Tags:
shopkeeper
wife
daughter
neighbors
townspeople
spooky
dramatic
narrative
Adult
Elder
documentary
narration
voice actor
female voice-over
voice over
storyteller
Script:
She lived deep in the forest, in a tiny cottage, and made medicines for the people of the town. Herbs, roots, tinctures of all kinds. The townspeople were afraid of her, but when their lungs would seize or their children shivered with fever, there was no one else to turn to. They would walk the woods and knock on the door of Bloody Mary. Of course, no one called her Bloody Mary to her face, but it was long believed that the old woman was a witch. Crossing her meant that your wells might go dry, your crops could rot, or affliction could fall upon you or someone you love. If this weathered old crone had the power to heal, it was believed she also had the power to do much more. And then, during one of the coldest winters in memory, without explanation, little girls in the village began to disappear. One by one, they vanished without a trace. Families and friends searched houses, barns, shops, the church. They combed the snowy woods, calling the children's names. After the third child went missing, a few brave souls even trekked to Bloody Mary's cabin in the forest, begging, pleading for any clue. The woman simply shook her head, no, and slowly closed the door. As three missing girls became four, then five, the townspeople would take turns knocking on Bloody Mary's door, desperate for a sign. She would always shake her head, no, and slowly close the door. But something about her had started to seem different. Her skin was less wrinkled, its color more blushed. Her eyes were less cloudy. Her hair drifted around her shoulders like little black feathers. Her hands were no longer just tissue-skinned bones. Bloody Mary wore the bloom of youth. Already suspicious, the townspeople believed these things were connected, the vanishings and the witch. But they also knew how ridiculous their accusations would sound to a magistrate, and they feared all sorcery that might be used against them and their families if they angered the old woman. So they locked their doors and watched their children with great vigilance, making sure they did not leave the house unattended and disappear. In the middle of the night during the seventh week of these vanishings, the young daughter of a shopkeeper awoke to an enchanting sound coming from the fields outside. The sound penetrated her ears and filled her with warmth and comfort. Without a word, the girl shifted her feet to the floor and walked to the window. She did not see the outside world. She saw her own reflection in the glass. After a moment, she turned and walked out the door. She was being drawn away by a curse that no one else could hear. Suddenly, the shopkeeper and his wife heard a full-throated scream coming from the fields. The man ran outside. Neighbors soon joined him. They scanned the tree line for the source. It was the sharp-eyed shopkeeper who first saw the girl, his daughter apparently trapped within vines as she had been drawn towards the woods. A hundred feet away was the hag, the old woman who had become mysteriously young. Porcelain skin, bright eyes, a gleaming full mouth surrounding icy white teeth. Still recognizable, she was an ages-old version of herself. In her pristine hand, she pointed a tree-fashioned cane which was glowing like fire. This younger woman stood very still, except for her moving lips. The father and mother and neighbors, the entire town emerged into the moonlight. They had suspected witchcraft, and now they knew for sure. After a mad scrambling for knives and shovels, pitchforks and sickles, they rushed towards the woman with a wand. Bloody Mary broke her spell and fled back toward her home. Dozens of shouting, crying, raging townspeople followed her through the thick brush and dense trees. When they reached her tiny cabin, the witch was waiting to greet them from her doorway. As if realizing what was to come with a wry smile, the darkly lovely Bloody Mary met the eyes of each of her pursuers and again shook her head, No. She moved her lips again. This time, the sound she made was clear to all, a searing, dissonant siren that brought the crowd to its knees. The words they heard were language, but unknowable beyond the world of spellcasters. The people could not know each sound was a curse, variations on a single promise, revenge. When the old woman finally went silent, she walked into the cabin and closed the door. It was then that the torches were lit. It was then that her house was set aflame. It was then that Bloody Mary was burned to death. As the fire raged, each within the mob could somehow see their own reflections in the window glass. It would be days before a few adventurous men would walk beyond the charred cabin to discover still recognizable graves placed just two hundred feet away. The bodies of the children were uncovered. Each of them had been drained of blood. These young victims had been a literal fountain of youth for the witch in the woods. Strangely, in the years that followed, no one in the town met calamity. No curse befell them. No avenger came for them. Each lived a long life without reprisal. But the descendants of the town would not be so lucky. Children would grow to have children, then grandchildren, and with each generation, the young would speak of a scary face living within mirrors. Standing in darkness, enchanted under a spell, those who said the witch's name three times would have flesh, bone, and blood drawn into the glass, leaving nothing but mystery behind. Over the centuries, that curse became a legend. The legend became a game. Today, the aging crone no longer discriminates along family lines. After all, youth is youth, beauty is beauty, so she drifts behind glass in search of bright eyes and smooth skin. Speak her name and she will drink you like wine. Those who wish to test this fantastic tale are free to do what so many others have done. Center the mirror, lower the lights, take a deep breath, and say the name. Say my name. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.
Tags:
Informative
Calm
Reflective
Adult
documentary
news
docu news
news reporter
voice over
voice actor
female voice
narration
Script:
Positioned strategically between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, at the nexus of two worlds lies a bridge that is neither entirely of the East nor wholly of the West, but instead is a unique blend of both. This bridge is the Republic of Turkey. A pivotal crossroads for cultures and empires throughout history, today Turkey is a complex and powerful nation pursuing its own destiny on the world stage. From the labyrinthine-style streets of its largest city of Istanbul, to its arid heartland in central Anatolia, to the opulent oasis of its coastal resorts, Turkey defies simple categorization. It played a key role in the rise of Christianity, but today it's one of the world's most powerful and influential majority-Muslim countries. Historically secular for decades, its long history of interfaith conflict casts a shadow on the present day. With the near eradication of its Christian population and the vulnerable status of its minority faiths, it today demands careful and ongoing scrutiny. But if we look deeply into the complexity of Christian identity in Turkey, we may wind up looking back at ourselves, contemplating the nature of fellowship and how best to extend the hand of understanding to our brothers and sisters around the world. To begin to understand the complex status of Christians in modern Turkey, we need to journey back through time. Turkey's Christian roots reach back through the centuries to the earliest days of the church. Fleeing persecution in Jerusalem, many of the apostles, Peter, Paul, and John among them, traveled north to find refuge and spread the message of Jesus. They arrived in places like Antioch, known today as Antiochia. It is here that St. Peter was said to have founded one of the first Christian churches, laying the foundation for Antioch to become one of the most important cities in the early history of Christendom. Of even greater consequence was Constantinople. When the Roman Empire split in the 4th century AD, it was Constantinople that would become the center of the Greek-speaking Roman world and, eventually, of the Eastern Orthodox branch of Christianity. The formidable Hagia Sophia, built in 537 AD, one of the most famous churches ever constructed, is an enduring emblem of Christianity's deep roots in Turkish history. But as we will see, its shifting status is emblematic of the ever-changing landscape of faith in Turkish society. As the Ottomans swept into Anatolia in the 14th century, culminating in the fall of Constantinople in 1435, the lives of Christians in the region became highly precarious. Although the information about what happened next is disputed by the Turkish government and hotly debated by historians and scholars alike, one thing is for sure, over the centuries that followed, minor accommodations were overshadowed by deportations, expulsions, and through lethal violence that pitted faiths and cultures against one another. The consensus among historians is that a genocidal campaign in the early years of the 20th century killed hundreds of thousands of Armenians. Most Turks, however, dismiss this claim as mere propaganda. Nevertheless, the deaths of more than a million Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians in the waning days of the Ottoman Empire saw the nation's Christian population plummet from around a quarter to less than 5%. In 1924, the Treaty of Lausanne formally established the Republic of Turkey and called for Greece and Turkey to exchange minority populations. In the hundred years since, the proportion of Turks who are Christians has plummeted to a few tenths of 1%. Escaping repression in their homeland, Turkish Christians sought safe havens around the world throughout the 20th century. They have settled and thrived in significant numbers in Europe and beyond. But in Turkey itself, a nation of some 85 million people, Christians today number in the mere hundreds of thousands. These few remaining believers are further split among a dizzying number of denominations divided by both doctrine and ethnicity. The majority of Turkey's Christians belong to Oriental and Turkish Orthodox churches, accounting for over 120,000 followers shared among dozens of sects, with a mere 25,000 Turks belonging to the Greek Orthodox faith. About 15,000 Turks are Roman Catholic, and perhaps only 5,000 Protestants living in the country. Unfortunately, although few in number, Turkey's Christians are still often the focus of suspicion, resentment, local grievances, and naked hostility. They must reckon with spasms of restriction, oppression, and even violence, often encouraged for political purposes. The government actively works to prevent the spread of the faith. Over the last few years, dozens of Christian missionaries, most representing Protestant denominations, have been forced to leave the country, and some have been banned from entering. Politicians often paint Christians as Western collaborators worthy of suspicion. Many members of the Muslim majority view being Christian as making a person less Turkish. Converts to Christianity are ostracized. It is an unspoken rule that non-Muslims are barred from government jobs. Emboldened by the tacit approval of politicians, bigots, and thugs persecuting Christians with greater frequency, churches have increasingly been desecrated and vandalized. But many Turkish Christians have decided to remain, given the present precarious status of these adherents in Turkish society. Why? Identity comprises a complex combination of factors, felt and expressed in ways that may surprise outside observers. Many Turkish Christians feel an unshakable connection to the territory they consider their homeland. Here, they say, is where their communities have lived for hundreds of years. They are proud of how their ancestors have helped shape Turkish culture, and been shaped by it, stretching back through centuries. This, for good and ill, is home. For some Christian Turks, that feeling of connection transcends geography. They feel a kinship to their Muslim neighbors, bound together by shared cuisine, shared culture and practice, shared language. Some will even go so far as to say that they have more in common, they feel more comfortable, with Turkish Muslims than with their Christian brothers and sisters of Western heritage and outlook. And then there are Christian Turks who have opted to take a pragmatic approach. Rather than merely enduring a hostile landscape, they have learned to judiciously navigate the corridors of power, pursuing accommodations and alliances in the highest circles of Turkish political influence. They have found ways to not merely survive, but thrive in business, as religious minorities do in many countries around the world. Taken at face value, we can find inspiration in the way these believers express their connection and commitment to culture, land and faith, to kinship with their neighbors, despite a sometimes openly hostile, anti-Christian settlement in the society at large. But can we take them entirely at face value? How comfortable are Turkish Christians in expressing themselves openly, in a country where the consequences for speaking out can be severe? How free can minorities be when they're forced to tread carefully on constantly shifting terrain? From the point of view of those in power, that uncertainty is undoubtedly part of the plan, offering tolerance with one hand for external consumption, while limiting rights with the other for political purposes at home. As recently as the early years of the 21st century, Turkey pursued membership in the European Union, conditions improved for religious minorities. In recent years, however, as the government has switched to a populist appeal to retain power, tolerance has fallen out of fashion. In its 2021 report on hate crimes against religious minorities in Turkey, the Helsinki Committee for Human Rights counted 29 incidents. It warned that the total was likely higher since victims were often reluctant to report attacks. The news from Turkey regularly brings fresh stories of ill-treatment of minorities, sometimes encouraged for political benefit. In fact, the official stance towards minority faith populations is transmitted forcefully. The Christian church of Hagia Sophia, ransacked during the fall of Constantinople, was recently converted once again into a mosque by order of the Turkish president, a powerful signal to Turkey's majority Muslim population, but also a warning to Christians. Erdogan telegraphed his intent to the world by converting the Hagia Sophia, once the largest church in Christendom, into a mosque. Ever since the modern nation state in 1923, that church has, you know, been a museum basically and free for everyone to gather in. Him just making the decision to turn it back into a mosque basically is a indirect kind of communication to everybody. I want to restore our Ottoman past. In the glory days of Istanbul's distant past, a bureaucracy grew that was so convoluted, so perplexing, that the very name of the city gave us a word that today embodies maddening complexity, Byzantine. The situation facing Turkish Christians today is no less fraught, no less beset by cross currents and mixed messages. Are Christians tolerated, or are they mere pawns in a larger geopolitical game? Are successful Orthodox entrepreneurs a sign that everyone is welcome in Turkish society, or are they merely the shrewdest navigators in rough winds? Should we pay more attention to the beautiful new churches built in Turkey with government blessing, or to those places of worship that have been vandalized? In the face of this planned ambiguity, we need to hold fast to things we know for certain. Turkey's long history of antagonism towards its Christian community, whether encouraged by official policy or sparked by local tensions, is real and ongoing. We must all bear witness to remind Turkey that the world is watching. At the same time, we must also reflect on the complex realities of Christian identity in Turkey, and the strong bond that Christian Turks feel with both their homeland and their Muslim neighbors. And to remember that many Turkish Muslims are as tolerant as we would want our own communities to be, whatever the political climate of the day. We must acknowledge a kernel of truth that in striving for mutual respect and fellowship across faiths, as we demand justice and humane treatment of religious minorities, we must unfailingly hold ourselves and our societies to a higher standard. Even in the face of provocation and resentment, we must remind ourselves to extend the hand of friendship, especially to those less powerful than ourselves. In seeking a better future for religious minorities, and in demanding justice and fairness for Turkey's Christians, we must ourselves lay the foundation and set an example every day. We hope you enjoyed today's episode and that it has given you a fresh perspective on the world we live in. If you enjoyed this project, please consider leaving a thumbs up and sharing it with others who might find it intriguing. Your support helps us reach a wider audience and inspire more people to explore the wonders of our world and offer different perspectives. Don't forget to subscribe and hit that notification bell to stay updated with our upcoming releases. Thanks for watching and we'll see you in the next episode.
Tags:
audio drama
voice over
female voice actor
crime
con artist
marriage fraud
scammer
male manipulator
Script:
Sarah stared at her investment portfolios green, hands trembling, $387,452, her life savings gone. The trading platform that had seemed so legitimate, her relationship with James that had felt so real, the incredible returns she had watched grow week after week, all a carefully orchestrated lie. She thought about James, who had first reached out on LinkedIn three months ago. His profile had seemed impeccable, Harvard MBA, 15 years at Goldman Sachs, profile connections that included several of her own colleagues, and that warm smile in his profile photo, the kind of smile that had drawn her in. The early conversations had been casual, professional, then he'd mentioned losing his wife to cancer two years ago, and something shifted. Sarah found herself opening up about her own divorce, her struggles with online dating, her mother's recent cancer diagnosis. James always knew exactly what to say, sharing his own vulnerability, his journey as a single dad. The nightly texts had become video chat requests, though something always seemed to come up. His daughter needed help with homework, his trading schedule ran late, the connection was too unstable, but his voice notes made up for it, his slight British accent adding charm to his daily encouragement. Mom, this doesn't feel right, Tyler had warned during their Sunday dinner three weeks ago. Some investment advisor you met on LinkedIn who won't do regular video calls, who keeps pushing you to invest more? Her 24-year-old son had been hearing about popular investment scams, and even tried to share a few articles with her. But she dismissed his concerns, even gotten angry. You don't understand, Tyler, James is different, he's been through the same things I have, he's helping me secure our future, your future too. The hurt in Tyler's eyes as he'd back off still haunted her. The initial $5,000 investment had grown to $8,000 in just two weeks, she'd even been able to withdraw $2,000 easily, proof it wasn't a scam. That's when she went all in, liquidating her 401k, taking out a home equity loan. Each skeptical comment from family and friends had only pushed her closer to James, who always knew exactly what to say. They just don't want to see you succeed, Sarah, they don't understand what we have. Until yesterday, when she tried to withdraw her profits to help pay for her mother's cancer treatment. Suddenly there were taxes to be paid first, then transfer fees, then international transaction charges. Each payment she made only led to more demands. That's when the horrible truth finally dawned. She had fallen victim to what law enforcement called a pig butchering scam, like a pig being fattened for slaughter, fed false hopes of both love and wealth. And then a notification popped up on her screen. James. Sarah, darling, don't worry about these fees. I care too much about you to let anything happen to your investment. I just need you to make one more small payment. At the same moment, another text came through from Tyler. Mom, you haven't answered my calls. Are you okay? I'm worried. Fresh tears blurred her vision, her retirement dreams, her mother's treatment, her future, all vanished into digital wallets she would never recover. Even worse was the hollow ache in her chest, mourning a relationship that had never really existed. But through her tears, she saw something else in Tyler's message, unconditional love. Despite everything, despite her dismissing his warnings, her son still cared. With newfound resolve, she blocked James' number and opened the FBI's IC3 website to file a report. She then picked up her phone and dialed Tyler's number. Mom? His voice was instantly concerned. What's wrong? You were right, she whispered, about everything. I need your help. I'll be there in 20 minutes, he said without hesitation. As she waited, Sarah began documenting everything, every red flag she'd ignored, every manipulation tactic, every painful lesson learned. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard, but she kept typing. She'd lost her savings, but she won't let James steal her dignity, too. That evening, as Tyler helped her file police reports and freeze accounts, Sarah discovered Operation Shamrock, a group dedicated to fighting back against these scams. The stories she heard echoed her own. The fake profiles, the manufactured intimacy, the calculated grooming. As she learned more, something shifted inside her. She'd transform her pain into purpose, her story becoming a beacon of warning that might save someone else. After all, the most valuable investment wasn't in some too-good-to-be-true trading platform. It was in protecting others from predators who weaponized loneliness and hope. Real love, she realized, didn't demand wire transfers or hide-behind excuses. It showed up in 20 minutes when you called. It stayed even when you messed up. It had been there all along, not in romantic messages from strangers, but in the worried texts of a son who never gave up on his mom.
Tags:
Thought-provoking
Unbiased
Inspirational
Adult
news story
news report
female voiceover
voice actor
voice over
documentary
narration
Script:
Religion, politics, race, and today, even gender, all hot button issues, topics that people don't like to talk about and or are afraid to address. Who's right? Who's wrong? The reality is that for most, these are all subjective. Perspectives Uncovered, the YouTube channel that won't shy away from just telling you how things really are, a world full of different perspectives, perspectives that challenge our beliefs and what we think is true. But if we're humble, perspectives that can also broaden our understanding. In a world where it's easy to surround yourself in your own personal social media echo chambers, Perspectives Uncovered is your trusted guide to breaking down barriers, igniting curiosity, and exposing the diverse perspectives of the world around us. In an era of information overload and sensationalism, we understand that discerning truth is more vital than ever. These social media platforms are rife with policies to censor certain perspectives and certain content that the corporate behemoths that control them deem inappropriate for their platforms. But we are committed to delivering unbiased and thought-provoking content, backed by thorough research and authoritative sources, not only to encourage critical thinking, but to offer differing viewpoints from areas all across the globe. Perspectives Uncovered is more than a channel. It's a labor of love, a dedication to truth. Every minute of detail, from brainstorming sessions to editing marathons, is meticulously crafted to deliver content that informs, challenges, and inspires. Join us on this enlightening journey as we dive into untold stories, unravel hidden narratives, and uncover a myriad of perspectives you may have never considered. With our commitment to veracity and your thirst for knowledge, together we will explore and always seek out the truth. Subscribe now so you can stay up to date to our most recent projects. And until next time, keep questioning, keep exploring, and always be open to a different perspective.
Tags:
dad
mom
sister
tenant
eerie
suspenseful
narrative
Adult
scary story
documentary
voice over
voice actor
female voice-over
in-show narration
Script:
Manchester, New Hampshire, one of the biggest cities in northern New England, a sprawling metropolis with a long and varied history. Hiding deep within its residential homes lies a place where strange things tend to happen. There is a house so haunted that everyone who visits experiences some kind of paranormal activity. Why is this seemingly normal house haunted? What kind of secrets lie behind the house on Myrtle Street? The House on Myrtle Street. A normal two-family home in the quiet suburbs. It was built in the late 1920s, owned by only one family for over 60 years. Dr. David Rosenbloom and his wife Natalie, along with their only son Robert, first lived in the house. Living out of the ordinary for 30 years, until one day, something tragic happened. Natalie took her own life in the attic one summer. The reason was never determined. However, the tragedy was quickly forgotten as not even two years later, David remarries a widow named Lillian. The doctor and his second wife live happily until the end of their days. With their passing in the early 90s, a local who lived across the street named Mike Reed acquired the home and started to rent it out. Almost immediately after it became a rental property, the strange occurrences began with every new tenant. I had well over a dozen tenants over the years, and I've had them come to me and tell me a number of things that have gone on. And at first, I kind of, you know, I really didn't believe it, or I kind of brushed it off. But the more I heard, I started to think there was something here, and there was something going on. And when my sister started telling me, that really added credibility. So the lights in the attic, that was happening a lot. The water turning off and on. I have a friend that, she asked me if she could spend the night. So she actually stayed in my bedroom, which is at the end of the house where a lot of activity took place. She's sleeping, her granddaughter, who's only like maybe six or seven at the time, also sleeping in the bed with her. During the night, she started hearing scratching on the wall. Shortly after that, something very heavy pushing down on her chest. And during the night, the door started slamming. I don't mean closing, I mean slamming. Just in my house. That was it for her. She was up, she was out of the house, she came across the street and spent the night at my mother's. One of my tenants had a cat, came home and was surprised that the cat did not run to the door to meet him. It was later found that the cat was, had a, I think it was a cellophane that you put over dry cleaning, formed into just a long piece of almost like rope and wrapped around the cat's neck and wrapped around a bedpost. Which to me was, I didn't know this until after he left. That was very disturbing. Sitting in the living room one night, we were watching television. And I, out of the corner of my eye, and I looked through our dining room door that goes into the kitchen. And it was dark in there. There was just a darker figure, like a shape of a person. Just a shadow of a person. And I could just, it felt like something was staring at us. And this is probably like a couple years later, sitting, same place, we're watching a movie. And this time I saw that dark figure walk like from our hallway towards the door that goes out to the staircase to go upstairs. And it just kind of walked like that. After that, I'm like, all right. And I told her, I said, hon, I said, I think someone just walked in our kitchen. My daughter would hear footsteps in the kitchen. Mostly, everything happened in the kitchen. And she saw, after putting dishes away, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman in the mirror. And she went to look at the mirror. There was nothing there. A former tenant decides to relive his troubled past and visit the house one more time. Mike DeFranzo. His father and sister lived in that home for three years. During their stay, the family was tormented and suffered some of the worst activity in the home. My name is Mike DeFranzo. I lived in this house probably 20 years ago now. Here I am, back inside the building for the first time in 20 years. I've told this story dozens of times. And now I'm telling it where it happened. And I'm like a little bit fucked up about it. So from the kitchen, we started hearing like a moaning sound, human moaning, just kind of a droning like, uh, uh. But it was definitely coming from the kitchen. It was definitely human. So my sister and I obviously, we woke my dad up who was sleeping on the long couch over here. I think he acknowledged it and then brushed it off because he didn't want to deal with it. I just sort of started making my way back like towards the kitchen. The whole time, by the way, the moaning is continuing just, uh, uh. And so I'm walking, uh, like cautiously to this doorway here. And it's like, it sounds like it's coming like from the ceiling down at me. So it was like I said, it got loudest like right here and it was like, uh, and then cut. And as soon as it cut, I got chills all down my body and just was completely physically exhausted. Like I think I slept the rest of the day. This was my sister's room. She had horrible night terrors. She said that, and I don't know how this fits in with anything, but what she saw in her dreams and her night terrors were that, um, she'd be in this bed. It was up against that window there. And there was a train that would go by in the dream. The train would stop outside the house and a man with no face would get off the train and crawl in her window and just scratch at her face with his fingernails. You know, she'd yell, she'd wake up, she'd run down to my dad's bedroom. This was again, part of the reason that we all started sleeping in the living room together. We assumed she was scratching her own face, um, cause she was waking up with scratches on her face. So my dad, in an effort to curb this, taped mittens on my sister's hands. And the next morning, with the mittens still on her hands, she had a fresh scratch mark down the front of her face. And I remember, especially on the bridge of her nose, it was like completely raw. Almost like, fuck you, I'm here. Like this has nothing to do with her. Could the activity in the house be related to the late doctor and his wife? There is speculation that one of the entities that haunts the house may in fact be Natalie Rosenblum herself. Being the only known death on the property, no one knows why she took her own life. All these stories grab the attention of a local ghost hunting group. They try to document the haunting with motion-sensitive infrared cameras set throughout the house. They contact a local psychic medium to perform a seance. Alright, so we're going to do our seance. And the first thing we're going to do is hold hands, and I want everybody to just close your eyes. We're going to be holding hands for the whole time. The first thing that we'd like to do is invite in any and all ghosts or spirits or energies that would like to communicate with us or make their presence known within this house. Natalie, are you here with us? Did you just hear a slight thump? I did. Thank you. Can you make that louder? We did hear you. We heard you and we thank you. Can you come closer to us, please? I think you were maybe on the third floor. Can you come into your kitchen? Give us a sign that you can hear us. Walking. Yeah. I hear you. Can you come closer? Come down here to where you lived. Come down from the attic. Can you come down from the attic? SOS in Morse code. It sounded like it's outside. I was going to say it sounded like it's downstairs. I don't know if it's outside. I feel like it was upstairs in the attic. You heard something this direction and then... You heard something back here? Yeah. I'm hearing stuff. To your back and to the right. Yeah. To the up and to the right. It sounded like it was in the rocking chair. Natalie, we hear you and we are so happy and so excited. If it was rain, we'd be hearing it on the air. Yeah. It wouldn't be there. What? That's a different noise and there's no animals here? We stay quiet around that area in general. We don't usually hear tapping. Show us the energy that you have. If you're really here and you really exist. I now expand our invitation from just Natalie to David Rosenblum. I invite you here, back to your home. We have some of your objects from your workshop. The fireworks. If it is, it got louder. Ooh, I just got goosebumps. Something arrived. I feel cold. That's good. You're doing so well. Can you gather your energy and show us? During the investigation, the team encountered strange sounds coming from the attic. Their cameras capture strange lights. And during the seance, a strange fog appears between two cameras facing each other. What could have caused these anomalies? Are they proof that something resides in this house? Did Mike DiFranzo experience the sound of someone hanging in the kitchen, possibly coming not from the kitchen, but rather the attic? Natalie's final gasping breaths before the eventual death rattle. Was the man that his sister saw in her dreams the late Dr. Rosenblum? After some research, it was discovered that Lillian, the second wife, was actually related to the doctor. She was his biological first cousin. Did Natalie discover some dark secret of Dr. Rosenblum? Are they the apparitions that continue to roam the halls, reliving their dark past? The hauntings continue to this day. One can only hope that wherever the Rosenblums are, they find whatever peace that escaped
Tags:
Whimsical
Mysterious
Breathy
Adult
mother earth
voice over
female voice-over
voice actor
Script:
The whole world, my child, is made up of stories. Stories that nature conceals. Stories that each individual collects like puzzle pieces. The stories of every living being. Stories. They are behind everything you see. And they are strongly connected to one another. Collecting and telling them is what makes us alive. Something that becomes proof of our existence. It becomes something no one can take away from us. Something that our souls will cherish forever. But I am the source of every existing story on this planet. The mother of life. The source of existence. And if I had to choose only one of my stories to share, it would be the most beautiful and magical. A story about the connection between a human and the element of water. A human and the waves. A human and the ocean.
