Deep Dive
Shownotes Transcript
I'm Daphne Wollsencroft, and you're listening to Nightwatch, a show of terrifyingly true stories. If you'd like your story told on the show, email it to watcher at nightwatchpod.com. ♪♪♪
This happened about four years ago, months before the COVID pandemic would keep me locked inside my house for months on end, which was almost the last place I wanted to be after this terrifying experience. It was a November night, and the weather in eastern Massachusetts was growing colder and colder by the day.
At the time, I lived by myself in a fairly nice suburb that was only a 10-minute walk from the coast's edge, which both me and my golden retriever loved. By the way, I was 36 at this time, and I'm a woman. My dog and I lived alone, and I hadn't dated anyone in months, as my schedule was quite busy due to my job I'd commute to in Boston. I hadn't been looking for love either, as spending my nights in with my dog, cooking
cooking lavish meals and watching Netflix or curling up with a good book was more than enough to keep me happy. And I could afford to take care of myself, living amongst families and older couples in a cul-de-sac where the most exciting thing to happen on a normal basis was someone's kid having a birthday party or a neighbor redoing their yard. All was quiet and calm and wonderful every single day.
My kitchen window faced the street, but typically I was shielded by a large tree out in front of it that had recently been taken down due to a termite infestation. But I didn't really mind. Because again, the street was nice and calm, and anyone who would see me pouring my nightly glass of wine or doing dishes at the sink was a neighbor I knew, or a delivery driver who would shortly be on their way out of our little street for good.
I didn't even feel the need to get blinds to cover the windows because I just didn't see a point. This particular night was the first terribly cold and wet night of the fall season, it being very early November.
I was bundled up in wool and standing at the sink as I often did after dinner, washing my dish of warm butternut squash ravioli that I cooked from scratch. My golden retriever, her name is Lemon, was curled up at my feet, snoring away on the kitchen floor to the banal sounds of lapping water against both my bowl under the faucet and the windows around us from the medium rain outside.
It was a brisk, cozy night, my favorite. I must have been dozing off into my washing because suddenly, at the sound of nothing that I heard, Lemon jumped from her slumber and barked, running around the kitchen to investigate the noise. I dropped the dish in my sink in fright, completely startled by how sudden she barked.
This was the only reason I ever wished that I didn't live alone, was when Lemon randomly barked at nothing after the sun went down when it was completely dark outside. It didn't happen very often, but it always scared me more than it should. Was she sensing something I wasn't? Smelling someone? Hearing someone I couldn't? I gave her a reassuring pet, and with my heart pounding, I paused to listen.
Nothing. All I could hear was the rain. So then I wondered if maybe Lemon was just sensing an oncoming storm. Maybe there was a strike of thunder that had blended in with the rain in my own head. But almost as quickly as that theory came to my head, it left. Because very quickly, I felt I knew the real reason my dog barked.
I finished washing my dish and grabbed my dish towel to dry it when I finally did hear a noise. By then, Lemon was in the living room, investigating no doubt, as a quick hit the window in front of the sink. I jumped another very obvious startle but laughed immediately, thinking my neighbor had come by for something.
As I looked into the window in front of me, all I could see was a reflection of myself as the dimmed kitchen lights were reflecting off the slightly foggy single pane glass of my dated windows. I put my whole face against the glass, cupping my eyes with my hands, but I couldn't see anyone outside, just my grassy front yard and the street.
Still thinking it was my neighbor, I headed to the front door, opened it, and peeked out to the area of my kitchen window. No one was out there. I knew I heard a very obvious, as though someone's knuckle was rapping against the glass to get my attention. But without seeing a cause for the noise, I started to try and rationalize what I heard. Maybe it was a tree branch or something falling in the sink.
No, no, no. I know what I heard. I locked the front door behind me and reluctantly returned to the kitchen, peeking out both windows to see an empty, wet street lit only by the scattered lampposts down on the sidewalk.
My gut was telling me to go into the living room where every window and door was covered by curtains and to stay away from the vulnerability that was standing in my kitchen at night. I mean, really, even down from the street, which was at least four car lengths away, you could very clearly see me if I'm standing in my kitchen. I'm completely exposed in there.
But I wanted to make a cup of tea so I could start the next book on my list and bundle up by the fire with lemon. Again, these were my favorite type of nights. But this would mean I would need to be in the kitchen for a few more minutes. So I sucked it up and I waited for the kettle to boil. And while I did, I
I texted my next door neighbor, Janie, who's a jovial and lovely woman in her 60s, whose house I could see from my kitchen window as my kitchen was at the far left side of my house facing her house that she shared with her husband.
My driveway and her driveway were lined up right against each other with just a small strip of grass between them. When I looked over, I could see the blinking light from her living room TV through the kitchen window, which told me that she was probably awake, and it was only 8 p.m. anyway. So I texted her something like, "'Hi, you didn't just come over, did you?' I heard a knock on the kitchen window, and it kind of spooked me."
As soon as I sent it, I felt ridiculously silly. I heard one double knock and I'm already texting my neighbor. But just moments, seconds after I sent it, I heard the knock again. This time coming from behind me.
I had been leaning my tailbone against the counter with the window looking over at Janie's house right behind my back, and the window I heard the tap on before directly to my left above the sink. When I heard that knock again, although my body lightly jumped but terrified me inside, I hesitated looking out the window this time.
Instead, I waited a second and then calmly walked out of sight into my living room to sit on the couch with Lemon officially trembling. I didn't want to tip whoever it was off that I was afraid.
From the couch, no one could see me, so I wasn't exposed anymore. And I racked my brain for minutes in silence, thinking about whether or not all my doors were locked, and knew that they were, so I stayed in the safety of my enclosed living room, listening for more sounds while I thought about what to do next.
Lemon was fully alert by now, looking around the room quickly and jogging around the house, which only put me more on edge. Minutes passed of pure silence and no reply from Janie, but my heart was still pounding. As Lemon returned to my side, I considered texting our coldest at group chat about the knocker, but a big part of me still felt silly, like I was overreacting.
Bringing it up to Janie was one thing, but telling the whole cul-de-sac without even seeing anything felt downright ridiculous. But every minute that passed without a response from Janie, the more afraid I was. And the more sure I was that whoever was outside my window was not my neighbor. Then, suddenly, I got an incoming call from Janie.
I don't know why, but the fact that she was calling me almost put me at ease, as though she was outside and just trying to get my attention. But deep down, I knew it couldn't have been her. If it was, why would she be knocking on my window and not my front door? And why would she be out in the rain anyway?
I answered the phone and immediately could tell that Janie sounded concerned, saying she was sorry she didn't get back right away, but she had been on the phone with her daughter.
The tone of her voice made goosebumps rise across my body. There was a worried urgency. She said to me, don't go outside. Are your doors locked? Janie has a security camera positioned in her carport, which is visible from my house.
The carport is directly on the other side of her kitchen window that I can see from outside of my own. And for context, the camera isn't pointed directly at my kitchen, which she told me when she installed it some months prior, but it does show part of the side of my house outside where my kitchen is.
I actually like this thought because you can see part of my driveway and it made me feel safe. Not that I felt unsafe enough to get cameras of my own, but still. So Janie told me that when she got my texts, she checked that camera to see if anyone came up in my driveway, thinking it was probably just the Amazon guy, if anyone. And when she checked, someone showed up in the frame.
She quickly told me that she could see a person clad in dark clothes walking beyond her carport on the side of my house. She said they walked around the back, came back to the front and out of sight by my kitchen, and then slowly walked to the back of the house again before once again returning to the front.
Somebody was going back and forth between my front yard and my backyard. The same someone who knocked on my window twice. I instantly felt unbelievable terror. She assured me her husband was already calling police for me and asked me if I had heard or seen anyone else. When I said no, she told me again to make sure my doors were locked.
And even though I thought they already were, I said screw it and ran around my house in front of all of the open windows, making damn sure I was right. Janie waited on the phone with me until police arrived just a few minutes later, and she was able to share the video with me when they arrived. It will be burned into my memory forever how slowly and curiously this stranger was walking around my house.
Unfortunately, without the person's face being seen on the camera, we had no idea who they were or what they wanted.
Other neighbors were asked to submit any camera footage they had, and one of my neighbors even caught this person walking down our street that night, but couldn't catch their face either. The next day, I got curtains at Target and a security camera from Best Buy, but I asked my sister to stay with me for a few nights to keep me company just in case.
It terrified me until I moved out a couple years later, and it still haunts me to this day. For this next story, don't forget to check the backseat. Years ago when I was a teenager, about 18, my best friend Lizzie and I headed out for a road trip.
Living in the Los Angeles area, we wanted to spend the weekend in San Francisco to explore a new place, even though both of us had been but never together. We couldn't go until we finished classes at our community college first, but we both finished for the day at around 3 p.m. So with a six or so hour drive ahead of us, we'd arrive a couple hours after dark.
Even though neither of us liked the idea of driving up there, just us two girls with part of the middle-of-nowhere portion of California being unlit by the sun, we wanted to utilize all of Saturday, as it would be our only full day there, and we had plans to go to various sites, restaurants,
restaurants, and then later that night, a concert to see one of our favorite alternative rock bands. This being 2001, neither of us had cell reception on our shitty Nokias most of the drive, but we didn't care. We listened to music the whole way in Lizzie's Honda CRV, drinking gas station coffee and feeling young and free. But all that coffee caught up to us about three quarters of the way through our drive.
The sunset was off in the distance as we pulled into a gas station in a very small city that I won't mention for privacy, that's basically just surrounded by dairy farms and open valleys. And a McDonald's across the street just out of sight behind some trees. When we got to the gas station, it was suspiciously empty for the time of evening.
One car was exiting as we pulled in, leaving us as the only ones there. But I barely noticed because all I was thinking about was relieving myself and then getting back on the road. Lizzie parked next to a pump one row from the entrance and stuck the nozzle into the gas tank, leaving it running while we headed inside.
I ran into the single room bathroom first while Lizzie perused the snacks. And when I came out, she went into the bathroom and I told her I'd be in the car. When I got into the car, I closed the door behind me and was immediately grabbed from behind. I couldn't scream because someone's hand was covering my mouth. I remember their hand was hot and clammy and large and smelled like metal.
I had no idea what was going on or what to do, but I knew the person behind my seat wasn't Lizzie. The parking lot was still empty, so I couldn't surmise where this person came from or how long they'd even been in the car.
The last time we'd stopped was two hours earlier, so there was no way this person had been in there the whole time, sitting behind my seat since I'd been grabbing various things from my duffel bag on the back seat throughout our drive. After covering my mouth, the man told me to calm down and skid backwards to join him in the back seat.
I didn't know if his plans were to assault me back there or steal the car, but I knew there was no way I was going to follow those instructions. I thought fast of what to do, and it's almost as though the man could read my mind because next he said, don't try anything. I have a weapon. I didn't see or feel a weapon. All I could feel was his hand. And since it was a CRV, so a medium-sized car,
I could barely even see in the rearview mirror from the way my head was being pulled, so I couldn't see the man's face. As I maneuvered to make it seem like I was following his demands, he proceeded to tell me that me and my friend were pretty, and that he couldn't wait until she got into the car so he could have his way with both of us.
I wanted to vomit and scream and cry, and with my phone sitting in the cup holder, I wished it would miraculously self-dial 911 so they could hear what this guy was saying. I still couldn't speak with his disgusting, sweaty hand covering the lower half of my face, so I simply nodded to show agreement in his overall request to look like I was cooperating.
I couldn't stop staring at the inside of the gas station's convenience store with the corner of my eye, willing Lizzie to see the struggle and get help from the attendant behind the counter. But I could hardly see, and she still wasn't coming outside. At this point, I had no choice but to follow his demands and get in the back seat.
I took as much time as I could, and it's hard to tell exactly how long it actually was, but it was probably around a minute or so until I was finally in the back seat. The man had a balaclava on his face, so I could only see his eyes, which were piercingly blue. I will never forget those eyes. He appeared to be a large man, with his right hand concealed in his pocket.
Within a minute of me getting into the backseat, Lizzie made her way out of the convenience store and towards the car. And the man ordered me to stay silent, still holding my face with his hand, pulling the back of me towards his chest. I could tell he was getting impatient because his knee was shaking like crazy.
I could feel his head consistently turning and his breath quickening, like he wanted to yell, get in the car, at Lizzie, but he couldn't. He just had to wait. I could tell Lizzie hadn't seen us yet because she casually and leisurely finished pumping her gas for at least 30 seconds before heading to the driver's side door.
Before she could get into her seat, a car drove into the parking lot from the entrance in front of us, driving right up to the pump that was directly on the other side of ours. I couldn't believe the timing. It was truly like divine intervention. It almost made me laugh out loud, but I couldn't do anything but plan and be tactful.
Knowing the car was unlocked, I risked it all as Lizzie was getting in because I knew if she entered the car and closed the door, we'd be screwed. I needed to take the opportunity while this other person was getting out of their car.
For all I knew, they were going to do just what Lizzie did, put the pump into the tank and go inside. And then it would be too late for us. With the way the man was holding me, I was able to push my head up hard and whack him in the chin before swinging my body around and kicking him in the chest while simultaneously opening the door behind me and falling out backwards, screaming for help.
I probably scared the absolute daylights out of Lizzie, who turns out hadn't the slightest clue of what was going on. She and the person on the other side of the pump came running to my aid, while the stranger man in the car went running across the street towards the McDonald's. Lizzie's just screaming, what happened? Repeatedly, while the other person, who ended up being a very nice woman, went running for the gas station attendant to get help.
We never learned who the man was or how he did get into the car, but after racking our brains for the rest of the drive to our San Francisco hotel, completely shaken, we determined that he must have been lurking nearby, watching as we entered the gas station, coming up with some sick, opportunistic plan as he crawled in the back of the car.
It's safe to say I always check my backseat before getting into my car now, as this experience still crosses my mind nearly every single day. I'm sorry to anybody who had to listen to that while they were driving. This next one makes me glad my babysitting days are far gone.
Last year, I was babysitting for my neighbors. I do this a couple times a month for them when the kids' parents want to go out because I live so close, and as a 20-year-old who still lives at home, I could use the extra cash. I usually really enjoy watching the kids who are 8 and 11 because they're easygoing and not bratty like some of the other kids I've babysat for.
and their parents are nice and pay well, so whenever they ask, I'm happy to say yes. One day, I was going to watch the kids and stopped over a few hours earlier on request of the mom. I'll call her Missy. Missy asked me to stop by so she could show me a broken window on the side of the house while it was still light outside.
She didn't know how the window got broken, but assumed one of the avocados from the tree above had gotten chucked at the window by one of the wild California squirrels that usually run all around it, as it happened without she or anyone else in the house hearing it. When I look back on this day after it happened, I remember that as we went to her front yard and she was telling me about the broken window and confirming my time to come over that night,
A man was sitting in his car across the street. I made brief eye contact with him, and he looked like a normal guy in his 50s, but his dingy car was out of place for our neighborhood. When I met his gaze, he looked away at a different house suspiciously quickly, rolled up his window, and started driving away. Kind of weird, but I didn't think much of it.
Missy finished telling me about how she had called to get the window replaced, but that her handyman, Rinaldo, couldn't make it out until two days later. And I remembered his name was Rinaldo because it was the name of my childhood dog. Again, I didn't think much of it, and I wasn't worried about the window because it was connected to the laundry room, and she had covered it up with plastic for the time being, so it didn't feel like a danger.
And maybe it was because I grew up on this street, but I didn't feel unsafe about being in our neighborhood enough to worry about a simple broken window. So I headed back home, cleaned my room, hung out, and waited for 6 p.m. to arrive. It was February, so the sun was still setting early, just before the time I was supposed to head to my neighbor's house.
But again, even as a 20-year-old girl, walking in the dark didn't worry me because I knew the street so well and was only a few houses down. After I arrived, I made some quesadillas for the kids and put on Back to the Future, which neither of them had seen before. I thought it would be a fun movie to watch with them for the first time, so we cozied up on the couch to watch. When suddenly, I heard the doorbell ring.
It startled all three of us, as their house is older and has a doorbell chime that's reminiscent of an old haunted mansion. The bells visibly clang together in the foyer and continue to vibrate for minutes after the bell has been pushed outside. But it only heard it a few times since babysitting for them when we ordered a pizza or something.
But we didn't order anything, so why someone would be ringing the doorbell at night was really concerning to me. But as the babysitter, I was the oldest in the house and therefore responsible for the kids. So I took a deep breath and walked to the front door like I wasn't a little on edge. ♪
The front door isn't visible from the living room, as it's straight down the hallway, so the kids weren't in view of the door. But still, I didn't want to open it straight away. Again, since their house is old, they even have this ornate rectangular box on the door that acts as kind of a peephole. But it's about the size of an iPhone, but a little wider, with a bronze gate on the other side to act as a barrier.
This makes it so you can open it and have a conversation with the person on the other end whose appearance is slightly skewed by the vintage bronze gate. It's like a peephole you can talk through. Anyway, so I open it up to see a white man, probably in his 50s, standing on the other side of the door with a smile on his face. "'Hi, who are you?' I asked him. "'I'm Jim. I'm here to fix a broken window.'
I immediately thought back to my conversation earlier that day with Missy when she told me that a guy named Ronaldo was coming to fix it, but that it wouldn't be for a couple days. And the whole reason I came over at all was so she could show me it since it wouldn't be fixed until after this babysitting gig.
My phone was back on the couch, but I considered going back for it to call Missy when the guy said something like, I'll just be in and out. It's an easy fix. It's just at the back of the house, correct? From what I could tell through the peeper box, he was wearing a work uniform, but I still found it so strange that he was reporting after usual working hours. It was after seven by then.
I almost opened the door, but my gut clenched, telling me that something was off. So I replied with something like, sorry, there's no broken window here, which was a lie. But even if he was telling the truth, I would rather have told Missy that I erred on the side of caution and have her reschedule. Plus, she would have texted me if someone was able to come that night.
When I said this, the man on the other side of the door started to get stern and his smile vanished. I know there's a broken window. The woman who owns this house called my company and I'm here to do a job. Just let me in. Suddenly, my heart was thumping in my chest because I completely stopped believing what he was telling me.
So I decided to lie again. Well, she's here, so let me get her for you. One sec. And then I closed the peeper box. I ran into the living room in the least I'm scared right now way to not freak the kids out and grab my cell phone. Then I headed to the den, which is right next to the front door, and peeked through the curtains gently as I called Missy.
As the phone rang, I could see the man jumping into his car across the street and driving off. And that's when I first wondered if what I could see of the guy resembled the person I saw on the street earlier that day when Missy was telling me about the window. Missy answered quickly, and I immediately asked her if someone was scheduled to come fix the window that night.
When she said no and sounded confused, I explained the situation. She and her husband came home right away and called the police. But I don't think they ever caught the guy or figured out who he was and what he wanted. But they knew he wasn't really there to fix the window. Our final story today is about what goes bump in the night. Well, in the forest.
First off, I need you all to know that I don't believe in the paranormal, not that the story I'm about to tell can even be categorized as a paranormal story. Though in all fairness, I don't know how I can describe it other than it's unexplainable.
And I think the unexplainable can often be written off as such too easily. With the stamp of the word paranormal, it almost becomes acceptable that we just don't know what it is that we saw or heard or witnessed, and we leave it as such, for better or for worse. But all I know is that the story I'm about to tell really scared me. And it really happened.
My wife and I live in a very rural area of England, over two hours by train from a major city. All our town has is small shops, lots of farmland, and dense wooded forests. It's peaceful here, relaxed. Some would find the solitude eerie or unsettling, but I think it's brimming with charm. It has all my wife and I need in a village.
There's a couple major rural roads that eventually reach larger areas, and they also border the farms and woods I mentioned. So as they're not often clogged with vehicles, my wife and I enjoy taking strolls alongside them to enjoy the nature at just about any point in the year. This evening in question was the perfect night for a post-dinner stroll, which we set off on at around 10 o'clock.
Because of how rural our area is, there's basically no light pollution and the stars are bright, but never bright enough to light our way. And this has proven to be dangerous for cars, especially because of the livestock in the area. Plus, it being rural, people drive drunk on it and it can be a proper disaster on occasion. So we usually walk on either side of the road, the farm side or the wood side.
The long, thin road itself that we enjoy walking along doesn't have lampposts. It's a country road in the middle of a field. So we always bring one of those large police flashlights with us to provide maximum light, even though we don't always use them. Sometimes we allow our eyes to adjust to the sky's natural glow to experience optimum peace before skittering off to bed. But we always bring it regardless.
Just in case. We don't have to turn around on these walks because the road loops around and connects to an even smaller road that leads back to the area where our house is. So it makes a bit of a half circle shape.
It was a beautiful evening, and my wife and I had nice conversations sprinkled with bouts of silence. And after around 35 minutes, we were closing in on the end of our walk, with the small country road trailing off just ahead and to our left. And we were pretty glad to be finishing up, because the night was getting cold, with each word out of our mouths producing a cloud of steam.
As we headed up towards the turnout, we heard crunching sounds in the woods off to our right. The woods are there our entire walk, but they're around 30-some-odd meters away, so not close enough to feel like we're in them, but close enough to hear something at the edge of the trees, especially since on this night, we were walking on the right side of the road where the woods are located.
It was a rustling sound, but not like an animal was running or even walking, because it was slow. One step after the next, after the next. A two-footed being. Immediately, my wife and I got the same strange feeling in our stomachs, and we looked at each other.
We'd had the flashlight on during the last couple minutes, anticipating heading down the dirt country road. So I lifted the light and flashed it right at the source of the noise. As soon as I did, the sound ceased, almost as though it knew it had been caught. All I can see is overexposed blaring light against tree trunks and branches. So I go lower, higher, left, right, trying to catch it.
I'm moving the flashlight so fast because I'm afraid I'll miss whatever it is. I tell my wife to stand back and get on the other side of the road in case it's a vicious animal, as some of the animals inside those woods include foxes and bats. But this didn't sound like it could possibly be either of those. And then suddenly, I'm hit with the stark scent of something rotten.
The best way I can describe it to this day is that it was as though you cooked boiled eggs and broccoli and then left them in the kitchen for a week. Just after the smell hits my nostrils, my wife lets out a scream. I jump back and turn around to see what's happened to her, but she's just pointing at the woods, asking me if I saw it.
I didn't see a thing or hear any new movements, so I was filled with confusion. Until she said the words, I think it was a person up in the tree. I hadn't pointed my flashlight high enough because I was sure whatever was making the sound was down on the ground. Because like I said, it was the sound of two feet walking.
I shuffled backwards and pointed the flashlight up into the trees at her instruction. And that's when I saw it. Up at least three meters into the tree, taller than a person would usually go up, I could see someone crouching. Someone big. And the reason I mentioned the paranormal earlier is because whatever this thing was, my wife was wrong. It didn't look like a person.
The best I could describe it, it looked like a creature with human features. Two legs, two arms, bald, hairless head. I didn't shine my light on it long enough to glean more details because the amount of fear that took over, knowing we were the only people out on the road, that we were still minutes from home, and that we were practically at this thing's mercy, I didn't know what to do.
I grabbed my wife's hand and sprinted as fast as possible back home. I didn't know if this thing was following us or what, but I knew we had to keep running. Every time we turned around, there was no one behind us, but we didn't want to stop until we got inside.
If you saw us running up our street that night, you'd probably think we were mental, but we knew what we both saw. And it makes me feel better that she saw it too. It just solidifies my own memory. We haven't figured out what was sitting in the trees that night, looking down at us. But it's only been about a month since this happened. Everyone that we asked down at the pub was astounded to hear such a story, especially as our town is so safe and quiet.
All I know is that we won't be walking down that road, along those woods, any time soon. In today's episode, you heard The Knocker by Ginger, The Road Trip by Lana, and The Knocker by Ginger.
He Wanted to Get In by Jamie. And What Was That Thing in the Tree by James. Each story on Nightwatch is told with the permission of the experiencer. If you have a story for the show, send it to watcher at nightwatchpod.com.
Nightwatch is a Dark West Productions podcast hosted and produced by me, Daphne Wilson-Croft. Also produced by Heath Merriman. Original score by Daniel Amon. Follow us on social media at Nightwatch Stories and tune in every Thursday for a new episode.