Hello, and welcome to my favorite murder the minisod.

We read you your stories and now we update you about your stories and their responses.

That's right.

When we do a minisode that is so compelling that Nick Terry doesn't animated about it.

Go to the exactly right media YouTube to watch.

To watch, and then go ahead and read those comments under the bab Boon animated We did and there's a lot happening.

Do you want to just kind of like tell people the story if they don't know it?

Just ra boom real quick.

Basically, the MFM animated that was a hometown was a little girl who they went into like a Safari drive through, and the mother made the little girl get out and face down the bab Boon to get their side mirror back.

How was that?

That was perfect?

And then the people spoke, and not only did the people speak in these YouTube comments, Diane's daughter came to defend her honor.

The mother of the daughter who was the little girl was with and wasn't her kids she kicked someone else's kid out of the car yes, to square off with Brabboons.

Diane was like, hey, Emily, you get out and go get that mirror.

But that's Emily's side of the story.

The plot thickens because Diane's daughter showed up to say Emily didn't really tell that story accurately.

I'm sorry.

She came around to say.

Hot tea coming in really quick?

Should we say this?

Shit people were saying in the comments were like peak nineties parenting there.

Yeah, all kids were safe, No, thanks to Diane.

You know, Diane didn't watch the Omen question mark right.

There was a lot of Diane shit talking.

Yes, so here's a comment from Diane's literal daughter.

Hi, all, Diane's daughter here, I need to make some corrections to the story as to vindicate Diane.

I have taken this recording to my sister and mother, and we all agree that Emily has misremembered a few key facts here.

The first and most important is that my mom asked me, her daughter, to open the door and retrieve the mirror that was sitting directly next to the car door on the ground.

That's another little It wasn't that far away.

Yes, I refused, as we were being swarmed and attacked by baboons.

Boo.

Yes, we know that.

Secondly, Emily absolutely volunteered to slither out the door to grab it.

The babboons did charge and Emily did not get the mirror.

Diane eventually drove to the end of the safari and a ranger did grab one mirror that was duc tiped to the car for the ride home to PA.

Despite the fact that my mom did ask a literal child to fight for the mirror, she asked her child to do so, she sacrificed her own child.

Yeah, whose side are you on?

Yeah?

Are you on the initial daughter or the main girl Emily who did the slythering, who was not the daughter who told a story like she was sent out into a safari park as a child.

Well, clearly we need Diane's side of the story, so she needs to write in.

Diane, if you could send a video in, we would love to be able to throw to you.

And then that's right.

Maybe we've talked to you live all right.

So that's the update on a hometown.

That's right.

Send us your updates for hometown or your side of the story.

We want to know.

I mean, if your hometown has gotten all the way to nick Terry level and you would like to make a correction or talk about what's real We're here to entertain any version of reality.

That's sure, that's what we do.

Okay, let's do hometowns.

You want to go first.

Sure.

The subject line of this email is God the Mother Almost got me.

Hi, Karen Georgia and fellow Murderinos.

I've been a listener since day one.

My little sister introduced me to my favorite murder back when we were both working in a plastic factory trying to save up for college tuition.

That's about as American as you can get.

I'm so proud in nineteen thirties.

I mean, hell, yes, did you have to wear those things on your hair?

Did you have to wear protective goggles?

I hope you wear a mask because breathing in those particles can't be good for you.

No.

And also, were you as something like a little toy?

Okay, okay, okay, right back in and answer all those questions.

Your podcast got me through long shifts and hard days, and I've been hooked ever since.

After listening to episode four ninety, I wanted to share a story that still gives me chills.

The time I was almost recruited by a cult known as God the Mother.

I remember that documentary picture this.

It's twenty eighteen.

I'm a senior at the University of San Diego trying to survive my core curriculum.

So that means that she made it to college.

She got that plastic money and she got her college tuition.

Amazing, good job.

One requirement was to take three theology or religion course.

That's a lot what the fuck the Jesuits will get you.

Growing up culturally Catholic didn't exactly prepare me for what those professors were throwing at us.

And I was desperate to form a study group so I wouldn't totally bomb the class.

I was walking alone one evening after dance practice, trying to get home, when a girl about my age smiled and waved me over.

She asked, have you heard of God the Mother?

At first I was curious, even a little relieved.

I'd been actively looking for a group of study buddies to help me survive this class, and this sounded promising.

She explained that the group of mostly women met off campus to discuss matriarchal themes in religion.

All right, sounded kind of cool, right, but something felt dot dot dot off.

They smiled, plaster to your face.

Do you want to hear about God the Mother, God the Mother.

Not try to smile, but not use your eyes.

Have you met God the Mother can't do it.

The more she spoke, the more uneasy I became.

The vibe turned from friendly to weirdly intense.

I tried to excuse myself, but she started following me around campus.

Oh no, That's when I decided to fuck politeness and embarrassment.

I spotted a cute guy coming out of the campus store and ran up to him, pretending we know each other genius than I do.

Thankfully, he caught on immediately and played along.

The girl eventually backed off, and he stayed with me and how campus police arrived and gave me a ride home.

Man, that is how you hit on someone that's so good.

It doesn't matter if there's no one following you, Hey, sir, right, Oh my god?

If someone following me, can you protect me?

Hey?

Will you shop with me at this Marshal's.

There's someone following me through this marshals card.

I stuffed a shirt in my purse Earlier.

The next day in class, everyone was talking about the news.

Apparently this God the Mother group, as seen on usd's campus, had ties to human trafficking.

Oh fuck.

They were targeting local college students, especially women, through those supposed study groups that were actually fronts for kidnapping.

Holy shit.

To this day, I think about how close I might have come to becoming one of those stories we all talk about.

I've never forgotten a student who helped me, or that gut feeling that told me something was wrong.

What if it had been him who was the problem and she.

Got his carb.

Sorry, but you just can't keep trying anyone.

He's like, I'll help you girl.

I am God.

I'm also got the Mother Jesus, and if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Xoxo Debbie Nice.

Yeah, that's good.

Good escape.

I'm not going to reach it.

The title of this one, okay, it just starts.

Hi, big fan, my incredible grandma who passed.

I'm so sorry, but we didn't explain why we're so glammed up right now.

If you're gonna watch us on YouTube, like, now's the time to start, because we look fucking glam and flawless.

I'm wearing fake eyelashes.

I am too.

We had a photo shoot just now and we were like, let's film now because we're never going to look better.

I thought that'd be a little breadcrumbing for people to come over to the video.

Part to the exactly right media, my favorite murder YouTube.

Join the van goal, We're in the fan call whatever, Get your tour tickets.

My incredible grandma, who passed away in twenty twenty two, had the most incredible stories.

As she got older, she lost her filter and got progressively sassi er hi.

She also had a hard time finding.

Doctors that she liked.

Okay, we're set up.

After years of looking, she finally found someone that she trusted and could also get along with.

What do you think?

She was like, I mean, how long are you in a doctor's of women that you're not nic people?

Immediately he took her arthritis seriously and she finally felt like she was making progress.

One day, he was just no longer available, not on the clinic website, canceled appointments, and no one at the clinic would talk about him.

Finally, my mom, who was accompanying my grandma to all her appointments, decided to google him, and she found that he had lost his license for all caps.

Experimenting with animal grade botox meant for like dogs with arthritis in his own face and also his mom's face.

No, what, who are you mad at?

In this story?

They did it to themselves anyway.

I don't know that my grandma ever really trusted another medical professional again, but it was a great addition to the arsenal of incredible stories from my grandparents, unseating the time my grandpa got kicked out of McDonald's because one of his friends they were all over eighty at the time, tried to throw a chair at one of the other friends.

Oh shit, Oh they were like the old man coffee grow did McDonald's talking shit?

Aren't there chairs bolted to the ground for that reason?

Probably?

Yeah, we're are there loose chairs at McDonald's.

This is a questionable story.

Your grandpa lies.

My grandparents were the coolest.

Hannah, Hannah, I'm so sorry what I said about your grandpa.

I was lying.

I'm the liar.

Here.

Wow, I love photos and in your face, in your mom's face.

Just get little whiskers?

Can I have it here?

Here, here, and here and in my pupils.

The subject line of this email is horse camp run by drug dealers.

Perfect.

So it just starts so period, I'm a city girl from Queens, New York, who would spend summers in the Catskills, visiting my mom's family and generally annoying my father by fighting with my sister, our usual sibling bonding, but with a forest aesthetic.

My sister was obsessed with horses, and I was still undecided with them at that point.

My dad would take us to a place that claimed to be a ranch when and it really was a bar with some horses out back.

I want to go there, lying the kids, just to get them to a bar.

You love it here, Go over there, dad, it's a parking lot.

I'm sure this was his place of choice because it was cheap.

This summer I was ten, we went on a ride early enough in July from my sister to see their Camp Flyer, a week long camp where one could learn horsemanship skills.

My parents cave to my sister, and of course, if one of us was going, both of us were going.

Horse camp was in fact just a bunch of girls cleaning the stables and running around unsupervised for four hours a day with horses.

As a ten year old, I learned two things.

Number One, horses are dicks, very.

True, very true, like worse than cats.

They're so tense and strong and finicky, not in.

A bad way, like good for them, but like what are we trying to do?

Well?

And also bad for nine year old girls who think that they're going to walk up and touch their cheek and make friends forever.

No, horses don't can play that way.

And then they put their head back and they show those huge veneers.

I have those, and they eat your apple.

I did too.

As a ten year old, I learned two things.

One, horses are dicks too.

It's not called horse camp.

Did you know that horses it's not called horse camp.

Did you know that horses who don't like saddles will bloat out their stomachs when you're putting them on?

Cool I've told you that story of my cousin Stevie and I riding his horse Lady, who just walked around in a field.

Yeah, free and easy, free range.

She's like, fuck these kids.

Stevie put a saddle on her one day and she blowed it out like this.

So I was riding behind him and we just very slowly went all the way over to the side and then fell off.

The horse was laughing so hard.

Was horse language at you?

Do not try me.

I'm not doing this with you.

I learned this on day two when trotting and suddenly my whole saddle went sliding sideways on the horse.

The amazing part is your feet are in the stirrups right, so you're going with it.

Crash.

I wish that was the worst of it, but two days later, when on a trail, my horse was bitten by the horse behind me.

Horses apparently do this when they have beef, and took off into the woods at high speeds.

What I had learned at horse camp was echoing through my brain.

The lead expert said day one, if anything happens on your horse and you are scared all caps, do not scream.

If you scream, it will make things worse, which is why as I pulled the reins over my head and prayed to the horse gods to make this annibal stop, I did not let out a squeak.

I waited twenty minutes to be found and jumped off the horse to let out a string of profanities quite impressive for a ten year old, and refuse to get back on, stating I hate horse camp, only to be told horses don't go to camp.

This is equestrian riding camp.

I'd literally drop the reins and walk into the river boat away.

Y see you on the flip, motherfucker.

Now I'm going to rafting camp.

Once I got home, I learned the next important lesson whatever the camp is called.

If my dad paid for a full week, I was going back for the phone week.

Oh shit.

After finishing out the week, I in fact found a great respect for horses and the knowledge I never wanted to ride one again.

My sister went back to this place for years until it was finally shut down because the owners were arrested for selling meth out of the bar.

Apparently, apparently the side hustle of horse camp wasn't enough for them.

So remember always check your horse's saddle before getting on, and maybe check that the camp that you're sending your kids to isn't run by drug dealers.

Wow, that's just signed c.

Great story because you could have just told us about the meth dealers.

That's a great story.

Yeah, that was great.

And also I'll never get on a horse.

I'm personally like, I have a healthy fear of horses, and I think people should for their children too.

Yeah, Like it takes one gardener, snake to fucking spook a horse.

The problem is with us farm people.

We fucking love being on horses.

And I went to horse camp with my friend Jennifer Gearing, and most of those things happened to me.

And we were taught vaulting, which is when you run beside the horse and jump onto it.

Don't do that, And like we had to do a show at the end which to show people we could do it.

Book camp.

I'm booking cat camp sounds cool.

We must have that im.

That's called the public library.

Okay, get a library, Karma's house, get a good library.

Car library card.

Here is a thirty plus year old summer ghost story.

Ooh hey Karen and Georgia.

Not a Day one listener, but so glad I found you when I did the sound of your voices keeps me sane on a daily basis and escape from the shit show we call reality.

In twenty twenty five book Yeah, baby, stay sane.

Today I was listening to MINNISO four for one and you asked for summer ghost stories.

Write yes, because we're like, anyone could tell a winter ghost story?

Is it?

We're like, is Arizona haunted?

Because it's hot.

Oh right, so there must not be a ghostar Do you have a like summer we did that.

I thought about sending this story in several times before, but your specific call for summer ghost stories finally gave me the kick in the ass I needed to write this all down finally.

Every summer as a kid, we would do a two week family vacation on Cape Cod.

Sounds amazing rich rented.

We rented various houses over the years, but there was one in particular that we returned to several years in a row, starting in the summer of nineteen ninety one when I was twelve.

Built in eighteen twenty six as a Methodist church, the house was essentially one cavernous open space with a few flimsy half walls added into create bedroom areas.

The worst because if those walls don't go all the way up to the ceiling, you can hear your parents fucking I mean, or just anybody farting.

I mean, like, it's the worst, Okay.

Above the living space was the kind of attic that just gives you the chills the moment you put your foot on the stairs.

Yeah, Cape Cod's probably so haunted, so it's all those sailors, Yes, pirates.

The attic was set up as an artist studio.

From what I understood, the artist had died and his children wanted it to remain completely untouched.

Paint brushes and canvases were still laid out as if he would return at any moment.

Most nights, my sister and I would hear noises coming from the attic.

It sounded like heavy foots and creaking floorboards.

I tried to never be the last one awake at night, but sometimes all I could do was lay there waiting for the first terrifying creek.

You're trying to rush off to sleep.

You're like ambient, AMBIENTE, get me out of here, got to go.

Sometimes the footsteps would wake me up at midnight.

My sister and I would often run to each other's beds, and she's seven years older than I am, so I knew I wasn't crazy or wake our parents when we got too freaked out my way to chill.

Dad would always explain it away as probably.

A squirrel in the walls.

They never heard a thing, and I don't think they believe us to this day.

I've thought of the house often since then.

Last December, after a visit with my parents, who eventually bought a house, not that one, thank god, and retired to Cape Cod.

I started doing a deep dive on the history of the house.

No one remembered the address, but I found it by digging through Google maps and online historical archives, so satisfying.

In nineteen twenty five, an artist named see Arnold Slade purchased the abandoned eighteen twenty six Methodist Mead House and had it dismantled and reconstructed on Savage Point, the blustery hilltop location of his home and compound of cottages.

He took basically a Methodist church and moved it and rebuilt it somewhere else.

To back up, Yeah, that's like begging to be haunted.

The church was turned into a studio and exhibition space where Slade displayed copies of his iconic war paintings, as well as his current portraits and new England landscapes.

Slade's summer rental cottages and quirky church studio became known as Sladeville.

When Slade died in nineteen sixty one, his wife sold Sladeville to an artist, Peter Hooven.

Hooven lived in the house and used the attic as his studio in his death.

Do you want to guess what year?

Yep, you guessed it.

Nineteen ninety one, the summer we started renting there.

So the second artist died the year they started, and then they were like, let's bring in this.

Family for AKA.

They were the next ones in.

Yeah, I need ee there.

He died young, only fifty seven years old, and all of my internet thing has brought zero answers about how he passed.

I now have no doubt that there was at least one, if not two, spirits inhabiting the space above us.

All those nights plus churches in Massachusetts in the eighteen twenties, probably lots more spooky shit there.

Yeah.

Sure, stay sexy and don't vacation in super haunted abandoned churches turned deceased artists studios.

I can't believe I got that, Ilona she her.

It's really creepy that only the kids heard it.

Oh for sure.

That's like, well now we know where it goes.

Yeah.

The subject line of my last email is welcome to Squirreltown, USSA, Hi friends.

Is that too presumptuous?

It feels right?

That's in parentheses and then it says only in New York is about one point five hours south of Buffalo, and for some reason believes it has the most squirrels in the world.

There's absolutely no way they could know this.

But I think one squirrel running these dis every where so busy amped up.

Yeah, there's absolutely no way that they could know this, but I think they needed something to cling onto so that they could feel important.

For whatever reason, squirrels were the answer.

We all need something, yeah, and squirrels work.

This got extremely out of hand when one day I was in high school and I awoke to the news that someone had planted twenty eight four foot tall concrete statues of squirrels around the city and then all caps twenty eight.

Each was painted differently to represent either where it was placed or just whatever the hell the artist felt like doing.

For example, there was a Ronald McDonald one outside of McDonald's, a Ronald McDonald's squirrel.

There was a banker outside the bank until someone stole the concrete sack of money it was holding, and then they had to move it inside.

A starry night one for shits and gigs Oh's bank, Oh storry night squirrel.

A Wizard of oz one and one just titled hey mom, guess what that's dead?

Catered to the troops.

That might be a reference, that might be personal.

Yeah.

True.

Our Chamber of Commerce had everything when it came to squirrel swag, including T shirts that said peace, Love squirrels, ornaments, card games, maps on where you find all of them?

And you guessed it a squirrel calendar.

Wow.

Since it's a small town and people got bored, a lot of these have been vandalized or stolen.

Of course.

Do you love an artist splitz?

Can we get artist splitz emails in your small town?

Yea?

Just fucking do a thing overnight and.

You're like that felt like it was like city hall commissioned, like they've kind of forced it.

I hope they asked for the public to vote on the month.

How much did that cost?

Okay, go on, I don't know.

Yeah, we'd like a full cost report please immediately.

So lostters, stolen, vandalized or stolen, which honestly, good for them for running off with those because they probably were heavy as fuck.

But we definitely still have enough to live up to our name to this day.

I have no idea who Green lent this project or if they're now gallivanting around to other towns pitching these ideas.

I escaped squirrel Hell, USA and now live in Denver with my husband and dog, butter Man.

I turned my husband into a murder, you know, early on, and now almost every time we're in the car, he says, can we listen to murder?

And I turn on the most recent episode of MFM.

Oh beautiful, the drag along, stay sexy, and don't steal concrete money from a squirrel.

Taylor, Wow, she did it, she did it.

I love that report also because that's a little bit of like it feels like the Circleville Pumpkin Festival.

Vibe that, yeah for sure, or the Cocaine Bear.

And you know what I yeah, we want to know what's going on in your town.

This is our thing.

Yeah, we love it.

Leave us alone or come by and say hi, oh, come by.

My last one is a trash siblings story.

But it's so so funny.

Hi.

I just listened to minnesod for four three about the snake in the bathroom.

Remember the little kid put the snake in his sister's bathroom.

Yeah, when she was in bath And remember that, I too, have experienced a snake in the bathroom.

But that's not what this story is about.

Because when the writer said that her four year old brother put the snake in the bathroom, I immediately murmured trash siblings.

And it's the quotes are like this were ones up, you know, trash siblings.

Sure to myself, and it unlocked a long forgotten memory like open sesame.

So here we go.

This is such a good idea, trash siblings.

I just want to say this, and my sister loves to tell the story.

I used to have this magical gift.

When I was like around five or six, of my parents would be like at a restaurant with their friends, and we had to entertain ourselves in basically like an old Italian dark yeah, in the entryway, play with the cigarette machine.

Every time I pulled, I would get a pack of cigarettes every single time.

That to me is a good trash sibling story where my sister had to take me to the bathroom.

It's like, well, take you by to play the cigarette machine and see what happened.

You scored big on the cigarette machine, So here we go.

I am the youngest of five siblings, all born three years apart in the seventies and eighties.

You can make your own assumptions about my parents' parenting style.

Was I forgotten at the grocery store more once?

Absolutely?

Did I sit in the way way back at the station wagon without a seatbelt?

Sure did.

Yeah.

As the youngest of five, I was generally expected to tag along and try not to get myself killed.

So when I woke up one morning and told my family that a bat attacked me in my sleep, they immediately brushed it off.

When I insisted that all caps, a bat was in my room, it flew down, landed on my head, and flew away, they simply gas lipped me and told me that I was dreaming.

This went on for weeks, and not a single sibling believed me.

Trash exclamation mark.

Well, what do you know?

A few weeks later, while we were all in the family room watching a movie, a fucking bat flew in Hell Like, finally he's making his fucking entrance, letting everyone know he's not a ghost bat, and I'm not.

I love it.

It's like everybody else is going to have their bat reaction, right, and they're just like, oh, we're friends already.

This whole thing that you said didn't exist.

Danny.

He and I are friends.

Yeah, and you guys are so scared.

Danny the bat and I go way back, and I literally been telling you about it.

That's right.

No, no, you're dreaming.

I wish I had a better name than Danny.

I won't just try it again.

What about like Herbert?

Herbert the bats?

Also because Bert the Bat, you see it just puts it right up there for the bat.

There we go, We did it.

Yeah.

I liked that we were talking like that, like it's gonna get cut out or something.

Never, Okay, a fucking bate fluid.

My dad immediately tried to catch it while we all squealed, and my mom looked for something to put it in if my dad in fact did catch it, and me I just sat there like the smug little kid I was because I fucking told you so.

Yes, we never did catch the bat and assumed it eventually died in the attic or flew out one of the windows.

Gross.

To this day, my siblings still say that there was never a bat, even though they saw it with their own eyes.

Yep.

I'm now in my late thirties and what I would consider to be a full grown adult but to my siblings, I will always be the baby sigh.

Thank you for being the soundtrack to my life.

I've been listening since the very beginning, and I'm so grateful to have your steady voices in my life.

Stay and just accept being the youngest.

We can't.

Emily High from Germany.

Ps.

The snake in my bathroom was a water moccasin.

Pretty dangerous and scary.

Weeks of sleep was lost until the snake was found by a drunken friend who grabbed it and threw it in the pillowcase.

Oh to be young and dumb.

So we got snakes, we got bats.

That a whole bad story.

And then they just touch a water moccasin story and leave.

Are they back?

I don't know water Mexicans.

Oh they're completely poisonous.

They kill you.

Yeah, those are bad ones.

Jesus, Emily Well Victory would have what a victorious email that was.

And that's your trash sibling stories.

Whatever you think that means, whatever means to your heart and to your soul.

And I think the burden of being the youngest sibling stories can go on forever you need them.

I mean, I got used to being like tied up in a sleeping bag to be tortured.

But I was like, I'm gonna like it, and I just sit in the sleeping bag in the dark like I can breathe.

I never thought of that twist aoo of like I'm into myself.

Yeah, that's the only way you can get them.

Well, thanks for enjoying yourself.

Everyone for listening.

Yeah, and stay sexy, don't get murdered.

Goodbye, Elvis.

Do you want a cookie?

This has been an exactly right production.

Our senior producers are alle Hundra Keck and Molly Smith.

Our editor is Aristotle las Veda.

This episode was mixed by Leoni Squillacci.

Email your hometowns to My Favorite Murder at gmail dot com.

And follow the show on Instagram at my Favorite Murder.

Listen to My Favorite Murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts.

And now you can watch us on exactly Writes YouTube page.

And while you're there, please like and subscribe.

Good Bye Bye,