CopperShock Horror

A female Mormon missionary has a strange encounter while proselyting. For more information visit coppershock.com. The post A Strange Possession in England appeared first on Copper Shock Horror Podcast.

When a teenager sees strange things happening all around town that suggests the Devil is here. Find more information on coppershock.com. The post Possession in 1984 California appeared first on Copper Shock Horror Podcast.

When a teenager sees strange things happening all around town that suggests the Devil is here. If you would like to see more information about this episode, check out more at Copper Shock.com. The post Preview Possession in California 1984 appeared first on Copper Shock Horror Podcast.

I’ve been away gathering more original stories to tell. And this week will hopefully prove to be unusual. Describing alternate existences is a hard sell. And yet there are countless books, songs, and entertainments describing alternate reality experiences. Find more information on coppershock.com. The post Temporal Time Slip on the RMS Queen Mary appeared first on Copper Shock Horror Podcast.

Copper Shock delves into parallel universes while taking a vacation at the Queen Mary Ship in Long Beach California. If you would like to see more information about the Sixth Realm or Life After Death in the Worlds Unseen, check out more at Copper Shock.com The post What Happened to the RMS Queen Mary in Long Beach? appeared first on Copper Shock Horror Podcast.

RESEARCH CORNER:  The abandoned church the tale is based on: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alloway_Auld_Kirk The Cutty Sark Official Website: https://www.rmg.co.uk/cutty-sark Cutty Sark Wiki: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cutty_Sark Paddle Steamer: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paddle_steamer Scottish words for the devi: https://www.scotsman.com/arts-and-culture/books/scottish-words-devil-1482192 Tam O Shanter: https://www.google.com/search?q=tam+o+shanter+original+poem&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS838US838&oq=tam+o+shanter+original+poem&aqs=chrome..69i57j0i390.6457j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8 INTRO: Hello Constant Listener, I wanted to give you a slightly different episode today. I’m always curious to hear of different tales around the world. If I grew up with stories of the boogeyman, what tales of horror were commonplace for you as a child?  I asked this of a constant listener I intended to interview later in the week. His response opened up a unique insight into my research. A simple poem passed down through to many generations of Scottish children. A horror poem by Robert Burns in the year of 1790. This tale of witches and a near-death experience with evil is so ingrained in Scottish pop culture you don’t need to look too deep to find references to it.  I sat down with Ross McGarvey and we had a pleasant interchange about his upbringing. (Ross grew up in Glasgow, ross cut)  (translation I dare you) What he’s referring too is if you attempt to read the poem in its original printed vernacular it uses a lot of old gaelic affectations and wording that wouldn’t be very commonplace to someone like me. But I wanted to read the poem for you (with some variation to help the translation of it), Constant Listener as this may be the first time you hear it.  I’m Tasha Wheelhouse, and this is Copper Shock. BODY: The poem of Tam O Shanter begins with a farmer, who after a long day loves to go to his local tavern for a drink (or three) before deciding to ride home on his horse Meg. It’s on his journey after the tavern that changes his life forever. When the peddler people leave the streets, And thirsty neighbours, neighbours meet;  As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to take the road home,  While we sit boozing strong ale, And getting drunk and very happy, We don’t think of the long Scots miles,  The marshes, waters, steps and stiles,  That lie between us and our home, Where sits our sulky, sullen dame (wife), Gathering her brows like a gathering storm,  Nursing her wrath, to keep it warm. This truth finds honest Tam o’ Shanter, As he from Ayr one night did canter; Old Ayr, which never a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses. Oh Tam, had you but been so wise, As to have taken your own wife Kate’s advice! She told you well you were a waster, A rambling, blustering, drunken boaster, That from November until October, Each market day you were not sober; During each milling period with the miller, You sat as long as you had money,  For every horse he put a shoe on, The blacksmith and you got roaring drunk on; That at the Lords House, even on Sunday, You drank with Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, You would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or caught by warlocks in the murk, By Alloway’s old haunted church. Ah, gentle ladies, it makes me cry, To think how many counsels sweet, How much long and wise advice The husband from the wife despises! But to our tale :- One market night, Tam was seated just right, Next to a fireplace, blazing finely, With creamy ales, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Cobbler Johnny, His ancient, trusted, thirsty crony; Tom loved him like a very brother, They had been drunk for weeks together. The night drove on with songs and clatter, And every ale was tasting better; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, With secret favours, sweet and precious; The cobbler told his queerest stories; The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus: Outside, the storm might roar and rustle, Tam did not mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man so happy, Even drowned himself in ale. As bees fly home with loads of treasure, The minutes winged their way with pleasure: Kings may be blessed, but Tam was glorious, Over all the ills of life victorious. But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white – then melts forever, Or like the Aurora Borealis rays, That move before you can point to their place; Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, Vanishing amid the storm. No man can tether time or tide, The hour approaches Tam must ride: That hour, of night’s black arch – the key-stone, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in And such a night he takes to the road in As never a poor sinner had been out in. So now constant listener, you see that Tam so far before leaving his tavern, doesn’t leave ever until he’s roaring drunk. That despite all the signs in nature and the heavens that something is brewing he brushes it off. Back to the story. The wind blew as if it had blown its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed: That night, a child might understand, The Devil had business on his hand. Well mounted on his grey mare, Meg. A better never lifted leg, Tam, raced on through mud and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whilst holding fast his good blue bonnet, While crooning over some old Scots sonnet, Whilst glowering round with prudent care, Lest ghosts catch him unaware: Alloway’s Church was drawing near, Where ghosts and owls nightly cry. By this time he was across the ford, Where in the snow the pedlar got smothered; And past the birch trees and the huge stone, Where drunken Charlie broke his neck bone; And through the thorns, and past the monument, Where hunters found the murdered child; And near the thorn, above the well, Where Mungo’s mother hanged herself. Before him the river Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars through out the woods; The lightnings flashes from pole to pole; Nearer and more near the thunder rolls; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Alloway’s Church seemed in a blaze, Through every gap , light beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! (whisky) What dangers you can make us scorn! With ale, we fear no evil; With whisky, we’ll face the Devil! The ales so swam in Tam’s head, Fair play, he didn’t care a farthing for devils. But Meg stood, right sore astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an incredible sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance: No cotillion, brand new from France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. In a window alcove in the east, There sat Old Nick, in the shape of a beast; I apologize for interrupting this poem once more Constant Listener. I feel very strongly I must clarify “Old Nick” in this context is not Santa Claus. In fact, the correlation of the name Old St Nick as we understand it today is derived from a Dutch name of “Sinter Klaas” and his stories the dutch brought with them to America was popularized Christmas some years later. This Old Nick before Tam O Shanter is unequivocally the Devil in corporeal form. It isn’t widely agreed why the name Old Nick is that of the Devil in 17th-century writings. Some suspect it is because of a shortened name for the word “iniquity.” So as Tam stares in through the window on this night of howling wind, storm, on a known cursed land inside an abandoned church seeing the devil presiding over a company of witches and warlocks in celebration dancing… he continues to watch and observe the room. Coffins stood round, like open presses, That showed the dead in their last dresses; And, by some devilish magic sleight, Each in its cold hand held a light: By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the holy table, A murderer’s bones, in gibbet-irons; Two span-long, small, unchristened babies; A thief just cut from his hanging rope – With his last gasp his mouth did gape; Five tomahawks with blood red-rusted; Five scimitars with murder crusted; A garter with which a baby had strangled; A knife a father’s throat had mangled – Whom his own son of life bereft – The grey-hairs yet stack to the shaft; With more o’ horrible and awful, Which even to name would be unlawful. Three Lawyers’ tongues, turned inside out, Sown with lies like a beggar’s cloth – Three Priests’ hearts, rotten, black as muck Lay stinking, vile, in every nook. As Tam glowered, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew, They reeled, they set, they crossed, they linked, Till every witch sweated and smelled, And cast her ragged clothes to the floor, And danced deftly at it in her underskirts! Now Tam, O Tam! had these been young girls, All plump and strapping in their teens! Their underskirts, instead of greasy flannel, Been snow-white seventeen hundred linen! – The trousers of mine, my only pair, That once were plush, of good blue hair, I would have given them off my buttocks For one blink of those pretty girls! But withered hags, old and droll, Ugly enough to suckle a foal, Leaping and flinging on a stick, It’s a wonder it didn’t turn your stomach! But Tam knew what was what well enough: There was one winsome, jolly wench, That night enlisted in the core, Long after known on Carrick shore (For many a beast to dead she shot, And perished many a bonnie boat, And shook both much corn and barley, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her short underskirt, o’ Paisley cloth, That while a young lass she had worn, In longitude though very limited, It was her best, and she was proud. . . Ah! little knew your reverend grandmother, That underskirt she bought for her little granddaughter, With two Scots pounds (it was all her riches), Would ever graced a dance of witches! Tam is sitting here observing the dancing witches, the devil orchestrating them all to dance harder and faster more than what they can take to a point of taking off their clothes down to their undergarments. All of the women are old or ugly except for one. One we will call by the name of “Nannie”. Tam as we know from drinking and fooling around with the barmaid earlier in the story is no stranger to us as to leer at women, especially in his drunken stupor.  But here my tale must stoop and bow, Such words are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie leaped and kicked (A supple youth she was, and strong); And how Tam stood like one bewitched, And thought his very eyes enriched; Even Satan glowered, and fidgeted full of lust, And jerked and blew with might and main; Till first one caper, then another, Tam lost his reason all together, And roars out: ‘ Well done, Cutty sark! ’ And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Meg rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees buzz out with angry wrath, When plundering herds assail their hive; As a wild hare’s mortal foes, When, pop! she starts running before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When ‘ Catch the thief! ’ resounds aloud: So Meg runs, the witches follow, With many an unearthly scream and holler. Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! You will get what’s coming! In hell they will roast you like a herring! In vain your Kate awaits your coming! Kate soon will be a woeful woman! Now, do your speedy utmost, Meg, And beat them to the key-stone of the bridge; There, you may toss your tail at them, A running stream they dare not cross! But before the key-stone she could make, She had to shake a tail at the fiend; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble megs pressed, And flew at Tam with a furious aim; But little knew she of Megs mettle! One spring brought off her master whole, But left behind her own grey tail: The witch caught her by the rump, And left poor Meg scarce a stump. Now, who this tale of truth shall read, Each man, and mother’s son, take heed: Whenever to drink you are inclined, Or short skirts run in your mind, Think! you may buy joys over dear: Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare. And that is the tale of Tam o Shanter and Alloways abandoned church. The name “Tam” is so prolific that a traditional Scottish hat now carries that nickname. In the 1860’s there were two types of ships to work with “a paddle steamer” and a “Clipper ” not dissimilar to the sail boats you’d see from the film Pirates of the Carribean.  It wasn’t uncommon practice in the 1860’s to convert some steamers back into a sailing clipper. One such ship in 1862 was sold and placed into dry dock to study her engineering layout. This ship was retrofitted by removing the engines and renaming her “The Tweed”, the figurehead on the front was of Tam O Shanter. The best part, a new ship was created based on the engineering revolutions they saw from this ship, a new clipper ship was to be built.  This new ship is historically one of the more famous in Scotland and you can still visit it today as a museum. She was a faster vessel, and undoubtedly needed to be paired to the inspiration the Tweed. This new ships name? Cutty Sark. But the most interesting fact to me is the choice of figurehead. She was not only of a voluptuous woman, but this figurehead has an outstretched left arm clutching an entire horse’s tail before her. This figurehead is unmistakably Nannie the youngest witch who almost caught Tam O Shanter. Scotland regularly each year holds childrens school competitions for reciting this old poem. And a national holiday based around the life of the author Robert Burns occurs every January 25th.  There’s a whole ceremony around a “Burns Supper”. You begin the evening with company sat down for dinner then you say the “Selkirk Grace” a prayer written by Robert Burns. After which the haggis is brought into the room accompanied by live bagpipes. They walk about the room together the bagpipe player and the man holding the plate of haggis. When the song is concluded the host of the party will say the “Address to the Haggis”, a poem said over the haggis to the company of the party before cutting it open.  Its an interesting tradition that I’d never heard of before. And all based on an old horror tale. OUTRO: Thank you for listening. This was a very different episode but I hope you enjoyed it! Please come follow Copper Shock on Facebook or Intagram. And if you have a moment please leave a review for Copper Shock on your Podcast app. Leaving a review helps other constant listeners like you discover Copepr Shock’s stories. I hope you have a fantastic day and we’ll see you soon. The post The Tale of Tam O’ Shanter appeared first on Home.

INTRO: Hello Constant listener, quick announcement before we begin. Copper Shock is going to host a Q+A session on facebook on February 17th at 7pm Mountain Standard Time. I’d love to see you there and please feel free to send me any questions you may have. And now, let us begin. (Change) February of 1977 brought about one of my favorite classic rock songs. The Eagles Hotel California. If you’ve never heard Hotel California, I recommend pausing this podcast and looking it up right now. It’s ok, I’ll be here when you get back. The lyrics are haunting, story-driven behind a catchy bass and has a rock solo that speaks of a circular world with no escape.  The composed words have often had it’s meaning questioned and interpreted into many facets. So finally , Glen Frey and Don Henley, the original writers of the lyrics have offered some explanation. “As you’re driving in Los Angeles at night, you can see the glow of the energy and the lights of Hollywood and Los Angeles for 100 miles out in the desert. And on the horizon, as you’re driving in, all of these images start coming into your mind of the propaganda and advertisement you’ve experienced about California. In other words, the movie stars, the stars on Hollywood Boulevard, the beaches, bikinis, palm trees, all those images that you see and that people think of when they think of California start running through your mind. You’re anticipating that. That’s all you know of California.” The lyrics speak about moving from innocence to experience, of the American dream and excess that turns to a nightmare. They tell the jaded viewport of Hollywood California’s vanity.  It’s album cover (also now widely recognizable) evokes an amazing emotion. This photo is the same photographer responsible for the Beatles Iconic Abbey Road image. The Eagles album cover has warm lighting of a faraway sunset, and it actually gives off a sinister vibe like the sun is setting the air on fire behind the dark silhouette of the hotel. It’s photographed angle hides the full face of the hotel like it’s a predator just beyond a hill… waiting for you.  As it turns out, this image of malevolence paired with the twisted lyrics of how luxury and excess make you it’s slave fits perfectly when you understand which hotel it was that was photographed.  It’s a faraway image of THE Beverly Hills Hotel. The hotel that has been in business since 1912, and up through the years hosted many huge stars like Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Gloria Swanson, Fred Astair, and a whole other bevy of Hollywood icon elite that you would still know their names decades after their death. This is the iconic building of excess and an ideal that can entrap you if one is not careful in California.  You can check out any time you want, but can you never leave. I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock. BODY: 1997 was a good year in my childhood. My family was taking a road trip from Utah out to California. I’d never seen the ocean up close. However on this particular trip something very unusual happened. We hit a wall of bumper to bumper traffic blocking both lanes on the highway in the middle of the Mojave desert. The sand was as far as the eye could see, or at least as far as we could see in the dead of night. The only sign of civilization was the red string of brake lights lacing up over the hills in front of our car. My older brother, older sister, myself and my younger brother all sat quietly not doing much. You see , back then portable dvd players didn’t exist, Gameboys and portable CD players only had so much battery life, and you can’t read a paper book in the dark. So… us four kids sat and looked out all the windows to a black nothingness. I could tell dad was annoyed as he was inching us bit by bit on the road. The two-lane highway wouldn’t see any real movement for another 3 hours. When we were finally able to pull off the highway. We rolled into a gas station near a Denny’s and filled up the car. However, by that point, it was 11:40 at night. But we were hungry, desperately needed to use the restroom, and everyone was feeling a touch of cabin fever. “Are we there yet?” was a disbanded phrase for our family after this trip. After a quick pit stop, we piled back into the car once more, and as I stared out the window, I got drowsy and fell asleep.  (Pause) There was a shift in the car that made me wake up. A hard right turn that had my body weight move across my seatbelt so much I took in a deep breath as I woke. I’ll never forget that smell. It was so different from anything I’d experienced before that point in my life. Yes, there was the humidity, I knew what that felt like. But the salt. The air was just spiced with it. Not table salt, it had a briney undertone that I recognized as “fish-like”, it was so unique and specific to California air. I knew we had to be close. Looking out the window I could tell that we were driving around the surface streets of some city. That was good, we’re no longer on the highway, we must be getting close. I in particular was excited for where we were going. You see, as a child, I had an unusual cinematic taste for someone under the age of 10. My parents and grandparents raised me on the classics as part of my regular film repertoire. In between Little Mermaid and The Lion King, I watched Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, Mr Hobbs Takes a Vacation, Harvey, and tons of Hollywood musicals from the 50’s and 60’s. But we were going to stay at a hotel that was shot on location of my first Marilyn Monroe film. The film is called “Some Like it Hot”, a comedy of a reverse 12th night, if you will.  Two musician men down on their luck in the 1920’s are on the run after witnessing a rival mobster assassination. Out of work and out of options they con their way into the only traveling musician job available to get out of town… an all-woman jazz band. After joining dressed as ladies they meet the band’s main singer, which is Marilyn Monroe’s character. And they both fall for her. The band ends up residing in a luxury hotel on the beach as highered entertainment for the week. Most of the exterior shots were filmed at the hotel we were traveling to. The Del Coronado in San Diego. It was incredibly late when we got there. Just after 2 in the morning, we parked, and the bellhop grabbed our luggage from the trunk of the car. When we walked into the lobby I felt a small elation, this place is amazing. The lobby had wooden wainscoting not only on the walls but all across the ceiling, and a huge chandelier hung in the middle of it. Floral shaped glass cups that held warm light bulbs and strings of hundreds of crystals draped into a circular pattern. A brass looking elevator that looked very old rested behind it. A velvet rope with two brass stanchions and a sign indicated it was presently closed blocked the doorway to the elevator. My father, travel-weary walked up to the concierge desk and said with a very exasperated amiability “Boy am I glad to see you.” He said leaning onto the front desk counter. “Ready to check in then?” The front desk man gave a pleasant smile back as he took the printed out confirmation number my father brought with us. He handed my father a set of key cards.  Hotel key cards in 1997 were a touch different than what they are now. Instead of RFID recognition, or a swipe like a credit card, these cards had punched holes in funny patterns like an uncommon constellation. One key for Mom and Dad’s room, and one key for my elder siblings, Alice and Max’s room.   We walked up the staircase to get to our floor and walked down the hall.  “Ok, here guys.” Dad said pointing to a door that was in the corner of the walk. “Max, Alice you’re here. Our room is just around the corner.” “I thought we told them we wanted a room right next to each other?” Mom asked out loud. Dad shrugged and muttered something about whether we can sort it out later. Then dad walked over to room 3327 popped his keycard into the door, a familiar electric buzz and the deadbolt retracted as Dad pressed down the door handle.  This room was long and narrow. With half bay of windows at the edge. My cot was made and ready with a small pillow just for me near the closet. I remember asking my mom why the windows didn’t look anything like they did in the movie. Mom then had to explain to me that all the outside shots are here, and all the inside shots were done in a studio. “Please brush your teeth before going to bed. I know we’re all exhausted.” Mom said to both my little brother and I. But we did as asked.  “Where does that door go?” Asked my little brother Taylor. He was referring to a door at the back end of the room adjacent to the windows.  “I’m not too sure,” my mother said. “Lets go look.” She unlocked the latch and tried to open it. “That’s odd.” She realized no matter which way she turned the handle lock it was still locked. A knocking came at the strange door. I cowered back behind my mother. “Hello?” she called. Through the otherside of the wood I heard a muffled “Hello back.” It was my big sister. “I can’t seem to get it open.” Mom said through the door. After some trial and error we found that BOTH sides of the door handle had to be set to “unlocked” in order for the door to open. Even though my big brother and sisters’ bedroom was around the corner in the hall, these two rooms had a connecting door after all. (To better explain this here is a link to the library of Congress showing Coronado’s door system before the recent renovations, in this schematic from 1958 link we are room 302, and they are room 301: https://www.loc.gov/resource/hhh.ca0567.sheet/?sp=5 ), little Taylor wandered into big sister and brothers room. There was a second cot in there for him. “To bed, to bed my sleepy head.” My big sister gave little Taylor a kiss on the head and ushered him in to begin tucking him into a good night’s sleep.  “Well good night kids” Mom said, closing the connecting door. My mom then gave me a small hug before I hopped into the cot. The only problem was, as I’d gotten roughly 2 hours of sleep before arriving here, and now having walked for a quarter mile out of necessity to get to our hotel room… I no longer felt sleepy. I sat there staring at the ceiling for a long while. It was the same problem as in the car, too dark to do any activity but internal imagination. After a period of time I began to hear my father snoring. Lightly, not too bad to keep the rest of us awake. I’d say he’d earned it. At the age of 8 I felt confident about using my brain to take me places. I’d tell myself stories when laying in bed and play them out in my mind’s eye until my subconscious took over the steering wheel into sleep. I sat there taking conscious breaths of the salty air, eyes open and looking up. I traced the pattern of the ceiling texture to see if I could make shapes out of them like looking at petrified clouds. I felt my body become warmer as it usually does under my covers just before complete sleep. I could hear the rain begin to fall and pick up pace as it tapped at the glass on the windows. I eventually drifted into full sleep. I dreamed. But as I dreamed I felt a wave of pity and remorse. I couldn’t even tell you what it was I had done. I dreamt I was in our hotel room, the dimensions were a little off, and I was standing near my cot. In the corner of my eye I felt a shadow. It didn’t glide around or anything. It’s more like this shadow was somehow part of the regular shades of darkness until it decided to move and emerge from thin air. I turned toward it and there was a woman. She wore a black lace face covering. She was standing in front of the door to the main hallway,  at the foot of my cot. I felt sad for her, I hadn’t done enough for her. I don’t know what it was I did or did not do, but she certainly stood there looking me over accusing. I started to whimper and cry in my sleep, penitent, and wanting forgiveness with the simplicity I understood as a child. Then all in another moment I sat up on my cot feeling the way the springs creaked and crunched under me. I wasn’t exactly all the way awake, but trying to get a full grip on the world around me. I was confused, and while the room seemed to not shift as much. I felt cold air run over my back, I had been sweating. The woman was gone, but I could still feel her arresting stare on me. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.” I said this over and over again as I walked over to my mothers bedside. Looking over my parents in their bed. I eventually became loud enough I woke up my mother with a startle, she was facing me from where she lay down. “Honey? What’s wrong?”  “I’m so sorry.” Is all I could mutter no matter how much my mom asked me what I was sorry for in the dark. Dad eventually chimed in. “Honey I forgive you, now go back to sleep.”  I wandered over back to my cot, layed back down and felt myself slip back into restful sleep. The next morning my mother asked me how I felt. I told her I had a nightmare, and she told me about sleep walking over by the bed to her. The next morning, which really only shook out to be a few hours later, the family was up and ready to go to breakfast in the Crown Room.  “I really want to try that Elevator” I heard my older brother say.  “I hope it’s up and running.” Said Alice. I saw the two of them begin to walk forward and I decided to catch up with them. Alice, Max and myself walked over to the elevator doors. The stanchions were gone. “Go ahead.” My sister encouraged me to push the down arrow button. It lit up, and I heard a huge metallic whirring of machinery. I stepped back from the door. There was something about this that made me feel very uncomfortable. In retrospect, the designs and aesthetic of the elevator looked like the Tower of Terror at Disney World. I pointed that out to Max, and he shrugged letting me know this is very different.  I saw one door inside the elevator open and an older gentleman reached out to pull and fold back the outer metal door. He was wearing a light blue uniform, with buttons around the front, old timey operator hat, and his name tag in the center of his chest open  read “Andrew.” “Morning.” He politely said. Alice gave him a big warm smile and we all walked onto the elevator. He proceeded to shut both doors. “Lobby please” Alice asked in a sweet tone. This was a metal cage instead of modern elevators I’d grown used too with fluorescent light bulbs in them.  “Uh Huh.” The elevator man smiled. Then I heard him jovially singing and humming under his breath a song I recognized. “You ain’t nothin but a hound dog, crying all the time…” He then looked at little me. “You like music?” I was shy, so all I could do was nodd. “Where are you from?” he looked over to Max. “Utah” “Hmm don’t know any songs from there.” I remember thinking at the time, yea me neither. “You like Elvis?” Alice smiled and said “Oh yes of course! Who doesn’t like Burning Love?”  We reached the lobby floor and Andrew then reached over to open the inner collapsible metal frame and then the outer to let the three of us out. That was the first time I’d met Andrew the Elevator Operator. Breakfast in the Crown Room was beautiful, wall to wall Oregon pine. I was honestly too young to recognize how awesome it was, and have wanted to go back again as an adult. There are massive chandeliers in the shape of a crown in a row down the center of an oblong dome ceiling. 160 ft long and 33 ft high. The chandeliers were designed by the Author of the Wizard of Oz himself, Frank Baum. All the original electricity was wired by Thomas Edison’s company.  It was still grey outside and a bit colder, but I didn’t care, I was determined to go play on the beach and in the water. I think I expected the potency of salt to be on par with that of chlorine in a pool… NO. When I accidentally got my first mouthful of ocean water I neary gagged. It was a serious amount of salt I’d never tasted before that point. Funny the things you do and don’t remember.  I played on the sand, looking behind me to see the profile of the hotel that looked so familiar to me from the movies. I felt generally happy. Mom mentioned that she started to feel her skin burning (Didn’t matter if it was overcast you can still get sunburned.) And I started to recognize the same. So the two of us decided to head back to the hotel and explore the shops inside.  There’s an almost sub-floor to the Del Coronado where all the shops are located in a long corridor. And it’s easier to reach them via elevator. We said hello to Andrew the Operator and he asked what floor.  “One please” Mom said. Floor one went beneath the lobby floor. “Having a nice stay?” Andrew asked amiably as he turned to press the appropriate button. “Oh yes, very nice we love it here.” “Did you think of a song yet?” He asked me. I was surprised. The sweet old man remembered me. I felt my face flush red and shook my head. He then opened the doors. I saw my mother as a concerned look came over her face. “Oh! Right we need to go back to the room to get my wallet. Would you be willing to take us back up? I’m so sorry.” “Of course. What floor?” “I admit I do get a little confused. Is room 3327 on floor 2 or 3 with the way the building is laid out?” I saw this outgoing little old man become visibly quiet.  “I know the floor I’ll take you there.” He once more shut the doors and pressed the button to start the movement again.  “You know, that’s a very special room in the hotel. Do you know anything about it?” “Please tell me Tony Curtis stayed there.” My mother gave me a small wink. “Oh, it’s famous alright.” Andrew said, but by then we had reached the floor, and he opened the two metal doors to let us out.  Mom and I went shopping, and I got to pick out a bright pink beach wrap. Do you ever have pieces of clothing where you’re just not sure where they went because you genuinely enjoyed clothes like that? I miss that pink beach wrap. I remember that second night. Going to sleep wasn’t a problem, in fact by this point the day had been filled with so many distractions that I’d all but forgotten about the lady in my nightmare. But she came to me again. She had a large black hat, a big victorian looking thing I’d recognized from Hello Dolly. I stood up again in a half sleep daze and wandered over to the connecting door between my brother and sisters room and our room. I stood in front of the tall door and looked down at the handle. I tried to open it, but it was locked again. Alice and Max weren’t supposed to lock it after we knew how to get it to open. I felt the handle jiggle a little in my loose grip. I looked at the wiggling handle in my palm in confusion. A small scratching came from the door in front of me. Like fingernails dragging softly over painted wood. A haze of gravity pulled me toward the door, so I physically took a few steps back. This didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel safe. I felt a jolt and woke up to the sound of a large crack. But after a few moments I recognized that loud echoed sound was only in my head. It had to be because neither of my parents were awake at all. At this point, I was officially awake. I felt the difference and I was still standing in front of the connecting door. What was really strange is only a few seconds later after I woke up Dad immediately sat up in bed and unceremoniously turned on the overhead light to the entire room. I felt a rushing headache come to me between just waking up and lights being turned on full blast into my face. “What?” My mother said squinting and blinking her tired eyes at dad. I saw him crouch down and look under their bed, and behind the dresser with the boxTV on top of it. “Dad what’s wrong?” I asked, repeating my mothers inquiry.  “I smell burning.” He said. I took a deep sniff, but again myself could only smell the signature ocean smell. However this is when my mother hopped into action out of bed and began sniffing herself. “Sorry hon I don’t smell it.” “It’s like, matches… or burning paper. I just didn’t want to think I was going to sleep through some electrical fire.” “Well can you still smell it?” My mother asked. My father took a deep breath and said “No. I can’t smell it anymore. I’m sorry I woke everyone up. I was just very worried.” My father sat back on his side of the bed, thensome  logic suddenly came back to him as he realized I was standing by the connecting room door and not laying down on my cot. “Tasha why are you over there? “I saw that lady again in my nightmare from yesterday.” Dad gave me a paused look. Then gently asked me “Was she wearing a big hat?” I nodded eagerly but very confused. “I feel funny.” I said and sat by my mother. “Sweetheart I think you were sleepwalking.” “That hasn’t happened before has it?” Dad gently asked mom. As I hugged her I felt her head shake left to right. These two nights are the only record of me sleepwalking at all in my entire life. “Mmmm” He said. “I’ll be right back.” He put on his shoes, grabbed the key card with holes in it and left the room in his pajamas. Mom and I sat there looking confused at one another. Since we were wide awake we turned on the TV for a bit and sat on the main bed. About 25 minutes later we heard the deadbolt to the door. Dad came back in.  “Ok, first thing in the morning we’re moving rooms to an ocean view suite, they’re upgrading us.” “Oh?” Mom said with surprise and curiosity.  “Yep.” Dad said rather cross. “I”m gonna stay awake while you two sleep, and I can explain in the morning after we’ve moved rooms.” And that was that. Dad had two nights in a row of completely disturbed sleep and he was very much over it. The new rooms were beautiful. Huge windows that looked out over the beach. We had three nights left and I loved how loud the waves on the beach were whenever we opened our windows.  When we finally had all of our luggage moved in, Dad asked me to go into the other connecting room with Alice, Max and little Taylor while he talked to mom for a minute. The rest of the trip was fun, but basically uneventful. It wasn’t until years later that Dad finally told the rest of us kids the reason for the mid-trip hotel room move. The afternoon Mom and I left the beach early he stayed behind with Alice, Max and Taylor. They after a few hours decided they also wanted to browse the stores in the hotel. By that point Mom and I had already finished shopping around and went to the room for an afternoon nap. Dad said while he was browsing some displayed books about hotel history (He always liked collecting history books of the places he’s visited.) He opened up a page that spoke about Kate Morgan (AKA Lottie Bernard.) & Her mystery.  Tasha Wheelhouse again. Please allow me to introduce you to Lottie Bernard, a wealthy 24 year old who scandalously traveled on her own unescorted. There was even a side door specifically meant for unaccompanied ladies like herself. She signed her name into room #302 on thanksgiving day in 1892 next to her name she signed the city of Detroit as her hometown. She only had her handbag, and the clothes on her back. She came down to the desk every morning to ask the concierge if her brother had come to see her there. The answer everyday was No. She kept to her room #302 with only a handful of times the staff recall her leaving it.  Days passed and on November 28th a passerby of the Hotel Del Coronado staff found her. Dead.  According to a publication in the San Diego Union on November 30th 1892 describe that the electrician was “passing by the shell walk at the end of the western terrace saw the lady lying on the steps leading to the beach.” (…)“ an American bull-dog revolver was lying within two inches of her outstretched right hand. A ragged wound showed on the right temple, but the rain had washed away all stains of blood. Her body was soaking wet, stiff and cold. Deputy Coroner Stetson was notified, and he had the body removed to Johnson & Co.’s undertaking rooms in this city before many of the guests of the hotel were stirring.” According to multiple counts about the staff interaction with Lottie Bernard is that she frequently would complain to the staff about her poor health, and that the final gunshot wound to the head was a result to a prior failed suicide attempt by drowning herslef in her bath. When she couldn’t do it she called for a bell boy to rub her head and he noted her hair was soaked to the roots and she was in a frantic mood. The San Diego Union goes on to speculate she was a victim of melancholia. To quote Tuke D.H. (Who published a book on psychology in this very same year of 1892) defines the understanding of Meloncholia in the 1890’s as “A disorder characterized by a feeling of misery which is in excess of what is justified by the circumstances in which the individual is placed”, and that are accompanied by delusions. In otherwords, people suspected she was having severe untethered depression of mental health that ultimately lead to her suicide. The gun was registered to her name of which she bought a few days prior.  It seemed that Lottie Bernards brother would be in for some bad news. Only…. Lottie didn’t have a brother. Lottie wasn’t from Detroit. And Lottie Bernard… wasn’t even her name.  You see while her body waited at the morgue, the hotel couldn’t find anyone to claim her. They allerted Detroit authorities to attempt to find her family, but there was no response. When they went to search her room they found burned letters. The only portions they were still able to read were “Coronado” “Lillian Russel” and “I don’t know any such man”. The newspapers began to name the mystery woman as The Beautiful Stranger. It becomes even more peculiar when you understand they displayed her dead body in the Coroners street window in hopes that some passerby would identify her.  She eventually was identified as Kate Morgan, and it was suspected her “brother” was in fact a lover who had abandoned her there at the hotel. She grew depressed, and in distress placed the barrel to her temple to pull the trigger. It would seem that should be the end of her story. Except in the 1980’s Alan May discovered an interesting fact. The bullet found to have killed Kate Morgan (AKA Lottie Bernard) did not match the gun she was found with. And while this theory has resurrected a story that foul play was involved in her death, nothing has reopened her case officially. The room she stayed in for 5 days before her passing was room 302, or rather as it is known today, Room 3327. OUTRO: Thanks so much for listening. Please reach out to me via Facebook, we’re going to start doing a once a month Q+A on our Facebook Page and I’d love to see you there. Please give this podcast a rating on Apple Podcast as it helps other constant listeners like you to find Copper Shock. Thank you again. Keep an eye out for the next episode as we explore an experience that has to do with the Jersey Devil. Thanks again and I’ll see you soon. PREVIEW:  Research: Hotel California:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotel_California https://www.google.com/search?q=del+coronado+hotel+lobby&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS838US838&sxsrf=ALeKk02Dbie4fwhUj5RU3_9qj41fkq0iew:1611123415364&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwifqvK27qnuAhWMbs0KHcn5CSIQ_AUoAXoECBQQAw#imgrc=qQjS280Cgkc1lM https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willa_(short_story) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jh3YKDSUGNM  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYK6u968TnM  https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/news/local-history/sd-me-archives-kate-morgan-20171120-story.html an actual throwback to an article after she died from the Sad Diego Union. https://dreamingcasuallypoetry.blogspot.com/2013/11/who-was-beautiful-stranger-part-4.html  https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4314947/#:~:text=He%20defines%20melancholia%20as%20the,%E2%80%9D%20(Laurentius%2C%201599).&text=Laurentius%20believed%20that%20this%20pathology,like%20of%20Hippocrates%20and%20Galen). The post Beautiful Stranger at the Del Coronado appeared first on Home.

INTRO: Hello constant listener. While we are now very much past the usual time of year for observing horrific encounters of the unexplainable, I personally love hearing scary stories all year round. In that, I also hope you’ll continue to join me as Copper Shock grows. I love learning about odd or interesting facts of history, especially if it has to do with crime. I couldn’t tell you why my fascination for it runs so deeply, so when a friend who knew me very well asked me to google the name of a photographer, I was pleasantly surprised by what I found. Beautifully brutal and violent images of murders in a victorian setting. The way the photos were angled felt less clinical and more about evoking an emotion of sympathy for the dead. The juxtaposition of a cold body on the floor of a warm and lush-looking home. I began to research more about this photographer. You’ll hear people say his name as Bertillion, but the french pronunciation of a double “L” has a “yuh” sound. (welcome to view this youtube video spoken in french to confirm. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBRkukpVISg) the photographer in question is Alphonse Bertillion. Alphonse started as a copyist in the 1860’s, which is a fancy term for a human xerox machine. Not to belittle his position, for at the time it was an important job for record-keeping. But as you can imagine that’s not what he is remembered for. As a copyist at his local police headquarters,  he saw the farce of rounding up suspects for a crime. And the same suspect, again, and again… and again. Even after that person had been cleared. While I do believe authorities of that era were doing their best, I also now believe investigators in charge of finding Jack the Ripper had a heinous time catching him, not because he was a genius but because they were hellishly unorganized. The fact is, police had no systematic way of narrowing down suspects.  That seems dumb right? It very common to re-arrest someone without having remembered if you’d arrested them before and then let them go. The most likely record an authority would write down is a man’s name. Introductions are not exactly the first piece of information given when you are being mugged, and criminals would often give fake names anyway. Pictures were not common for lower-class criminals. What pictures police would obtain were always very poor quality. Alphonse saw this chaos all the time, and decided to do something about it because frankly, he had a different way of looking at things. Calling Alphonse an “odd duck” was kind of putting it mildly.  On record, an acquaintance once described Alphonse as “Not in possession of his full faculties.” and that it was “… his moonstruck eyes, his sepulchral voice, the saturnine magnetism” that made him feel like he was “… in the presence of a necromancer.” Alphonse didn’t just look at the data, he wanted to construct consistent pieces of the puzzle to help complete investigations. He saw details no other investigator thought to consider. He would measure the circumference of a head, the length of your fingers, and keep a meticulous record of these bodily measurements. Easier to identify a man by hair color and height than it was by a fake name. This is still known today as the “Bertillion System”, and the last piece of this system is every country knows and universally practice still today after 150 years, is the classic “Mug Shot.” This was born as an idea from Alphonse himself. As he was testing it out there is a “self-portrait” of himself via mug shot.  But for all the amazing groundbreaking crime observations Alphonse had pioneered up through that point, while influential, over time and technology grew. Technology for photography. Alphonse was the first to entertain the idea of photography in a crime scene. He believed that showing the brutality of murders would bring about a public outcry for justices, and allow for more documentation of the scene as it existed before it deteriorated over time. His photography is graphic. I’ll warn you. It is purposefully meant to show the violent aftermath of a murder. Here is a link to a high digital scan of a Parisian crime scene book from 1902: (https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/284718 )   This imagery had huge success. And this system expanded into lessons for law enforcement all across Europe. Alphonse continued his work to pioneer other crime fields. Ballistics, Footprints, the degree of a forced breaking and entering, the stoke of how someone penmanship compared to a criminal letter. The importance of remembering the shape of a nose, or a footprint in dirt with a worn shoe sole. Elementary my dear Watson. If all of this is starting to sound like Sherlock Holmes, It should. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle based much of his forensic observations on cases Alphonse touched in the 1870s. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t exist on paper until 1892.  I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock. BODY: This was a story of mine that didn’t strike me as frightening until long after. When I was 23 my personality was similar to what it is now. Introverted. I lived with two very extroverted roommates who loved to go out on the weekends to meet new people.  Natalie had come up to my bedroom door, knocked once, and let herself in. “What are your plans for tonight?” She smiled, she knew full well I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. “I’m just here.” I placed my bookmark in my copy of The Illustrated Man. I had been reading it again for the third time. Natalie proceeded to open my closet door and picked out a shirt from a hangar. She turned around and danced it over her chest then tossed it onto my bed in front of my feet. “Kenyon invited Mayia and I and told us to bring as many girls as we can to a house party tonight. You’ll look killer in that.” She gestured to the black and white herringbone button down that was now resting limply on my covers. “I don’t know if I’m up for it.”  “Noooo come on. Come have fun.”  I gave a small smile then nodded my head a little. “Well Alright. I’ll get ready. I’ll need about a half hour for hair and makeup though. So perhaps you guys go ahead and I’ll catch up in my own car?” “Pfft. Why? It’s only 8:45 we probably won’t leave till 9:30 anyway.” And with that Natalie let herself out of my room… With my door open. I don’t know why that’s always been such a pet peeve of mine. When I’ve specifically left the door shut for privacy to be alone and recharge, then my roommates open it and violate all my personal space. Not drastically so to make me truly deeply upset. Just… peeved. I’ve learned to live with negotiating my unspoken happiness of no social contact to my roommates social obfuscation that everything needs to be shared and in an open space. I will admit though I remember thinking that particular night that I was in want of human contact. Humans that were not named Natalie and Mayia. For while they meant well, it was always tinted with a selfish meaning of wellness. They invited me not exactly wanting my company, but because a guy Maiya was aiming for had contracted her to bring another set of boobies to the party.  I got dressed, did my hair and makeup and as vain as it sounds. I looked into the mirror that night and remember feeling good about how I looked. I felt a surge of confidence swell in my chest and smiled. My long black hair had loose beach curls that framed my face in a way I liked, and for once my eyeliner wings were even.  I came down the stairs Natalie and Mayia both waiting on the couch in the living room.  “Lets gooooo.” Mayia said pushing herself up off the couch.  “I’m gonna follow in my own car.” “Absolutely not. Part of the deal is that we tell each other about what went down at the party together after the night is over.” Natalie hooked a playful arm around my neck pushing toward the garage door. The one thing I did know about my “Extroverted Tank” is that it ran dry after only a few hours. I’d always joked that at Midnight I turn into a pumpkin again because I couldn’t really hack staying up that late without becoming cranky or just so tired. But the three of us filed into Mayia’s silver 2 door car. I sat in the back while the two of them sat up front. As we drove Natalie and Mayia would argue about what music to play, but once a song hit they could agree on they’d holler at one another and start to scream the lyrics out loud. I joined in for a few songs from the back seat. I knew the general layout of Provo Utah. After a few years of either attending BYU or UVU the college kids my age all have a general idea of what apartment complex was where. “Natalie, where did Kenyon say this was again?” “He didn’t, I just have an address.” She held up her phone to gesture that the information would be on her screen if she decided to summon it. I nodded and sat back into my seat. A few minutes later we parked on the street. I remember walking into the house party and smelling a wave of sweaty humidity. It may have only been 10:02pm but the house was full of people moving together in a massive throng to the beat, lights were off save for some strobes, and the music wasn’t just blasting it was pulsing from the massive speakers that had to have been rented out for the night. Natalie and Mayia both started to twitch and wave their arms above their head as they disappeared into the small intimate crowd of dancers. Yes, they saw the dance in the living room and immediately left me behind. I sighed, it was typical. I diverted over into a massive kitchen with a marble kitchenette island about 7 feet long. The house was practically a mini mansion.  There were red solo cups everywhere, but I didn’t feel much like getting something to drink anyway. I’m not much of a drinker, the taste is too bitter, and I don’t like the feeling of not being in my full faculties. I know, I’m a stick in the mud. You’re not the first person to tell me. There were groups of people standing around the kitchen, some with a cup in hand others just with their arms crossed. There was a door behind them that led out onto the patio that descended to a large yard with a small brook and massive trees.  I walked down the patio stairs toward a small fire pit. There was a set of sad looking and mismatched lawn chairs around it. I found a chair and sat down looking into the lit fire. I love staring at how the flames licked at the dark air and smoke above it.  Three strangers, three men specifically started to descend the stairs. One was polynesian, the second one wore a flat brimmed cap, and the third a handsome but at the same time plain looking guy in a black jacket.  “May we?” Flatbrim said as he sat down before waiting for my invitation. “Yeah of course.” The three of them continued to wrap up a prior conversation they were having before approaching the fire, but when they did reach a lull in their conversation the polynesian turned to me with a large smile. “So what’s your name? Do you know Anna or Bryce?” I raised an eyebrow. I barely knew Kenyon, everyone at this party seemed to be a friend, of a friend, of a friend.  “I don’t sorry. Do you know Kenyon?” “Nope.” I gave a small nodd. There is going to be a sum zero of people at this party I would remotely even be associated too. So I did the next best trick an introvert knows how to do. I asked the three gentleman their name and what are they studying. If an introvert like me can keep someone else talking it means I need to come up with less subjects to talk about, also I’ve found that people love to talk about themselves.  “I’m Kai.” The polynesian gave a broad smile and pointed to himself. “That’s Hooper.” He pointed to the guy wearing a black coat. “And that’s Todd.” He pointed to the flatbrimmer.  “Good to meet all of you, I”m Kate.” “So, What do you like to do?” As I’ve lived in Utah long enough I know the popular social answers should be one of the following four: Hiking Longboarding Rock Climbing Boating If you live in Utah and don’t love the great outdoors there’s a slight chance of being seen as a social pariah. But since I didn’t know any of these guys and didn’t think I’d ever see them again I gave them an honest answer. “I like to read horror fiction, sometimes sci fi, but more horror.” “Seems like the perfect thing for a night next to a fire pit.” said Hooper. “Got any scary stories to tell?” Kai lit up and leaned forward in his chair.  “I know a couple, but I’m sure they’re ones everyone here has heard. What about you guys? Any good scary stories?” Todd playfully raised his hand and looked to Kai and Hooper. “Guys I have one. But we can’t do it here.” I raised my eyebrow. “Hold on I got an idea!” Todd hopped out from his chair and bounded back up the patio steps and into the house again. I looked to Kai and Hooper with slight confusion.  “So, does Todd do that often, just run off?” “Yeah, Todd’s a weird dude.” Hooper gave a cheeky smile to Kai and shrugged. After that I don’t remember what we talked about for the next 15 minutes, but it was right after that I remember Todd came back. This time he was wearing his light jacket like he was getting ready to leave. “Ok guys, I got it arranged and we’ve got three cars organized to go. Including my car.” “Todd what are you talking about?” Hooper asked. “I’m talking about the ultimate freaky place of Provo Utah. The abandoned prison, have you ever been inside?” I felt a flip happen in my stomach. The excitement of seeing a derelict prison sounded amazing. But also a dangerous notion. There’s no way going to an abandoned prison in the dead of night was ever going to be a good idea. “I had no idea Provo had an abandoned prison.” I said. “So? Come one guys let’s go!” “I better not. But I appreciate the invite.” I looked past Todd’s shoulder and saw Natalie and Mayia walking down the patio stairway. “Kate! (my name) We’re gonna check out the prison, let’s go. I’ll tell you about it on the way.” Thanks Todd I bitterly thought to myself. Out of the tens of college kids in that house partying he sweet talked my roommates into this idea. This was 2011 so Uber or Lyft hadn’t come into vogue yet for Utah. I’d be pretty stranded at this strangers house if I told them to leave without me. I stood up and offered a hand to Hooper. “Well? Lets ride.” I said optimistically. Hooper grabbed my arm to pull himself up. But in truth, I felt a lead weight in my stomach.  It was a bit of a drive, and it was surprisingly nestled into a very tidy and nice neighborhood. It rested up against the rising mountain face of Mount Timpanogos. It’s strange, but I remember thinking this prison has a decent view of the valley. We parked three streets up from the prison itself. We were to walk down. In the light of the streetlamps I saw Todd with a small group of others whom I also didn’t know. In total there were about 12 of us together walking down the main street. Walking toward Buckley Lane. We walked past a large and expensive looking elementary school. “Hey guys.” I heard Todd give a sharp whisper back to the group of us “Come look at this for a second.” He veered from the main street onto the parking lot of the elementary school. The chainlink fence at the edge of the asphalt lot had a steep 40 foot drop down to the concrete of the prison exterior. The Elementary school parking lot was built higher up on the hill overlooking the roof of the prison. The compound was large, while it was the middle of the night, my eyes could work out just enough detail to understand how big of a building this was. I looked over again and saw my group was walking away back down. I quietly caught up. Then I heard Todd say “Ok. No talking after this point. Folks in the neighborhood watch for people breaking in and call the cops all the time, so everyone, be as invisible as possible.” We walked almost single file in utter silence. There was a large pine tree that grew on the exterior of the chain link fence round the front of the prison. And in a very specific spot I would not have seen it if it weren’t for Todd’s direct instruction, but there was a tidy break in the chainlink that almost looked like the fence was still laced together just fine. Hooper came up behind me and gave a playful poke in my side. I nearly screamed from surprise but instead took a sharp gasp of air. My adrenaline shot up as I came back down from it I gave Hooper a glaring stare. He smiled and walked past me through the front door.  The front lobby was on the Small-ish side to me. There was a front desk with large gaps where windows should have been. Every window had been completely smashed in. Glass was everywhere on the floor. I was fairly glad I went with my heel height boots, and not my strappy sandals. We rounded the first opened door that led to where the desk chair would have been. Right beyond the desk was a door with formally painted word that read “Booking.”  I felt a surge come through me as I read the spray painted words below it read “Here you become a number .” I couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt like a warning. I was careful where I stepped. I could feel the way the glass would crunch under my sole and I kept wondering if I stepped on it at a wrong angle could it just come up through my shoe and cut me open? However, the glass issue became less and less as we walked further into this concrete belly of a beast. There was a long hallway with a series of doors. Some still remained totally locked, but others were burst wide open. There were even still papers strewn about. There were so many swastika symbols drawn on the wall everywhere. The drop ceiling boards were busted out in many places exposing the roof and old electrical wiring above it. One of the offices spaces we passed had a burnt brown carpeting and wooden bevelled baseboards. A sanyo 1980’s survey Television had its screen smashed out and thrown out the window to the concrete just outside.  It smelled awful in here. I’m positive there had to be some sort of mold. The way some of the discoloration dripped down the walls was unsettling.  I think the idea was for Todd to get to a certain point he liked and then tell whatever ghosty story he wanted. As our group walked we passed a familiar looking room I’d seen on TV and in movies. I don’t know the actual term, but I nicknamed it the “conversation room”. This had rows of stools bolted into the floor and a plexiglass divider between where visitors and convicts could talk to one another. Natalie and Maiya were fairly freaked out. The only reason I knew that is because they were being very quiet and holding on to each other. Another girl grabbed my arm while looking backward into the dark hallway we’d just strolled. I didn’t know her at all, but I think she was reaching thresholds that made her more afraid than entertained. I kindly grabbed her hand wrapped on my arm and said “I’m Kate.” “Bailey.”  “Are you doing ok?”  “I swear I heard something behind us.” “Welp, you know the saying?” “Which one?” She let go of my arm taking a deep breath. “You don’t need to run the fastest, just be faster than the slowest person. Also… Never be the last in line.”  She and I smiled and immediately picked up the pace and walked into the middle of the group. At the end of a few hallways it opened up into what looked like holding cells. The bars were painted a wine red, a reminiscent color of the 70-80’s interior designs no doubt. There was one door that looked very different from all the others. A large red metal door that slid to the left like a barn door. It was a door to the exterior. An enclosed cement area with an open sky. Glass was all over the place here too. There was another red metal sliding door on the other side of the courtyard. A few in our group got excited and jogged over there to go look.  I started to get a sinking feeling and stopped in the cement courtyard. Bailey stopped with me and gave me a look. The thought popped into my head so involuntarily that for the first time I felt unease. And that thought was This place was a labyrinth by design. What if we needed to get out quickly? What if the only door was the one we just came through and it gets blocked off by a fire? Or cops are called and we are busted. I didn’t want to enter the other hall across the courtyard. Hooper picked up on my hesitations. “Hey, you ok?” he asked me. I shook my head.  “I don’t know if I want to be here. I can go back and wait by the cars.”  “I’d like to do the same.” Bailey chimed in and stepped forward in the conversation. Hooper looked at both of us and said. “That’s fine I’ll walk you back.” He then turned toward the door having the last person file in. He quietly ran over there and I saw him lean his hand on the door frame as he poked his head around the corner. I could tell he was talking into the hallway. Likely telling Todd where we were going. He walked back over to Bailey and I. “Ok, lets go.” He stuffed his hands in his black jacket pockets. I felt relief. I didn’t want to go in any further, and I preferred not to go back alone at all.  We entered the hallway that led out to the courtyard again and I took a confident right. Bailey and Hooper didn’t question and also followed my lead. We all remember that turning right was the correct thing to do. Or so I thought. But as we rounded a corner I saw the hall of jail cells with the wine red metal bars, but something about the layout didn’t feel right. I stopped walking and Bailey passed me continuing. Hooper reached me and stopped. “Hold up Bailey.” he then turned to address me. “What’s wrong?” “Does this feel right? Did we come through this way?” “yeah , yeah I’m sure we did.” “I don’t remember the layout looking like this is all.” “We came in from the other direction so i’m sure it just looks different from this angle, it’s dark.” “Ok sure I buy that.” I shook my head and began walking forward again.  Bailey was a little more wary after I’d said that and she took up holding onto my arm again. This felt eerie as I could only hear the footsteps from the three of us echo down the hall. We didn’t say much to each other. Frankly a heavy air had set down upon us, and I think all three of us were subconsciously thinking of that as we weaved through halls. It wasn’t until we reached a hall that led down a staircase that I immediately protested. “Guy’s we were never this far into the building, I don’t think I can go down those stairs.” Bailey agreed and so did Hooper. But as we turned our back to retrace our steps, the sound of a metal clang rose up from far down the stairwell depths.  Hooper, Bailey and I immediately began to run. We rounded a second hallway corner and ducked into an open jail cell to catch our breath. “What caused that?” I heard Bailey say with a loss in her breath. “Don’t know.” Hooper said, the three of us stood there a moment unspeaking. We all had deduced a rational thought about that sound. In an abandoned place where the building has settled over two decades of time, a sudden burst of sound or impact is not lightly discarded. Something or someone had to have created it, and we ran like frightened rabbits. I was beginning to feel myself sweat. “Do we even know where we are at this point?” Hooper asked with a slight hopelessness to Bailey and I.  “No clue.” I responded honestly. But then bless Bailey, she actually had an awesome plan. “Guys I don’t think it’s that complicated, we just need to find a window or that courtyard again to see outside.” “How is that helpful exactly?” Hooper asked “This is on mount Timpanogos, where the mountain sits is East. The front door is north-facing, if we can find a way to look outside then we can orient ourselves by where the mountainside is how far over we are from that school and try not to get ourselves further in. It’s a pretty big mountain afterall.”  She was right, so Hooper and I agreed. At the end of the hall of jail cells was a high mounted window, we tried our best from the ground to see, but it was too dark to really make out pure sky or tell if it’s just a mountain face. We needed to find a window set closer to the ground and not as a glorified skylight.  Then we heard another clang. The three of us shrunk back into the jail cell. This time the clang didn’t sound like a metal bar getting smacked, this time…. “Guys was that one of the red doors sliding shut?” Bailey asked aloud to no one. I felt a sickness hit me. Yes, I thought. That sounded exactly like the sliding doors we saw earlier. I grabbed Hoopers arm, he didn’t protest. In fact I felt him hug my arm tighter to his side. He was scared too. The three of us sat there quiet in the jail cell… listening to the silence. We even turned off our phone lights. Then, we heard an unusual patter. The sound of feet on cement, not shoes. There wasn’t a soft clack that a heel would have but rather a sound of skin connecting and slightly sticking before the next step was taken. What on earth would make that sound and why are they here? “It couldn’t be the other group scaring us right?” I whispered to Bailey and Hooper.  “Totally possible, but I’d rather be sure.” his mouth was so close to my ear when whispering back I could feel the heat of his breath. The steps in the dark were getting closer, and a light note would ring out as the bars were slapped. Whoever it was was tapping the jail bars like it was a picket fence. There aren’t a lot of jail cells in a hallway, by the way. We were in jail #5 out of #5 and our indecisiveness to move from here would be a mistake at this point to do so. We stayed huddled into the corner of that dirty and molding jail cell. In the dark, just listening and holding on to each other. Then I heard it. The sound of someone slapping the bars to our cell. It stopped for a moment. I was trying my best to avoid breathing all together. Then it started again, and continued into the next chained hallway of jail cells. The sliding red metal door slid shut at the end of the hallway. I clicked the side of my phone to bring up my locked screen and turned the light way low. I only wanted us to be able to use a haze of light as we backtracked away from that thing making sounds. We curved ourselves through a few more winding halls, and in a miracle saw the cement courtyard.  We ran out and saw the outline of the sky and mountain ridge to the east, we guessed which door to take back inside and I felt a strange sensation of comfort when I saw “Here you become a number”, this was right by the front door where we first came in. We made our way out, and slipped through the hole in the chain link fence. I’d never been so happy to be on a regular public street. As we walked back up the steep sidewalk to the place where everyone had parked their cars I was surprised to see that Natalie and Maiya were sitting there waiting. Everyone else had apparently already gotten bored from their spelunking.  “Geez there you guys are.” Natalie said with a slight passive aggressive tone. I didn’t care, Bailey, Hooper and I filed into the back seat. The three of us didn’t want to talk about what happened. Natalie was acting particularly sour. “What took you forever?” She said, pulling up her phone. “We get lost.” was all Bailey would say out loud. Hooper and I gave each other a glance then back to the rest of the company in the car. “It wasn’t long after you three split off that we decided were pretty done too. Turns out a lot of the prison just started to feel like more of the same.” Yeah no kidding I thought. Apparently for Natalie and Maiya, as they stayed in the bigger grou,p they all had no problem getting back to the cars. As it turns out Natalie took a shine to Todd so she offered to call him when we came out, her subtle way of getting his number. Like I said, my roommates did good things, but always lined themselves with something selfish.   I later was telling another friend of mine after a class about my experience of getting lost and the sound we heard walking through the dark. He said to me  “Do you know what that probably was?” His face got stern and turned to face me outright. I shook my head and shrugged. “That may have been a homeless person. Someone who had been there for a while and knew exactly how to walk about in the dark there. He missed you walking by, but kept shutting the doors behind him so he could hear you trying to escape.” I sat there staring at him feeling utterly confused in thought. Blood drained from my face. So in looking back it seemed reasonable. After all, my amatuer group had very little trouble entering the place, who’s to say that someone who wanted to take up longer term shelter wasn’t hiding. What kind of sport or entertainment is it for idiot college kids like us to wander into his domain? I really didn’t want to think too heavily on it.  Fact was even after an event like that Hooper, Bailey and I really didn’t get together. We were party acquaintances who held onto each other when the moment was needed, but after that we all went back to being perfect strangers. I do sometimes wonder where they are and how we’re doing, but I don’t think I’ll look for them soon. Cannot think of reconnecting on a facebook DM by saying “hey remember that time we got lost in a cement hellscape and made it out?” icebreaker to be sure, but I don’t think a welcome one. OUTRO: Hi there constant listener! Our Copper Shock community is growing and I love it. Don’t hesitate to tell me hi by going over to our Facebook page and sending me a message. If you like our podcast, please leave a review. Your words and action help this community to grow and help other listeners like yourself to discover the Copper Shock podcast. The next episode is an experience my parents told me about recently. We were staying at the Del Coronado in San Diego in 1997. The Del Coronado of the oldest hotels in all of California, and is still active today. It has a host of permanent resident ghosts, but what our family didn’t understand was that our encounter crossed paths with the most famous resident there. Keep an eye posted for the next episode of Copper Shock. The post The Abandoned Prison at 1776 Buckley Lane appeared first on Home.

Hello Constant Listener, it’s strange to think that after so many years of forewarning of horror tropes, we can still wander into unwise situations. Usually when we’re young and we feel invincible. Enjoy a preview of this week’s episode about an abandoned prison at 1776 Buckley Lane. The post Preview of 1776 Buckley Lane appeared first on Home.

INTRO: Hello Constant listener, and a Merry Christmas to you. I admit I love traditionalist activities of the Holiday season almost as much as I like Halloween. Even better, I LOVE mixing the two! Bell Book and Candle it’s one of my favorite Christmas films. Many love Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas. It may even surprise you to hear that “The Woman In Black” is actually a Christmas story. (The book, not the film). But I’m sure as you’re a horror lover like me, you know that the formula for Christmas doing a remix with Hallows Eve spirit is not unusual.  The parallels that Christianism brought to December coincided with the Winter solstice, a pagan practice. Paganism often aligned with witchcraft and ancient rituals. There is a deeper dive on being specific for Pagans being different from Wicca or witches, but we won’t expand on that today.  Christmas and Horror more frequently than realized have gone hand in hand for hundreds of years. Everyone knows the tale of a Christmas Carol, it’s not too far of a stretch to call it a ghost story. In fact the first  printing I viewed behind glass the other day does explicitly state “a ghost story of Christmas.” When I was a kid, It almost didn’t matter what version of a Christmas Carol I watched. The Ghost of Christmas Future scared me every time. But in later years as I read the book I found that the ghost of Christmas present wasn’t all laughs and joy either. Right before midnight when the Ghost of Christmas Present is to leave, Scrooge looks toward his feet. He asks the spirit: “Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Scrooge looking intently at the Spirits robe, “but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?” “It might be a claw, for the flesh is there upon it,” was the Spirits sorrowful reply. “Look here.” From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment. “Oh man! Look here. Look, look, down here!” They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of the wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread. “Spirit are they yours?” Scrooge could say no more. “They are man’s.” Said the Spirit looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom.” “Have they no refuge or resource?” Cried Scrooge. “Are there no prisons?” Said the spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. “Are there no workhouses?” I’m Tasha Wheelhouse, and this is Copper Shock. BODY: This happened last Christmas just before all of the Pandemic broke out. I’m about 24 years old and was completely excited to be going to Oahu. My roommate and I had become extremely good friends over the prior year living together during my third year in college. I’ve trusted Kapono with most everything in my life. He was there for me when My mom died, and I’m not very close to my dad for lets just say reasons. Kapono didn’t seem to like me calling him his full name and so I’d nicknamed him “Kap” with other mutual friends of ours at school. He’d always wink and joke saying “that’s him, the Kap.” like Captain America”.  Kap would tell me stories about growing up on Oahu, and how every christmas his mother would host a Lu’au with traditional pork, rice, and poi. Games were played, and just sitting out on his porch listening to the waves that washed over and over again with a blanket of stars overhead. He said that the beach creates the best song the world because it brings him peace.  I didn’t know what to expect when we got to the island. It was a bit of a rough flight, but six hours and one sore neck later I could feel a wall of humidity come at me as I walked off the plane into the terminal. Honolulu is BIG. Like massive city skyscrapers big all packed up against a coastline. I even sort of giggled at myself as our host drove us past a regular shopping area that had a walmart, just a few things about island life that also seemed to directly translate to home.  But I remember we turned this one corner on the road and I felt myself smile. HUGE sweeping countryside of the island. Nothing but green intercut with small pockets of house roofs. When we got to Kap’s house I got out the car and took it all in. His family home was a simple home. Wood-built shack with 3 bedrooms, kitchen, and a small living room that had pictures from the 1940’s hung up with pride. His tutu (grandmother) happily stood up from the couch and insisted on big hugs to Kap and I both. When I reached over to her she pressed her forehead and nose onto mine and took in a deep breath. I was a little startled but allowed her into my personal space. She muttered something to me in Hawiian that I didn’t understand and patted my head. She then shuffled away into the kitchen. Kapono then gave me a slap on the back and said “it’s a Hongi greeting, it means to share one’s breath. She’s welcoming you into the home like family.” I didn’t say anything, mostly because I nearly cried. What immediate love was freely given to me as an outsider, but all inside of 45 seconds I didn’t feel like an outsider anymore. I felt more family connectedness than I’d had for a long while. Christmas hadn’t even started yet and I knew this was going to be the most memorable Christmas I’d have for years.  Kap took me to all the sites that were “touristy” for Oahu, but also would take me to his favorite hiking trails and some off the beaten path. Hawaii is heaven on earth. The air is thick with the salt of the ocean mixed with the perfume of the vegetation that is everywhere. It’s so green with little pops of color from wild flowers that command your attention with how vibrant they are.  Christmas night was going to host the Lu’au for the neighbors. I was asked to help prepare a portion of food. I’m not much of a chef but Kap insisted I be part of the activity. I made Poi, like actual poi. Turns out it’s super good, and simple to make. Pretty similar to how you make mashed potatoes. I didn’t actually know what poi was before this, but it’s like a runny mashed potato thats purple because it comes from Taro root There’s a sweetness and a spice about it that honestly made me think of general Christmas smells on it’s own. How competitive their family got for ‘Ulu Maika. There are two stakes driven in the ground 6 inches apart. You stand back about 13-15 feet and roll a palm sized heavy ball through it for points. So much trash talk, and cheating for the littler kids. I loved every minute.  I sat down in a chair near Kap’s Tutu, I really took a shine to her and asked her about her life experiences and life on the island. She told me about much of the development changed over the last 40 years, All the roads and hotels. How her parents were still little kids when Pearl Harbor Day happened. I listened completely spellbound. She was an endless book of stories. Kap walked over and interrupted our conversation. “Aloha, I need to take him over to the shores, He hasn’t seen them yet and we’re due to fly out tomorrow morning.”  “Kapono Kamea Kekoa.” His grandmother reached up and pinched his arm playfully. “Be safe please!” As I was walking away with Kap, I asked him to repeat his name for me again. “It’s my full name, and yes I dare you to say five times fast.” “Kapono Kamea Kekoa, Kapono Kamea Kapono….” I kept repeating till he gave me a lighthearted punch in the arm.  “Uncle, we’re going to the shores, wanna come? Or you chicken?” Kap gave his uncle (Who was really only 5 years older than us) a taunting look. Kap was up to something.  “I can handle it can you? You sure your Mom won’t kill me?”  “One way to find out, we’ll only be gone an hour anyway.” His uncle gave a confident nod toward the road and the three of us began walking. Kap took out his phone and I saw the light from his screen drift up onto his face. We continued to walk down the road together. “Let’s take an uber,” he then looked to me directly, “I got something I want to show you.” Kap got a big grin on his face. The Uber driver was not thrilled with the address given, In fact it took us three tries to even get someone to pick us up. Part of that may have been because it was Christmas night. But based on everything I found out after. I wished we hadn’t gone at all. The driver took us to the gate of a parking lot that was closed.  “Where’s this place?” I ased as we got out of the car. “Kaena (Kayana) Point.” “I still don’t know what that is.” “It’s a State park. There’s a regular hiking trail that leads down to the beach.” We stood there a moment looking at the closure. It wasn’t until the Uber had totally left around the bend and couldn’t see us anymore that Kap’s uncle spoke up. “Come on, follow me.” He started walking off to the left, it was about 8 minutes before an opening in the wild brush came upon us. It was beaten down and a human made path that led right up to a tidy break in the chain link fence.  “Are we breaking in?” I asked hesitantly. Kap smiled and nodded his head for me to follow his Uncle toward the fence line. I didn’t move at first, and then Kap spoke up.  “It’s no big deal, You can stay here if you want.” I shrugged and followed his Uncle beyond the chain link fence. I had to duck a bit to fit through the hole there, I also wanted to be careful to not make too much noise. As we started walking toward the hiking trail I broke the silence. “So you two are being particularly mysterious about all this.” Kap smiled and then I saw his body language pick up.  “Ok man, here’s the thing. This is more than just the touristy side of it. We’re ghost hunting tonight.” “Out here?” I was genuinely confused. I understood ghost hunting had to do with lots of tech equipment and in the very least an old building was involved. We were in the middle of full nature.  “Yep, Kaleo is going to tell us the story.” He pointed over to his uncle. We continued to walk for about another 10 minutes before I saw Kaleo stop. “Eh, right about here should be fine.” Kaelo leaned himself on a large black stone just off the path. He then looked over to me. “What have you heard about the Night Marchers?” “Absolutely zero.” I admitted to them both. “Ah nice! I finally have a fresh audience for once.” I shuffled my feet a bit and placed my hands in my hoodie pockets. “Night Marchers are the long dead warriors of Hawaii. Some say they bring all their anger from battle and march from about here, to over the ridge behind us.” Kaleo pointed to a mountain face standing tall behind him against the black night sky. “Then they descend down into the ocean.” Kap then decided he also wanted to rest and found a nearby rock to sit on top of near the trail as we continued to listen to the wind shuffle through the brush about us. “Some also say these spirits assist with guiding the recently dead into the next world. Some say it’s because they’re looking for a portal back into this existence of mortality we have. But one thing everyone agrees on; this is a path that you can never interrupt. You won’t survive it.” “What happens if you do? Get in their way I mean?” I asked. “You have to first understand that where you are standing right now to them, is sacred ground. A battleground lost and a procession of men marching home. Would you stand in the way of a dead warriors spirit for curiosity alone? I wouldn’t think so.”  I watched Kaleo then turn to face upward at the sky and give an affirming nod to himself. “I tell this story a lot, and each time I think because I’ve mentioned it so much it won’t affect me as much as it did before. But there is something about this that just rattles me to my soul. So i’m going to be completely serious in asking you to listen.” Kaleo then waited for Kap and I to nod or say Ok before he continued. “I was in this park with six friends of mine. We’d broken in, and I was 14. Tutu, you’ve met her, she used to tell me the night marcher stories. What signs to look for to know if they’re nearby. I used to listen at my window to see if I could hear a conch shell horn or a low rhythm of drums. But one warning she said was to look for the torch lights on the ridge, that meant they were coming and going to go into the ocean. You’ve seen our house. It’s right up against the beachfront, their final destination before the other world. I would have nightmares as a kid as though I’d just woken up and I’d see a soldier holding a spear with blood red eye’s staring into my window. Their gaze brings heat, and fire. If you catch the attention of too many night marchers they cook you alive by all looking at you. If you aren’t burned then you may be cursed.” “We’re standing on their sacred ground, right now?” “Yes, and what’s more, they’re far more likely to come out during nights of Kanaloa.” “What’s that?” I asked leaning in. He pointed a single finger to the night sky. I looked up and around but then looked back to him confused. “No moon. Just like that night when I was 14. I decided I wanted to climb over some rocks to cut a shortcut on the path we were taking at night, but just myself a bit lost. My other 6 friends said they’d meet me around the bend when the patch switches back up the side of the mountain. They never came. I waited for about 30 minutes alone. But then I did, I swear I did… heard a drum. A single drum that didn’t have a strong beat, but it was slow and consistent, like a death processional. I started to panic a little, and started walking down the path to try to meet my friends sooner than later. But the more I walked that way the stronger the smell of death came to me. Smell of sulfur. I could feel myself walking into danger more and more. Then I looked up behind me, and I saw small balls of light. They were torches walking along the ridge line above me and moving downward. I was pinned, going lower down the mountain hiking trail gave me a gut feeling I was going to move toward danger more, and the night marchers were coming down from the top toward me anyway.” “What did you do?” I asked. “I’m not ashamed to say I curled up in a ball on the trail and cried with my eyes tightly shut. For about 2 hours I heard the drum distantly, and a bellow of a conch shell drifting over the wind. After that I was so exhausted I actually fell asleep on the trail. The next day, the police found me, and only one of my friends was wise enough to fess up that they’d broken into Kayana and got separated.” “That’s crazy.” I said smiling at Kaleo in the dark.  They rise from the ocean, and are probably already marching on their way toward us now. The conditions are perfect. They’re coming for us. And if you don’t hear the drums, you’ll certainly recognize the trumpet. A low vibrating howl that echoes across this valley. These warnings are to serve to tell us mortals to get out of the way immediately and to inside. We are not to look upon these men.”  I heard the rustling of leaves and a crunch from a dried palm tree branch. “Aloha.” Kaleo called out over to the dark forest area where the sound came from. “Hey you guys stay here.”  Kaleo walked over to investigate the sound. He was almost 20 feet from Kap and I when we heard him give a slight yelp and saw him bend down to the floor and lay face first into the dirt. “No.” Kap said in utter panic and grabbed at my arm pulling me downward. “Get down and look at the ground or keep your eye’s shut. NOW!” I rolled my eyes, I wasn’t going to fall for his uncles hazing. We were in the middle of one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, just at night.  “I mean it, do it now.” Kap had a frightened waiver in his voice that made me second guess my skepticism. And I did as I was told. It was so quiet, save for the wind in the trees picking up. I actually remember feeling a heat-wave like wind brush over me a few times. I kept my eye’s shut and decided to relax and enjoy the experience. It wasn’t until I heard a muttering string of sentences in a language I didn’t understand. My brain then clicked, it was in Hawiian, and it was coming from Kaleo. He was… praying. I’m not sure how I knew that, but I knew it. He was scared. But as I listened to the trees, I could have sworn it, It was the sound of a horn. A single reigning note that bounced around the air above me. It sounded far away, but that’s when I felt myself begin to slightly panic. An awful and wretched smell hit my nose. “Smell of death” I thought to myself. “Kap.” I whispered. Kap didn’t respond and I was too scared to open my eyes. I was scared and the prank started to feel like it was going too far. Then without thinking I blurted out  “Kapono Kameo Kekoa!”  I said it loudly and with indignance. In that moment the wind stopped, the imagined or not imagined horn note in the air ceased, and the wind cooled back to an even breeze off the valley. I opened my eyes and Kap and Kaleo were also starting to break free from feeling petrified. And as they stood up we all immediately started walking back to the fence opening. Both Kap and Kaleo were shook, and I could see it. “Why did you two get down onto the ground like that?” Kaleo looked at Kap and said. “After the police found me, I told Tutu when I got home. She told me that getting down and closing my eyes was the exact right thing to do. You attract their gaze when you try to look at them after you’ve noticed the torches. It’s best to just lay face down eye’s shut out of respect for their spirits and let them pass.” “You saw the torches again?” Kap asked Kaleo. All Kaleo did was nod to both of us. We made our way back to the house and Kap’s mom was pretty upset when she learned where Kaleo had gone with us. Tutu gave a sly smile and said “Aya ke olo wei, ka olo o ka maka ke olo yo.” Kap sighed and hung his head nodding to his grandmother. She patted his shoulder and pressed her forehead to his, they then broke and hugged one another.  “They stopped when Jake called Kapono’s full name.”  Kaleo interjected. “Then I’d say you three were very lucky.” his grandmother winked. I asked him the next day as we were sitting on the plane to go home.  “Why was it lucky I called out your name last night?” “For the Night Marchers, Hawaiians are very interconnected to their families and family lines. Kekoa is a common surname, about as common as “Smith” is for Europeans. Night marchers leave you alone if there is a spirit among them who know you to be part of their family line and will usher the other spirits to leave you alone.” “What was it your grandmother said to you in hawiian. It was yesterday right when we got back and everyone figured out where we had been?” Kapono Kameo Kekoa looked at me with a grim face.  “She said hawiian ‘In a word there is life, in a word there is death’.”  OUTRO: Thank you for listening. I greatly enjoyed writing this story for you and hope you enjoyed it with me. Happy holidays to all of you and I hope to see you soon. The post Christmas Ghosts in Hawaii appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

INTRO: I usually start every episode with a hello to you, Constant Listener. And you may be in the UK, Canada, Australia, or even Belgium. But this episode I have a particular area of constant listeners within the United States who may find this episode interesting. You see, in grade school, all the way up through graduation, myself and others in my class were taught the basics of American history. I’ve always found it funny how American children are taught a meager 400 years of national history, as though native Americans are not part of this country’s heritage. We start talking about Pilgrims who land on the shores of Massachusetts, and how we grew as a nation from there. But the secondary thing about learning only 400 years, is that other nations all over the world are established in the thousands.  For how short a period of historic significance is given to our school system, I now see as lack of detail or whitewashing of American histories. I know the general rule of history is that it is written by those who have won the war. But imagine how misguided that places our younger generations when Philosopher George Santayana said “Those who don’t know their history, are bound to repeat it.” My school preached that Thomas Edison was an electric inspirational hero and not a conniving businessman who had no problem stealing others’ work and taking credit.  Or that we willfully ignore the fact that George Washington, America’s first president, not only owned slaves but would pull their teeth out of their skulls to use for his own set of dentures. Dark overtones of history are prevalent in every country, and yet not discussed. That era of George Washington, the Colonial Era was of great interest to me when I was little. My favorite American Girl doll was Felicity Merriman. I had a matching blue dress and wore it for three Christmases until I grew too big for it. I would collect American Girl cards, read the monthly magazine, and of course read the books. There was one book, in particular, I loved from the Felicity series. Lady Margaret’s Ghost. So as I sat to write this episode thinking about patriotism during this election year, ghosts, and realized I could do an episode of colonial ghosts!  Ghosts generally are associated with the pale misting figure of a human spirit once privy to a physical body, blood, and breathing air. What I find most intriguing about ghosts is that it’s a lurking reminder of what haunts. Haunting in the sense that it is difficult to forget. It lingers, it follows, it remains a constant companion to guilt. In this episode, I wanted to tell you more about Alexander Hamilton & Aaron Burr.  And what ghosts they have left behind. I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock. This story is rather short so I’ll do my best to give it to you in as simple a manner as I can. I worked in a bistro on Spring Street in New York when I was going to college. It wasn’t the best job, and late nights can feel like a drag. The movie the Ring had just made a huge hit, and everyone was insane about wells and their nightmare fuel factor. This restaurant I worked at, had it’s very own %100 real antique New York Farm well in the basement storage section.  Jaden and I were wiping down tables, putting away napkins, and doing general reset after closing the doors. If we were efficient then we could easily get out in a minimum of 30 minutes. There was one night in particular that Jaden insisted on teasing me. He had finished counting the till and called over to me. “Have you ever looked down the well in the storage room?” I felt my stomach drop a bit. That brick well gave me the creeps. I’m not sure how I can best describe the phobia I felt even being around it.  “You should go look yourself.”  “Have you ever noticed the stuff down there in the storage room is always disheveled?” “It is a storage room.” “I know, but I mean like genuinely oddly out of place. Boxes tipped over, broken glass, stuff like that.” “Ok?” I stopped wiping down the counter to look at Jaden. “When Kevin was working here, he told me he set up his camera during one of his shifts. The tape only catches 90 minutes of footage, but the last few minutes before the tape gives out you see paper cups shifting to the edge of a table they were sitting on, and fall off.” “oooOOOooo.” I said this with dismissive sarcasm. Truth was, his story did hit my nerves… a little. “Want to see what I mean?” Jaden then turned around to hustle downstairs. I could hear his feet hit the old wood steps and descend downward. “Come on!” He called back up to me.  I took a sigh and started to walk across the dining floor toward the back hall where the staircase was. I heard the wood under my feet flexing with each step letting out a croak or creek. As my line of sight was low enough to look over the whole room…Jaden wasn’t there.  “Jaden? Dude stop playing around. I’m annoyed, tired, and want to go home.” I continue to walk down the steps listening to the hum of the water heater in the corner of the room mix and turn.  “Jaden…” I sighed. I started to walk around the side of the well. Resting at the foot of the well on the far side was a simple dark brown apron. It was lazily tossed there but I knew it was jadens. I looked up the well side in front of me. This “well” isn’t knee height like you see in little kid books. This well was TALL, it protruded about 7 feet up from the floor I stood on.  I felt an overwhelming sick feeling happening. I was sure the well was sealed off if anything for building safety regulations, but that doesn’t mean the idiot tried to grouch inside it and the floor broke under him getting himself actually stuck in a 200-year-old well. My breathing got faster as I stood there in palpable silence, It was so quiet. I knew I had to look.  “Jaden.” I felt my breath catch. I cleared it before calling out again. “Jaden are you hurt?” I took three forceful steps and propped myself up onto a lip on the side of the well. My hands reached up on the top mouth of the well, and I lifted myself up. I remember imagining what It would be like to look into a deep gaping throat of a stone well far underground, and the sick feeling began running higher in my stomach. My line of sight was almost just high enough when a hand grabbed my shoulder giving it a good squeeze.  I screamed, turning about toward the feeling. I let go of the tall well falling backward loosing much of my balance. As I swung my arms wildly I felt three of my fingernails catch and scratch across skin. Jaden bucked back giving a yowl of paid and surprise. I took a look at Jaden, I had gotten him pretty good. Three very visible scratch marks were puffing up and lined in red on him. I remember feeling bad, I don’t like hurting anyone, even if it’s an accident. “Damn! That hurt.” He blurted out the curse cradling his scratched arm with one of his hands. “I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! But you shouldn’t have played that prank. I was really worried you actually fell in.” “You can’t fall in! Go look.” I could hear it in his voice, all the fun had gone out of it now. I scrambled up the side of the red brick well again and looked over. Sure enough, it was sealed and not even more than a foot in with a cement layer. It would have been impossible for Jaden to hide in it. “The seal is pretty high up.” I said “Yeah, but its the huge emptiness underneath it that strikes me as pretty creepy.”  He continued to mutter under his breath about how his arm hurt and we both went upstairs to grab our things to lock up for the night. Before I left I did a regular inventory check, purse? Check. Keys? Check. Phone? Oh no… where is my phone?  I asked Jaden to please help me look for it. He tried to call it, but it was almost impossible to hear. I always left it on vibrate. “I want to go home.” Jaden moaned. I could tell by his demeanor that he was VERY over today and just wanted to go.  “Just Shhhush… I can find it. Just give me a minute.” I started searching over tables and behind the counter where I sometimes placed it during my shift. Then it occurred to me. The basement. I turned around so fast to scratch Jaden I must have.. Ugh… “Jaden keep calling it. I think I know where it is.” he gave me a half-committal shrug. He was the one with keys to the restaurant so he’d have to wait for me.  I started walking downstairs and looking around the floor. And there it was… the faintest sound of buzzing. My phone had to be in here. I stood still listening to the silence and trying to zone in on where the buzzing was coming from. I looked around the side of a stack of plastic bins near the well where I had been standing. Resting on the floor was my little flip phone. I bent down to grab it balancing myself on the side of the well to reach over the fallen plastic bins. When it was in my hand I clicked the side button to stop the vibrating. I looked up to the backside of the well. There’s a brick just loose enough for a sliver to see into the inside. A brown eye looking back out at me. I stumbled back over the plastic bins and ran as fast as I could upstairs. I didn’t wait to politely exit the restaurant with Jaden. I blew right past him and started pacing up the sidewalk for my usual trek home. I avoided the basement ever since, and frankly, I didn’t work there for that much longer.  Today that restaurant is closed. The whole location has been turned into a clothing store, but that basement storage room is now open to the public. I remember curiously wondering about that section of loose brick I saw, and started looking over photos online.  But now I see that people won’t be able to look around the back like I could. It’s sealed off by drywall now.  I was watching a local television special a few years later even after that point, and then I realized what well they were featuring. New York is a really REALLY old city, and for all the modern glass buildings that sit on top, I think people forget that all of this used to be farmland.  I’ll never be able to forget its shape or how tall it was. This local documentary about haunted locations told me that very well well was the location of one of New Yorks most famous murders. (Transition music) Tasha Wheelhouse again. Let me tell you about the year 1799 in New York City. It’s a port and countryside town. When you look in the newspapers during the turn of the century, green coffee and Havana sugar were in high trade for sale. Horse and carriages lined the streets. And an advertisement for the curious asks patrons to spend a quarter of a dollar at your local tavern to see the Green Dragon (also known as the curious Lavana). These were the common items reported in the daily newspapers in December of 1799. However American tastes for newspaper headlines changed in January of 1800. Because on January 2nd, a woman’s body was discovered and dredged up from the deep. Her body bloated from sitting in water for 11 days, and her neck purpled from strangulation before she ever had a chance to drown in the dark abyss that was the well. Who was she you may ask? A nobody really. Just some woman found dead in a Manhattan well. She was a plain woman and dated a carpenter. In fact the night she disappeared she told someone she planned to secretly marry this carpenter. Gulielma Sands would become the most known name in New York City, and her death published in every newspaper. But why her? The simple carpenter she had been dating, was Levi Weeks. The younger brother to the powerful Ezra Weeks. Ezra Weeks is one of New York’s most famous architects. Recognized buildings of Ezra’s still standing today in New York. Buildings like the Gracie Mansion, and Hamilton Grange. Ezra Weeks was buddy-buddy to the heads of state and knew he could call upon two of America’s most prolific lawyers to defend his poor little brother from being accused of murder. Those lawyers were Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton. In the weeks leading up to the court date, Gulielmas parents publicly displayed her dead body outside of their home. They did this to stoke more public outrage for justice. Between the bad press, a body in the streets, and a seething public asking for Levi’s blood, Hamilton and Burr had a steep incline to fight. Trials in 1800 were a LOT more blitz and filibuster than they are today. Records show that this trial was only deliberated for three days. But that is how all trials were at this time. They spoke, called witnesses to the bar to testify. Not a cushy chair at the right-hand side of a judge… Oh no… you stood in a gated section that came up to your hips. You spoke out loud to a ravenous crowd who could shout cries of outrage at the very words you attempted to speak aloud as testimony.  Burr and Hamilton did everything in their power to Slander the dead woman. They postulated she was a drug addict, loose with men, had mental issues, suffered from suicidal thoughts, and denied Levi ever went near her when she was strangled. IF she was strangled that is. Doctors could not definitely agree if the wounds were from strangulation exactly… or if she was damaged on her way down. The trial was a whirlwind of emotion. The trial began on a Monday morning and went well into 1 AM on Tuesday. There was a recess that began again at 10 AM. This again ran until 2 in the morning on Wednesday. Seventy-five witnesses were called. The prosecuting attorney said he had been without “repose” and was “stinking” with fatigue. He had been on his feet for over 45 hours. Both sets of lawyers were so exhausted by the end of this trial at 2 Am on Wednesday that they mutually agreed to forgo closing statements. The jury was sent off to deliberate one of the nation’s most famous murder trials in this young country that had been a sovereign nation for only 12 years. The jury came back after only FOUR minutes…. Levi was free to go. He was acquitted.  The courtroom buzzed with gossip and whispers. A quaker woman by the name of Catherine Ring after the verdict was announced turned to the defendant’s head counsel, Alexander Hamilton. She cried aloud to him  “If thee dies a natural death. I shall think there is no justice in heaven.” Hamilton, as you know, was shot to death in a duel by Aaron Burr four years later. On 129 Spring Street in New York, there is a well in the basement accessible to you that caused so much trouble. And while ghosts can come in the form of wispy apparitions, ghosts also serve to rekindle echoes of mankind. The ghosts of Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton are not representations of the men themselves, but the poor murdered woman who now haunts Spring Street in an unsolved murder mystery. OUTRO: Hi everyone, thanks again for listening to this week’s episode about the Manhattan Well Murder. Please take a moment to leave a review for Copper Shock as it helps our channel to grow, and suggests it to other listeners who like stories like this one. I’d like to give a shout out to Ugot Debs, LucaSoph, and B to the McG for leaving kind reviews on Apple Podcast. The next episode is going to feature a nightmare I had in my teen years. I’ve nicknamed it “The Think Tank.” The post The Manhattan Well Murder appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

INTRO: When I was younger and sitting in my first period English class in eighth grade our English teacher asked all of us. “What stories have you told today?”  Considering that it was no later than 9:30 in the morning, everyone in my class looked confused at each other. My teacher then stood up from leaning on the whiteboard and asked us again. “What stories have you told today?” I raised my hand and she nodded at me. “Tasha?” “I don’t think I understand. The day has just started. And it’s not like we go telling each other campfire stories on the bus.” “Oh, but you do.” My English teacher insisted. “You tell stories by your lockers too.” She turned around and wrote a quote onto the whiteboard. Her handwriting fluid as the whiteboard marker gave a light squeak and patter. “Mr. Warner, would you read the board for us please?” I looked over to my classmate. He read the words aloud “The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.” She then turned to the class again.  “Miss Scout? Whom did you see this morning?” Amanda shuffled in her desk to sit up before she spoke. “I talked to Caroline.” “What about?” “She had a new set of stickers on her binder. And a new collage on her binder with some pictures from a magazine.” “And she told you about who was on her binder and why?” “Yes.” Amanda shrugged. “So Caroline, in the hallway, told you a short story about her binder, what was on it, and why she liked those things.” Amanda nodded. “Class, I want you to understand you don’t need to be born with a huge ambition to write a massive novel in order to be a storyteller. Maybe you don’t even feel comfortable writing yet. I will tell you that everyone is inclined to naturally tell stories, however small. And all creative writing is, is taking experiences, or asking questions about what would happen in those experiences. Take those questions and write down and write out what you believe would happen.” I remember feeling very enthused for the first time in my boring first period English class. I wrote a ghost story that day, and I’d love to share it with you now. I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock BODY: Flagstaff, Arizona is a forest and desert. Hard to picture, but I would encounter lizards, and deer frequently near my home. It wasn’t unusual for me to sit outside on our back patio with some bread to feed the birds. Our mother restricted the number of hours of VHS tapes I was allowed to watch in a day. If I came to her bored the only response she’d give me was “Tasha, read a book, write a book, or paint a picture.” I’d compromise and do none of those things, but make myself content to run around outside into the wide forest backyard. I’d often play make-believe by myself. The neighborhood I lived in, didn’t have that many kids. Most of the homes owned there were retirement or summer homes for the rich. But our family, we lived here full time. My backyard wasn’t exactly in a suburb. It was a gated community was deep into the countryside between Flagstaff City and Sedona. One afternoon, after being told to read a book, write a book, or paint a picture…I had let myself out into my backyard. I had a pair of velcro beauty and the beast shoes I’d strap onto my sockless feet, and wander over the packed brown dirt. Sometimes I’d pick up and swing a branch like a sword, or I’d play the watching game. In my backyard, there was a gazebo. A small covered rotunda painted white and trimmed in teal. It was set pretty far back into our yard. Lined around it were tall pine trees in packed brown dirt. Another 10 feet behind the gazebo was a thin barbed fence that only had two stretches wires that ran over wooden stakes placed every 15 feet. One of the wooden stakes was rustled from the ground and bowed forward pulling the sharp wires down making that part of the fence easy to step over.  Where we lived I’d frequently see Bucks, Does, Lizards, Chipmunks, red and blue robins and once a brown fox. If I was feeling lazy. I’d do the watching game instead of actually run around. I’d sit in the gazebo near the broken barb wire fence. I had a favorite white wicker chair I’d climb into.  There was an afternoon I was playing the watching game, patiently waiting for an animal to present itself. The wind in the tall pine trees seemed to dice up the air. I still to this day think that wind that goes through pine needles lets out a slight whistle that’s different than other trees.  I’d brought a blanket with me to keep me warm from the wind. I had no real perception of time as a child but I know it was a long while of me sitting there playing the watching game. I fell asleep in the chair. I awoke to the cooing hoot of an owl far off. It was dusk. Not quite that dark yet, but a handsome twilight of pink and orange in the sky.  “This way.” I heard a faint almost whispered call. Just beyond the broken fence. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in the wicker chair. I squinted my eyes and looked out to the great wide mouth of the forest that was turning darker with each minute. “This way” It beckoned. “Mom?” I called out in a scratched and groggy voice. I heard no one call back to me. I stood up and walked out from the covered gazebo and looked beyond the partially broken fence. I saw a woman very far off near a dip in the landscape. She had long red hair that was half pulled up into a golden broach. She was facing out away from me. “Hello?” I called over. I felt my stranger danger sense hit my stomach. But into older age reflecting back at that moment, that wasn’t just a stranger danger red flag. There was an instinctual caution that bloomed over my body. I’ve felt it in other situations acute to feeling danger. The trees continued to rustle in the wind. “This way” I heard another whisper call to me. The woman was still as a statue. Her arms at her sides, facing forward. She wore a black shirt tucked into her light jeans. “Are you lost? My mom says you’re not supposed to be back there.” I looked back at my home and noticed some lights were beginning to shine through windows. The dusk began to grow darker. I looked forward again. The woman with red hair was standing closer to the fence than before. I think. I couldn’t exactly tell, but I remember looking at where she was and feeling confused. Her back still to me, and not moving a single muscle. In retrospect, I think she was trying to mimic me in how she stood but never moved while I looked at her. “I can go get my mom.” I called out. “This way.” I stepped closer to the broken fence out of curiosity. “I’m not allowed to go out there.” I continued to try to reason with the woman. It was important to me to let her know the rules. That she is very out of bounds according to my parents, she was in a danger zone of the forest. Anything beyond the broken fence. “Tasha!” I heard a small call from far off. My mother had tried to look for me from the front door. “Come inside please!” I looked back over my shoulder, the sky was turning a blue-purple and the first few glints of stars started to come out.  I looked forward once more. The woman was just beyond the broken barbed fence. I gasped and took a startled step backward. She was still facing into the forest. I felt a worry crawl up through me. This close I noticed something. Even the strands of her hair didn’t move whatsoever in the gentle forest wind. I felt a rush through my stomach. There was no way she could have moved that fast without making a single noise. I’ve played out on this terrain for hours and I know the sound a foot makes on dirt, a wayward stepped on a branch, fallen bark on the ground.  “This way.” I heard from her again the loudest yet. I was stiff, but not totally paralyzed by fear. I took another step backward, then another, and another. “Tasha! Now please.” another call from the front side of the house. I looked behind me to see how close I was to the backdoor. I should have never looked.  When I looked forward. The woman was standing inside the fence. I stopped walking backward and stood there breathing heavily and feeling hot tears stream out of my eyes. I couldn’t move as I stood there looking at the woman. “Toddy?” The instant I heard the voice and familiar lilt of my mother nearby. I started to cry really hard. She walked up to me and placed her hand on my back.  “Honey, it’s cold can we be done with the watching game for now? Dinner is ready.”  “The lady.” I said whimpering.  “Who? Where?” Mother asked.  She was gone. I began to bawl, and was almost inconsolable. I tried to tell her I saw a ghost, but my mom just humored me by cuddling and letting me know there aren’t any ghosts here. She tried to distract me by telling me I could pick out two books for storytime tonight. I had other unusual encounters while I lived in that house but that will be a story for another time. (END) The post The Red Lady In the Forrest appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

Hello Constant listener! Happy election year here in the US. I thought this upcoming episode should be focused on a ghost of a founding father. But as I was able to take a closer look at a certain haunted location in New York City, did I realize what ghost story I was looking at. Join me for The Manhattan Well Murder. I’ll see you soon. SECTION: “Let me tell you about the year 1799 in New York City. It’s a port and countryside town. When you look in the newspapers during the turn of the century, green coffee and Havana sugar were in high trade for sale. Horse and carriages lined the streets. And an advertisement for the curious asks patrons to spend a quarter of a dollar at your local tavern to see the Green Dragon (also known as the curious Lavana). These were the common items reported in the daily newspapers in December of 1799. However American tastes for newspaper headlines changed in January of 1800. Because on January 2nd, a woman’s body was discovered and dredged up from the deep. She was bloated from sitting in water for over 10 days. Her neck was purpled, consistent with strangulation before she ever had a chance to drown in the dark abyss that was the well.” The post Preview: The Manhattan Well Murder appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

INTRO: Hello Constant listener, I learned an interesting fact the other day about the skull and crossbones insignia.  While widely recognized for being associated with toxic waste, or pirates of the Jolly Roger; it was used for centuries before pirates utilized this symbol. Who used them you may ask? It may not be a surprise to tell you much originated in catholicism symbolism during the late middle ages. A medieval period in European history, the skull and crossbones symbol was associated with Danse Macabre, a personification of death. It also held meaning as “a dance of death”. That through life we must accept that we dance with death. Skull and crossbones are also associated with a theme called “Memento Mori”, this phrase or reminder acts as a warning stating “Remember death.” That by acknowledging death it helps to assist our earthly perspectives, reminding us that we are mortal. But Memento Mori is more than skull and cross bones, It’s almost a universal philosophy that is seen across multiple nations.  In Portugal there is the Capela dos Ossos (or Chapel of Bones) where the halls are an unusual spectacle. An estimated 5,000 corpses were exhumed and used to be displayed floor the ceiling down its corridors by the monks who managed this chapel. Again, this is not meant to be morbid, this is an old cultural understanding of honoring the dead, and reminding ourselves to be grateful for the life we have now to enjoy and live well.  In Tibet, a buddhism practice known as Lojong progresses an elevated mind by thinking on the four contemplations for a revolution of the mind. The second of these four dwells on the impermanence of death. In Scotland, Mary, Queen of Scots owned a large watch carved in the form of a silver skull. It had a quote engraved from a latin poet named Horace.That quote said: “Pale Death knocks with the same tempo upon the huts of the poor and the towers of Kings.” I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock BODY: My mother used to love to tell me the story of La Llorona when I was little. It was a great way to make sure I didn’t stay out after dark as a kid. There was a film that came out recently, but I think it’s more Hollywood than it needs to be. I’d like to tell you the story of La Llorona the way my mother used to tell it to me. My mother was a master storyteller when I was six, but I’ll do my best here.  Scary stories always started with the way she’d smirk out from the corner of the mouth, almost as if she couldn’t hide the happiness she felt scaring me to sleep. She would lean down and tuck the blankets around my body so tightly that I couldn’t move my arms. She’d ask me if I was a mummy and I’d always giggle and nod my head. It was one of my favorite bedtime games we did together. “Que historia esta noche?” (Which story tonight?) Her voice had a soft coo, and a gentleness that I miss whenever I think of her now. She’s passed on, and talking about her can be hard because I loved her so much.  “La Llorona!” I squeaked and tucked my nose under the rim of my blanket. She’d ask me if I was sure it tended to keep me up for a while whenever I asked. But I would be insistent. This was one of her far more elaborate bedtime stories. She sighed and agreed. I’ve translated it to English for the remainder of our conversations. “La Llorona or the Crying Woman  was once a very pretty woman who lived happily on a farm. She had long hair that everyone admired.” Mother would always stroke my hair at this part. I could feel the soothing way the edges of her nails ran over my scalp. “Everyone in the town thought she was the prettiest woman alive. She had big beautiful brown eyes that men found to be hypnotizing. She had lovely long lashes.” Mother would bat her eyes at me. “She was very pretty, and she knew she was very pretty. Always saying to her Abuelita that she will marry the most handsome man, and no one else will do.” “Her abuelita tried to tell her, there are far more important things to want in love.” La Llorona didn’t listen, because one day a man came to town on a horse.” Clip clopping sounds and the patter of hands over the blanket to tickle me.  “He was very handsome, and rich. She thought Ah, Yes I will love this man. He is handsome like me.” “They were happy for a few years. She even had two children, a boy and a girl. But as the children got a little older, about your age (she’d always point to my nose tapping it a little), then La Llorona was getting old too. Grey hair was growing more and more, and sickness made her thin, and bony. It wasn’t until she was brushing her hair that a whole side of her head came off! She was nowhere near as pretty as she was when she was young, and her husband knew this. He started to go out at night or sometimes for days to go gamble or find new love.” She’d bend down to tickle and kiss my neck, then pulled back.  “There was one night in particular, very stormy dark clouds came over her home. The husband had returned from long nights of drinking and gambling. La Llorona got dressed, but on powder and her brightest red shoes. She stood at the top of the stairs and came down to greet her husband. He pushed her aside. “I don’t want to see you.” he said. “Papa! Papa!” the two little children said in joy. La Llorona saw how suddenly happy her husband was with their children. He ran up to them to pick them up and give them kisses, but La Llorona stayed and watched how much happiness he showed them, and not her.  That night, the thunder rolled as it began to rain. La Llorona missed being admired. She stared into a mirror at her hagged and ugly face, a madness came over her. The husband slept in his room, and La Llorona woke up her children and took them outside toward the river. The storm started to pour from far away, La Llorona picked them up and tossed them into the cold river. She wanted to punish them for being more loved than she. But as she was about to fish them back out again, the river began to get wider, deeper and faster. The Children screamed. Because of the rain, the river was far more aggressive than usual. The children could not swim. She saw them being swept away. But as she realized they were being carried away she cried “Mi hijos!” as she turned to run down the riverside to save them. But in the rain she slipped on the mud and her head fell on a rock dying instantly. Her body slid down the bank and into the river with her children. The town was shook, and mourned their passing. A few nights later, two little boys were playing alone by that same river. Skipping rocks and staying out past dinner time. From far away they could hear someone walking over sand and rocks. The two little boys became afraid. Then they heard it, a faint “Mi hijos….” a mother’s voice was breathy and scratchy.” My mother then ruffled her hair over her face. “Mi hijos…” One little boy was looking up at the moon when he heard this. The second little boy said “Lets leave! Lets leave!” and began to walk away from the river to go home. The first little boy said “it’s nothing.” The second little boy turned back to look at his friend. Right next to his friend there was a tall skeletal woman walking slowly to him. Before he could call La Llorona grabbed the little boy sitting by the river side. Her hands grabbed him by his hair to turn his face to look at her. Her face was grey and her eyes were bleeding where eyes should have been. She was angry, this was not her boy. So she threw that little boy into the river and kept wandering on, looking for her children. She wanders lakes, rivers, and when it rains she could be anywhere.” My mother often whispered anywhere very close to my ear. My eye’s full wide awake and I would be clutching my blanket up to my chin. I remember once she was walking out of my room and as she was about to turn out the light she turned back to me. “Just so you know, the weather man says it would rain tonight, keep an eye on your window.” she winked at me and flicked off the light before closing my door. It didn’t rain that night at all, but I remember sitting there waiting for it to happen.  I loved this story and would even tell it to my friends on the playground. Years passed and I grew into the good age of 17. Just childish enough to do something stupid, but old enough where if I got into trouble it was my own fault. One of the things my friends and I liked to do was go find a place to chill out and goof off by Buffalo Bayou. For those who aren’t from Houston, it’s this large river that runs through Houston, but runs out to the ocean clear across texas. There is a perfectly nice park near Buffalo Bayou, but our group would make a small drive out to an unknown spot so we could be loud, rowdy, throw rocks, and start a small pit fire by the river. Some of the best life conversations I’ve had with my close friends were by this river. But on this one night, we were sitting and talking to each other about school, and figuring out what we should plan for in the upcoming summer. I was lying on my back letting the hazed feeling of happiness I had to take me over. I loved my life in Texas. The slight wind blowing was warm, and the humidity at night wasn’t so bad. Evening wind would roll over your body and lift your shirt a little. I remember it feeling really nice.  I listened to the ways the brush and trees rubbed leaves and branches against one another. But as I was laying down I heard a faint call. “Mi Hijos…” It was very distant and across the water way.  “Hola? Quién está ahí?” I called out to the open forest around us. We were pretty far outside of the city, I was most surprised to hear any other voices that were not from our group. I shook my friend Mateo’s arm as I sat up, and nudged Diego too. But both of them were just as sleepy as I was, we’d all fallen asleep because the fire pit we built was completely burned out.  “Mi Hijos…” This time I saw her. A woman in a long white dress and bare feet emerged from a few trees across the riverway. She wasn’t fully in my sight, but I saw and heard her pushing through the brush.  “Hola?” My friend Mateo called over. The woman snapped her attention to the three of us. Her eye’s were a bright blue that shone out the way a dog does when a light goes over them. That made me feel a weight in my stomach.  Then she screamed. It sounded horrible. It was a guttural wail. Not even a breathy cry like I’d always imagined it from mothers story, but agonized throat scratching howl. A scream that was low and harsh that my friends and I immediately jumped to our feet and stumbled back to the car as quickly as we could. I remember getting to Diego’s car and opening the passenger door to get in. Mateo and I looked at eachother now realizing. Diego hadn’t followed. Mateo and I walked back for Diego. He was sitting bolt upright and staring at the now complacent river. Fumbling we forced him to put his arm around our shoulders and started shuffling back to the car. Bad luck again, no keys. The car was unlocked and we could still sit inside. But the keys had to still be by the riverside somewhere. That was probably the worst part. Sitting in a glass cage while we knew La Llorona was nearby at one point. In the morning we felt better about going back in daylight to look for them. Diego refused to go back to the river side. Diego and I went and eventually found them. We drove back into Houston not talking about the night before. Sometimes Mateo and I will talk about it but Diego always seemed to look like he was about to cry if it was mentioned.  I didn’t think of that La Llorona for years until that moment by the river. I had assumed as a 17 year old I wouldn’t need to worry about children’s stories. The piece of the tale I haven’t told you yet? When you hear La Llorona cry, it can leave a curse on you.  I got to find out a few years later why Diego never wanted to talk about it, Mateo told me.  Diego sat by the bank dumbfounded and frozen in fear. Mateo and I left him in a hurry not realizing he wasn’t right behind us. La Llorona was wailing, as she pointed a long bony finger at him and began to walk toward him. She hit the waterline, and each step sunk further and further into the water way. The water waded around her body until it overcame her head. That was when we found him staring at the river waiting for her to rise up on our side of the river and take him. Mateo and I found him first. I remember when I felt comfortable enough to tell my mother about my la Llorona sighting she just smiled, putting both her hands on my face and said “Well now you’ve got a better La Llorona story than mine.” and gave a playful slap on my arm.  Mateo, Diego and I found other places for us to hang out since then, but I never quite knew what to make of seeing La Llorona. OUTRO:  Thank you Constant Listener for being here with me today. I wanted to give a quick shout out to J.Shuttlesworth, Ponterbee, bump in the night, Rnho, and kelw1961 for leaving reviews for Copper Shock on Apple Podcast. I cannot tell you how much I really appreciate you taking the time to review us, and leave such kind notes. The post La Llorona in Houston Texas appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

Hello Constant Listener, This week’s preview will highlight the examination of death. How it is part of our lives at every moment, and while it may not need be the focus of how we live, we know we live with the Momento Mori. A constant reminder that death is near, even if not sensed. This weeks preview episode discusses an experience in Houston Texas, and a ghostly woman famously known as La Lllorona. Enjoy The post Preview: The Story of La Llorona in Houston Texas appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

Hello Constant listener, I have a special treat for you. Would you be curious to listen to the original person behind the story of The Basement Stairs That Lead to Nowhere? I was able to record my conversation with her, and thought you’d find it interesting also. The post Original Tale: Basement Stairs That Lead To Nowhere appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

Hello Constant listener, I have a special treat for you. Would you be curious to listen to the original person behind the story of The Basement Stairs That Lead to Nowhere? I was able to record my conversation with her, and thought you’d find it interesting also. The post Original Tale: Basement Stairs That Lead To Nowhere appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

INTRO: Hello Constant Listener. This week I’d like to share with you that sometimes I practice Lucid Dreaming. A method by which a dreamer is conscious of the fact that they are dreaming and mentally work to alter the narrative of the dream. Christopher Nolan popularized this in his thriller “Inception.” That you may create a way to know if you’re awake or dreaming. When I remember to test myself, it’s usually with obscure methods. Like, standing next to a great cliff and not feeling the fear of the height, or you know, trying to breath underwater. Those realizations snap me out of my autopilot in dreams and I take the next steps on my own to push myself into any environment. I’ve sailed through the stars, felt the joy of flight with just my body, I’ve built Utopias for the world. And then woke up feeling invigorated for my day because I live such a double life at night.  However, just two weeks ago I had a Lucid Dream that did not go as I expected and harkened back to a memory I had as a child. I’d like to tell you about that memory. When I was eleven, my parents took me to visit Universal Studios in Hollywood. The backlot tour; that was my favorite. There was the courtyard from Bye Bye Birdie and Back to the Future. I saw the real-life house and motel from Hitchcock’s Psycho, and a myriad of other sets from films I loved. Even as a young child I consumed many old classic Hollywood movies. So visiting these sets made my little heart so happy.  After the tour, mom and dad pointed me in the direction of a walkthrough attraction for The Mummy. I thought it was going to be a museum, and the first part of it absolutely was just that. Glass cases filled with film memorabilia. Props and costumes from the Brennan Fraser hit. And yes, I said “fray-zer” and not “Fray-szhure”, turns out i’d been saying his name wrong for a long time. However, as we progressed through this museum walk, I didn’t understand it was going to turn into a haunted house. Walking into the first dark chamber surrounded by faux stone, lanterns, and a narrow walkway I felt myself clam up and immediately grab my mothers hand.  To this day anyone who has gone through a haunted house with me can tell you when I am scared, I have a grip so strong that more than one person in my life have asked me to let go because they were losing the feeling in their hand. This unfortunately was also the case for my mother. She lovingly asked me to let go because I was too much. I insisted on walking in the middle of our group. My Mom and my little brother were ahead of me, and my Dad was behind me.  But this haunted house was more complex than any I’d experienced before. There were multiple paths. A universal actor in robes and holding an ankh staff held up his hand. “Halt!” he said “You and you go this way, and you go that.” He pointed to my mother and little brother asking them to go to the right, and my father and I to go to the left. He was splitting us up. My father and I obeyed, we went left. Mom and my little brother went right. Up through this point, we could normally see other strangers, park goers really, who were walking just ahead of us on this path. This sort of thing really helped to break up the atmosphere. Wasn’t as scary if I could see a perfect stranger in front of me. But this new pathe the actor sent us on… there was no one here. It was so empty. I clutched onto my father’s arm, tightly. I began to heave deep breaths of anxiety and felt like I was going to start crying. My dad looked down at me and noticed I wasn’t doing so well. “You okay there Tash?” I shook my head ‘No’. “Well, can I tell you a secret?” I looked up to my dad “What?” “Whenever I’m in scary places like this do you know what I tell myself so I’m not afraid?” I stopped walking. “You’re not scared?” I said in awe and a slight disgust as though my Dad was absolutely crazy. “No, I’m not. Because whenever I’m in a place like this I can choose how I see it. I can either be afraid of what is happening around me, or I can choose to see it like I’m on an adventure. There is nothing in this room that I cannot outsmart, outwit, or outthink. So choose to be the adventurer Toddy (Toddy was my father’s baby nickname for me.) Besides, you remember the movie, it was more like an adventure anyway, right?” With that, I felt a wave of relief come to me and we started walking again. I let go of his arm. The room suddenly felt like just a room again. Scary lights and sound effects still abounded, but I saw through them now.  So, in going back to the lucid dream I had two weeks ago. I was at a great precipice above a lake surrounded by red rocks. The lake stretched out far as the eye could see with some rock formations interrupting the waterline. I looked down. I was likely over 40 high, and I wasn’t afraid. That’s when I knew, I’m dreaming. I turned my back to the drop-off, and felt my heels rock back, sending all of me falling over the side down to the water.  I broke through the surface on my back, but somehow the viscosity of the water was so thin that I continued to fall quickly not feeling the water brake my fall very well. Facing up toward the water surface while I sunk under more and more, at about 30 feet down the light began to darken. Light only penetrates so far in water before it dissipates. And I knew I was so far deep that there would be no way I’d be able to reach the air in time considering how much farther I fell without expecting it. Knowing I was dreaming I swung my body and head to my left, I willed a second water surface into existence about three feet in front of me. Almost like a portal. I surfaced into a waterway underneath a city. I’d never been to this city before. I made my way upward to the street. It was busy with cars whose styles blended from spaceship-like to that of a 1930s art deco. I wish I had a talent for sketching, because I would have loved to have drawn you what it was I saw. The streets were lined with tall side by side housing units similar to New York. I walked up a set of stone steps and entered a home. It was poshly decked out in Victorian style furnishings, fixtures, and wallpaper. As I stood there I asked myself what happens if I try to bend what’s around me? What would it show me? Mentally I began to bow out and flex the walls. A tight pressure surrounded me and It pushed me back. I felt the floor give out from underneath me, and I started to tumble downward. Looking up I could see the room. It was getting smaller and farther away the more I fell through absolute black nothingness of space. What’s worse? I was losing my Lucid control and I could feel it. When I stopped falling I found myself sitting in the driver seat of a little beat up blue car. There was still blackness around myself and the car, however my inner ear felt like I was moving forward? This is difficult to explain as there was nothing around me to determine a sense of motion. The car came to a stop. A humming began to resonate from my left. I looked up. A woman pigmented in nothing but black and white shades stepped forward. One dragging foot at a time. Her white nightgown was ripped up toward her ankles, and the whole thing was rubbed over in dirt and streaks of black-something. Her hands were caked in dirt, with broken fingernails. Then I noticed her face as she walked up to my window to stare in. Her face was up-side-down, and a far to wide grin stretched almost to the full width of her head. She was horrifying to look at. And again, I felt a push back once more to lose control of my lucid dream. A strange sensation came over me as I looked at her. I said to her through the car window.  “I know you.”  Her grin widened even more and the metal car about me splintered apart like exploding wood. My mind was being forced. Blackness started to take me, and shift me into the next nightmare. A nightmare SHE wanted me to have, I felt one last thought come to me in comfort. I DO NOT FEAR, FOR I AM THE ADVENTURER. I’m Tasha Wheelhouse and this is Copper Shock. BODY: Please be advised even though the following subjects are mentioned inside a nightmare format, the following story has violent depictions, self-harm, and projected suicide. This nightmare was submitted by constant listener Alyssa, of Orlando Florida. This is a nightmare I would have often as a kid. I didn’t understand what lucid dreaming was. That lucid dreaming doesn’t mean having full control, it can mean just feeling like you’re making conscious choices. I had lots of choices when it came to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere. As a child, there was a door at the back of my garage that was locked every time I tried to open it. I don’t remember exactly when I first had the dream of this, or in what order everything happened. But,  I dreamt about this door so often that I remember the progressions of each pathway. I’ll do my best to help you see what I saw. This door would only be unlocked for me when I was alone in the dream. No one else would be present. If they were, the door would stay locked.  Pathway #1: I’ve entered through the door to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere. I don’t remember arriving at the door, but I was compelled beyond my reasoning to open it and step inside. As the door swung, it opened up to a small square cement platform. A single lightbulb hung with a pull string illuminating the small area. Straight ahead of the platform was an endless staircase that proceeded down into darkness. Directly to my left and right were two more doors to choose from. I often chose the door on the right.  I’ve had people ask me why I didn’t just walk out again, back to the garage? Once inside, the basement door behind me would open to the same basement landing, an echo of the exact staircase where I stood. There was no way back once I entered. So in knowing I couldn’t go back, I would choose to go forward. I looked over the door on the left and took a step back from it, I had a gut feeling of something sinister when I looked at it. It’s probably why I chose the right door for as long as I did. The door on the right proceeded down a switchback staircase lined with gray stones. I remember thinking how odd the choice of design was, because they all looked like garden pathway stones. The staircase then opened up into a vast unfinished basement room. This room was deep and had uniquely-tall ceilings. There was nothing in this warehouse of a room save for a single hovering lamplight over a wooden chair with armrests. The legs of this chair were bolted to the ground. Straps where the ankles and wrists would have sat. Wires snaked around it and up to a helmet that rested on the chair. Not any chair; its an electric chair.  In trying to think critically, I knew the wires had to lead somewhere. But as I began to venture out into the open space, a prick was felt at my neck. I was out of time. He had found me. I should have paid more attention. Mercifully, I woke up. Sometimes when this man found me, the dream continued into a worse fate that I grew to hate over time. Pathway #2: I’ve entered through the door to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere.  I took a gaze down into the stairway darkness. I began to descend. One stair step at a time. I heard the echoes of my small feet patter on the cement. Then I heard something. Labored breathing looming just ahead of me. My memory came flooding back in a slight panic. I have come this way before, I have taken the dark stairs. He walked up two or three steps, just into the hazed edge of the light. His grim appearance made him seem sickly, but I knew he was far stronger than he looked. All black clothing was what he wore. It camouflaged him here in cover of darkness until I was too close.  The man in shadows. He waited on the steps like a black bear, snarling, hungry, and patiently waiting… for me. For if I did not come to him, he followed me wherever I went. I felt myself freeze as he stared up at me. And he grinned. I turned to run up the stairs already knowing I wouldn’t be quick enough. I felt a cold hand wrap around my ankle and give a violent yank. This pulled my legs out from under me. By wole self slammed down, punching the air out of my stomach and chest on the ridged stairs. My chin smacked onto a step. The way my teeth smashed together from the impact was always painful. In a slight daze, I’d turn over to my back and see how the shadow man flew up the stairwell toward me. My eyes widened at the syringe in his left hand. With deft accuracy, he swung it down, piercing my neck. The familiar prick feeling came, and I would go numb before blacking out. Sometimes I’d wake up once he caught me, but sometimes… I didn’t. My dreaming self regained consciousness. I tugged my arms, they were fastened tight. I was in the basement of the right-side door. Strapped to the electric chair. I saw the shadowman standing there, just at the edge of the light. He was next to something. A switch. Sometimes he’d flip the switch right away, sending lightning through me while I screamed. Other times, he’d begin what I have since named, “The Crucible”. One by one a single spotlight about me in the room would turn on. Each spotlight had a loved one standing there staring at me. The first time I went through The Crucible I screamed and plead with them to help me. No one moved. But when my loved ones did speak, I have never felt such deep loneliness in my life. One by one they’d tell me the most horrible things. It is hard to define what they said and convey the emotional impact. But consider those whom you love, and then they all speak and confirm every insecurity, every deafening claim of your invalidation as a human. Anything you could imagine that would gut you and make me feel unloved and abandoned. Eight-year-old me would hear this from my mother, whom I looked up too and wanted to emulate. Or my Father who was always the one to scoop me up into his arms when my brothers teased me so. To hear both of them not only start to say statements that would have killed me if I was awake, but they would begin to overlap and talk over one another into a cacophonous shrill screaming at me. Not just my mom and dad, a lot of people. The shadow man would just watch me. The more despair and panic I felt the more pleasure he got from it. I would feel my will to live and sanity begin to break. And when it did, that when I woke up. After a few evenings of ending up in the electric chair. I began to grow tired of the shadowman’s game. I’d try not cowering, just mouthing off. I’d still end up in the electric chair. I looked out from my bonded seat to the spotlights of people I loved. Over time, I rationalized these are not my parents, not my loved ones, not my friends. They couldn’t be, they must be his servants or something. Once while in the chair, the strap around my right wrist just so happened to be loose enough I wriggled free. The shadow man happened to be turned around working on the switches and gears. This is my chance to RUN.  I ran in between the spotlight people to reach the switchback staircase. But passing them was strange. IAs I got close enough to look at them there were not only facial features that weren’t made exactly right. I stopped to look at my best friend Lilly’s face in particular. I reached out to hold her hand, surely there must be something good still in there. As I clasped her hand in mine, I let go and recoiled back.  Something under her skin was… wiggling. A lot of “somethings”.  As I recoiled from Lilly, I accidentally bumped into my first grade teacher Mr Bagley. I looked up to him, at first the spotlight was directly over his head and it darked his features, but a slight shift and I could see exactly what was wrong with him. His skin was moving. Portions of a worm writhed underneath his left eye making it twitch a little as it slid around under his skin. All of these people were stuffed corpses, puppeteered by worms that filled their bodies. I felt even more dread drive through my heart. They were in a way the shadow man’s servants, but also they were the shells of all my loved ones gone, just to torture me. This is when I’d woken up.  Pathway #3:  I’ve entered through the door to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere.  For the first time I wanted to try the door to the left. The door to the left also produced a small stairway that dog legged to the right into a new room. Something about this room made me feel dizzy, like the floor underneath me was on a ship rocking in the ocean. Hard to explain unless you’ve been on a cruise before. Or perhaps you’re sitting backwards on the train, and your eyes are closed when it lurches forward. For a moment gravity shifts, and yet it’s somehow the same?  Everything behind the door to the left was “flexible”, like a fun-house where the laws of physics didn’t always quite apply. A mirage made just for me. This first room in itself wasn’t special, a second stairway to go even further down was across the room. However, just to my left again was the intricate door with markings all over it. Within this big wood door there was a large tree. It was a relief that was carved out from it. Around the wooden tree was an intricacy of iron latices. I tugged on the handle, the door didn’t budge. I took the second stairway down, and entered the simple door at the bottom. I hesitated opening it, this particular path was my very first time going this far this way. I wasn’t sure if the shadow man would come and pull me away before I could open the door. I turned to look up the small stairway expecting to see him, and he wasn’t there. I waited moments longer. Then, realized a lot of time had passed. Does the shadow man never come through the door to the left? I felt a slight relief that perhaps I’ll be able to find my happy ending this way after all. I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs here. A hall of mirrors laid out before me. As I stepped through, the door slammed shut behind me. Naturally, it locked. As I proceeded forward through the labyrinth I saw dozens of “me’s” either looking to the left, or right, at myself, or the back of my head. As I walked through the room (as best I could) sometimes one of “me” in a reflection would for a half second make a face back at me. Sometimes out of the corner of my eye, other times they were brazen in teasing me. They’d pretend to be afraid and point over my shoulder as though to something was behind me as though I should look. I looked…. Nothing was there. Just more reflection of me.  But off in the distance between the ocean of reflections, I saw a single mirror that reflected far far away. This mirror had something that was not me. It was a woman in a long slender black dress. Beautiful long black hair that went down to her waist. I only saw the back of her, and held out hope… could she be the one to help me? I turned around once more. A doppelganger stood there looking sinister. Not a reflection, this version of Alyssa stood right beside me full flesh. Her face began to melt as she laughed. I backed into the mirror behind me. Her sagging skin made her eye’s droop and her teeth slide out of her gums. She grabbed my neck with both hands and pounded my head into the mirror behind me over and over again. I couldn’t breath, and felt a warm gushing of blood drip down the back of my neck. I knew I was dying.  This is when I woke up. Pathway #4: I’ve entered through the door to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere.  I go to the door to the left. If the shadow man doesn’t follow me here, then I could find out why. I descend the small stairway into the single room with another stairway and the large wooden door with a tree in it. I tug on the large wooden door. Still locked. I looked over the intricate tree carved and relieved out on the door. There was a knot and a hole in the tree of the trunk just big enough for… my hand. I paused a moment wondering if I wanted to unlock this door at all. It’s been sealed the entire time I’ve been here with every visit to the basement stairs that lead to nowhere. I took a brave and shuddering breath, then clenched my hand into a fist. I reached into the hole. I didn’t feel anything, but heard a latch click. The door swung a little open toward me. I used a lot of force to move such a large and heavy door, but it did move just enough for me. This room looked complacent at first. A fireplace roared with light. I saw a braided rug, a pillowy couch, and large greek-like statuettes made of purple jade life-size placed about the room. Despite everything that would seem like comfort, I felt my heart pounding.  “I’m glad you came to see me this time.” I looked again to the couch and the woman there now. She was the woman from the hall of mirrors. This time she was in a red dress with sleeves that draped off her shoulders. I remember understanding how pretty she was. Long straight flowing black hair that draped over her silk like skin. And her voice… it was like coming home. Silver and sweet. Yet I never felt actually consoled. I remember looking at her dress in such admiration. It was the exact sort of thing I wished I could wear when I got old enough. She lifted a single porcelain tea cup to her full pink lips. I looked down to her neck. An emblem of a tree with twisted roots extended out onto a large circle made of gold. Some of the marks on the tree jewelry resembled that on the door. “Sit down.” I immediately sat down on the far side of the couch without asking any questions. I could not look away from her; she was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. As a child I was clumsy, thin but not slender, and I had slightly frizzy red hair, freckles and glasses that other kids made fun of me for.  “Tell me your name?” I jumped at telling her my name “Alyssa.” It was like the words were sucked out of my mouth involuntarily. I didn’t have a problem telling her my name, but the fact that it felt so forced was the first sign something wasn’t right here. I looked back to the door I’d entered through to try to re-calibrate how far I’d have to run if I needed too. Oddly the wall was stretched a long way away, farther than I remember walking up toward the couch.  “Sssssign my book.” Her voice slid a little. It seemed strange. She looked over at me and smiled. It was a beautiful smile. The kind that you couldn’t look away from, even though it made you a little bit sick. I felt a compulsion to stand up and walk over to a wooden mount. There was an enormous leather book sat open by a burning candle. I held a metal quill and sloppily signed my name in her book. I didn’t want to. I felt like something was wrong. I couldn’t stop myself. With each pen stroke my hand trembled.  When I finished the book grew teeth and eyes then suddenly slapped shut with my arm caught inside it. My skin popped little rips where I was punctured. The books teeth let go again to look just like a book. My blood spilled out all over the page where my name was. “All done.” The woman said slightly adjusting her dress and tree necklace. She rubbed the necklace with her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully looking into the fireplace. I was crying hysterically, there was just so much blood everywhere. She gave me a simpering smile. How black her eyes looked in this light. “You should go into the fire. I love the way your skin smells when it burns.”  My eyes grew wide as I was still cradling my hemorrhaging arm. I looked at her, and felt the room flex with energy. I had a realization hit my stomach. The room behind the door to the left always felt ‘funny’. As I stood there I realized all of it was coming from this woman. The rules of physics applied less around her, and flexibility of reality was hers to make. Shadow man doesn’t come here because of her. I was fighting it, but my foot took a sliding step forward. The mantle stretched like a gaping maw, the tongue of fire within it flicking and even outreaching for me from the log pit. “Go.” She said forcibly. The floor underneath me started to bend and stretch like a trampoline, I lost my footing as I fell into the fire burning myself alive.  This is when I woke up. Pathway #5: The woman’s room was unlocked now. A Pandoras box that couldn’t be closed, and I knew it. Most bets were off now. I’d try to go to the pathway to the right, because I knew what Shadowman would do. And I felt like I had a better chance of survival or waking up before something horrible happened. But not the woman. Sometimes she’d make me think I was taking the door to the right, and I’d end up in her parlor.  She was demanding. In every instance I met her I couldn’t help anything at all.  Whatever she wished me to do often lead to harming myself for her entertainment. I was powerless to stop it. I killed myself over and over whenever I came to her. I knew I was dreaming, but I could never stop it. I once remember asking her about the tree emblem necklace on her neck. She didn’t like that I’d asked her about it. Her demeanor changed from complacent to angry. Then her face got calm as she looked over me. “I think I’m bored with you.” She began to rub the tree necklace again. A tingling sensation like when your arm falls asleep, started to buzz from my fingertips. I looked down to my hand. My fingers were turning to stone. The transition slowly crawled up over my wrist like an icefrost. I was turning into purple jade. I desperation clinched my heart as I looked at the other statues in the room. What if she means it this time, and what if I don’t get to wake up?  I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks. She was laughing at me, and bent down to look me in the eye. I felt a swell of anger rise up deep within me. More rage summoned than I’d ever felt in my life up to that point. I shoved my solid purple jade arm down her throat to stop her from laughing at me. She was shocked and choked for a moment. I used my other free hand to grab the necklace and break it off her neck. I withdrew my hand from her mouth quickly. I felt happiness as I saw it return to normal. But the woman… was not a woman. She screamed and I could hear the cracking of bones as she convulsed onto the floor. Her body grew and morphed. An enormous spider the size of a dinner table was before me. A black spider with a red hourglass. I held the tree emblem necklace to my chest, and willed myself to the large wooden door far away on the other side of the room. The room bent itself to accommodate me. While a still dazed spider slipped on the flexing floor. She couldn’t grab me. I placed myself on the other side of the wooden door and locked it behind me placing my hand into the tree trunk knot of the door. As I ran back up to the landing of the basement stairs that lead to nowhere. I had a realization, there’s only one path I’d never gone all the way through.  The Final Path: I stood at the top of the landing holding the necklace. Energy from it was enough to make your nose bleed. But just the same I began to walk down the endless stairs. I was walking toward the shadow man.  And like so, he was waiting for me. And like before he grinned, until his eye caught the glint of gold in my little fist. I squeezed the gold tree, and he screamed, turning into a puff of mist, that slowly settled down toward the ground.  I walked over him down more into the darkness. As I descended the necklace began to glow, with enough light to equal a single flame. As I walked down deeper and deeper, I realized I could no longer see the top of the basement stairs. After walking for what felt like a long time, I reached the bottom landing. As I looked the door over, there wasn’t a handle, but a slot. I looked at the emblem necklace, and it fit perfectly. It’s an unusual key, I remember thinking that. The door had trouble opening, as though it had not opened for a millenia.  A warm wind with sunshine came through. As I stepped out I looked over the scene. It was a big vast meadow with rolling grass in the wind. A snow capped mountain was in the distance. I felt warm, complete, and relieved. I pulled the tree emblem out from the door, and offered it up to the sun.  This is when I woke up. I had this dream so many times, that when I was awake my mother once was moving boxes out from behind the garage door, and she left it unlocked by accident. I was so excited and ran to it to explore it. But to my disappointment, it was just a storage room. I even crawled around, behind dusty boxes, under a table, and searched for anything that would indicate the stairway was there. But of course it was only just a dream. After I’d seen the storage room, I never dreamt of that place again. OUTRO: Thank you for listening. This is a story of which I wrote to have a happy ending. Fiction is a way we can write our own paths and create our own worlds as we like to see them, or expose worlds for things we don’t wish to see. As this constant listener told me her tale, I felt like she deserved a happy ending because sadly she told me she never got to have one. Friends, do not fear and choose to be the adventurer. As always if you liked this episode feel free to share it on your social media, or come and visit us on the facebook page. I’ll be releasing the recorded interview of this nightmare so that you can hear the original story from the constant listener. Thank you for being here, and I’m very very grateful to you. I’ll see you next week. The post The Basement Stairs That Lead to Nowhere Nightmare appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

Hello everyone, Tasha Wheelhouse here. I’d like to let you know that I was not able to get to a preview of this week’s episode. The main reason is because It’s going to be a long episode, and I didn’t get to sound mix the portion I wanted to feature. However it’s going to be awesome and a bit more fantastical than other episodes on this podcast. Basement Stairs that Lead to Nowhere is going to be amazing and I hope to see you there. The post Preview of Basement Stairs that Lead to Nowhere appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.

INTRO: Hello, there constant listener. I have a special episode ready for you today. They’re all fragments of nightmares from other constant listeners just like you. People who have told me what they see in the dark of night behind closed eyes and are ready for me to tell them to you. There’s an official name for the study of dreams. It’s a Greek based word Oneirology (On-ier-olo-gee) and it has a wide variation of what the study entails. It’s a more analyzed approach elevated from a general “dream interpretation”. These scientists seek out correlations of dreams and waking knowledge. How the brain functions during dreams as it pertains to memory formation and mental disorders. You’ve likely heard of REM sleep, also known as rapid eye movement. What’s interesting is that recognizing REM sleep wasn’t observed until the 1950’s. By measuring a body’s response to REM, we’ve learned that the average dream lasts only 5-20 minutes. Yet, the recesses of our mind sometimes take us back right where we left off in an almost alternate reality that lives solely within us. How 5-20 minutes often experience as a passage of time that can be an hour, a few days, or in some dreams a passage of years before we wake. I love to dream, and I love to hear where others have travelled in their mind. Come with me as we explore these dream fragments together. I’m Tasha Wheelhouse, and this is Copper Shock. BODY: Part 1: My Patio Door. Nightmare derived from constant Listener: Lani H from Utah. I lived in Lake City Florida with a beautiful home that had a wooden porch that wrapped around three-fourths of the house. It was trimmed in tan and an off white being the dominant color. Living with three older brothers I had to toughen up quickly, especially when we played games outside. I remember that we had a wonderfully huge yard. It was a jungle to my young eyes. It contained not only a pond but a thick brush of Black Mangrove trees. Only occasionally did the trees give off a ‘bad egg’ smell. It wasn’t always, but we stayed clear of the pond regardless due to the potential of crocodiles, even in neighborhoods like ours. You’d be amazed what sort of wildlife or vermin roam about your suburban world in Florida. (Unless you’re from Florida, then you know exactly what I mean.) While living at this house I had a recurring nightmare of the porch around our home. The porch was slightly raised with vertical wooden slats around it to keep out animals. A single square wicker door sat near the front porch steps off to the right. The door was just big enough for young me. The dream always started out at night. I’d be standing on our St. Augustine Grass, facing the pond. I was barefoot and hated it. The grass always had an itchy feeling, and I felt vulnerable to any bugs or snakes that could be nearby. The moon above was bright. I saw occasional lightning bugs drift on and off gently between the Mangrove trees that flanked either side of the pond. I’d been here before, I knew what would happen next, as I’d seen this progression many times before. The fireflies would all stutter out like burnt out lightbulbs until blackness clouded over the space between the mangrove trees. Almost like a viscous black cloud. Labored breathing would pulse from the tree line. A beast. I couldn’t see It but it could see me. It was watching and waiting for me to flinch. I knew as soon as I began to run back to the house I would not make the front door. But the wicker porch door, that was within my reach. I felt my breath catch preparing myself for the sprint, squishing the gras between my toes. As soon as I turned my back I heard the beast wading through the pond water splashing about as it began to pursue me. My feet flew over the grass as felt my pajamas whip around my small and thin body. I reached out for the patio wicker door. As my hand reached out, my palms sweating. I woke up. Each time I dreamt this I never knew if I’d survived, but that the wicker door gave me a fighting chance. Part 2: Open Vacancy at the B and B. Nightmare derived from a constant listener: Robby B of Salt Lake City. I was traveling in a car with my Fiancé. We were going to stay at a Bed and Breakfast. Walking into the place it had an updated and modern feel with a juxtaposition of antiques placed about glass bookcase displays. My fiancé left my side to go wander down the hall while I checked us in. An elderly woman shuffled out from the back room to greet me, she smiled and pulled out a large leather book. And asked me to sign my name. I found this to be odd as the computer on her desk was right next to her. I figured it added up to customer experience of an old-timey feel for a B and B. Her husband also shuffled out asking me about where we had driven from. I paused. In all honesty, within my dream, I couldn’t answer him. My fiancé and I were from… nowhere. We had no one to go back home too. He smiled at me, and looked down to my signature in the book with pleasure before the old woman shut it. I remember how the wood ceilings hung low, and the lighting was warm through glass-covered tiffany lamps that you’ll often see at grandmother houses. The elder couple nodded to me, and the gentleman leaned down beneath the desk and handed me a plain door key. Not a card, but an actual turnkey. I picked up my bags and turned around. My fiancé walked back to the desk by me. She looked depressed, and like she was going to be sick. I asked her what was wrong, and she shook her head at me slowly. As we started to ascend the wooden staircase up to our room, I noticed she took extra couple of steps past a mirrored armoire that was within the front hallway that ran parallel to the staircase. I looked and didn’t see anything alarming, but was growing increasingly concerned for her. I could tell her guard was up, and she wasn’t communicating with me. The bed was shifty and creaked when either one of us turned. I don’t sleep well in places I don’t know so it’s not unusual that I couldn’t get settled. I felt her warm hand grab my arm in the dark. “You can’t sleep either?” I asked her. “No.” Her answer was hollow and soft. I kissed her on her forehead. She let out another miserable breath before she stood up to go to the bathroom. As I lay there something registered in my brain. I could still feel her hand on my arm. I draw back the bedding and see the pale-faced body of my fiancé frozen mid-scream as a corpse on the floor reaching out for me. I feel dread hit my stomach as I turn back toward the bathroom door. My fiancé’s doppelganger lets out a hiss. She bares needle-like teeth as she pounces me and blackness takes over. This is where I woke up. Part 3: The Boarded-Up Theater House. Nightmare derived from constant listener Angel of Arizona. My dreams sometimes allow me to visit the same place repeatedly, but with time passing between each visit. I hope to write a book someday about my experiences with this house. But here is a small story portion I wanted to share. I’m inside the Manor. This is what I have always called it, and will always call it. It’s always night, and no candles are lit, but hazed gloom of nightfall wraps around me. I wear a long white nightdress that I can feel brush against my legs and bare feet as I walk. The Hallway was endless and high with draped fabrics and until brass chandeliers. The wood underneath me creaks and I sense something. I a cold draft that filters up through my toes. There are cracks in beneath me. I kneel down and pull back the long red carpet. There is a gap just big enough to see what is under there. I press my eye near, and what comes into focus is a birds-eye-view above a seating theater. A large wooden proscenium in a fleur delis style was chipped and worn from the gold paint over it. The red curtain with huge tassels waved back and forth from the wind. There was an entire section of backstage wall missing, and it was snowing outside.  The stones had collapsed in on themselves, and scattered across the stage. The wall looked pressed in. Like a great beast had tumbled through it. I leaned back from the wood floor and looked to my left. Hidden behind the side table there was a seam in the hallway wallpaper. I pressed a little and a thin door popped open just enough to hit the backside of the long thin hallway table. I moved the table and opened the door. A questionably stable wooden staircase greeted me. It led downward into darkness I would not be able to see where I would be going if I took it. I was about to exit into the hallway once more. I heard a growl from the depths of the endless hallway to my left. Heavy footsteps thudded nearby, and what’s worse, They’re getting louder. Without thinking about it, I shut the secret door with me concealed behind it. The footsteps did not cease. And to my horror, they stopped just outside my door. I took a dreaded sigh, and outstretched my arms to either side of the precarious stairway. I followed it down feeling with my feet and my hands over the wall. Intuition told me more than anything, I was going to find a way into that theater. I felt like there would be answers waiting for me there. Part 4: The White Horse. A Dream derived from constant listener Diane C. from Huntington Beach California. For many years I always seemed to have a dream pre-cursor. A white horse would walk up to me. What this white horse was I had no idea. This horse would ask me if I would like a ride. Every time he asked me I would always say “no thank you.” I loved my life where I was and I didn’t want to leave it. After I told the horse “no” it would turn away from me disappointed. Then my dreams would follow whatever they maybe after that. But there was one day where I did say yes. There had been many years of this horse approaching me to ask if I wanted a ride. I felt something new was coming, and I didn’t want to miss it. I climbed up onto its back and felt it bolt forward. It was running so fast I was barely hanging on. And dread hit my stomach, it was running toward the edge of a cliff face. My heart began to race terrified of the fall about to come. It was moving at such a dangerous pace I didn’t dare jump off. We neared the edge and I felt it jump. My stomach surged into weightlessness as we fell together. Then the wind picked up, and the white horse expanded out wings. A secret Pegasus! We flew higher and higher. I’d never felt such invigoration. The way the wind whipped my hair into my eyes and mouth, the freedom and liberty I felt from the world I was no longer chained too. After the ride, the Pegasus dropped me back home. I tried to explain to those around me why am changed forever. They didn’t understand why. They did not understand why my old life is left behind. The horse never came back to me again after that. Part 5: The Old Woman. A Nightmare derived from Daniel A. of Lindon Utah. I don’t always have sleep paralysis. In fact, I think this is the only occasion where I did which makes it somewhat frightening to me how real it felt. I woke up in my bed facing the ceiling. The first warning sign something was off as I normally sleep on my stomach. The air around my room felt thicker than usual, and I was burning up in my blankets. My arms were so heavy I couldn’t lift them at all. I felt myself beginning to sweat and managed to roll my head a bit to the left. My heart fluttered a little from surprise. There was an elderly woman sitting in the corner of my darkened room. The moon from my window was the only thing that lit her, but her eyes seemed to glow from their own unnatural light. She had a heavy frock that looked like it was made out of Persian rugs that hung off her shoulders. Her hair was white and wild. I saw her tilt her head to the side and in an airy and rasped voice ask me. “What is your name?” her voice made me feel a ripple down to the pit of my stomach. “My name is Daniel.” I paused and asked her “What’s your name?” She smiled in a way that almost looked like a snarl and said “My name is Daniel.” She lurched toward my bed at an unnatural rate and pounced on me. I awoke once more screaming alone in my room. OUTRO: This was a great episode to work on as I love hearing all the interesting stories others experience while dreaming. What are nightmares you’ve had? Please feel free to reach out to me on the Copper Shocks Facebook page. And if you’ve liked this episode please share it on social media or rate us on your podcast app to help our channel grow. I’m excited about next week’s Nightmare episode The Basement Stairs That Led to Nowhere. It’s a recurring nightmare that branches off into a multitude of paths, and which one may ultimately lead to redemption. Thank you again for listening, and I’ll see you soon. The post Constant Listener Nightmare Collection appeared first on COPPER SHOCK.