Ep238 - Haunted Instruments

From Franklin’s fabled glass armonica to fatal fiddles, ghastly guitars, and phantom pianos, music has long carried more than melody. Sometimes it carries menace. This week, the Hosts tune into cursed compositions and sinister symphonies, where instruments don’t just make music, they make madness. Step into an orchestra pit of the damned as we uncover stories of blood-soaked bandages, melancholy melodies, and instruments that play on long after their masters are gone. Citizens of the Milky Way, prepare yourselves for Haunted Instruments!

Music and Editing by Gage Hurley

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:03):
Hi, I'm looking to buy my first instrument. Nothing too fancy,
just something simple.

Speaker 2 (00:08):
Simple, buddy, you've come to the right place. Biggest selection
in moonset, two time zones and at least one underworld.
Now picture this, bam a Kazoo classic affordable, comes in blue,
comes in red. Well, actually that's a blood stain. But hey,
you gotta play the bleed? Am I right? Pamp?

Speaker 1 (00:24):
I was actually thinking maybe a violin.

Speaker 2 (00:28):
Violin? Sure, sure, elegant choice, real classy, says I read
Dostoyevsky and get my news from Jake Tapper. Just a
tiny disclaimer, though, this one cries blood after midnight. Hey,
some folks like atmosphere. Now, what you really want is
a tambourine.

Speaker 1 (00:44):
No thanks, not really my style.

Speaker 2 (00:46):
What you mean the reen man. All the cool cats
are playing with this nip baby woodstock, Vonna Roue, most nurseries,
you name it, they're all repping' the reen machine. Oh pass,
you're Lostrien till I die.

Speaker 1 (01:04):
That guitar looks pretty nice.

Speaker 2 (01:06):
The guitar. Oh no, you don't want that, trust me,
unless you like being hazed by a demonic biker gang
every time you hit a g cord. But hey, ukulele,
four strings, island vibes, zero brimstone.

Speaker 1 (01:20):
I'll pass on the ukulele.

Speaker 2 (01:22):
What you're kidding me? If this were the twenty tens,
female comedians would kill for a uke like this.

Speaker 1 (01:29):
Well, it's neither the twenty tens, and neither am I
a female comedian? What's wrong with the guitar?

Speaker 2 (01:35):
Moving on? Check out this recorder, solid plastic, built to last.
Never once has Simon beels abug? Is that a piano
grand even mahogany, gorgeous only plays Chopin's Funeral March though
day and night won't stop. We've tried unplugging, right, hey,
bonus deal by now I'll throw in the triangle only

(01:59):
kursed on leapi.

Speaker 1 (02:00):
Don't you have anything that isn't cursed?

Speaker 2 (02:03):
Kazoo? Ten bucks?

Speaker 1 (02:06):
Fine, I'll take the kazoo.

Speaker 2 (02:08):
Dead man, welcome.

Speaker 1 (02:10):
What did you just say?

Speaker 2 (02:11):
Oh, I said, cool man Jacken. It's Flemish. It means
good luck, good luck. Play in that kazoo.

Speaker 1 (02:20):
Yeah, jacking isn't a real word.

Speaker 2 (02:23):
Well, the kazoo's not a real instrument, you know.

Speaker 1 (02:26):
Forget it. I'll take the violin, keep the kazoo.

Speaker 2 (02:30):
Of course, sir. My apologies the violin is yours.

Speaker 3 (02:34):
Good day, sir, enjoy your practice, Citizens of the Milky Way.

Speaker 2 (03:07):
My name is Dylan.

Speaker 1 (03:08):
Hackworth and i'm Gage Hurley.

Speaker 2 (03:10):
And you have arrived on opening night of a new
Symphony of sinew An Orchestra of ouch folks. Tonight we're
getting blissies on our fingers, because tonight we're gonna be
talking about haunted musical instruments. Oh that's right, everybody gather in.

(03:33):
We're the Moonseet Opera House right there on Creep Street,
moon Set. Everybody's filing in. They're wanting to hear the latest,
hear the latest in music, and they're about to get
more than they bargain for folks, because for most music
isn't so much a choice than it is a condition
of the very air around us. And that doesn't mean

(03:56):
we don't have a choice. It just means that for
most of us, it's usually just there. You breathe, you whistle.
As you walk to the store, your steps would fall
into a rhythm, you'd start humming a tune in your head.
But of course, music is older than even all of that,
older than corn fields and hymnals, older than spoken language.

(04:20):
The first fellow or gal to knock two sticks together.
They probably weren't trying to invent art, probably just trying
to scare a wolf away, or just break the monotony
on a silent night. But once you hear that beat
echo back, something ignites within you, and to crossed oceans

(04:41):
and centuries, people have kept at it until we have
whole orchestras of sound, each instrument another way of saying
what couldn't be said plainly. But the funny thing is,
for all the joy and healing that music can bring,
it also carries darkness. A fiddle can make your feet dance, yes,

(05:03):
but it can also put you on the edge of
your seat. A church organ fills the sanctuary with praise,
but at night, when the janitor swears he heard that
same organ playing by itself, you might wonder whose praise
it was. Some folks will tell you a violin, once
owned by a desperate gambler carries his bad luck in

(05:26):
its strings, or that an old piano, long since out
of tune, still remembers the funerals it played for. People
say these things with a smile, as though they don't
quite believe them. And yet when the bow touches the strings,
and the key sinks beneath your finger. You feel the
air change. You are not only heard, you might even

(05:50):
feel watched. Music can lift a soul, but it can
break it too, And sometimes late at night you wonder
if it's really you writing the song, or if the
song is merely channeling through you. There was once upon
a time an instrument so peculiar it seems almost like

(06:12):
a joke, the sort of thing that a child might
invent on a rady afternoon. But yet it was very real,
and it quite nearly disappeared from the earth, A fragile,
glittering contraption of glass, said to carry with it a curse.
It sound was not like any fiddle or flute, but

(06:33):
something stranger, as though the air itself had grown cold,
and the rumors on folks tongues was that its tones
had a sinister effect on those who listened too long.
The idea itself was old, going back as far as
the Renaissance. You fill a glass with water, you wet

(06:54):
your finger, and you draw it around the rim, slowly, carefully,
and the note of merges thin and wavering, as if
it were not even meant for human ears. At all,
it has a sort of angelic tone to it. Add
more glasses, fill them at different levels, and then you
have yourself an orchestra of crystal voices. This type of

(07:18):
instrument is called an idiophone, meaning it sings out of
its own vibrations, not from strings or drums. When it
is made of glass, it is often called a crystallophone. Well,
it was in the seventeen forties in London that this
odd form of music enjoyed a brief shimmering moment in vogue.

(07:40):
An irishman named Richard Pockrich, part dreamer, part showman, He
toured the Big Smoke, which was a nickname for London.
I had no idea with his rove goblets, which he
called his glass harp. In Londoners, they came and droves
to marvel at it. Hey one might come to see

(08:01):
a two headed man. And then, as if the thing
had been too delicate to survive, it perished in flames.
Pockrich himself died in a fire that consumed not only
his life but his singular instrument. As though the goblets
had insisted on taking him with them. Yet still the

(08:22):
sound lingered in the imagination of others. The composer Christopher
Willibald Gluck played upon glass and delighted his audiences. Edward
de Leval, a man of learning and curiosity, became another
champion of this strange music. De Leval was even a
friend of Benjamin Franklin, who had the kind of mind

(08:44):
that could look at a row of water glasses and
see not just a parlor trick, but a whole new
world of sound. And so this eerie voice of glass,
born in kitchens and taverns, carried on into concert halls, delicate, treacherous,
and never quite free of its whispered curse. Benjamin Franklin

(09:06):
he was a man who could not leave well enough alone.
Where others saw a parlor trick, he saw a project.
After watching Edward Delaval draw music from glass in seventeen
sixty one, Franklin went home restless, his mind buzzing like
a hive. Soon he called over a glassblower named Charles James,

(09:29):
and together they set about making something entirely new, something
no one had ever quite imagined. They abandoned the row
of goblets standing in their usual line, each filled with
its own uncertain measure of water. Instead, Franklin ordered glass
shaped into vases, each tuned already, each placed in a

(09:52):
row that resembled a piano's keys, thirty seven of them
in fact, set upon a spindle that turned beneath the
player's hand, spun smooth and steady by a foot pedal.
The bolls were color coded, too, so you could see
the tones as well as hear them, Blues and greens

(10:12):
and reds, like a rainbow rearranged for the ear. And
it was easier now and more exact, No more fussing
with how much water to pour or whether the glass
might tip. A player had only to wet their fingers
and touch the spinning edge, and the sound came forth,
like a ghost at your call. With practice, a person

(10:35):
could play not just one note, but ten at once,
the tones hovering and blending like a choir of crystal
voices whispering out of the air. It was a miracle
of invention, to be sure, but also a little unsettling
for those who heard it. Franklin had built not just
an instrument, but a doorway of sorts, a way of

(10:58):
summoning sounds that seemed less like music and more like magic,
as if the air itself had secrets to tell, and
only needed the right hand to free them. Franklin was
as proud of his creation as any father would be
of a newborn child, even giving his creation a name.

(11:18):
At first, he called it the glassy Chord, which sounded
like something half in jest, the sort of word you
might coin in a letter to amuse a friend. But
soon as he christened it more grandly the glass Armonica,
borrowing from the Italian armonica meaning harmony. And while Franklin

(11:39):
had named his creation, the instrument would gather nicknames as
it went out into the world. Some called it the
glass harmonica, others the glass harmonium. It was the bowl
organ to some, the hydro crystallophone to others. In France
it was the Harmonica de vere in Germany the Armonica

(12:02):
de Franklin. As if people could not agree on what
to call this voice that sounded unlike anything else. Yet
despite its multiple names, the sound remained what it always was, haunting, delicate,
and never quite of this earth. Benjamin Franklin would even

(12:22):
later write of his invention, sang quote, the adventures of
this instrument are that its tones are incomparably sweet beyond
those of any other, that they may be swelled and
softened at pleasure by stronger, weaker pressures of the finger,
and continued to any length, and that the instrument, being

(12:43):
well tuned, never again wants tuning. When Franklin's armonica first
sang out in seventeen sixty two, the world was captivated
by a sound that was unlike anything people had heard before,
like a fragile, haunting voice of an angel. It caught
on at once with other musicians, and for a time

(13:03):
the armonica was the marvel of Europe, the toast of
the salons and concert halls. Musicians hurried to master it,
tinkering with its design, as though perfection were always just
one altercation away. Some tried adding keyboards to tame its strangeness,
while others dampened the vibrations with pads to make the

(13:25):
tones clear. Still others even experimented with violin bows in
place of bare fingers. But no matter the refinement, the
sound itself refused to become ordinary. It shimmered in the air,
light but unsettling, like a presence you couldn't see, but
felt all the same, And the great names of music

(13:48):
even bent their ears to it. While Dusari Galupi, niccolo
Jamilli and then even the giants themselves, such as Mozart
in seventeen ninety one, Old Luody Beethoven in eighteen fourteen,
they wrote specifically for it. Charmed and confounded by its

(14:09):
glassy voice, their compositions played before hauls filled to the
brim with listeners hungry for that eerie sound. Even beyond
the composers, the armonica drew admirers of all different sorts.
George Washington himself is said to have tried his hand
at it, the father of a nation, bending over bowls

(14:29):
of glass, attempting to coax from them a tune. Marie Antoinette, too,
before history swept her away, pressed her fingers to the
spinning rims, and drew forth the sound of eternity, much
as she was, fragile and doomed for a season. The
armonica was everywhere an instrument that seemed both too delicate

(14:53):
and too dangerous to last. Yet, no matter how bright
the applause, shadows began to gather around the harmonica. People
gossiped that the very quality that made it sound so
otherworldly is also what made it so dangerous. Those shimmering
tones were beautiful, yes, but too beautiful, much like light

(15:18):
reflected off broken glass. The sound was said to do
harm if one listened too long. The stories spread quickly.
Listeners spoke of dizziness, headaches that would not leave. Some
even fainted. Others complained of nausea or woke up the
next morning with a nosebleed. Sounds like an excuse to me,

(15:40):
but anyway, doctors shook their heads and murmured about nerve damage.
Even the more lurid tales claimed it went even further,
that the armonica carried with it a sorrow that clung
to the very soul of the person hearing it, draping
listeners and melancholy, and in some cases bringing on thoughts

(16:02):
so dark that a person could no longer bear them.
They said it could tip a mind into madness, ster psychosis,
and unraveled sanity altogether. Even those who played it were
not safe. Mary Ann Davies kin to Franklin himself, learned
the instrument and toured with her sister, a talented singer,

(16:24):
but her life took a sharp decline, and some claimed
the armonica had drawn her into despair, as though each
note she coaxed from the glass had taken something from
her in return. The German musicologist Frederick rocklets no fool
and no lover of idle superstition mind you once recommended

(16:47):
that the armonica be played sparingly and never by those
already prone to sadness or unsteady in the mind. For
such people, he warned, the music might open up a
door that they would not be able to close. It
almost sounds like it needs like a doctor's warning, like
at the end of like a commercial for a prescription pill.

(17:09):
It almost sounds like it. The armonica must be used sparingly.
Please contact a doctor if you wake up with nosebleeds.
And so the armonica's fame carried with it none ease,
the sound as lovely as a lullaby, but whispered to
have a power to undo the very ones who listened
to it. Rockletz wrote of the armonica's effects, saying, quote,

(17:33):
the armonica excessively stimulates the nerves, plunges the player into
a nagging depression, hence into a dark and melancholy mood
that is an apt method for slow self annihilation. Well
in time, the whispers grew louder, until the armonica itself
was said to be cursed. No accident, no illness, No

(17:57):
untimely death was to dis stint, to be pinned on
its shimmering tones. If a player happened to faint on stage,
or if a listener fell ill after a concert, if
a neighbor died unexpectedly, it was the harmonica, people said,
nodding with a grim certainty that attends all superstition. The

(18:21):
music had reached out and taken its do. Of course,
how much truth lived in these tales is hard to
know and impossible to tell. Gossip has always had a
way of sharpening its teeth the more it's passed along. Still,
there are reasons, and scientific ones, mind you, that might

(18:43):
explain why people felt so strangely after hearing it. The
harmonica's tones dwell in an odd corner of sound between
one and four killer hertz, a narrow band where the
human ears struggles. At those pitches, the brain cannot easily
tell where the sound is coming from. It drifts, and

(19:04):
it hovers, and it unsettles. So to sit and listen
was to surrender your bearings, to feel the world tilt
just a little bit, like walking across the frozen pond
and hearing the ice crack somewhere behind you. Though you
cannot say from which direction. The confusion, the dizziness, even
the faintness, these may not have been curses after all,

(19:28):
but the natural result of a sound that disorients the
very sense by which we place ourselves in the world.
And yet, whether science or superstition, the harmonica carried its
reputation a ghostly voice blamed from misfortune, its notes both
music and an accusation. And I thought that was interesting,

(19:49):
the idea of we know there's such a thing as
sound cannons like police will use things like that militaries use.
And then there's even hypothetical or ones from conspi, like
the idea of certain notes the government could put on,
like Havana syndrome, like someone from a distance could send
like certain signals that would essentially disorient and make a

(20:11):
person ill. And whatnot. Now you see someone strum a guitar,
you know where it's coming from, the drums, you can
see the and it's kind of right. When you hear
that sound, it does sound like it's a it's coming
from everywhere at once, and nowhere it once in a way,
almost like it could be coming from your own head.
The whole thing about between one and four killer hurts

(20:32):
is there. Do you know anything about how sound kind
of affects the body in that way?

Speaker 1 (20:37):
I'm not sure about in terms of how it affects
the body, especially in that particular frequency range, But those
frequencies are usually like those are like harmonics most instruments,
like the bass frequency that you're hearing, like the core
frequency of the instrument that's going to be under a
thousand hurts or one killer hurts. Now, those are all frequencies.

(21:01):
Of course, we can hear up to about twenty thousand herts.
I want to say twenty killer herts, twenty thousand herts,
but they're very subtle, and so that kind of makes sense.

Speaker 2 (21:11):
Now.

Speaker 1 (21:11):
The other thing it kind of makes me think about
is this idea of simatics, which is that different frequencies
cause particles to arrange in different configurations. And there's some
science to this, not a whole lot of definitive like
what it means kind of thing or actual applications, but
it definitely lends itself to these ideas of sound healing

(21:35):
or sound therapy and things like that. So, I mean,
there certainly is beyond just the experience, the subjective experience
of hearing the frequency. It does actually have a physical
effect on things that we can measure and we have,
and so it's not totally out of the realm with
possibility to think of sounds that could be harmful.

Speaker 2 (21:58):
Right, And just to clear like a Killer her it
is not necessarily the same as like a decibel. It's
not we're not talking about volume. It's about the scale,
which maybe I just maybe most people knew. I just
I just wanted to clarify in case like Killer Her, like,
it's not measuring the volume of something like when they

(22:18):
say like a note that dogs can hear that humans can't,
It doesn't mean it's so like loud that we can't
hear it. It's that it's at a picture a tone
that like wasn't it South Park that did that episode
it was called like the brown note that would make
you your pants, So it's kind of like that, like
like you said, and there's you know, you lean into
more conspiratorial and doesn't necessarily mean it's not true either.

(22:39):
But and I'm sure there has been many government experiments
with sound and how you can use that to basically
control people. But also there's even in some UFO circles
that they talk about maybe harmonics is actually how they travel,
like it's using harmonics is allowing them to pass through space,

(22:59):
like harmonics having an effect on.

Speaker 1 (23:02):
The physical world essentially.

Speaker 2 (23:05):
Exactly, And maybe that's how they can pass grand distances
in a kind of like opening up that Maybe that
is how you open up that rift in space time
or whatever. Well, folks, there's actually another explanation put forth,
and one less mystical, but no less grim. Some said

(23:25):
the harmonica was dangerous because of the very glass it
was made from, because in those days, glass often carried
lead within it, and lead was quite a killer that
touched nearly every corner of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
People ate off of it, drank from it, painted their
walls with it, and slowly would suffer from it. Lead

(23:48):
poisoning is an awful affliction. It begins with headaches, perhaps
a temper that phrased too easily, memory that slips away
like water through your fingers, and then it deepens. There's anemia, seizures,
and in the darkest cases, coma, and even death. All

(24:09):
the things whispered about the harmonica, the melancholy, the weakness, fatigue,
the mind growing unsteady, could have been a familiar toll
of lead poisoning. That is something we hear about a lot.
They talked about how like, you know, like Roman plumbing
had a lot of lead in it. And maybe that's
why folks like Caligula were so fucking batch nuts and

(24:32):
would do all these crazy things or why I think
it was in the nineteen seventies when they mandated the
unletting of gasoline, and how like they say, the nineteen
seventies was like the peak of like serial killer center,
like that was like in all the major cities, like
the seventies going into the eighties. Like obviously serial killers
still exist, but there's many things that lead to one

(24:55):
being a serial killer. It's not just one. It's not
just a one stop shot. But when you think about
it and you think, oh, a congested area like New
York or something where that is in the atmosphere more
often you know, it's trapped in the buildings and there's
just the sheer amount of cars on this rip. Yeah, okay,
I could see that. Why that would suddenly you get

(25:15):
a son of Sam or a you know, a nightstalker
out of Obviously those folks also had there was other
things that led to and some are born evil something.
You know. We're abused, you know. But if you add
to it this ingredient, it doesn't certainly doesn't help.

Speaker 1 (25:31):
It could exacerbate it on a large scale, you know exactly.
That's what I There's always individual everything is case by case.
But when you look at a large group, a large population,
there can be other factors that contribute to a pervasive pattern.

Speaker 2 (25:50):
Right, and yet the truth remains uncertain to this day.
Tests suggests that the harmonica may have contained only trace
amounts of lead, hardly enough to harm a player simply
by touch. Now, whether the fingers that brushed those spinning
rims absorbed anything at all is questioned without a firm answer. Still,

(26:10):
the suspicion lingered in an age when tragedy often arrived
without explanation, the armonica stood ready as a culprit. Whether
cursed by its sound or poisoned by its substance, it
bore the blame, and the music itself grew heavy with unease,
whatever the cause, be it the rumors of madness, or

(26:33):
the suspicion of lead poisoning, or simply the unease that
clung to its tones. The talk of a curse helped
bring the armonica down. By the early years of the
nineteenth century, its rise had already begun to falter. The
very things that made it uncanny also made it practical. Glass,

(26:54):
after all, is fragile, so were the armonicas built from it,
And music itself was changing. Concert halls were getting big,
baby ceilings were getting high. Audiences were getting hungry ear
for more and more grandeur against the roar of strings

(27:15):
and the brassy thunder of horns, and the breath and
boom of woodwinds and drums. The armonica's ghostly hum really
just couldn't hold its own. Its willowy voice might fill
a parlor, might even haunt a salon, but in this
new age of cathedrals of music, it faded like a

(27:36):
whisper in the wind. Now today, of course, you would
mic them. That's how like a band they still do
today with their guitars. If they're playing with certain art,
you know, they'll mic there. That's what we would do today.
But obviously that sort of technology didn't really exist at
the time, and so it kind of helped allow the
harmonica to just fall out of favor because it couldn't

(27:58):
it sound just couldn't hold up again against what was
happening in music at the time. Essentially, furthermore, tastes simply
just turned elsewhere. The people wanted boldness, brilliance, and above
all volume, the thunderous sound of civilization on the move,
not the trembling of a glass song. By eighteen thirty,

(28:21):
the armonica had all but vanished, no concerts or new compositions,
no one left to turn the spindle or wet the fingertips.
An instrument once hailed as the marvel of its age,
slipped away into silence, as though it were a forgotten dream.
And yet, like a voice you thought silenced, it finds

(28:42):
its way back into the room. The armonica has not
vanished entirely. In recent years, it has stirred again in
a resurrection of sorts. A handful of players keep the
tradition alive, their fingers tracing the rims of new glass bowls.
Though the originals, the true harmonicas of Franklin's time are

(29:05):
rare relics, kept mostly behind glass themselves in museums or
private collections. What we hear now are imitations, careful recreations.
The sound is close, but perhaps not quite the same.
Whether it truly cursed those who played it and listened
to it, or whether it was all the invention of

(29:26):
rumor and imagination remains uncertain. But the tale endures. A fragile,
mysterious instrument that rose to greatness, fell into silence, and
nearly disappeared from memory, a curiously odd chapter of musical history.
And I wonder if that is the case. Like to them,

(29:48):
I mean, you would have to think back then, Mozart, Beethoven,
they were rock stars of their day. I think back
to a movie, A Complete Unknown, that Bob Dylan movie,
and a lot of it's based on his own memoir
he wrote like twenty years ago, and there's this incredible
scene where you know, he goes electric live at the

(30:09):
Newport Folk Festival, and it's kind of represents a changing
of the times, and maybe in a way it does now.
Obviously today folk music still exists, you know, it's not
We have obviously methods of keeping those kinds of music
alive through recordings, and so new fans of it are

(30:29):
born every day, older styles of music or older instruments,
you know, and because of that they find ways of
reinventing themselves in a way. Who just had to take
a quick pause there creep Street just to give your
core palpitating hard arrest. If you're enjoying this episode, go

(30:50):
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(31:12):
got a free tier where you can listen to the
weekly sketches before they go live on the episode. Now,
without further ado, back to today's story that brings us
to a certain story, one of those sad peculiar tales
that drifts down to us from the nineteenth century about

(31:34):
a young couple named Cornelius and Alice Butterfield. They left
England and settled in Thistledown, Pennsylvania, for the sake of
his business. Cornelius was puffed up with excitement for his plans.
He was the kind of man who saw opportunity in
a place where the streets were muddy and the winters
were hard. Alice, however, did not share his enthusiasm. She

(31:57):
was homesick, and the homesickness grew with each passing day.
The small town, the strange faces, the endless work of
making dew in a new land. It all weighed upon her.
Music had been her solace back in London, the piano
her one faithful companion. But Conneelius, her bastard husband, it said,

(32:19):
would not buy her one. Perhaps he said they couldn't
afford it, or perhaps he simply enjoyed the power of
refusing her something she wanted. By most accounts, he was
not a kind husband, it said. He mocked her cooking,
scolded her for mistakes both real and imagined, and some

(32:40):
said beat her badly. So Alice went to a neighbor's
house whenever she could, slipping away to sit at their piano,
and there she transformed. Her touch was delicate, her voice
rich and fine, and so sweet that one friend swore
it was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. Strangers

(33:02):
still were the songs themselves. They were not pieces anyone recognized,
nor could anyone else repeat them. They seemed to belong
to Alice alone, as if she were playing not from memory,
but from some hidden well of music that only she
could reach. There was something uncanny about it, this young

(33:25):
woman pouring her sorrow into melodies that no one had
ever heard before, music that seemed to drift in from
some place just beyond the edge of the known world.
Alice did not live long, and thistled down. She died
giving birth to her daughter, Pansy, And though that alone

(33:46):
was tragedy enough, the town could not help but whisper
of darker things. They said that Cornelius had hastened her end,
that his cruelty had not stopped at words or even blow,
but had carried her to the grave. There was no proof,
only rumor, but many were certain of it. What fed

(34:09):
the suspicion further was what came after for years that
bastard had denied Alice her piano, and now with his
wife buried, Cornelius moved into a fine new home and
bought himself a grand piano, a magnificent instrument, polished and gleaming,

(34:34):
its keys, ivory white, and ready to sing like a
bird baby. The neighbors saw it carried in and thought
of the young wife who had for so long begged
him for such a thing, and they could not help
but feel the sting of Cornelius's cruelty. The estate was
large enough that Cornelius brought on a staff, a cook,

(34:59):
a nursery, mai for little Pansy, and his sister Elizabeth
moved in to keep the household. And it was there,
amidst the new wealth fine furniture, that the haunting began.
At first, it was just the sound music drifting through
the halls at odd hours, notes struck in the dead

(35:22):
of nights, when the house ought to have been still.
Servants crept downstairs to find the piano alive, its keys
pressed by unseen hands, and the music itself carried no doubt.
It was brilliant, tender, and oh so very strange, just

(35:45):
as Alice had played in her neighbor's parlor pieces. No
one knew melodies, no one could summon. They said it
was her come back to the instrument she had been denied,
her sorrow and her genius. Echoing through the house, and
each time the keys moved, each time the melody rose,

(36:09):
it felt less like a haunting than a reproach. A
finger pointed at the bastard husband she was tied to.
In life, writer M. M. A. Buckingham reported on the
phenomenon in nineteen oh five. In modern ghost stories, Sang
quotes the sweet notes trembled all through the house, thrillingly

(36:31):
clear and wonderfully pure, closing with Mendelssohn's wedding march. Brother
and sister and maids rushed downstairs and stared at each
other in alarm. When they met at the door of
the drawing room, they looked into and under the piano,
then in every room and closet in the house. They

(36:52):
examined the windows and out buildings, but no one was
to be found. They took off the lid of the
piano to see if if a mouse could have set
it to playing, or to see if a music box
might have been hidden within it. They searched everywhere in
vain for the performer. The following night it was the same,

(37:13):
and so on for several nights in succession. Neighbors were
called in and declared that the parlor was haunted. The
servants left the house in fear. Still, the grand Steinway
awoke the inmates of the house nightly with its dulcet tones.
The keys could be seen moving up and down, while

(37:35):
marches quick steps, bits of operas followed each other in
rapid succession, now swelling like martial music, grand and glorious, aging,
dying away to a whisper, then rising like the sound
of a storm or furious battle. The first intimation we

(37:56):
had of their parlor being haunted was when its own
asked mister Dorry if his piano ever got out of
order and played right on of its own accord, and,
when answered in the negative, told us why he had
asked the question. He acknowledged that he was greatly puzzled,
said he could give no solution to the mystery. He

(38:19):
remarked that the keys were certainly manipulated by invisible fingers. Then,
after a silence of a few minutes, he said, the
strangest part of it is that neither my sister nor
myself are able to play this class of music, which
we recognize as the work of the old masters, and
the servants cannot tell one note from the other. Our

(38:42):
neighbors are unable to whistle a single bar of it,
let alone playing it. There is not another instrument of
the kind on our street. My sister thought that someone
had perhaps hidden a music box inside of the piano,
but we have taken it all apart. Had it tuned
were anew and searched everywhere, but found nothing. It plays beautifully,

(39:04):
such music as I have heard my late wife play
on her father's piano. And then, as if to prove
the whole thing had been personal, the music ceased, and
it ceased when Cornelius Butterfield finally died. Only then did
the piano grow still. No more midnight concerts, no unseen

(39:29):
fingers at the keys. The house was quiet, and it
was hard not to think that Alice had been waiting
only for him, her ghost content to trouble no one else,
almost like it was. He didn't maybe understand that it was,
but it was almost like a warning that I'm waiting.

Speaker 1 (39:51):
For you, like it was a haunting for him exactly.

Speaker 2 (39:55):
It was like it was the fact that it stopped
when he died. It's almost like like it was waiting
for him. What the second he was crossed over, she
had him and it you know, she no longer needed
to play. It almost sounds like something to keep you
knowing the doom ahead of you. Pretty dark when you
actually think about it in that context, in a kind
of a sweet vengeance. If he truly was the bastard

(40:17):
that he was rumored to be but ghostly music, Folks
is not bound to just one family, or even to
one instrument, because years later another tale took shape, this
time around a violin of astonishing beauty. It was said
to have been crafted in seventeen sixty nine for a
king no less, and the craftsman was one Joseph Bornsteiner.

(40:42):
It's back alone was made from three hundred and sixty
five separate inlaid pieces, as though the maker had carved
the days of the year into wood, each fragment locked
into place until it became a hole. It was a
work of art, admired as much for its craftsmanship as
it was for its sound. In time, it came into

(41:05):
the hands of a collector named Harold Gordon Cudworth. In
nineteen forty five, he discovered what others had not, that
the violin had more in it than merely music. He
was at his mother's home in Warrem playing Van Bien's
The Broken Melody, and the instrument had a rich, resonant

(41:27):
voice as he drew the bow across it with satisfaction.
But in the middle of the piece a sound rose
up that was not his own. Cudworth described it as
a rumbling, a deep and uncanny sound coming from the
direction of the kitchen sink, a place where no violin
ought to reach, as if the music had awakened something

(41:50):
beneath the floorboards or behind the walls, something that listened
and answered back in its own strange tongue. Slowly and gently,
Cudworth laid his bow down, and the rumbling ceased. The
house grew quiet, as though nothing happened at all. But

(42:10):
when he tried again, coaxing the violin back into the
broken melody, the sound returned at once, louder, this time insistent,
filling the rooms and seeming to rattle the air itself.
It was no longer a distant mutter by the sink,
but a voice that seemed to move through the whole house,
as if the walls themselves were alive. The next night

(42:35):
he dared once more, and that was when the house
began to protest. Objects shifted, some hurled outright across the room,
as though thrown by an invisible hand. As the violin sang,
the house answered a duet of melody and chaos. Each
time he played, the pattern returned. The music was beautiful, divine,

(42:59):
even but behind it came that low rumble, with the
disturbance of unexplained noises, things moving on the roane, in
a sense that he was no longer playing for himself alone.
His mother heard it too, that strange vibration thrumbing from
nowhere and everywhere. At once and one evening, as the

(43:22):
melody rose, the latch on his front door shook violently,
rattling as though some unseen guest demanded entry. He went
downstairs to find that the door to his own room
was slammed shut, though no living hand had touched it.
Cutworth put the violin aside, turning instead to the piano.

(43:46):
But waiting upon the keys was the sheet of music
for the Broken Melody, placed there by hands unknown, as
if the spirit within the violin would not be silenced
whether he was playing that violin or the piano. God dang,
he was going to be playing the broken melody. In

(44:07):
the days that followed, Cudworth carried the mystery with him,
unable or perhaps unwilling to let it go. He was
giving a lesson to a young girl when he brought
out the Hornsteiner violin and set the bow to the
string once more again. He played the broken melody and again,

(44:29):
the house replied. The rumbling came deeper and louder than
ever before, rolling through the room until it smothered the
music altogether. It shook the air, rattled the walls, and
left the little girl and her family wide eyed as
the invisible presence made itself known. Pictures swayed on their hooks,

(44:52):
objects shifted on their own accord, as though every corner
of the home had decided to come alive in symphony
with that tune. Well enough was enough. Cudworth, who had
endured so many nights of this strange duet, finally laid
the violin aside, and he would not play the cursed

(45:12):
song again. The melody and the instrument together had proven
too much, a partnership of beauty in terror, too confounding
to explain, and so the story ended not with an answer,
but with silence. Cudworth lived on until nineteen eighty nine,
the year you were born. Yeah, exactly, Oh my god,

(45:35):
the house, God, the house is shaking, Oh God. But yes, yes,
Cudworth did die in the year of our Lord, nineteen
eighty nine, the year of the Lord of creep Street's birth.
But the violin itself slipped away it's whereabouts unknown. Perhaps

(45:56):
it rests in some collection, it's inlaid back, gleaming quietly,
waiting for the bow. Or perhaps it's gone for good,
it's music spent. No one can say for sure. Well
now and then, tales of such haunted instruments bubble up

(46:17):
in the unlikeliest of places. One such account comes from
a man who swears he once owned a haunted violin himself.
He wrote that it was an antique, a model from
the so called Milan school of the eighteenth century, and
it was certainly finally made and a testament unto itself,

(46:37):
like all great instruments that have survived the centuries. But
it carried something else too. Strange things began to happen
once it entered his home. Other instruments sitting innocently nearby
were discovered knocked over, toppled over as if shoved in anger.
Some were even broken, with no person nearby to have

(47:00):
laid a hand upon them. And always, somehow the trouble
seemed to orbit that one violin. It was not only
the damage, but the air around it. It was charged
with unease. It felt as though the instrument held a grudge,
that it couldn't voice. The man never said that he heard

(47:20):
it play on its own, only that its presence seemed
to disturb the peace of the rooms, sowing disorder and
mistrust among the other instruments, as though it resented any
living company. Such as the nature of these stories, whether
told around a parlor lamp in the nineteenth century or
posted on a message board like Reddit, the haunted bylin

(47:42):
does not ask to be believe. It merely sits there,
quiet and inscrutable, while the world around it falls into disarray.
The owner of this violin would say quote. Shortly after
finishing this instrument and hanging it up in the humidity closet,
strange things began to happen. Lights would go on and

(48:03):
off by themselves. My daughter would wake me in the
middle of the night to ask why I was standing
in her room. She told me she could hear someone talking,
but not very loud. Two weeks ago I had guests
who slept in the same room as the closet where
the violins are stored, and they told me that the

(48:26):
touch lamp in the room kept turning on, and that
even after unplugging it, they were awakened by someone touching
their shoulders, but there was no one there. The real
kicker is that last week the electricity went off for
a while, and while the family and I were downstairs,

(48:46):
the door to the upstairs guest room shut and we
could hear things classical music coming from upstairs. We do
not own any battery powered radios. After my last experience,
I did not discount the possibility that the new instrument
could have a spirit with it. I took the violin

(49:09):
out of the closet and placed it on the entertainment center.
I then played a CD that was only solo piano music.
If I left the room to go upstairs, or if
I went down to the basement and I and others
who did not believe me, could hear a violin begin
to accompany the piano music. If we went back to

(49:32):
the great room, the violin music stopped as soon as
we were in sight of the haunted violin. And so
the stories wind their way right into our own time,
as tales of haunted instruments refused to be left behind
with gas lights and horse drawn carriages. One such account

(49:52):
was published in twenty eleven by Feigned Violins, a shop
up in Minnesota. The witness was and Fane himself a
man in the business of fine instruments, and not one
much for telling tales. It began simply enough, when one
day a customer walked in to try a few violins.

(50:13):
The man lingered over them, testing their voices, weighing their worth,
and then he found one that he just could not
put down. A German violin from eighteen seventy. By all appearances,
it was nothing more than a well crafted specimen of
its kind. It was aged but dignified, carrying the history

(50:34):
of a century or more in its varnish and wood.
But it was still merely a violin, or at least
it seemed, of all the instruments in that shop that
very violin would soon prove to have something else within it,
something not written on the maker's label, nor visible in
the fine curve of its back, something that would make

(50:58):
its presence known in ways no oh craftsman could have planned.
The witness was quoted saying, I gave him several violins
to play. After a short while, he kept coming back
to one German instrument from about eighteen seventy. He kept
playing other violins and then going, no, there's just something

(51:18):
about that old German violin I really love. Eventually, he
played through all the violins and just kept coming back
to that one. He spent most of the afternoon playing it.
As he did, I could hear his playing and proved dramatically,
and I could hear the violin opening up and really
singing for him. At the end of several hours, mister

(51:42):
D said, Wow, I really love that violin. I mean,
I really love that violin. I want to buy it,
but my in laws are coming into town tomorrow and
we're all heading up to the cabin. If it's still
here in a couple of weeks when I get back,
i'll know it was really meant for me. Two days later,

(52:04):
I was opening up the shop as usual at ten am.
I opened the door and there was a violin that
had fallen off the rack and crashed to the ground.
The scroll was cracked. My heart sunk when I realized
it was the violin that mister D had really loved.
Over the next few days, I did the best and

(52:26):
fastest scroll repair I had ever done. Phew, I thought,
I'll need to tell him about the damage. But it
plays as nice and sounds as good as it did before.
Maybe he'll be happy, I can't ask for much money. Well,
days went by, and then weeks went by and I
didn't hear back from mister D. And another client played

(52:49):
the violin it was interested in it. I explained how
much mister D had loved the violin and that I
wanted to at least call him before I sold it
to anyone else. Luckily the player understood. I called mister
D's home the next day and his adult son answered.
I said who I was and asked to speak to
mister D about the violin. His son said, yes, my

(53:13):
dad was talking about that violin that evening, but I'm
really sorry to tell you my dad passed away. I
was shocked. He was a pretty healthy guy as far
as I knew. I said, I'm so sorry. I really
liked your dad. How did it happen? Mister D's son said, well,

(53:36):
my dad went up to the cabin ahead of the
rest of us to fix things up a bit. We
got up there at ten the next morning. When we
opened the door, there he was just dead on the floor.
I again said how sorry I was, and asked when
that happened. His son replied, oh, it was just two

(53:56):
days after he was at your shop. Two days after
he was in the shop, That was the day that
the violin that he loved had fallen off the rack,
the violin that he really loved. I guess the feeling
was mutual and very close, and independently. Both his family

(54:19):
and I have opened the door, walked in, and there
he and the violin were on the floor. Well, folks,
violins have always seemed to touch a special place beyond
the ordinary. They're elegant, yes, but more than that, they're
almost mystical. They passed down through the years as though

(54:40):
they've made a private pact with time, refusing to age
in the way that mortal men and women do. Grandparents
leave them to their children, who leave them to theirs,
and still the instrument sings as if nothing has changed.
It's no wonder, then, that they gather stories around them,
like barnacles on a ship, Whispers of hauntings, rumors of

(55:03):
something unseen moving with the bow. Perhaps it's that quality
of endurance that draws the supernatural close to it, as
though the violin were a doorway between the living and
whatever lingers after. Or perhaps it's simply the sound so
piercing and plaintive that it feels less like wooden string
and more like some inner voice brought to the surface,

(55:27):
a sound that demands a haunting, or at the very
least suggests one. What lies at the root of that all?
No one can say. Are these only tales embroidered by
memory and longing, or do the instruments themselves carry with
them something unseen, some shadow of every hand that's ever

(55:47):
played them? And well, we don't know, but the stories endure,
and perhaps that answer is enough for every time a
bow is drawn across the strings, the question is asked
again in the music's voice. Real or not we have
to decide for ourselves if we believe. But folks, let's

(56:13):
get this classical music shit out of here. Let's talk
about some goddamn rock and roll. What catalog of haunted
instruments would be complete without a guitar. They are, after all,
the embodiment of rock and roll, the six string version
of Thor's Hammer, of King Arthur's excalibur, And in at

(56:35):
least one story, it was not so much the guitar
that seemed cursed, but the man who held it, or even,
to be more specific, the position of the man who
held it. The year was nineteen sixty seven, and for
Peter Green, it was not the summer of love that
history had labeled it. Green was the original guitarist who

(56:57):
helped found Fleetwood Mac, a band nstin for stardom. They
would go on to rule the airwaves, their songs drifting
into every car, radio, and grocery store to today on
every streaming platform. Their breakout album Rumors in nineteen seventy
seven became more than a record, It became a phenomenon.

(57:18):
Thirty one straight weeks at the top of the US charts,
Mama four singles in the top ten, nineteen million copies
sold in America alone and over forty million worldwide. To
this day, it remains one of the best selling albums
in history, eight in fact on the list, a monument

(57:40):
of vinyl and memory. But behind those glowing numbers was
Peter Green, a man whose story turned darker, and whose
guitar and his music itself would become to feel less
like a gift than it did like a burden. Fleetwood
Mac is a band famous not only for its music,
but for the shifting sands of its lineup. Members have

(58:04):
come and gone like weather across the sea, and the
only one to remain steady through all of it is
drummer Mick Fleetwood. Most of those departures were the ordinary
changes of a long lived band, but the roles of
the guitarist that position, specifically in the band Fleetwood mac

(58:25):
seemed to carry with it a streak of misfortune dark
enough to raise eyebrows. It began with Peter Green, the founder,
who in the early nineteen seventies took too much acid
and slipped away from the band he had helped build.
His exit was followed by Jeremy Spencer, who wandered even further,
strung out on mescaline and pulled into the orbit of

(58:48):
a strange religious sex cult in nineteen seventy one. Not
long after that, in nineteen seventy two, guitarist Danny Kerwin
suffered a public unraveling on stage, struck his head against
the wall, then staggered into the audience, hurling insults at
his bandmates before being carried away. In a long decline.

(59:10):
He spent time in asylums and would die homeless. A
life once full of promise scattered to pieces, and that
pattern didn't stop there. In twenty twelve, the band lost
two more of its guitarists Bob Weston died suddenly of
an aneurysm, and Bob Welch, suffering from illness and the
loss of his mobility, sadly took his own life. Each

(59:34):
name added another line to the tally, another shadow across
the fretboard. And so it seemed that the guitarists of
Fleetwood Mac bore a curse, one after another, claimed by madness, misfortune,
or death. And the only exception has been Lindsey Buckingham,

(59:55):
whose survival stands out like a lone note that refuses
to resolve, hanging in the air waiting. I thought that
was interesting, the idea of a not a so much
an instrument or even the musician, but the role of
a specific band, Like, oh my god, dude, I just

(01:00:15):
got offered to play guitar in Fleetwood Mac. No, dude,
you don't want to do that.

Speaker 1 (01:00:18):
Don't take it. Don't take it.

Speaker 2 (01:00:20):
Don't do it. Man, what do you talk about? It's
the Mac, you know. It's like, it's kind of interesting
to think of a role in a band being cursed. Well, folks,
there's one more guitar we got to talk about, and
this one when it comes to guitars, not famous ones,
maybe Strumden stadiums, but a playin almost forgettable instrument is

(01:00:42):
the so called Satanic six string. It was nothing to
look at, the logo filed away, no brand to boast of,
Just another guitar, you kind you might find in a
pawn shop window. Strings a little loose, it's body scuffed
from years of playing. Ordinary in every way except for

(01:01:02):
the stories that clung to it. Well. This tale goes
back to nineteen seventy nine, when the guitar belonged to
a teenager already steeped in the darker side of things.
He had a fascination with the macabre, with ritual and
a cult practice, the sort of boy whose room was
lined with candles and shadows, whose curiosity stretched farther than

(01:01:26):
was safe, and probably dressed like Neo from the Matrix
if you were in high school around when I was,
and in his hands the guitar seemed to carry more
than music. From then on, the sixth string was whispered
about as an object not just of sound, but something sinister,

(01:01:47):
a vessel for whatever he had called forth, whether intentional
or not. A post selling the guitar on the website
reverb reads as follows. A kid that lived on my
street when I was growing up was rumored to be
into devil worship, seances, Aleister Crowley, black magic, and other

(01:02:08):
dark endeavors of the spirit world. I later learned that
this neophyte necromancer was born in June of sixty six
and died tragically on Halloween nineteen seventy nine when he
was just thirteen years old.

Speaker 1 (01:02:23):
He was born in the sixth month of sixty six.

Speaker 2 (01:02:26):
Oh my gosh, you're right, you are absolutely right, and
then died when he was thirteen. Goodness gracious. His death
has never been solved, but it culminates in a kid
that was found lying in his bed with the guitar
draped across it, apparently electrocuted, even though this is an
acoustic guitar. Additionally, when the damnable corpse of this soulis

(01:02:51):
Stooge of Satan was eventually discovered, a forty five record
of Blueyster Colts Don't Fear the Reaper was playing repeatedly
on the Mephistophilian moppetz Ge Wildcat record Changer. Years later,
I ran into the defunct boy's mother, herself a propaganding
practitioner of the pagan arts, and when I informed her

(01:03:13):
that I was a professional guitarist, she offered me her
devilish daisy pushing sons. Get fiddle. I've heard the strings
discordantly ring out despite no one being near the guitar. Further,
on three occasions, I put the guitar in my bedroom closet,
only to find the guitar on my bed when I
returned home and I live alone. The final straw occurred

(01:03:38):
when I saw the guitar levitate out of the trash
can that I had somberly placed it in. It's better
owned by someone more in tune with the tenebrous forces
of the malevolent nether world. Please use extreme caution when
conjuring the phantasmic spirits it seemed to be channeled through

(01:03:58):
this iniquitous instrument. The guitar Soul for a price of
six hundred and sixty six dollars and was bought by
none other than Ghost Adventures host Zach Begans. Begans would
say of the guitar quotes, I don't play guitar very well,
but you can rest assured that I will most definitely

(01:04:19):
play this instrument and see if anything happens to me.
I was really blown away by the story behind the
guitar and how the seller got the guitar directly from
the boy's mother. Because of that prominence, that's why I
jumped in as fast as I could to buy the guitar.
I was literally driving in my car when my phone
started blowing up about the guitar for sale, and was

(01:04:41):
shocked when I was able to buy it because the
musician who had the guitar experienced so much with it,
including it levitating and playing by itself. I'll display it
securely at the Haunted Museum for close observation. Well. The
Satanic six string now rests behind glass and Zach Baggen's museum,

(01:05:02):
displayed alongside a menagerie of other cursed curiosities, such as
dolls with dark reputations and mirrors said to hold belevolence,
trinkets that have gathered more fear than dust, and visitors
as they passed by, some leaning in with solemnity, others
with a grin, wondering if this battered guitar truly hums

(01:05:25):
with something unholy, or if it's nothing more than an
elaborate prank or story spun by the fellow who put
it up for sale. But that's the way of all
these tales. Who can say for certain what lingers in
a glass harmonica, violin, or a guitar, or what madness,
misfortune and melody that drove their legends forward. We simply

(01:05:49):
don't know. What we do know is that music has
lived in the human heart for as long as we
have had hands to make it. It stirs us, it
consoles us in terrify biases. And if places can be haunted,
and objects and whole houses and fields, then why not
the very instruments through which we call sound into being?

(01:06:12):
Perhaps every note leaves behind a trace, and when enough forgathered,
they sing on without us and folks. I thought that
was an interesting way to end it, because it is true.
Music is something. I mean, obviously wildlife, you know, they
use sound to communicate or like anything, But music truly

(01:06:37):
is I mean, I would have to think there are
few things if you could record the human soul, few
things I think do it more than music. If that metaphor.

Speaker 1 (01:06:49):
Makes absolutely, music is like the purest art of emotion.
When you think about instrumental music, especially music with no lyrics.
What's so? Whoever, it's universal. Anybody can understand it. You
don't even have to know anything about music to understand
it exactly.

Speaker 2 (01:07:09):
And it's kind of like, you know, you and me
were talking about John Coltrane once and I was talking
about how I was listening to I think his Love
Supreme album, which is very much an avant garde experimental,
a lot of it improvised, and I was explaining how,
you know, as someone who's kind of new to jazz,
doesn't know much about jazz, is a big music lover,
but doesn't know much about jazz, and it's sort of

(01:07:29):
now getting into it. There's times when they're playing in
time signatures that don't seem to make sense, but yet
at the same time, it doesn't just sound like you're
listening to noise. And you said you had a great
quote of it's about the context. Even if you don't
understand it, it still makes sense in the context in
which you're hearing it, and I think that's true. It's

(01:07:53):
like our ears. Even if you can't sing, if you
can't play a note on any instrument, music is still
in you. You could be you can feel it. It's
like a magnet connecting with another magnet. We're all touched
by it in some way or another. And think about
how music how it also helps elevate other art forms,
Like think about when you're seeing a great film, when

(01:08:14):
the performance of an actor, the cinematographer, the director's choice
and everything, and then of course and then the music
brings it all together. It makes you know magic And
it's the same thing in part of that magic is
the music. Obviously, before there was sound in films, they
would have music playing with films to sort of inform

(01:08:37):
what you're supposed to be feeling, which I think was
probably even more important back at a time when there
was probably more You know, you're watching a silent film.
I mean, who knows how much of the population was
even literate, so the music would help you. If you
couldn't read the words that would pop up, the music
would help inform what you're supposed to be feeling. It's

(01:08:58):
like when you see a great foreign film and you
don't speak the language, but when the performances are so
good and it's such a you know what's happening, even
if you don't know what they're saying, you can feel it.
It's it's that that connection.

Speaker 1 (01:09:11):
But you can also tell what's coming.

Speaker 2 (01:09:13):
Yes, absolutely, Ugh, I'll tell you what though, Gage, I
got a list of names that make up the greatest
hits of creep Street.

Speaker 1 (01:09:22):
Oh yeah, who's that?

Speaker 2 (01:09:23):
The names of our top tier Patreon subscribers, of course.
The dream James Watkins, the Finished Face, Via Lungpus, the
Madman Marcus Hall, the Tenacious Teresa Hackworth, the Heartbreak Kid,
Chris Hackworth, Theoso Swave, Sean Richardson, the Notorious Nicholas Barker,
the Terrifying Taylor lash Met, the Count of Cool, Cameron
corlis At, the Archduke of Attitude, Adam Archer, the Sinister
Sam Kiker, the Nightmare of New Zealand, noeh Leene Vavili,

(01:09:44):
the Loathsome Johnny Love, the carnivorous Kevin Bogee, the Killer Stud,
Carl stab the fire Starter, Heather Carter, the conquer Christopher
Damian Demris, the awfully Awesome Annie, the Murderous Maggie Leech,
the ser of Sexy, Sam Hackworth, the Evil Elizabeth Riley,
Lauren hell Fire, Hernandez Lopez, the and I, Laura Maynard,
the Vicious Karen van Vier In the Archie Nemesis, Aaron Bird,
the sadistic Sergio Castillo, the Rapscallion, Ryan Crumb, the Beast,

(01:10:06):
Benjamin Whang, the Devilish Chris Ducett, the Psycho Sam the
Electric Emily Jong, the ghoulish Girt Hankum, the Renegade, Corey Ramos,
the Crazed Carlos, the Antagonist, Andrew Park, the Monstrous Mikhaela Sure,
the Witchy Wonder, J. P. Weimer, the Freiki, Ben Forsyth,
the barbaric Andrew Berry, the Mysterious Marcella, the Hillacious Kale Hoffman,
and Pug Borb the Poulter Guys. Oh yes, yes, yes, folks,

(01:10:30):
head on over to patreon dot com slash creep Street
Podcast if you want to join that gang, that band,
that motley crew of creep Street devotees once again. That
is Patreon dot com slash creep Street Podcast. Notes of
fall in the Air, which means Halloween is just around
the corner, folks. Yes, we are gonna go all out

(01:10:53):
for everybody, citizens of the Milky Way. My name is Dylan.

Speaker 1 (01:10:57):
Hackworth and I'm Gage Hurley.

Speaker 2 (01:10:59):
Good Night and goodbye to bust