October 28, 2025 • 16 mins
In this episode of Two for Tuesday, listeners share bone-chilling encounters with the unknown — from restless spirits to an eerie hiking trip where time itself seemed to vanish. These are real stories from real people — proof that sometimes, the scariest things don’t just go bump in the night… they leave you wondering what reality really is.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:02):
Hey, campfire crew, let's get it on.
Speaker 2 (00:07):
That far your minds, and that's what scares you. It
has from the very beginning. You're giving him a help.
It knows too much already.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
Ninth Green Oddity submitted by Richard. What I'm about to
share with you is probably one of the most unsettling
and unforgettable stories you'll ever hear. My name is Richard,
and I've been an ardent lifelong golfer for well over
fifty years. I love the game so much that I'll
(00:50):
play in any type of weather, be it bitterly cold,
soaking wet, blistering hot, you name it. I simply adore
the challenge in exacting precision the sport presents. I'm from
the midwest, Wisconsin, which, as many no, limits one's golf
season to a fleeting six or seven months out of
the year. I was supposed to play a late round
(01:11):
afternoon with my longtime buddy Don, but he called to cancel,
saying his wife, sighting the ominous weather forecast, had insisted
he stay home to avoid the coming thunder and rain.
I understood, but I stubbornly said, now with it. I
was determined to squeeze in nine holes before the approaching
storm broke in the evening darkness swallowed the course hole.
(01:35):
I regularly play at the quaint, unassuming municipal golf course nearby,
which features only nine holes. It's a relatively short track,
the longest hole is just four hundred and fifty yards,
and on a swift, uncrowded evening like this, I knew
I could play through nine holes in about an hour
and a half if the rain held off. I was
certain I could finish before the gloom fully set in.
(01:59):
Upon entering the dimly lit clubhouse and purchasing my round,
I was met by Maureen, the clubhouse attendant, with a
solemn expression. She reminded me that a heavy, violent rainstorm
was headed our way within the next hour, and I
told her that's okay. I'm going to give it a shot.
As I teed up my ball on the first hole,
the course stretched out before me utterly deserted. I guess
(02:22):
everyone else had concluded the rain wasn't worth the trouble
and decided to play another day. By the time I
reached the ninth and final hole, I could feel a
dramatic shift. The wind had become chilling and aggressive, a
deep oppressive darkness was beginning to settle in, and the
sky was intermittently lighting up with eerie, silent flashes of
distant lightning. I've been having such a magnificent round up
(02:46):
until then, I figured, what the hell I'm going to
finish this. As I teed up the ball for the
final stroke, I looked down the long, darkening fairway and
my eyes narrowed. I could distinctly see what appeared to
be a man standing on the green, motionless, holding onto
the flag pin. Up until that point, I was certain
(03:07):
I was the only foolhardy soul on the course, so
I yelled out four to warn the figure I was
about to hit. The hole was a manageable two hundred
and ten yards, and I knew I could reach the
green with my trusty five iron. As the ball left
my club, I watched it fly. It was one of
the crispest, most perfect shots I had hit all day.
(03:28):
Arking directly toward the pin. After putting my iron back
in my bag, I started the walk toward the green.
The man was still standing there, stock still, the flag
pin clutched in his hand. As I closed in. About
thirty yards away, a tremendous explosion of lightning and thunder
erupted from the sky, focusing on the green and the
(03:51):
man holding the metal pin. I began to scream at
him to drop it. I kept thinking to myself, that
doesn't this idiot know that lightning could strike that pull.
Just then, a monstrous bolt of lightning descended, striking the
pin and the man simultaneously. The sound was like a
shattering explosion, and the entire sky lit up in a blinding,
(04:12):
ghastly white, more intense than any Fourth of July firework display.
Upon witnessing the horrifying spectacle, I dropped my golf bag
and started running as best I could up the hill
toward the green. And although I truly believed, I never
took my eyes off the man. By the time I
scrambled up the incline barely ten yards from the green,
(04:33):
he was gone, nowhere in sight. By this time, the
darkness was complete and the rain was falling in a cold,
furious deluge. The man was not on the green, The
flag pin was back in the hole, perfectly upright, but
the guy had vanished. And how the hell could that be?
(04:55):
I pulled out my phone to dial nine one one,
but a paralyzing thought stopped me. What was I supposed
to tell him? After looking around for a frantic five minutes,
thoroughly soaked and trembling, I could barely make out the
distant light of the clubhouse, and I began the long,
miserable walk back. As I entered the clubhouse looking for Maureen,
(05:17):
my eyes fell on a small mounted photo board. As
I moved closer, my blood turned to ice. The man
I had seen on the course was staring back at
me from one of the faded photographs. Once Maureen returned
to the counter, I recounted my entire unbelievable story and
pointed a shaking finger at the man in the picture.
(05:38):
With a blank, unsettling, calm face. She looked up from
the counter, took my hand and led me to a
back room, and she pointed to a framed, yellowing newspaper clipping.
It was a story about one of the local golfers
who had been fatally struck by lightning five years ago
while playing with his wife on the ninth hole. As
(05:59):
I read the headline and looked from the printed photo
to the one on the board, a sickening sense of
shock and absolute dread washed over me. Maureen gave me
a glass of water and told me to sit down,
and then delivered the final blow. There had been five
similar inexplicable sightings of the man on the ninth hole
being struck by lightning over the last three years. I
(06:22):
now wish I had listened to Don's wife when she
warned about the coming rain and thunder. I haven't gone
back to the course since that day. Now I'll only
play when the sun is bright and bold, and I'm
always always with others. Note for golf enthusiasts, For any
of you golf officionados who listen to my story, you're
(06:42):
probably wondering what happened to that perfect ball I said
heading toward the pin. When I finally walked up to
the hole and peered into the cup, I found a single,
singed black golf ball resting eerily below the pin. Time
(07:04):
dilation on Superior Hiking Trail by Jesse fourteen seventy two.
This happened about a year ago while hiking with my brother.
We went on a day hike on the Superior Hiking
Trail in Minnesota, starting at a trail head just north
of TOFTI. The trip up to that point had been
weird with taking a late night trip to a grocery
(07:26):
store in Duluth to get snacks, and the motel we
were staying at potentially had hookers at it. It was Duluth,
so we didn't think too much of it anyway. We
started our hike early, around seven thirty or eight am,
and planned to hike for fourish hours before turning around
and getting out of the woods around twilight. For people
(07:47):
who haven't hiked the Superior Hiking Trail, it's fairly rugged
and not something you want to be doing in the dark.
Plenty of elevation changes and a mixture of prepared and
unprepared trails await. The hike was decent. We were talking
about life, as I had gone through a rough patch
not long before the hike. We were both fairly fit,
(08:09):
so the steep grades at parts were challenging but doable,
and this is important. We hiked about four or five
hours and ended up near the Lutson Lodge before turning around.
While hiking, we had passed several groups, one of which
was a group of college students clearly out for a
leisurely stroll. At that point, we turned around and the
(08:30):
time dilation started. We started hiking back at a noticeably
slower pace, maybe a half or a little faster than
half of what we'd been doing before. As we walked,
we didn't see any other group, but started noticing a
bunch of mushrooms that, as far as our research found,
weren't native to the area. We got back to a
(08:53):
point where we had stopped at earlier to figure out
if we needed to speed up. My brother checked his
phone while I was of zoning out before he asked me,
what time do you think it is? Recounting our pace
and location, I assumed it was around four pm and
we needed to pick up the pace to be out
in an hour. Oh and behold, we somehow had crossed
(09:16):
the same distance that took us two hours before in
only one hour. It was one pmish. As we were
trying to figure out how we had hiked that distance
faster at a slower pace, we began to realize that
all of the groups we had passed before hadn't been
around since at the very least we should have seen
(09:38):
the college group unless they had gone way off trail. Finally,
we got back to the trailhead that we started on
a whole two hours earlier than planned. Somehow we had
cut two hours from our predicted return while walking slower
the whole time. Though it felt like being in the
(09:58):
twilight Zone, but I had assumed up to that point
that it was just the atmosphere of a trail in
the fall The Laughing Runner by Dan l. This is
(10:19):
a story my mother told me that happened to her
when she was in her early twenties. She was married
to her first husband and they had rented a small
apartment just outside our city center. It was in a
block of around ten other apartments. At the time, my
mother was much more open minded about ghosts and all
things paranormal. One evening, she and her first husband, Mick,
(10:42):
were entertaining guests, and they decided to play around with
the Ouija board. There was some movement of the plan
chat and my mom recalled how it had told them
a spirit of a construction worker was there who had
been murdered and buried in the foundations of a motorway bridge.
Other than that, it wasn't that exciting. In the end
of the evening and the guests went home and they
(11:04):
disposed of the wigeboard stuff. The next morning, my mom
got up and went into the living room to find
the letters from the wijaboard scattered all over the floor.
As I mentioned, everything they had made for the wijaboard
had been disposed of and all the pieces had been
pushed down into the waist spin. Two letters, though, had
(11:26):
been singled out and sat away from the rest. They
were the two initials of the construction worker that had
contacted them the previous evening. My mom thought it was
Mick just trying to scare her, but he denied doing it.
About a week later, my mom's wedding ring went missing
for around a week and then suddenly reappeared on a
(11:47):
mantelpiece above the fire where my mom had left it
when taking it off to do housework. The ring suddenly
was not in good condition. It had been squashed flat,
but with no apparent damage to the stone, its setting,
or the band itself. She remembered setting it down and
then it disappearing and then reappearing that week later. Other
(12:12):
strange occurrences plagued both of them until they moved. Lights
would turn themselves on and off in the bathroom, and
they would often hear a sound of a man urinating
in the toilet, followed by the toilet being flushed. My
mom would investigate but never find anyone, and there was
a strange smell of cigarette smoke in the lounge, even
though no one ever smoked in there. This was the
(12:34):
time in the early seventies when the living room was
kept for entertaining guests and so always kept for best.
Not long after that, my mom and mick as separated
and they moved out of the apartment. The next part
of the story involves my ex brother in law. He
moved out of my mother in law's house and into
a rented house with his friend. It was a two
(12:57):
bedroom semi detached house which for a while had been
us used as a renting accommodation, seeing a fair few
families through its doors. They lived there for a few weeks,
my brother in law and his friend, and enjoying the
freedom that it gave them both as young single men.
It was about the time my brother in law's friend
got himself a lady friend and she started stopping over.
(13:19):
When the troubles began, my brother in law asked whom
we will call Matt, would be in his room and
he would hear a tap blasting out water, either in
the kitchen or the bathroom. Thinking his housemate Ben had
left it on, he would turn it off, but it
continued happening for a while before Matt felt the need
to tackle the issue with Ben. When he told Ben
(13:41):
about it, Ben told him that he was having similar experiences,
thinking that Matt was responsible. Neither of them had been
turning on the tap. Things also started going missing, only
to reappear days later in very obvious places. The most
disturbing phenomenon was what started next. Matt would be laying
(14:04):
in bed at night and would hear, coming from the
upstairs landing the sound of a child's laughter, very clear
and unmistakably coming from just outside his bedroom door. At first,
he ignored it, but when it went on for over
a week, he mentioned it to Ben, but he hadn't
heard anything. The final straw came one night when once
(14:26):
again Matt was lying in bed trying to sleep, when
he heard a thunderous noise from the landing. He said,
it sounded like a child running up and down the stairs,
then followed by the same laughter he had heard previously. Oh,
that scared him, and he was just about to get
out of bed to turn the light on. When his
bedroom door flew open. Matt sat in bed, dumb struck
(14:50):
with fear as he heard the laughter run into the room. Something,
though he couldn't see it, then ran right over his bed.
We saw the bedsheets depress as invisible feet ran across,
and he said he could also feel the extra weight
push his mattress down. Whatever it was that ran across
(15:10):
his bed, it was still laughing, and then disappeared into
the opposite corner of his room. Then everything got quiet.
Needless to say, they didn't stay in that property for
much longer. Although these stories are pretty scary to me,
I've never been privy to such extraordinary experiences, much to
(15:31):
my disappointment. Hey, Gang, thanks for listening to this episode.
If you have a true scary story of any nature
(15:53):
that you'd like me to narrate, email it to Uncle
Josh True Scary Stories at gmail dot com. I read
them all. If you're catching this episode on YouTube and
you like what you heard and saw, why not give
it a thumbs up leave me a comment. I'd love
to know what you thought of the stories. And if
you're not a subscriber, hey, become a subscriber today and
(16:13):
maybe even tell a friend about the channel. I'd appreciate it.
Pick yourself up some Uncle Josh and Campfire Crew merchandise.
There's a link to my tea public storefront in the description,
and of course, follow me on social media. We're almost here, Gang,
Almost time for the twenty twenty five Halloween Extravaganza. Looking
forward to this one. I hope you'll enjoy it. Everyone
(16:36):
be excellent to each other, and until next time, be
wary of things that go bump in the night. It
could be anything a ghost, a monster, or the guy
next door.
Hey, campfire crew, let's get it on.
Speaker 2 (00:07):
That far your minds, and that's what scares you. It
has from the very beginning. You're giving him a help.
It knows too much already.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
Ninth Green Oddity submitted by Richard. What I'm about to
share with you is probably one of the most unsettling
and unforgettable stories you'll ever hear. My name is Richard,
and I've been an ardent lifelong golfer for well over
fifty years. I love the game so much that I'll
(00:50):
play in any type of weather, be it bitterly cold,
soaking wet, blistering hot, you name it. I simply adore
the challenge in exacting precision the sport presents. I'm from
the midwest, Wisconsin, which, as many no, limits one's golf
season to a fleeting six or seven months out of
the year. I was supposed to play a late round
(01:11):
afternoon with my longtime buddy Don, but he called to cancel,
saying his wife, sighting the ominous weather forecast, had insisted
he stay home to avoid the coming thunder and rain.
I understood, but I stubbornly said, now with it. I
was determined to squeeze in nine holes before the approaching
storm broke in the evening darkness swallowed the course hole.
(01:35):
I regularly play at the quaint, unassuming municipal golf course nearby,
which features only nine holes. It's a relatively short track,
the longest hole is just four hundred and fifty yards,
and on a swift, uncrowded evening like this, I knew
I could play through nine holes in about an hour
and a half if the rain held off. I was
certain I could finish before the gloom fully set in.
(01:59):
Upon entering the dimly lit clubhouse and purchasing my round,
I was met by Maureen, the clubhouse attendant, with a
solemn expression. She reminded me that a heavy, violent rainstorm
was headed our way within the next hour, and I
told her that's okay. I'm going to give it a shot.
As I teed up my ball on the first hole,
the course stretched out before me utterly deserted. I guess
(02:22):
everyone else had concluded the rain wasn't worth the trouble
and decided to play another day. By the time I
reached the ninth and final hole, I could feel a
dramatic shift. The wind had become chilling and aggressive, a
deep oppressive darkness was beginning to settle in, and the
sky was intermittently lighting up with eerie, silent flashes of
distant lightning. I've been having such a magnificent round up
(02:46):
until then, I figured, what the hell I'm going to
finish this. As I teed up the ball for the
final stroke, I looked down the long, darkening fairway and
my eyes narrowed. I could distinctly see what appeared to
be a man standing on the green, motionless, holding onto
the flag pin. Up until that point, I was certain
(03:07):
I was the only foolhardy soul on the course, so
I yelled out four to warn the figure I was
about to hit. The hole was a manageable two hundred
and ten yards, and I knew I could reach the
green with my trusty five iron. As the ball left
my club, I watched it fly. It was one of
the crispest, most perfect shots I had hit all day.
(03:28):
Arking directly toward the pin. After putting my iron back
in my bag, I started the walk toward the green.
The man was still standing there, stock still, the flag
pin clutched in his hand. As I closed in. About
thirty yards away, a tremendous explosion of lightning and thunder
erupted from the sky, focusing on the green and the
(03:51):
man holding the metal pin. I began to scream at
him to drop it. I kept thinking to myself, that
doesn't this idiot know that lightning could strike that pull.
Just then, a monstrous bolt of lightning descended, striking the
pin and the man simultaneously. The sound was like a
shattering explosion, and the entire sky lit up in a blinding,
(04:12):
ghastly white, more intense than any Fourth of July firework display.
Upon witnessing the horrifying spectacle, I dropped my golf bag
and started running as best I could up the hill
toward the green. And although I truly believed, I never
took my eyes off the man. By the time I
scrambled up the incline barely ten yards from the green,
(04:33):
he was gone, nowhere in sight. By this time, the
darkness was complete and the rain was falling in a cold,
furious deluge. The man was not on the green, The
flag pin was back in the hole, perfectly upright, but
the guy had vanished. And how the hell could that be?
(04:55):
I pulled out my phone to dial nine one one,
but a paralyzing thought stopped me. What was I supposed
to tell him? After looking around for a frantic five minutes,
thoroughly soaked and trembling, I could barely make out the
distant light of the clubhouse, and I began the long,
miserable walk back. As I entered the clubhouse looking for Maureen,
(05:17):
my eyes fell on a small mounted photo board. As
I moved closer, my blood turned to ice. The man
I had seen on the course was staring back at
me from one of the faded photographs. Once Maureen returned
to the counter, I recounted my entire unbelievable story and
pointed a shaking finger at the man in the picture.
(05:38):
With a blank, unsettling, calm face. She looked up from
the counter, took my hand and led me to a
back room, and she pointed to a framed, yellowing newspaper clipping.
It was a story about one of the local golfers
who had been fatally struck by lightning five years ago
while playing with his wife on the ninth hole. As
(05:59):
I read the headline and looked from the printed photo
to the one on the board, a sickening sense of
shock and absolute dread washed over me. Maureen gave me
a glass of water and told me to sit down,
and then delivered the final blow. There had been five
similar inexplicable sightings of the man on the ninth hole
being struck by lightning over the last three years. I
(06:22):
now wish I had listened to Don's wife when she
warned about the coming rain and thunder. I haven't gone
back to the course since that day. Now I'll only
play when the sun is bright and bold, and I'm
always always with others. Note for golf enthusiasts, For any
of you golf officionados who listen to my story, you're
(06:42):
probably wondering what happened to that perfect ball I said
heading toward the pin. When I finally walked up to
the hole and peered into the cup, I found a single,
singed black golf ball resting eerily below the pin. Time
(07:04):
dilation on Superior Hiking Trail by Jesse fourteen seventy two.
This happened about a year ago while hiking with my brother.
We went on a day hike on the Superior Hiking
Trail in Minnesota, starting at a trail head just north
of TOFTI. The trip up to that point had been
weird with taking a late night trip to a grocery
(07:26):
store in Duluth to get snacks, and the motel we
were staying at potentially had hookers at it. It was Duluth,
so we didn't think too much of it anyway. We
started our hike early, around seven thirty or eight am,
and planned to hike for fourish hours before turning around
and getting out of the woods around twilight. For people
(07:47):
who haven't hiked the Superior Hiking Trail, it's fairly rugged
and not something you want to be doing in the dark.
Plenty of elevation changes and a mixture of prepared and
unprepared trails await. The hike was decent. We were talking
about life, as I had gone through a rough patch
not long before the hike. We were both fairly fit,
(08:09):
so the steep grades at parts were challenging but doable,
and this is important. We hiked about four or five
hours and ended up near the Lutson Lodge before turning around.
While hiking, we had passed several groups, one of which
was a group of college students clearly out for a
leisurely stroll. At that point, we turned around and the
(08:30):
time dilation started. We started hiking back at a noticeably
slower pace, maybe a half or a little faster than
half of what we'd been doing before. As we walked,
we didn't see any other group, but started noticing a
bunch of mushrooms that, as far as our research found,
weren't native to the area. We got back to a
(08:53):
point where we had stopped at earlier to figure out
if we needed to speed up. My brother checked his
phone while I was of zoning out before he asked me,
what time do you think it is? Recounting our pace
and location, I assumed it was around four pm and
we needed to pick up the pace to be out
in an hour. Oh and behold, we somehow had crossed
(09:16):
the same distance that took us two hours before in
only one hour. It was one pmish. As we were
trying to figure out how we had hiked that distance
faster at a slower pace, we began to realize that
all of the groups we had passed before hadn't been
around since at the very least we should have seen
(09:38):
the college group unless they had gone way off trail. Finally,
we got back to the trailhead that we started on
a whole two hours earlier than planned. Somehow we had
cut two hours from our predicted return while walking slower
the whole time. Though it felt like being in the
(09:58):
twilight Zone, but I had assumed up to that point
that it was just the atmosphere of a trail in
the fall The Laughing Runner by Dan l. This is
(10:19):
a story my mother told me that happened to her
when she was in her early twenties. She was married
to her first husband and they had rented a small
apartment just outside our city center. It was in a
block of around ten other apartments. At the time, my
mother was much more open minded about ghosts and all
things paranormal. One evening, she and her first husband, Mick,
(10:42):
were entertaining guests, and they decided to play around with
the Ouija board. There was some movement of the plan
chat and my mom recalled how it had told them
a spirit of a construction worker was there who had
been murdered and buried in the foundations of a motorway bridge.
Other than that, it wasn't that exciting. In the end
of the evening and the guests went home and they
(11:04):
disposed of the wigeboard stuff. The next morning, my mom
got up and went into the living room to find
the letters from the wijaboard scattered all over the floor.
As I mentioned, everything they had made for the wijaboard
had been disposed of and all the pieces had been
pushed down into the waist spin. Two letters, though, had
(11:26):
been singled out and sat away from the rest. They
were the two initials of the construction worker that had
contacted them the previous evening. My mom thought it was
Mick just trying to scare her, but he denied doing it.
About a week later, my mom's wedding ring went missing
for around a week and then suddenly reappeared on a
(11:47):
mantelpiece above the fire where my mom had left it
when taking it off to do housework. The ring suddenly
was not in good condition. It had been squashed flat,
but with no apparent damage to the stone, its setting,
or the band itself. She remembered setting it down and
then it disappearing and then reappearing that week later. Other
(12:12):
strange occurrences plagued both of them until they moved. Lights
would turn themselves on and off in the bathroom, and
they would often hear a sound of a man urinating
in the toilet, followed by the toilet being flushed. My
mom would investigate but never find anyone, and there was
a strange smell of cigarette smoke in the lounge, even
though no one ever smoked in there. This was the
(12:34):
time in the early seventies when the living room was
kept for entertaining guests and so always kept for best.
Not long after that, my mom and mick as separated
and they moved out of the apartment. The next part
of the story involves my ex brother in law. He
moved out of my mother in law's house and into
a rented house with his friend. It was a two
(12:57):
bedroom semi detached house which for a while had been
us used as a renting accommodation, seeing a fair few
families through its doors. They lived there for a few weeks,
my brother in law and his friend, and enjoying the
freedom that it gave them both as young single men.
It was about the time my brother in law's friend
got himself a lady friend and she started stopping over.
(13:19):
When the troubles began, my brother in law asked whom
we will call Matt, would be in his room and
he would hear a tap blasting out water, either in
the kitchen or the bathroom. Thinking his housemate Ben had
left it on, he would turn it off, but it
continued happening for a while before Matt felt the need
to tackle the issue with Ben. When he told Ben
(13:41):
about it, Ben told him that he was having similar experiences,
thinking that Matt was responsible. Neither of them had been
turning on the tap. Things also started going missing, only
to reappear days later in very obvious places. The most
disturbing phenomenon was what started next. Matt would be laying
(14:04):
in bed at night and would hear, coming from the
upstairs landing the sound of a child's laughter, very clear
and unmistakably coming from just outside his bedroom door. At first,
he ignored it, but when it went on for over
a week, he mentioned it to Ben, but he hadn't
heard anything. The final straw came one night when once
(14:26):
again Matt was lying in bed trying to sleep, when
he heard a thunderous noise from the landing. He said,
it sounded like a child running up and down the stairs,
then followed by the same laughter he had heard previously. Oh,
that scared him, and he was just about to get
out of bed to turn the light on. When his
bedroom door flew open. Matt sat in bed, dumb struck
(14:50):
with fear as he heard the laughter run into the room. Something,
though he couldn't see it, then ran right over his bed.
We saw the bedsheets depress as invisible feet ran across,
and he said he could also feel the extra weight
push his mattress down. Whatever it was that ran across
(15:10):
his bed, it was still laughing, and then disappeared into
the opposite corner of his room. Then everything got quiet.
Needless to say, they didn't stay in that property for
much longer. Although these stories are pretty scary to me,
I've never been privy to such extraordinary experiences, much to
(15:31):
my disappointment. Hey, Gang, thanks for listening to this episode.
If you have a true scary story of any nature
(15:53):
that you'd like me to narrate, email it to Uncle
Josh True Scary Stories at gmail dot com. I read
them all. If you're catching this episode on YouTube and
you like what you heard and saw, why not give
it a thumbs up leave me a comment. I'd love
to know what you thought of the stories. And if
you're not a subscriber, hey, become a subscriber today and
(16:13):
maybe even tell a friend about the channel. I'd appreciate it.
Pick yourself up some Uncle Josh and Campfire Crew merchandise.
There's a link to my tea public storefront in the description,
and of course, follow me on social media. We're almost here, Gang,
Almost time for the twenty twenty five Halloween Extravaganza. Looking
forward to this one. I hope you'll enjoy it. Everyone
(16:36):
be excellent to each other, and until next time, be
wary of things that go bump in the night. It
could be anything a ghost, a monster, or the guy
next door.
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