Three Twisted Halloween Treats | Ghost Stories & Pumpkin Horror

A rocking chair in an empty house. Bones rattling overhead. A pumpkin patch where something is growing that should be buried. This Halloween, we have three twisted treats just for your candy bag. So keep the porch light burning, my spookies, because we're taking the long way home.

Trick or treat. There's a chill in the air. Must be fall. Join me for a tale of Halloween.

You will experience tales of horror, ghosts, and death. It is not recommended for the weak at heart, but who really listens to warnings anyway?

This is Weekly Spooky.

Hello, my spookies. It's not Wednesday, no, no, it's Thursday, and we have some extra spooky to add to your weekly courtesy of the brilliant and bizarre and mysterious Gary D. up in Toronto, Ontario. But before we get to that, I want to say thank you all so much for making Weekly Spooky a part of your spooky season celebrations.

It really warms my heart to know I'm helping keep the Halloween vibe going for you and Hopefully a friend you might share this with. Tonight we have three scary stories to make sure you're in the spirit, so to speak. But before we get to that, I want to say thank you all so much for joining us, and make sure you're subscribed if you haven't already, because we have something spooky every day of the week, and sometimes like today, twice in a week, to make sure that Halloween stays at the front of your mind. And while you're at it, leave us a five-star rating on your favorite podcasting app.

It really makes a big difference and helps new spookies discover the show. And hey, share this with a Halloween-loving friend to help them get hooked as well. But now, as for tonight, the jack-o'-lanterns are lit, the leaves are rattling down the street, and there's a bowl of candy waiting on the porch. But only take one. The scarecrow is counting. Tonight we're taking the long way through the neighborhood with three wonderfully weird little treats. We've got an old house, a very bad game, and one last stop at the pumpkin patch. Keep your candy buckets handy because you never know what somebody might drop in. Our first tale starts with two curious kids, and a boarded-up house beside the park. Most people only see yellow caution tape

and keep on walking, but these two see a clubhouse. I mean, everybody needs a place to hang out, right? Off Her Rocker by Gary D. up in Ontario, Canada Pull up a chair, order us another round, and I'll tell you a little story about something very strange that happened to me back when I was a kid. My name's Gary. I live here in Southern Ontario, Canada, and I've been dragging this needy, high-maintenance meat sack body of mine around through life for several decades now. but along the way still managed to see some pretty cool things.

Cool as in strange, peculiar, mind-boggling, unexplainable, weird, frightening, and yes, sometimes even just straight-up bizarre. This particular childhood experience of mine, which I'm now going to walk you through, wasn't necessarily what I'd call freakishly scary or over-the-top horrific, but what I would say is that it was definitely plenty creepy and disturbing. When I was in my mid-teens, a friend and I one day noticed that an old, rickety house that we'd probably walked by hundreds of times over the years now suddenly stood boarded up and completely surrounded in bright yellow caution tape This ancient and somewhat decrepit structure stood alone at the edge of a heavily wooded public park,

which had been around since, like, the 1910s. And as we found out later, this quaint little dwelling had for many years housed the parkground's custodian, along with his wife and her elderly mother. being the curious and irresponsible young boys that we were, after just a couple of days we decided to simply duck under the caution tape when nobody was looking, and then entered the house through a poorly secured and slightly standing ajar back door. For several weeks thereafter, we'd often go there just to hang out inside, of this now abandoned and boarded-up old house. It was a neat place to escape to, you know, just get away from everybody and everything, and was kinda like having our own private clubhouse. The entire structure, including the main

and second floor, we found to be completely empty, with there being no furniture or any household items whatsoever. And so we soon discovered it would be in that damn creepy basement where we'd get our oversized serving of the heebie-jeebies. The very first time we descended those steep, noisy wooden stairs down into that dirt-floored cellar, and after having wiped cobwebs off our heads and faces, both of our mouths, immediately fell open. There, silently sitting upon row after row of crudely constructed wooden shelves, stood dozens and dozens of dust-covered mason jars, as well as some larger jars, all filled with an array of different contents, including some pretty freaky shit. A few jars held your typical things like pickles, onions, carrots,

and what appeared to be boiled eggs, but many of them contained items that were far more disturbing. Grotesque things like chicken heads, chicken feet, pig fetuses, cloudy clusters of forever staring eyeballs which we guessed came from cows. as well as brains, intestines, lung tissue, and many, many other random bodily organs, which we just assumed must have all come from various animals. And the kicker in this whole dark and creepy abandoned house equation was that we oddly and quite by accident unexpectedly discovered that we were not alone in this home. There, sitting in a darkened corner of a tiny upstairs back room, and barely illuminated by narrow slivers of light shining in through a filthy window,

sat this tiny, frail, shriveled-up old woman, slowly rocking back and forth, in her wooden rocking chair, filling the room with a highly annoying and continuous, god-awful creaking. We tried speaking with her a few times, but she never, ever spoke a single word, nor responded in any way at all. We assumed that she must have still lived there, and for whatever reason, Just like nothing better than to sit and rock in that room. And during our four or five visits to that house over a span of about a month or so, she did nothing but quiet. hum a creepy, repetitive little melody while continuously rocking and staring off into space as if looking at something or someone that we couldn't see. Getting back to the jarred preserves,

given the overall stillness of the air in this damp and dank basement, all we could ever smell was the strong, tell-tale reek of formaldehyde, damp soil, and something else that we just couldn't identify. The musk of one ripe old granny. I clearly remember once holding one of the many mason jars up to a shaft of light and looking closely at its contents. It looked an awful lot like a partial human jaw, complete with several teeth, including one that seemed to have a silver filling. Like already mentioned, The two floors above us were completely empty, void of all furniture, beds, or anything else that would suggest someone was actually living there.

Other than that creaky rocking chair, of course. So then, where the hell did dear old Granny sleep at night, we thought to ourselves. We figured that her husband, son, or daughter... must have been dropping her off every morning and then picking her up every night, maybe because she wanted to spend her final days in the house where she had grown up. Just to sit there and rock and reminisce about old times, perhaps, this seemed like a plausible theory anyway. Seeing as we were basically breaking and entering into this now condemned house, which also had a notice posted on the front door to that effect, we made sure not to tell our parents or anyone else.

It seemed as if as quickly as we'd discovered this neat little new hideout of ours, it just as quickly came to an abrupt end and evaporated. After spending a couple of hours once again hanging out in the cellar and spending time listening to Granny hum her hauntingly creepy song and enduring the constant creaking of her ancient wooden rocking chair, we eventually left. A few days later, when my friend and I made our way back over to our favorite hangout house... Our whole world, all at once, came crashing down. We arrived and were both stunned when we saw that the house was now gone. There, instead of the house, now stood nothing but a brightly colored yellow bulldozer, moving slowly, back and forth, carefully leveling the ground.

and sitting right on top of where our clubhouse used to be. We approached cautiously and walked right up alongside of a heavyset worker in a bright neon orange vest. He quickly twisted his head around to face us on noticing our presence and immediately screamed, Hey, you boys shouldn't be here! Followed by, You have to leave right now!

It's very dangerous. Please go. Concerned, I yelled back up to him, but the very loud motor noise made by the bulldozer drowned everything out. He then leaned down and put his ear close to my mouth. I repeated, Where's the old lady? When did she leave? He stared at me with this totally confused and puzzled look on his face.

and responded, What the hell are you talking about? What old woman? This house is condemned and hasn't had anyone living in it for like two years now, and the only old woman that ever lived here died eight years ago. Ever since hearing him say those last words, and to this very day, I can't help but wonder what really happened to that rocking, humming granny. Was she buried alive, or was she in fact nothing more than just a ghostly apparition? One that somehow clung to that small upstairs room in the house, like the smell of long-ago burnt toast, which somehow manages to linger in the air. and remain for a long time into the future. Well, my spookies, I hope nobody mistook those basement jars for Halloween treats,

because that would be a jarring experience. Keep those candy buckets close, because there's another house on our trick-or-treat route, and the children upstairs have a game to show us. So close your eyes, stay very quiet, and whatever you hear, don't peek. Bones in the Attic, by Gary D. up in Ontario. This is just one of those weird early childhood experiences that can't help but stick with you forever.

It makes me wonder and question as to what really happened because what I think I saw that day sure as hell doesn't make any sense and couldn't have been real. When I was a preteen, I used to go up into the attic of an old house with my girlfriend Zita, as in friend that was a girl that her mother owned.

This was back in the day when folks really weren't aware of the dangers related to fiberglass insulation. This cramped and awkwardly peaked little space located just under the roof was literally jam-packed with the stuff. lying all over the floor in massive, roughly six-foot-long by four-foot-wide, three-inch-thick sheets. These pink-colored, what at the time appeared to us as fluffy, cotton-candy mattresses were far more dangerous than they looked, and we ever imagined. We often spent two or more hours up there at a time, running around and playing, mesmerized and in complete awe of the glistening, sparkly snowflakes that we saw floating in the air, lit up by the small shafts of light coming in through the only two small

windows that were up there. Little did we know that we were in the process inhaling clouds of tiny glass fibers into our fragile little lungs. How were we to know? I'm actually quite shocked that I'm currently not dependent on a pure oxygen-emitting respirator. We weren't young and stupid, but more like young and naive, or better yet, young and uninformed.

And if that doesn't already sound scary enough, then what I'm going to tell you next is nothing short of terrifying. Being young kids and having short attention spans, we naturally got bored very easily. Tired of all the typical games we often invented our own. One game in particular we called Don't Peek. This game was best played on dark, overcast days when light conditions were very low up there and everything was in shadows. Or at night, once the sun had fully gone down. The rules were very simple.

Both of us would shut our eyes, promise not to peek, no matter what, and, most importantly, keep absolutely still and quiet, swearing not to say a single word. it was a fun game and we sure giggled a lot whenever we did this we'd usually just hear all the typical house noises that you'd expect to hear walls and floorboards creaking and crackling either from others walking around downstairs or in the winter because they were contracting from the extreme cold.

Other than that, not much else, really. We'd make it more fun, well, more, like, creepy, by warning each other during the game not to dare open an eye to peek and sneak a look for fear of seeing something horrifying, a sinister creature that would steal our souls and then drag us kicking and screaming into the abyss. Over the months, we probably played this stupid game like dozens of times, till we got bored and then moved on to something else.

The fun lasted until that one fateful day when shit suddenly got way too real. While playing our made-up game of Don't Peek for like about the umpteenth time, and just as we were getting ready to call it quits, the proverbial heart, lungs, liver, and intestines suddenly hit the fan. I remember Zeta giggling and at one point calling out to me in that hot, stuffy attic, Don't you dare look or they're gonna get ya! Followed by an excited and happy high-pitched squeal. Having grown rather tired and bored of this game by now, seeing as it was so lame and predictable, the silly notion popped into my head to crack open an eye, just a hair, and playfully take a quick look. Like, what could possibly go wrong?

Big mistake. As soon as my eyelid opened, just a sliver, I suddenly saw something moving in the attic, directly in front of me. I immediately thought it was Zita, being silly and walking around, but then I heard her laughing, right behind me. I quickly pinched my eyes, tightly shut, and that's when I heard it. A disturbing nauseating sound, like several dry wooden tree branches or sticks crackling and snapping, along with the high-pitched rattling of what sounded an awful lot like hundreds of dried-out seashells on a string, all clanging and banging together. What is that? Zeta screamed out in a scared, timid voice. I don't know, maybe your mom's up here, I replied. That's when I decided to open both eyes to take a better look, and what

I saw scared the crap right out of me and made me shriek like a little schoolgirl, slowly staggering creepily towards me, and what I truly believe I saw that day was what looked a hell of a lot like a full, complete human skeleton, with its yellowed bones, shriveled-up, apple-doll, skin-covered face with blankly-staring, empty eye sockets, chomping up and down blackened, crooked teeth and countless dangling strips of rotting flesh from its arms and its legs. Welcome back, my spookies.

Apparently that skeleton didn't get the memo. Halloween decorations are supposed to stay where you put them. Let's leave the creaky houses behind and take our candy bags out under the October moon. There's a pumpkin patch just past the graveyard, and we still need a jack-o'-lantern for the porch. Something with a little personality. But don't worry, we have just the thing. Our final Halloween treat of the night. Pumpkinhead by Gary D. up in Ontario. They called him Pumpkinhead from the day he was born. Eugene Blatt led a hard and troubled life. Starting at a very young age, his devious, sinister, and mischievous ways ultimately became his undoing.

Going from petty thief to bank robber before he was even sixteen, Eugene was not only a nuisance to his distressed parents, but also to the entire county. The day inevitably came when Eugene's luck had finally run out. Captured in the act of blatantly trying to rob a jewelry store in the middle of the day and in front of many witnesses, he was promptly thrown in jail, where he then immediately assaulted other inmates and thereby extended his overall sentence. Eugene had been incarcerated for just over three years for the armed robbery charge as well as the prison assaults before his daring Halloween Eve escape from the high-security Milltown Penitentiary in Connecticut. It was shortly after midnight

as Eugene was being chased through an old graveyard by several police officers. together with their loud, barking tracking dogs, when the unthinkable happened. It occurred when Eugene fell from atop a large tree branch while desperately trying to jump over and clear the top of a very tall, spike-tipped pole on a heavy metal fence that encompassed the entire cemetery.

When Eugene's head became clear, firmly impaled on impact, and then violently torn clean off from the downforce and sheer weight of his 230-pound body. And to the horror of his pursuers, his headless body suddenly sprang up from the ground with arms and hands wildly flailing about, apparently trying to find his missing head. and when finally located, proceeded to violently twist and pluck it off of its sharp iron spike, tuck it under his arm, and then run full speed into the middle of a dark and foggy nearby pumpkin patch. The authorities conducted a thorough search for over three days, but never did manage to recover his body, nor his head. And it wasn't until exactly one year later, on the following Halloween, when an elderly gentleman walking his

dog through that same field of ripe pumpkins made a grave discovery. Amidst the hundreds upon hundreds of pumpkins of all shapes and sizes that lay in that field, There sat one unique and peculiar, and rather large, misshapen one. Creepily, it displayed all of Eugene's exact same facial features, right down to his large set of slowly blinking, bloodshot eyes, bulbous, crooked nose, as well as his signature devious grin. When the dog walker heard said pumpkin angrily growl, he then ran away screaming as fast as his aching arthritic legs would allow. He then contacted officials and they went out immediately to see what was up. Baffled and confused, those present on closer examination discovered that this giant, grotesque, and

festering humanesque gourd, was in fact alive, adorned with an apparently fully functional set of eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. These facial features all moved and contorted as onlookers shrieked in horror and disbelief. Eugene's parents were duly dispatched and quickly brought to the scene, and once having gazed upon this pumpkin, both immediately broke down in anguished moans and tears as they realized that this was indeed their dear son Eugene. Or was it? When two people attempted to lift the pumpkin, it was noticed that a very thick, vine-like root held it firmly to the ground. Shovels were brought out and the digging began. The root went down six feet, and was, shockingly, attached to Eugene's body. It

made absolutely no sense, but his body was found to still be warm and seemingly alive. It looked like a robust, fleshy root, but not one that anyone had ever seen. Someone had the bright idea to pull out a knife and cut the pumpkin free from the root. And that is when all hell broke loose. The pumpkin head, all at once, started howling in apparent pain, projectile vomiting a disturbing mixture of both rotten pumpkin seeds and what looked to be pink, tightly folded bits of brain matter. It was like an out-of-control fireman's water hose, spraying directly into the faces of all those nearby. Then came the blood.

Lots and lots of blood. The body-shaped carrot concoction in the earthly grave then began to rhythmically twitch and contort, and soon thereafter violently convulsed as if sitting in the electric chair, and before anyone could even react, both head and body, all of a sudden and simultaneously, exploded in one loud, deafening boom, thereby immediately caking everyone in a thick, coagulated and macabre coating of glistening bright red blood, pumpkin, brain, human teeth, pumpkin seeds, and Of course, all the other bodily contents which Eugene's limbed but headless soil potato had contained. Well, I think we can skip the pumpkin pie. A big bloody thank you to Gary D. up in Ontario, Canada for tonight's three twisted treats. Pass this episode to a

friend who loves Halloween. Just think of it as a chain letter, but instead of horrors befalling you if you don't share it, I'll just be really bummed out and have to cry into my sack of fun-sized Kit Kats. And make sure you're subscribed because tomorrow I'll be back for an episode of Cutting Deep into Horror, talking all about the immortal classic that is Hellraiser. We have a great time talking about that BDSM-infused horror film that never dies.

And I want to say thank you all so much for heading to weeklyspooky.com slash join and supporting us for as little as $ 1 a month. It really does make a huge difference for the show. There are over 90 Spookys supporting us, and now's a great time for you to join up as well. And speaking of, I want to say an extra special thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters. Those are folks who pay just a little bit more to hear their names at the end of the show. And they are Johnny Nix, Kate and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Mike Eschewy, Jenny Green, Karen Wemet, Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen. Thank you all so much. And if you want to hear your name at the end of every episode of Weekly Spooky, just head to weeklyspooky.com slash

join and sign up at the $ 15 a month or higher tier. It really makes a difference and means a whole hell of a lot to me. But now it's time for me to get back to work because as October approaches, we'll be publishing more than just once a day. We'll have special novellas, extra stories, all kinds of goodies for you to enjoy right here, so make sure you're subscribed.

Now it's time for me to get back to it. So many things to record, including a very special Thursday Thrills episode. with brand new horror Halloween releases you will not want to miss. So, see you tomorrow. For myself, for my executive producers, Rob Fields and Bobletopia.com, my producer, Dan Wilder, and my creepy composer, Ray Mattis, talk at you tomorrow.

Thank you for listening.

Make sure to find your way back next week.

But for now, you are safe.

Trust me.

Three Twisted Halloween Treats | Ghost Stories & Pumpkin Horror

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