our friend group in our late twenties. And a woman in gray that every single person who ever stayed there eventually saw, and nobody talked about until now.

Marcus dated someone who lived in 3F, and one night, walking past the kitchen to use the bathroom, he froze at the sight of a woman's outline standing there watching him. He blinked. She was gone. He broke up with his girlfriend a few months later for unrelated reasons and admits he was relieved to stop visiting the apartment.

Rebecca was a frequent visitor and saw the gray shape in the kitchen more times than she can count. One night while doing dishes with Sarah, she turned around to grab a towel and found a woman standing directly behind her. She dropped the glass she was holding.

I saw her myself, coming home from a comedy show around 2 or 3 in the morning. I walked to the kitchen for water and turned to find a woman my exact height standing eye level with me. Big frizzy gray hair. Gray sweater. Gray skirt. Sensible shoes. Everything about her was gray. I startled her as much as she startled me, and then she was gone. That is still the only full-bodied apparition I have ever seen, even after everything this podcast has shown me since.

Sarah lived in 3F for eight years and rarely talks about what happened there. It started about a month after she moved in, waking to the feeling of being watched, opening her eyes to find the woman standing at the foot of her bed in the dark. Over time she got closer, standing beside the bed, and eventually Sarah felt the mattress shift under the weight of someone sitting on the other side while she lay frozen, too afraid to look.

Alex, Sarah's roommate, moved in already having heard the rumors and dismissed them, until jewelry started ending up on the floor and a gray shape began appearing in the corner of her eye. One night she woke to find the figure standing by her closet watching her sleep. Exhausted and fed up, Alex eventually sat up in bed and yelled at the presence to leave. The room changed. She was never bothered again.

I never found any documented history for that specific building, but the folklore around gray ladies runs deep across cultures, sometimes connected to the mythical Graeae of Greek mythology, often tied to heartbroken women, and frequently associated with former nurses, teachers, and caretakers in specific buildings. The most famous is the Gray Lady of Hampton Court in the UK, believed to be Sybil Penn, nurse to four Tudor monarchs, who contracted smallpox nursing Queen Elizabeth I back to health and later died from it herself. When her tomb was disturbed during renovations in 1829, hauntings began. Our gray lady of Apartment 3F never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be seen and to keep doing her rounds.

Five real callers. One true ghost story that took years to finally tell out loud.

If you have a real ghost story of your own, a haunting experience, something you heard, something you cannot explain, I want to hear it. Call 1 (701) 484-2666 or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠tellmeaghoststory.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to share your story.

You might end up on the show.

And if this episode moved you, leave a comment on Spotify. I read every single one, and your comments help new listeners find the show.

Support us with official merch at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠newmanmedia.shop⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, catch us on YouTube at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ @tellmeaghoststory⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and follow along on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tellmeaghoststorypodcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Theme music is Sexy Sax by Cool Cascade.

Production by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Newman Media⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Hey, it's Michelle, and this week's seven calls include handprints circling a locked car in the middle of nowhere, a dead rock guitarist who keeps showing up when people play his most famous riff, an old man who finally got the message to leave someone alone, a sigh whispered directly into someone's ear in an empty locked room, and a legendary bandaged figure on the Oregon coast.

Stevie from California calls in about a solo camping trip on BLM land near Yosemite, locking herself and her dog Mochi into her car during a windstorm for extra warmth. Around 3 am, Mochi began barking in a deep, unfamiliar growl completely unlike her usual voice. In the morning, Stevie found handprints and forehead smudges circling every single window of the car, as if someone had walked the entire perimeter trying to look inside.

Johnny from Kansas calls in about repeatedly sensing the presence of guitarist Randy Rhoads while playing his music, watching or lying beside him mid-practice. Rhoads, a founding member of Quiet Riot and lead guitarist for Ozzy Osbourne, died in 1982 at just 25 years old when the small plane he was riding in crashed while attempting to buzz Osbourne's tour bus.

Frank calls in about a basement apartment where an unseen presence tinkered nightly in empty rooms, eventually escalating to a half-visible figure standing in his bedroom doorway. Exhausted from bartending, Frank finally sat up and firmly demanded to be left alone. The presence never returned.

Emily calls in about her toddler twins, who both independently and matter-of-factly described a girl standing at their bedroom window wanting to play, insisting their mother could see her too.

Erin from Bloomington, Indiana calls in about a quiet solo night at home, drifting off to sleep when a long, tired sigh came from directly beside her ear, close enough that she felt breath stir against her cheek, despite being completely and verifiably alone in a locked house.

Jess from Oregon calls in about the legendary Bandage Man of Cannon Beach, a figure said to be a badly injured logger lost forever on his way to find help. While parked near the coast one night, Jess and friends heard a thud against the truck's rear window and saw a bandaged figure pressed against the glass, gone without a trace the moment they fled.

And Cindy Ketron closes the episode with a decades-old family Halloween tradition: an elderly traveling woman encountered on Monument Circle in downtown Indianapolis in 1981, who accepted food and water from Cindy's family before opening her carpetbag to reveal an actual sack of human bones, laughing at their horror before walking calmly away.

Seven real callers. Seven true ghost stories.

If you have a real ghost story of your own, a haunting experience, something you heard, something you cannot explain, I want to hear it. Call 1 (701) 484-2666 or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠tellmeaghoststory.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to share your story.

You might end up on the show.

And if this episode moved you, leave a comment on Spotify. I read every single one, and your comments help new listeners find the show.

Support us with official merch at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠newmanmedia.shop⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, catch us on YouTube at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ @tellmeaghoststory⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and follow along on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tellmeaghoststorypodcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Theme music is Sexy Sax by Cool Cascade.

Production by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Newman Media⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

• From Atlanta, Noah remembers playing hide-and-seek in a Mississippi antebellum mansion when a ghostly figure with red reflective eyes appeared. Years later, in a Las Vegas hotel room, he encountered the spirits of a grayscale boy and a father dressed in 19th-century clothing. (Noah also hosts Real Hauntings, Real Ghost Stories, where I joined him on the episode “Ghost in My Bed.”)
• Michael from Watertown, MA, tells me about the chilling appearance of a woman in a blue nun’s habit. What started as strange sightings turned into escalating paranormal activity at home and a spiritual reckoning he’ll never forget.
• Christina, in Phoenix, lived in an apartment next to a cemetery and endured some of the most unsettling hauntings I’ve ever heard: a little girl’s apparition, phantom footsteps, children’s laughter, and even a violently shaking coffee pot.
• Reid from Colorado Springs shares how a towering shadow person first appeared in their childhood bathroom, and later followed them to a new home years later.
• Cindy Ketron from Avon, IN, has been haunted by “Herbert,” an invisible entity that’s been with her and her brother since childhood. Her haunted tale is a reminder that sometimes the scariest ghosts are the ones that stay with us for life.

Hey, it's Michelle, and this week's six calls include an inherited ashtray that filled itself with ash in an empty locked house, a door that slammed shut on its own at 2:40 in the morning, a hospice patient who said thank you after time of death was already recorded, a kindergartner talking to a woman his mother can't see, a famous actor multiple people swear carries something dark, and a tall thin man who kept checking to see if someone was really asleep.

Anna from Tacoma, Washington calls in about a heavy glass ashtray inherited from her late aunt, found spotless in a cupboard and left sitting on the dining table while she gardened outside for an hour. When she came back inside, the previously clean ashtray was filled with a heap of cigarette ash, no butts, just ash, with a faint stale smoke smell in the air, despite every door, window, and the basement being fully locked and undisturbed.

Marshall from St. Cloud, Florida calls in shaken after his bedroom door slammed shut on its own at 2:40 in the morning while heading back to bed, describing an unmistakable cold in the room and lingering goosebumps he still felt while telling the story live.

Donnie, a hospice nurse from New Mexico, calls in about a patient whose time of death he'd just finished recording, only to hear a clear "thank you" in the patient's own voice, followed by a cold breeze from a nearby window, in what should have been an empty room.

Julia calls in wondering if other parents have experienced something similar with their kids, after her kindergartner described nightly conversations with a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing who smiles but never moves, and who reportedly told him not to tell his mother about her.

Jimmy, who worked in Hollywood, calls in about a famous actor he won't name, someone multiple people on set independently describe as bringing a palpable, mood-killing darkness into any room he enters, alongside rumors tied to his rapid rise to fame and a string of personal tragedies that followed.

And Christina from Phoenix, Arizona returns with a story from a podiatry office where she repeatedly glimpsed a man standing at the end of a hallway from the corner of her eye, who vanished each time she looked directly. The activity escalated during a lunchtime nap, when she woke to find a tall, thin man in basketball shorts crouched at her feet, apparently checking whether she was awake, gone the instant she jumped up. A coworker who'd seen something in that same office has refused, to this day, to describe what it was.

Six real callers. Six true ghost stories.

If you have a real ghost story of your own, a haunting experience, something you heard, something you cannot explain, I want to hear it. Call 1 (701) 484-2666 or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠tellmeaghoststory.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to share your story.

You might end up on the show.

And if this episode moved you, leave a comment on Spotify. I read every single one, and your comments help new listeners find the show.

Support us with official merch at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠newmanmedia.shop⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, catch us on YouTube at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ @tellmeaghoststory⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and follow along on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tellmeaghoststorypodcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Theme music is Sexy Sax by Cool Cascade.

Production by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Newman Media⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.