Those Nights in January [Plus Commentary]

You can also get a product market, then you can get your first big enterprise.

With KaE, the development of the product is also the advantage of the development of the product. And that's the advantage of the product. The topic is how security and compliance are actually going to be. It's been a long time since the beginning.

“That's why many startups are happy and happy.”

And if it's going to be done, it's not just in the beginning. Now, let's start at Wanda.com. I'm Theresa and my experience in all entrepreneurs started a shopping trip. I'll tell you when the first day of shopping. And the platform will do me no problem.

I have many problems, but the platform is no one else. I have the feeling that shopping trip is a platform that can ultimately be optimized. Everything is super simple, integrated and convenient. And the time and the money that I can't invest in, otherwise I can invest. For everyone in the vacuum.

Yet the customer's testing of Shopify.de. Each week, the world of archaeology, geology, and science in general

“makes a number of startling discoveries about our past.”

That isn't necessarily reported to the general public. These are cultures that we don't know about. Science that we haven't discovered. And other archaeological phenomenon that is unusual and just too much to report on. Hey, this is Cliff your host of Earth Ancients.

And each Saturday, we present a new topic that defies logic that isn't covered in the news

because it's just too amazing and brings us closer to questions about our past.

Join me as we explore Earth's ancient past with writers, scientists, and research investigators. That's Earth Ancients. Voted to the number one ancient history podcast in the country. The lonely swing set out in the field was moving into the darkness and all I could do was stare through the kitchen window.

It was another January at home.

“What used to be my home and then turned into it again?”

This time though, there was no family around, no parents, and almost no neighbors. My parents refused to sell it despite it being worth almost a million dollars by the time they were older. Instead, they died in it. Now was mine to sell. Well, half of it, at least. It was large. Too big for me and unnecessary for them.

They stopped cleaning the upstairs area where the dust and cobwebs made it unlivable for me. So I too, started avoiding it. They had a room by the kitchen, a guest bedroom that I stayed in. They had its own bathroom, its own entrance even. And at times, I would forget how long I had lived there.

It was every January when I would think that this year, really this time. I was going to sell it. This is the story of an inner haunting, whether inside of your own body or as an extension of it, a thing we can escape. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story.

The house had a large field out front, a swing set, too old for anyone to use, but I remembered all those times out there. A barbecue grill filling up the air with white smoke only to disappear by the edge of the trees. My cousins used to love coming over to the house to play on that swing set. And as we got older, we started adventuring into the wooded area right behind the house. The place where we would play hide and seek eventually turned to places where we would only go and

talk about girls in high school drama. But like how things go usually, the successful ones left, and soon it was only me and town with my dreams of leaving too. I guess that's what I'm working on now. It was a 12th or 13th January now. The heater had stopped working, so I was using a small electric heater thing that would make the room smell like burnt plastic. One that I had to watch out

that it wouldn't set itself to the highest wattage because it would trip the breaker. At the breaker was upstairs. But aside from that, I had little to take care of out in that house. The guest bedroom, the kitchen, and that was that.

Though I must admit, I could never bring anyone to the house very often.

Some of my co-workers eventually found out where I lived and they would ask to host a crook out or something out there. Few houses down in the valley had fields like mine. Maybe only a patio and neighbors I would complain about not being able to open up their windows or that the music was too loud. Their baby was sleeping or some other annoyingness.

side door as I could, in part. I could yell as loud as possible for my front door and no one would hear

“me. But I came to find out that maybe that wasn't such a good thing.”

Then a prasor, right? That was the thing I would need in order to sell the house. But before getting that done, I would have to clean up everything, remodel. Get rid of my parents' knickknacks and the furniture I grew up with, the one in all the photographs. But before getting rid of things, I'd have to talk to my brother. He was up to no good and would call me when he remembered that we were sitting on some money with

that house. He would demand to sell, then he would forget about it and remember again near the end of the year. Three children from two different women balancing from job to job, state to state, girlfriend to girlfriend. But I would tell him, this place needs to work. No one's going to want to buy it just like that. But he didn't care. And I meant it. He would forget about it and go back to his own things while I dealt with the house. And as you can imagine, it was quiet. I would arrive to turn on

TV, open a count of coke, and sit until I got hungry. Boy, I hated going to that kitchen.

“Even to this day, I think back on it and wonder what the heck I was doing there.”

Not saying I would have done this, but it did cross my mind to break open a hole in the wall, to go straight behind the refrigerator and get to the kitchen that way. Because what I had to do was open up my door, get a clear view of that living room. Old couches, portraits on the walls, moms old piano in the corner, dusty carpets and chairs. And if it was dark, it would be in worse. That couldn't take it.

I would have to turn on the lights to the old area of the house. Lights would slowly fade as you looked up the stairs into the second floor. The next level of darkness where my imagination

would reach the barrier of what could never be. Then I would walk to the kitchen and flick on the

lights to see the familiar sight. The toaster, a picture to heat water in. The two plates and a mug neatly stacked on the drying rack. Everything would go back to normal then, though by new, somehow behind me in that dark living room and in that even darker upstairs area, there was something. An unfamiliar sight. Though it's strange to think that of a house you grew up in. Had me toasted bread and eggs that night for dinner. Had been a long day at work,

and our holiday events had been delayed and exchanged for having the time for peak sales at the end of the year. Sure, it was a weird time to have winter dinner events in January, but with our commission paychecks coming in, nobody seemed to mind it. I guess the day just felt longer to me because of a higher-ups trying to cheap-out on the venue. An outdoor event at a regional park, which was all dirt and probably frozen in some areas? I don't know. The previous year they

had held it at a bar in grill. One of those chain ones that all felt the same was all right. Food and drink, something to do. During one of the meetings, one guy Robert said, "Let's go to Hosea's place, right? Better than that part. If anyone knows pause and meeting and they kind of looked at me." I smiled, trying to play it off. I swear that at the time I didn't

“think it would be a bad idea. They could honestly use some friends and the co-workers had finally”

started having me join them for lunch and further gossip talks, no matter how much I hated them. They knew about where I lived. The large red gate off road 17. I thought of a lot of things once I got home. That this could be my chance to finally tidy up the place. Starting with the yard. At least the path to the bathroom and what a guess would see on their way there, maybe part of the stairs, maybe open up some of the windows. Imagine myself taking the things out

to the street, or trash day, maybe whacked seeing those old floors. If I could take the Saturday before to stay at the house, and maybe go upstairs for once, the place might start changing. Because sometimes I would have to spend time sitting in the truck at the parking lot of a Walmart,

or going to a drive through somewhere to pass a time. And yet I could never put my finger on

exactly why. I didn't want to be in that house. All of this I thought about as I sat on the tiny table in the kitchen, a chef's table, like my father used to call it, had gotten dark while I was thinking of all of this. Only the kitchen was illuminated. The egg yolks looked green from the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The wet bites filling the room, along with an electric

dark and empty fields with an old swing set just beyond it, somewhere in the dark air.

“Something squeaked. I stopped chewing, holding my mouth half open and I tried not to move.”

Squeaked again. It was definitely coming from outside, but chill ran down my back as my legs automatically pulled me up and tore the window. The thing about feeling safe at night is that the light blocks out the dark and is outside. It can see you, but you can't see it. And the sound was coming from the swing set. A deep, hard squeak. That was thinking back on how it was with my cousins and I would play on it. The high-pitched squeaks we made and a pattern

that wouldn't change no matter how high we swung on it. We know because we would try and use it

to count the number of swings before it was someone else's turn. Counting to 30 always took the

same amount of time and it always sounded the same. This one was different. Could it have been of how old it was? Does Rust have that effect on a squeaky chain? Because the only other explanation I could think of was of someone than adult sitting on the old set. Maybe not swinging, but just sitting there, moving unintentionally. There was another line of cold air down my spine. Cold sweat. It felt like as I stood there letting whatever was out there look at me as I looked into

my own eyes completely unaware if I was looking straight into the eyes of someone or something else. No matter what, the thought of shutting off the lights to get a clear view never across my mind. Instead, I did something no one should ever do when you're out there, surrounded by trees that had gone to sleep or winter, and stillness of a house in the middle of a dark field. I reached for the window and slid it open to the right.

Now the light from the inside was doing its job and I could see an angled strike making its mark.

“My own shadow at the end of the bluish white crooked rectangle on the ground. At the end?”

At the end of this light strip, I could see my silhouette. It was the old red swing set, moving very slowly from side to side, likely in the direction of the wind, I thought. They cannot do much more than to stare out the slowly fading darkness of that night. Just be on the swing set. Slowly focusing my eyes back into that swing, slowly moving, left to right.

Right to left. I shut the window and my head automatically turned as if by instinct, behind me toward the darkness of a living room just beyond the kitchen tile on the floor. It was as if someone was there. I couldn't tell directly. The light right above me would make a type of curtain in my eyes. The only other times I felt that was while driving downhill

“with high beams coming up to me. But the night was still and there was nothing but the wind in the”

outside and the hum from that light above me on the inside. If I paid close attention, I might hear my heartbeat. But that was it? Or was it? It was footsteps. I heard them. Little by little, the sound of a squeaky step on the staircase.

It was a third step that squeaked the loudest. It had done so all my life.

This one was deeper. A heavy foot step or slow enough to try to keep it for making noise. Somehow making it sound like a grunt echoing through the darkness of the house. I slowly walked to the edge of the white tile that pitch black living room sent me right back. It must have been two or three steps away from the light switch and yet all I did was stand there. Perhaps if I showed off the kitchen light, I might be able to see something

there was no way I was going to do that. I told myself that I was stressing out about the event for my job. The one that they were talking about making in my house. I thought of the pros and cons in my head. It was a small team that would be there. Maybe 25 people tops. They would bring along the catering and everything. They would come with their own clean-up crew. That's right. The cleaning.

And if they were going to come, I would have to clean up beforehand. And it wasn't like they would go upstairs. But if I tried, if I really tried, I might be able to clean everything. The whole house before they get there. Oh, what was I saying? The thing was huge. Bless the whole going upstairs thing. I don't know.

January, too. I remember that. With those thoughts in mind, I was able to drown out the

“squeak that came from inside of the house. Somehow less terrifying that the one that came from the”

outside from the swing set. The eggs and toes had gotten cold by the time I started eating it again. The yolk turning into plastic from the outside. I took the plate and washed it right away. Food still lay my mouth, making noise with the water and humming to myself so that I have another sound came from that house. That would be sure to miss it. It took a gulf of the carton of orange shoes that was in the fridge and washed everything down.

The plates now stacked again. No drinking glass to wash. With a deep breath, I flaked off the light to the kitchen and felt my way down to the switch at the living room. It didn't turn it on. No. I could go and straight to the door of my room. It snuck inside. That's when it flaked on the light. You see, even though I was in the same house,

“something felt different about being in that room. I hardly thought about my parents' final days”

in there with my mom going first. Two weeks later, Dad followed. Once the grief died down, I started fixing up the place. I turned it into something special. The window faced the field and if you stood on the left side of the window, you could see that swing set out there. It was in that room that I could be in complete darkness or near complete darkness for the

TV on at night and feel alright. The log always latch on the door that led to the living room.

But the one that led to the outside? Well, I never really checked it. Something about that house made my mind run crazy with thoughts of being a little kid and running down the stairs after getting scared. It wouldn't happen often. They used to have these dark dreams and sometimes I would see things that I couldn't explain

“that would scare me enough to run. But as a grew older, I stopped seeing those things and”

considered them what my parents used to repeat over and over. Your crazy imagination, boy. But at that moment, in the bedroom, I wanted to prove something to myself that I wasn't scared. There was nothing I should worry about in that. What I had heard was nothing but the sounds of my own brain making things up in the dark. So, my flipped off a light and walked to the window.

And in plain view now, maybe because of the light of the moon finally coming out from the trees.

I could see that swing set. It was no longer moving. And quite frankly, I started doubting if I had even moved in the first place. Those chains were heavy. Replace when we were kids from the ones that originally came from, because Mom would complain about the sounds it would make. That replaced them in the noise stopped. I was thinking back on that and making up theories as to what could have gotten the swing to move when I heard it. A subtle insignificant step coming

from above. Anywhat they sounded like. So I froze by that window, holding my breath or whatever had made that noise to take another step. And then it did. It was moving right above me,

toward the hallway that led to the staircase in the middle of a second floor.

Slowly at first. Step. Step. Step. Step. And then rushed to the other end of the house. Another chill ran through my body and I didn't know if I was scared or actually cold. I felt around the floor for the space heater and plugged it in. I watched. As a glowing orange light of the grill of it turned on. And quickly it popped and blended back into the darkness. This time I ran over the light switch and

flipped it. Nothing. I flipped it again and then two more times. I was in complete darkness now. I prayed for the flashlight to have batteries in it. The thing I kept under the bathroom sink. Carefully I made my way there until I felt the toilet against my knees. I bent down and felt around under the sink until I got it. Eagerly I pressed the button. I nearly jumped when I saw my face in the mirror. I let her to chuckle. In that moment I thought of how weird this had been.

I mean if it was even anything at all. But then it hit me. Now with the flashlight against the ceiling in the bathroom. I could see my breath in the air. I felt dread right then in there. I knew it was going to have to go upstairs and flick the breaker. I made my way back to the room, standing by the locked door that led to the rest of the house. I took another deep breath, unlocked it, quietly. As if whatever was up there on the second floor

was going to hear me. As if I weren't alone in the place. I tried not to breathe as it

courage to open the door. As expected, I was met with a darkness from that living room. My flashlight

“lit up the opposite wall and I could finally see those portraits at night. I looked down to where”

the old rug had started. Now watch my foot finally step over it. After what must have been years.

It wasn't long before I was at the base of the stairs. I was shining the light directly on the next step, avoiding looking up as I slowly climbed. One step, two, and then the third, a deep squeak. And I kept going until there was nothing else. It was noticeably colder up there. I looked down to the living room now. A soft light from the outside now illuminating the floors with that dead blue light that calms on certain nights. That's when I heard another foot step.

I'm in front of me now, down the hallway where my old room used to be. I couldn't do anything but wait and I had nowhere else to turn but to that darkness. So I thought of closing my eyes, but I knew it wouldn't help. Not anymore. I couldn't stop my mind from creating figures of the silhouettes that came from the dim moonlight in the deep end of the hallway. And then I watched that something seemed to hide between the

lamp tables by the walls. Playfully trying to avoid being seen. My heart was beating faster now and I worked my way toward the storage closet by the water heater. I walked fast enough, not to run. I swung the door open, the loose hinge is almost giving up on it. I am the flashlight or the breaker box opened it and flick the last one. I could see some light down by the living room now.

I ran this time, rushing toward the stairs, basically hopping every other step, questioning absolutely

everything that had known up until that point. I shot and locked the door to my room, flicked on the TV and stood there for a moment. Until I finally plopped onto my bed and waited. For what? I don't know. That night seemed alive with taps and scratches and everything would make me mute the TV and wait, again. I was tired the next day at work, but everything seemed to be back to normal by the next week. It was a Monday when my supervisor walked up to me in the

break room and asked, but I thought about having the winter dinner on my property. And I lied. I told them I was going to have extended family over and that they would be staying for a couple of weeks. Easily, the light came out and he believed it. He said not to worry about it, that they were going to bite the bullet and pay for a real venue instead of the park space, like they had planned. Too many complainers, he said. I chuckled and nodded for the rest of the

conversation until he left. But really the truth was that I had been planning to agree to the event taking place there. I had bought trash bags and had found the rooms out from in the shed. I started cleaning the porch in the living room, but I kept stopping myself. There was something about that house that made me think twice. It was about to head upstairs that Saturday,

room and hand, but just as I passed the third step, I felt it. A sudden drop in temperature,

“the ambient of the house just a little bit darker. I think there was something out there,”

waiting. I turned around right away and went back to my room. I thought on my parents and their time there, rooms that had been stepped in for years before they even passed away, thinking that perhaps it wasn't that they couldn't go upstairs anymore, but rather that they didn't want to. Sometimes I would lay there and bed at night, thinking about the place, and I would hear a swing creak. That deep,

lonely groan that would come from the outside, steps that would travel from one side of the house to the other, sometimes spading into nothingness right above me, strangely familiar, but I didn't think much further than that. So I gave up on the idea of the appraiser and started getting annoyed at my brother's calls to sell. It told him we would both take care of it if

“that's what he wanted so badly, and that I'd be waiting for him to come and help clean out the place.”

He hasn't called. My home would be only the room and my kitchen and the idea of a door that would lead me straight to it. I could live like that forever. It's what I'm hoping for anyway.

a few times since then. As Gründerinen and Gründer will you, for all of you, come quickly.

Egal or by a product market fit, then in the next step, or in your first big enterprise deal.

With KaE, the development of the online market, also the advantages of the security and the future as well. The topic of security and compliance is really important. It's been a long time,

“but it's been a long time. That's why many startups are happy about the future and wait for it.”

And if it's already on the right, it's still not in the beginning. Now start at the top. I have a lot of problems, but the platform is no longer a step. I have the feeling that Shopify can only be optimized. Everything is super integrated and balanced. And it's time for the money that I can't invest in there. For Alam in Vax Tung, yet customers test out Shopify.com to DE.

Oh my gosh, Rob, do you see that? We've waited our entire lives for this. He's so beautiful. How many people can actually say they've seen a big foot in person? I know, I know, I know. Look at how the full moon just glistens off his majestic fur. He kind of stinks.

“Like 50 wet dogs. Wait, wait, wait. He's arching his back. I think he's about to how.”

We are the brohile pod cast and we are never ending quests to explore all of the unknown.

True crime, paranormal demons, hauntings, aliens, UFOs, urban legends, and all of the occult. We are your one stop, shop anytime you want to take a walk on the dark side. You can find the brohile pod cast anywhere you download your favorite pod cast. We have new episodes every week. Thank you so much for listening. You can find us on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, all at brohile pod cast.

If you're listening to this episode in January, just want to say happy new year. I really appreciate you being here and for all the stuff that you did in 2025 listening and sharing and liking and commenting and everything you could really appreciate that.

“Now we're on to 2026. So what was up there? That's a question, right? What was haunting this man?”

And how the story was written that the the man himself is expressing loneliness. Right? And he hears one, he kind of goes through memories in the past. Things that, you know, playing with his cousins when he sort of hanging out in the forest or, you know, in the wooded area of the property, the footsteps going along the hallway, his own memories of him growing up in that house. So, and he eventually has no friends.

Right? So he hasn't loneliness. Now, the loneliness itself can be a haunting thing. Could he be making these things up in his head? He even doubts himself that he

heard these steps up there. But they're always like these lonely, like things that happen in that house.

So it could be himself doing that haunting him. It could also be some entity there. Also, there was a small little hint there. This was spoilers now because the story's over, but remember this little little detail in there that he says he locks the door that leads to the living room and for the one that leads to the outside, well, he never really checks it. So did somebody sneak in and if he never checks upstairs, could somebody be staying up there?

Did that give me chills just thinking about it? Yeah, there's a lot of different ways that this story can go. And this is actually how the ring, I heard this from what author it was, but it said that short stories themselves are like little snippets, like a magic trick. Like somebody shows up and they do a magic trick in front of you. And that's a short story. As long as you felt surprised, in this case, if you felt scared or felt that

chilled down your spine for a little instant, or you were in the world of the story,

Now, for longer stories, for movies or books, novels, those need to be like insistent, burned, and actually close every single time. For these, they just need to be things that, like,

“really getting your mind into the linger, like, what happened? Like, who was there?”

Now, when it gets annoying, you know, I completely understand this is, I'm hinting at something and it just feels like a cliffhanger. Like, that's actually, I've, I've gone through some of the stuff that I've written before, and I'm like, yeah, this sounds, this is frustrating, and I get it. So, but either way, I appreciate the comments on all of that. And, um, hopefully this, this one doesn't overstep that, that, that rule, you know, when it feels like a cliffhanger.

This one should feel like, oh, okay, the story's over, but like, have that like unease at the end. Either way, I'm very interested. I know that we have people that listen, have been listening for a very long time. So, they're familiar with some of the stuff that comes out in this, in this podcast. I'm very interested in finding out what do you think about it, what you didn't like about it, or ideas that you might have for, or maybe even hints or

“theories as to what's could have been. Where if a of this turns into a longer story, where does it go?”

Another point I wanted to address real quick is why my voice sounds so weird right now. And that's because I have, I don't know if it was like something with, with my sadnesses or something. It's just, I've had really, really, really terrible allergies these past two or three days. And I'm saying, like, this flare up of cancelling, feel my nose and super tight,

this birding sensation, itchy eyes. This is like the whole thing. But now it's finally at least.

I sound, believe it or not, it sounded a lot better than it did yesterday. But it's thankfully not like the flu or anything like that. It's just, this is what I can say allergies. Actually, went into the storage area with a lot of dusty clothes and old stuff. And I was, I felt it right away. And I'm like, no, and I just, you know, I still going now. The next thing here is our schedule. We're going to be publishing Sunday night. So get ready for those Sunday scares, if you're up for it.

“And now I have some of the comments from our last episode.”

Suit Mondays. I'm reading from the Spotify comment section here. If you don't have Spotify, you don't use it, but you have access to email. If you'll feel free to send me an email with the comments on the, the recent other fireworks, by the way, this will make recording a little bit tougher to. That if you have any, you can also send me DMs with your comments about the recent stories. I'm going to be reading from some of the recent episodes, only. So if you leave a comment in the

older ones, I might get to them, but more, let's more likely that I'll get from the recent episode. So this one's from Suit Mondays. It says this one from Roxane, Muzec, says welcome back. I missed you and this podcast so much. I was afraid to drop it. I'll have your stories in the way you tell them. It's still soothing. Plus, I still didn't find anyone with the voice addiction better than yours.

Edwin, good to have you back. Thank you so much. You're always a huge supporter here. I appreciate

you appreciate everything that, you know, you do even just this interaction with dropping comments, even like we're rating or anything like that really helps out the show, but also I need to put my part here and I need to publish these stories, right? And some of the things that got, what I would feel like got in the way were a lot of these life events. I guess we had to call them from the past year and it really disrupted the flow of stories, but I feel that even in dark times, even in

uncertain times, we need to somehow not waste them and believe it or not, scary stories do help out people in dark times. Strange, right? I heard this from her about this from a friend a long time ago. She said, "Hey, if you're feeling down, I would listen to scary stories." That's what I do. And this is before we went to launch the podcast. So, very interesting to think about that. Let me see this. Thank you, by the way, Rossine. Jean Lewis says, "Hey, Edwin, another great episode.

This one really slayed." Slay as in slaying like winter, slaying like anyway. I love the horror,

holiday vibes, perfectly spooky and cozy. Also, I feel I always feel like security guards are under

cover defenders of the spooky world. Thanks so much for sharing this awesome episode with us. Thank you so much for this. I appreciate the news. Actually, security guards have sometimes a best stories out there. I don't know what kind of guts it takes to be a security guard, but these guys do it. These men and women now from the world that are taking care of places, you know, haunted places sometimes. Very ear to think about. Now, let me

say, "Hey, can you please make a haunted blue-y plush story?" You know what, plushes and dolls and toys make really good topics for stories. I don't want to overdo it,

copyright reasons, but we don't want to, you know, one time I published a story about a hospital,

longtime listeners will recognize this. They, I got an email from them and I didn't know this was a real hospital. I made up the name. So I had to adjust a few things there. Because this was a generic story. This was a straight up 100% coincidence. I made up names sometimes for places, and it happened to match. So I got to be careful with that. Thanks, know me for the for the comment. Jill from nowhere says, "Hey, Edwin, I'm trying to find that one episode where

the character bought a doll. She has a roommate who's irresponsible and keeps making excuses. Fireworks. I heard just heard the firework." He keeps making excuses about not being able to pay

rent, but buys expensive things. One day, her roommate bought a brought a dog and left it there,

and now the dog is barking at something at the end of the hallway. I've been trying to find it for days now. It's so comfortable to listen to the same stories that scared me before. Please help

“me find it. Alright, let's see what story could, here's the thing about me finding stories.”

I remember the stories, but I can't remember the names of them, like the names and the titles of the stories. Let me see if I can find it. Because I'm going to keep searching, I'm going to keep searching for this. The one you mentioned, the character bought a doll, has a roommate, and a roommate, I thought of the story called Helenke, which was the story of, yeah, there's two

roommates. One of them is kind of annoying, making noise in the middle of the night, but also she

becomes obsessed with his doll. Now, that one's a different story. Then there's a different story about a dog that at every single day goes up to a certain place and just stares down the hallway. And that's it. It was one of the early early stories. But for this one, I have no idea. Are you sure it was me? It was sure it was my story. And hopefully I find it. If not, someone from our community here at Scary Story, if you can help Jill from nowhere out,

just send me a DM and email or something. And hopefully I can we can find this story. This

“happens often. Sometimes I'm looking for a story that I can't remember the name of it, but it's there.”

Anywho, that's all the comments that we have for the Scary Story podcast here on Spotify, YouTube, we have no comments there. I don't think the story published there yet. But if you don't have a comment section on the app that you use, let me know. Let me know so I can check the comment section there. Anyway, thank you so much for checking out my stories here. You know, I make Scary Story podcasts like from the audio, the recording, the script, everything. So I appreciate your support

and anyway that you can, the way that helps out the most is to share stories. Like I said, press the share button, copy the link or whatever. And even that tells the algorithm, like, hey, somebody's sharing your story. So, you know, it works out. But also letting people know, in case somebody is wanting to listen to Scary Stories out there, how really helps out? I'll turn.

“If you want to support the show through a membership ScaryPlus, over at ScaryPlus.com is always”

available. Anyway, that's all I got for you today. Thank you so much for for listening, for showing up every week. So next story, get ready for it. It's coming out next Sunday night. Thank you so much. Remember, keep it scary, everyone. See you soon. Bigfoot. Sasquatch. Dog Man. And things that don't have names. Yet. Welcome to Backwood's Bigfoot Stories. This is where the woods stop being quiet,

in the darkness starts talking. Every episode brings you firsthand in counters from people who ventured too far into the back woods and came back changed. Heavy footsteps, glowing eyes, strange lights in the trees, unexplainable sounds that follow you home. These are raw, spine-chilling stories of bigfoot, cryptids, UFOs, and the terrifying things that lurk just beyond the tree line, where cell service dies and instincts take over. No filters. Just the kind of

stories that make you double-check the locks and leave the light on. If you've ever wondered what's really out there, if you believe the woods still hold secrets, follow, subscribe, turn on auto-downloads, and let's head off into the woods if you dare. My entire life, I've been fascinated by mysteries, mostly true crime, but in general stories that have no ending. In 2015, armed with

unresolved. Join me, Michael Wheelan, as I dive deep into some of the most interesting, unique,

“horrifying, tragic, and oftentimes obscure rabbit holes, some of which you've heard of,”

many of which you probably haven't. Listen or subscribe to unresolved on Apple Music,

Spotify or wherever you get your podcast.