Something's coming. Do you hear it? Can you see it? Trundling across the common, following the old hollow ways, sauntering down the lane, rocking up into the market square, laying out its wares. It reels you in with mysteries, trades with you fantastic tales, spins for you fascinating stories. Stories like the Haunted Pound Stretcher, flying saucers, poisoners and body snatchers, haunted woodland, and the secret tunnels beneath our feet. Weird in the Wade is on its way, a podcast that explores everything that is weird, wonderful, and a little off kilter in the town of Biggleswade in Bedfordshire. If you like your spooky stories told with a dash of historical context, or you like your history with a pinch of the paranormal, then this is the podcast for you. Never miss an episode. Subscribe to Weird in the Wade, wherever you're listening now. Japan isn't just temples and cherry blossoms. It's haunted castles, urban legends, yokai lurking in the shadows, and true crime cases where something doesn't quite add up. Supernatural Japan dives into Japan's darkest folklore, real history, and mysteries that still disturb the present. From ghosts of ancient warriors to modern legends whispered online, every episode blends culture, crime, and the unexplained. If you love spooky history, Japanese folklore and stories that stay with you long after the episode ends, search for Supernatural Japan, because in Japan, the past is never really gone. These aren't fictional stories or dramatizations, just first-hand accounts of what people have seen, heard, and experienced in the unknown. Some are unsettling, some are emotional, and some will stay with you forever. Search real hauntings, real ghost stories wherever you listen to podcasts, and start a paranormal journey like never before. When the internet began, Bulletin Board Services, or BBS, became the first online communities of the so-called Information Superhighway. Using their phone lines, people logged in from all over America to talk about sports, games, movies, and on one BBS in particular, share their ghost stories. Over time, those communities all went dark, except for one, a lone server that continues to operate somewhere in an unknown part of Pennsylvania's Rust Belt. A relic of the 1990s, veiled in mystery, it is a digital archive of humanity's strangest encounters with the unknown, as told by the people who experienced that. My name is Brandon Schecksneider, and you are listening to Fear Daily. Subject, 328 AM. User, MT45DP0P. Posted, May 29, 1998. I used to love camping. Every October, my daughter and I would pick a weekend, pack up the truck with gear, marshmallows, and way too many blankets, and head for the hills outside Pine Creek. Nothing fancy, just a tucked away clearing we called ours. She was seven the first time we went, nine the first time she built the fire, and ten when she beat me at cards under the stars. She died when she was twelve, two years ago. The last voicemail she left me said, Don't worry, dad, I'll meet you there. Love you. I was late picking her up, got caught up in some bullshit meeting I can't even remember now, told her she wanted to, she could walk home herself. She never made it. Some asshole lost control of their car just outside of town, skidded up onto the sidewalk. The paramedics said she was gone before they even got the call. I haven't been back to the campsite since, that is, not until last weekend. The clearing looked the same, but a little more overgrown. Fire pit, half buried under leaves, but the trees still opened to the sky the way they used to. I set up my old tent, the one with the stubborn zipper and sat by the stones where we used to roast hot dogs until they turned to charcoal. I brought her locket with me, clipped it to the lantern loop and sighed a tent where I could see it shine. Told myself this was just a weekend to remember her, to sit in the place where I still heard her laugh when the wind moved through the branches just right. The first night, I woke to the sound of sticks breaking just beyond the tent wall. I checked my watch, 3.28 am. I laid there frozen, listening one crack, then another, then something brushing along the nylon. I whispered her name like an idiot. Emma? Nothing. The next morning, I figured it was a deer or my imagination, grief playing tricks. So I hiked around a bit, brewed coffee over the fire and tried to shake the feeling that something was off. The woods felt too still, not in a peaceful way, in a don't belong here kind of way. Second night, same thing, only this time I heard a voice. Daddy? It was soft, curious, like she was trying to find me in a crowd. My chest collapsed in on itself. I scrambled out of the tent, flashlight in hand, feet cold against the hard packed dirt. I called out, but I knew I shouldn't have. The light caught nothing but branches and falling leaves, but the air felt charged, like something was holding its breath, waiting. I checked my watch again, still 328 AM. It was still 328 AM when I boiled water, 328 AM when I walked the trail to the creaking back. The sky never changed. I tried turning on the radio, dead air. My watch blinked, but didn't tick. I walked for hours or minutes, it blurred together. Each time I blinked, the forest shifted slightly, trees in places they hadn't been, branches that twisted just a little too far and always, always, I'd hear that voice. Why didn't you come get me? Why'd you make me go alone? Daddy, I was scared. I stopped calling back, started covering my ears, but it didn't help. Her voice came from inside now, playing through every memory I'd walked away. I saw her on the trail ahead once, thought it was her anyway. Same hoodie, same long braid. She looked back and her face was off, like it had been traced by someone who'd never seen a human before. The smile too wide, the eyes too dark, but it was her voice. Her voice calling me forward. I didn't follow. I turned and ran the other way, slept beneath a pine with my back to the trunk and my eyes on the stars. Only there weren't any stars. Just the same colorless sky, just the same stuck moment, like time was a broken record, skimming on 328 AM forever. I lost track of the days. If they were days, my food ran out, my water froze in the bottle, my skin cracked from the cold, but I didn't stop moving. I couldn't. The longer I stood still, the louder the voices got. They told me I didn't deserve to leave. That if I ever made it out, I'd just do it again. Forget someone else. Let someone else die because I was too distracted, too late, and too selfish. I wanted to scream back that I knew that I lived with it every damn day, but screaming didn't help. Nothing helped until last night. I woke up curled around her locket, dirt in my mouth, blood dried in a crust along my knuckles. The fire had long since burned out. My breath came in shallow, tired gasps, and the woods were quiet. Really quiet. No voices, no footsteps, just wind. When I sat up, I saw my truck just past the ridge right where I parked it. I stumbled down the hill, boots dragging through the leaves, lungs burning. Every inch of me felt like it had been hollowed out and filled with gravel. I opened the door, slumped into the seat, cranked the ignition. The clock on the dash blinked. 3.28 a.m. If you're heading into the new year wanting a fresh start, MedExpress offers a simple way to explore weight management treatment from home. Start with our short online consultation to check your eligibility. There's no pressure or big resolutions, just small achievable steps at your own pace. If eligible, treatment is delivered discreetly with support from UK registered clinicians throughout your journey. Visit medexpress.co.uk slash podcast to learn more. Find I Talk to Ghosts on all the fine podcast apps including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and YouTube. Happy Haunting! I swear this isn't paranoia, but everywhere I go someone is watching me and I don't know what to do about it. It's not the kind of thing where you catch someone staring and they quickly look away. No, no, this is different. Their eyes linger, unblanky, unrelenting. They don't flinch when I notice. They don't pretend to be doing something else. It started three weeks ago on a Monday, a completely normal day, so I thought, a usual morning routine, wake up, shower, tie the same stupid tie, and walk the same ten-minute route to the office, two blocks, coffee shop, three more blocks, office, nothing different, nothing strange, until I stepped out of my apartment. The second my foot hit the pavement, I felt it. That sensation on my skin like icy fingers being dragged along it. You know the feeling when you're alone, but you know you're not. I turned, expecting to see someone behind me, but there was no one, just old Mr. Sweeney from 3B, walking his Cocker Spaniel. He looked at me for too long, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. I rushed it off, maybe I was just tired, maybe he was. The coffee shop it happened again, the cute girl behind the counter with all the tattoos. A kid, really, who I've seen every morning for at least a year, just watched me. Usually it's a simple exchange. Morning, usual, my nod, she makes my coffee, and that's that. But that day, she stood there, gripping the counter, her knuckles wide. I had to clear my throat before she finally muttered something and punched in my order. Weird, but I let it go, maybe she was having a bad day too. But then it kept happening. Everywhere I went, people were watching. At first I told myself I was imagining it, but it wasn't normal. They weren't just looking at me, they were looking for me. And when they found me, they just held their gaze, unwavering. At work, my coworkers whispered in hushed voices whenever I passed by it. The grocery store the cashier didn't ask for my rewards card like he usually did, he just stared as I bagged my own groceries, his lips pressed in a firm, unreadable lie. When I got home that first night, I went straight to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Was there something off? Had I been walking around with some sort of physical change that I'm unaware of? Did someone draw a dick on my face or something like Randy, my college roommate used to do to the first unlucky co-ed to pass out drunk? Ah man, nothing. Who would have drawn it anyway? I live alone. All the mirror showed was me staring right back at me. The next day I experienced the same thing, followed by yet another of the same thing. So I started changing my routine, taking different routes, walking through alleys, and dumbling back on my steps. It didn't help. The stairs always followed. I tested it even. If I walked faster, they reacted. If I stomped abruptly, they did too. Two days ago, the newspaper stand guy finally said something that sent ice through my veins. I was flipping through the headlines, pretending to read when he spoke. People have been noticing you. I looked up my throat dry. What? He shrugged the corners of his lips, curling slightly. You ain't real subtle, friend. Maybe just take a deep breath, yeah? I did by a newspaper. I just walked away. Then last night, I woke up at 312 a.m. to the sound of my doorknob rattling. Not like someone trying to break in, not forceful, just testing. It was a slow, careful twist like they were checking if I had locked it. I grabbed the bat from under my bed and stood there waiting. My breath locked in my throat, staring at the door. The knob stopped moving after about 30 seconds. Nothing followed. No sounds, no movement. Obviously, I didn't sleep after that. Now, I cannot for the life of me understand what is going on. I used to think the city was the best place to find solitude. Peace amidst the din of the many, but if this continues, maybe it's time to head out and find somewhere new. Then again, maybe I am just being paranoid. Characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events or locations is entirely coincidental. Ad-free versions of Fear Daily are available now on your favorite podcast apps. For more information, visit feardaily.com. But move fast before the server goes offline. I'm Rob Kirke-Up and I am the host of How Haunted, the podcast where we explore the dark history and terrifying ghost stories of some of the UK's most haunted places with the occasional trip overseas. Every other Friday, you'll hear tales of horror, chilling investigations with real audio from ghost hunts, and even the occasional guest or polter guest as I prefer to call them. Every October, we go weekly for spooky season, with a month of themed episodes building up to a huge Halloween spooktacular. And at Christmas, I share your own real life ghost stories in the nightmare before Christmas special. So search for How Haunted wherever you get your podcasts. And join me every fortnight as we ask the question, How Haunted?
