Welcome, Weirdos – I’m Darren Marlar and
this is Weird Darkness. Here you’ll find
stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends,
lore, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre,
unsolved and unexplained.
While you’re listening, you might want to
check out the Weird Darkness website. At WeirdDarkness.com
you can find transcripts of the episodes,
paranormal and horror audiobooks I’ve narrated,
the Weird Darkness store, streaming video
of Horror Hosts and old horror movies, plus
you can visit the “Hope In The Darkness”
page if you are struggling with depression,
anxiety, or thoughts of suicide. And if you
are an artist and find inspiration through
the podcast in any art form, you can submit
your work to the Weirdos Art Gallery. You
can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.
Coming up in this episode of Weird Darkness…
It’s the story I remember most from the
books I read in Junior High – the classic
short horror story, “The Monkey’s Paw”
by W.W. Jacobs. If you’ve never read the
story or seen any adaptation of it, I’m
glad of it – because that means I get the
honor and privilege of introducing you to
the story for the first time.
"The Monkey's Paw" was first published in
England in 1902.  Without giving any spoilers,
in the story, three wishes are granted to
the owner of The Monkey's Paw, but the wishes
come with an enormous price for interfering
with fate. It has been adapted to film and
stage numerous times… and, of course, now,
as a podcast episode.
Now.. bolt your doors, lock your windows,
turn off your lights, and come with me into
the Weird Darkness!
* * * * * * * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Before we get to the story itself, let’s
learn just a bit about the author.
British author W.W. Jacobs lived from 1863
to 1943. He is remembered most for the creepy
story I’m sharing in this episode, “The
Monkey’s Paw”.
William Wymark Jacobs was the eldest son of
William Gage Jacobs (the first W in W.W. Jacobs)
and William Gage’s first wife, Sophia Wymark,
(where the second “W” in W.W. comes in).
Sadly, Sophia would die while her son was
still very young. W.W., as he later became
known, spent much of his time with his brothers
and sisters among the South Devon wharf where
his father was the manager. It was a large
family, but it was also a poor one. And W.W.,
being shy, quiet, and having a fair complexion,
didn’t have many friends.
W.W. was a good student and graduated Birkbeck
College before the age of 17. In 1879 he became
a clerk in the civil service, then later at
a bank from 1883 through 1899. It was a nice
change from the childhood of poverty he had
lived before, now having a steady paycheck.
But the work and income still wasn’t enough
for W.W., and in 1885 he started submitting
anonymous sketches in his spare time to be
published in Blackfriars (a historic religious
and theatrical site located at the eastern
end of Victoria Embankment). Some of his stories
were published in Jerome K. Jerome and Robert
Barr's satirical publications Idler and Today
in the early 1890’s. The Strand magazine
also published some of his writings.
Even early on, his stories showed he had a
lot of talent, and many known authors and
publishers of his day said so.
W.W. Jacob’s first collection of stories
published in book form was “Man Cargoes”
in 1896. Only a year later, his novelette,
“The Skipper’s Wooing” was released,
followed the year after that by yet another
collection of stories in 1898 called “Sea
Urchins.” In 1899 W.W. Jacobs felt stable
enough in his new writing career to make it
his full-time occupation, and resigned his
clerical duties. Around that same time, possibly
due to his newly-found boost of confidence,
he married Agnes Eleanor, whom would later
bear him three daughters and two sons.
Jacobs’ best works are considered “At
Sunwich Port” from 1902, and then “Dialstone
Lane” from 1904. Jacobs’ stories were
often about the common man, those on the lower
rung of society, and in a way he was the M.
Night Shyamalan of his day, with many of his
stories having surprise endings.
While his 1902 collection of horror stories,
“The Lady of the Barge” was not considered
one of his best works, it does contain the
story he is most well-known for: “The Monkey’s
Paw.” While W.W. Jacobs’ continued to
write for many more years, it is this story
that has most defined his legacy,
It has been adapted many times in other media,
including plays, films, TV series, operas,
stories and comics, as early as 1903. The
story was first adapted to film in 1915 as
a British silent film directed by Sidney Northcote.
The film (now lost) starred John Lawson who
also played the main character in Louis N.
Parker's 1907 stage play. It was also adapted
to film as recently as 2019 on the Shudder
channel’s “Creepshow” anthology series.
With a history like that, it’s a story every
horror fan must hear.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Weird Darkness returns, it’s the classic
horror tale by W.W. Jacobs from 1902… “The
Monkey’s Paw”.

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* * * * * * * * * *
“THE MONKEY’S PAW” by W.W. Jacobs
Without, the night was cold and wet, but in
the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds
were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father
and son were at chess, the former, who possessed
ideas about the game involving radical changes,
putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary
perils that it even provoked comment from
the white-haired old lady knitting placidly
by the fire.
"Hark at the wind," said Mr. White, who, having
seen a fatal mistake after it was too late,
was amiably desirous of preventing his son
from seeing it.
"I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying
the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."
"I should hardly think that he'd come to-night,"
said his father, with his hand poised over
the board.
"Mate," replied the son.
"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled
Mr. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence;
"of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way
places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's
a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know
what people are thinking about. I suppose
because only two houses on the road are let,
they think it doesn't matter."
"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly;
"perhaps you'll win the next one."
Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time
to intercept a knowing glance between mother
and son. The words died away on his lips,
and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey
beard.
"There he is," said Herbert White, as the
gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps
came toward the door.
The old man rose with hospitable haste, and
opening the door, was heard condoling with
the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled
with himself, so that Mrs. White said, "Tut,
tut!" and coughed gently as her husband entered
the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady
of eye and rubicund of visage.
"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing
him.
The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking
the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly
while his host got out whisky and tumblers
and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.
At the third glass his eyes got brighter,
and he began to talk, the little family circle
regarding with eager interest this visitor
from distant parts, as he squared his broad
shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange
scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues
and strange peoples.
"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White,
nodding at his wife and son. "When he went
away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse.
Now look at him."
"He don't look to have taken much harm," said
Mrs. White, politely.
"I'd like to go to India myself," said the
old man, "just to look round a bit, you know."
"Better where you are," said the sergeant-major,
shaking his head. He put down the empty glass,
and sighing softly, shook it again.
"I should like to see those old temples and
fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What
was that you started telling me the other
day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?"
"Nothing," said the soldier hastily. "Leastways,
nothing worth hearing."
"Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White curiously.
"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call
magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off-handedly.
His three listeners leaned forward eagerly.
The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass
to his lips and then set it down again. His
host filled it for him.
"To look at," said the sergeant-major, fumbling
in his pocket, "it's just an ordinary little
paw, dried to a mummy."
He took something out of his pocket and proffered
it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but
her son, taking it, examined it curiously.
"And what is there special about it?" inquired
Mr. White, as he took it from his son and,
having examined it, placed it upon the table.
"It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,"
said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man.
He wanted to show that fate ruled people's
lives, and that those who interfered with
it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell
on it so that three separate men could each
have three wishes from it."
His manner was so impressive that his hearers
were conscious that their light laughter jarred
somewhat.
"Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said
Herbert White cleverly.
The soldier regarded him in the way that middle
age is wont to regard presumptuous youth.
"I have," he said quietly, and his blotchy
face whitened.
"And did you really have the three wishes
granted?" asked Mrs. White.
"I did," said the sergeant-major, and his
glass tapped against his strong teeth.
"And has anybody else wished?" inquired the
old lady.
"The first man had his three wishes, yes,"
was the reply. "I don't know what the first
two were, but the third was for death. That's
how I got the paw."
His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon
the group.
"If you've had your three wishes, it's no
good to you now, then, Morris," said the old
man at last. "What do you keep it for?"
The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I suppose,"
he said slowly.
"If you could have another three wishes,"
said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would
you have them?"
"I don't know," said the other. "I don't know."
He took the paw, and dangling it between his
front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it
upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped
down and snatched it off.
"Better let it burn," said the soldier solemnly.
"If you don't want it, Morris," said the old
man, "give it to me."
"I won't," said his friend doggedly. "I threw
it on the fire. If you keep it, don't blame
me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire
again, like a sensible man."
The other shook his head and examined his
new possession closely. "How do you do it?"
he inquired.
"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,'
said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of
the consequences."
"Sounds like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs
White, as she rose and began to set the supper.
"Don't you think you might wish for four pairs
of hands for me?"
Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket
and then all three burst into laughter as
the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on
his face, caught him by the arm.
"If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish
for something sensible."
Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket,
and placing chairs, motioned his friend to
the table. In the business of supper the talisman
was partly forgotten, and afterward the three
sat listening in an enthralled fashion to
a second instalment of the soldier's adventures
in India.
"If the tale about the monkey paw is not more
truthful than those he has been telling us,"
said Herbert, as the door closed behind their
guest, just in time for him to catch the last
train, "we shan't make much out of it."
"Did you give him anything for it, father?"
inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband
closely.
"A trifle," said he, colouring slightly. "He
didn't want it, but I made him take it. And
he pressed me again to throw it away."
"Likely," said Herbert, with pretended horror.
"Why, we're going to be rich, and famous,
and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father,
to begin with; then you can't be henpecked."
He darted round the table, pursued by the
maligned Mrs. White armed with an antimacassar.
Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and
eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish
for, and that's a fact," he said slowly. "It
seems to me I've got all I want."
"If you only cleared the house, you'd be quite
happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his
hand on his shoulder. "Well, wish for two
hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it."
His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own
credulity, held up the talisman, as his son,
with a solemn face somewhat marred by a wink
at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck
a few impressive chords.
"I wish for two hundred pounds," said the
old man distinctly.
A fine crash from the piano greeted the words,
interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old
man. His wife and son ran toward him.
"It moved, he cried, with a glance of disgust
at the object as it lay on the floor. "As
I wished it twisted in my hands like a snake."
"Well, I don't see the money," said his son,
as he picked it up and placed it on the table,
"and I bet I never shall."
"It must have been your fancy, father," said
his wife, regarding him anxiously.
He shook his head. "Never mind, though; there's
no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the
same."
They sat down by the fire again while the
two men finished their pipes. Outside, the
wind was higher than ever, and the old man
started nervously at the sound of a door banging
upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing
settled upon all three, which lasted until
the old couple rose to retire for the night.
"I expect you'll find the cash tied up in
a big bag in the middle of your bed," said
Herbert, as he bade them good-night, "and
something horrible squatting up on top of
the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your
ill-gotten gains."
He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the
dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last
face was so horrible and so simian that he
gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid
that, with a little uneasy laugh, he felt
on the table for a glass containing a little
water to throw over it. His hand grasped the
monkey's paw, and with a little shiver he
wiped his hand on his coat and went up to
bed.
IN the brightness of the wintry sun next morning
as it streamed over the breakfast table Herbert
laughed at his fears. There was an air of
prosaic wholesomeness about the room which
it had lacked on the previous night, and the
dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on
the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened
no great belief in its virtues.
"I suppose all old soldiers are the same,"
said Mrs White. "The idea of our listening
to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted
in these days? And if they could, how could
two hundred pounds hurt you, father?"
"Might drop on his head from the sky," said
the frivolous Herbert.
"Morris said the things happened so naturally,"
said his father, "that you might if you so
wished attribute it to coincidence."
"Well, don't break into the money before I
come back," said Herbert, as he rose from
the table. "I'm afraid it'll turn you into
a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have
to disown you."
His mother laughed, and following him to the
door, watched him down the road, and returning
to the breakfast table, was very happy at
the expense of her husband's credulity. All
of which did not prevent her from scurrying
to the door at the postman's knock, nor prevent
her from referring somewhat shortly to retired
sergeant-majors of bibulous habits when she
found that the post brought a tailor's bill.
"Herbert will have some more of his funny
remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she
said, as they sat at dinner.
"I dare say," said Mr. White, pouring himself
out some beer; "but for all that, the thing
moved in my hand; that I'll swear to."
"You thought it did," said the old lady soothingly.
"I say it did," replied the other. "There
was no thought about it; I had just----What's
the matter?"
His wife made no reply. She was watching the
mysterious movements of a man outside, who,
peering in an undecided fashion at the house,
appeared to be trying to make up his mind
to enter. In mental connection with the two
hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger
was well dressed and wore a silk hat of glossy
newness. Three times he paused at the gate,
and then walked on again. The fourth time
he stood with his hand upon it, and then with
sudden resolution flung it open and walked
up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment
placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly
unfastening the strings of her apron, put
that useful article of apparel beneath the
cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at
ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively,
and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the
old lady apologized for the appearance of
the room, and her husband's coat, a garment
which he usually reserved for the garden.
She then waited as patiently as her sex would
permit, for him to broach his business, but
he was at first strangely silent.
"I--was asked to call," he said at last, and
stooped and picked a piece of cotton from
his trousers. "I come from Maw and Meggins."
The old lady started. "Is anything the matter?"
she asked breathlessly. "Has anything happened
to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"
Her husband interposed. "There, there, mother,"
he said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump
to conclusions. You've not brought bad news,
I'm sure, sir" and he eyed the other wistfully.
"I'm sorry----" began the visitor.
"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.
The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly hurt,"
he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."
"Oh, thank God!" said the old woman, clasping
her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank----"
She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning
of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw
the awful confirmation of her fears in the
other's averted face. She caught her breath,
and turning to her slower-witted husband,
laid her trembling old hand upon his. There
was a long silence.
"He was caught in the machinery," said the
visitor at length, in a low voice.
"Caught in the machinery," repeated Mr. White,
in a dazed fashion, "yes."
He sat staring blankly out at the window,
and taking his wife's hand between his own,
pressed it as he had been wont to do in their
old courting days nearly forty years before.
"He was the only one left to us," he said,
turning gently to the visitor. "It is hard."
The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly
to the window. "The firm wished me to convey
their sincere sympathy with you in your great
loss," he said, without looking round. "I
beg that you will understand I am only their
servant and merely obeying orders."
There was no reply; the old woman's face was
white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible;
on the husband's face was a look such as his
friend the sergeant might have carried into
his first action.
"I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim
all responsibility," continued the other.
"They admit no liability at all, but in consideration
of your son's services they wish to present
you with a certain sum as compensation."
Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising
to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at
his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words,
"How much?"
"Two hundred pounds," was the answer.
Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old
man smiled faintly, put out his hands like
a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless
heap, to the floor.
IN the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant,
the old people buried their dead, and came
back to a house steeped in shadow and silence.
It was all over so quickly that at first they
could hardly realize it, and remained in a
state of expectation as though of something
else to happen--something else which was to
lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts
to bear.
But the days passed, and expectation gave
place to resignation--the hopeless resignation
of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes
they hardly exchanged a word, for now they
had nothing to talk about, and their days
were long to weariness.
It was about a week after that that the old
man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched
out his hand and found himself alone. The
room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued
weeping came from the window. He raised himself
in bed and listened.
"Come back," he said tenderly. "You will be
cold."
"It is colder for my son," said the old woman,
and wept afresh.
The sound of her sobs died away on his ears.
The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with
sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until
a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him
with a start.
"The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's
paw!"
He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it?
What's the matter?"
She came stumbling across the room toward
him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've
not destroyed it?"
"It's in the parlour, on the bracket," he
replied, marvelling. "Why?"
She cried and laughed together, and bending
over, kissed his cheek.
"I only just thought of it," she said hysterically.
"Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't
you think of it?"
"Think of what?" he questioned.
"The other two wishes," she replied rapidly.
"We've only had one."
"Was not that enough?" he demanded fiercely.
"No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have
one more. Go down and get it quickly, and
wish our boy alive again."
The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes
from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are
mad!" he cried aghast.
"Get it," she panted; "get it quickly, and
wish---- Oh, my boy, my boy!"
Her husband struck a match and lit the candle.
"Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You
don't know what you are saying."
"We had the first wish granted," said the
old woman, feverishly; "why not the second."
"A coincidence," stammered the old man.
"Go and get it and wish," cried the old woman,
quivering with excitement.
The old man turned and regarded her, and his
voice shook. "He has been dead ten days, and
besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I
could only recognize him by his clothing.
If he was too terrible for you to see then,
how now?"
"Bring him back," cried the old woman, and
dragged him toward the door. "Do you think
I fear the child I have nursed?"
He went down in the darkness, and felt his
way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece.
The talisman was in its place, and a horrible
fear that the unspoken wish might bring his
mutilated son before him ere he could escape
from the room seized upon him, and he caught
his breath as he found that he had lost the
direction of the door. His brow cold with
sweat, he felt his way round the table, and
groped along the wall until he found himself
in the small passage with the unwholesome
thing in his hand.
Even his wife's face seemed changed as he
entered the room. It was white and expectant,
and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural
look upon it. He was afraid of her.
"Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.
"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.
"Wish!" repeated his wife.
He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."
The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded
it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into
a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes,
walked to the window and raised the blind.
He sat until he was chilled with the cold,
glancing occasionally at the figure of the
old woman peering through the window. The
candle end, which had burnt below the rim
of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating
shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with
a flicker larger than the rest, it expired.
The old man, with an unspeakable sense of
relief at the failure of the talisman, crept
back to his bed, and a minute or two afterward
the old woman came silently and apathetically
beside him.
Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening
to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked,
and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through
the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and
after lying for some time screwing up his
courage, the husband took the box of matches,
and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.
At the foot of the stairs the match went out,
and he paused to strike another, and at the
same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy
as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the
front door.
The matches fell from his hand. He stood motionless,
his breath suspended until the knock was repeated.
Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his
room, and closed the door behind him. A third
knock sounded through the house.
"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting
up.
"A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones--"a
rat. It passed me on the stairs."
His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock
resounded through the house.
"It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"
She ran to the door, but her husband was before
her, and catching her by the arm, held her
tightly.
"What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.
"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling
mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away.
What are you holding me for? Let go. I must
open the door."
"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the
old man trembling.
"You're afraid of your own son," she cried,
struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert;
I'm coming."
There was another knock, and another. The
old woman with a sudden wrench broke free
and ran from the room. Her husband followed
to the landing, and called after her appealingly
as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain
rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly
and stiffly from the socket. Then the old
woman's voice, strained and panting.
"The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down.
I can't reach it."
But her husband was on his hands and knees
groping wildly on the floor in search of the
paw. If he could only find it before the thing
outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks
reverberated through the house, and he heard
the scraping of a chair as his wife put it
down in the passage against the door. He heard
the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly
back, and at the same moment he found the
monkey's paw, and frantically breathed his
third and last wish.
The knocking ceased suddenly, although the
echoes of it were still in the house. He heard
the chair drawn back and the door opened.
A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a
long loud wail of disappointment and misery
from his wife gave him courage to run down
to her side, and then to the gate beyond.
The street lamp flickering opposite shone
on a quiet and deserted road.
* * * * * * * * * *
Up next, it’s the Chamber of Comments!

Our next Weirdo Watch Party is Saturday, May
23rd!  Join me, other Weirdo family members,
and horror hosts Slash and Foxi Roxi as
they present the 1984 B-horror movie, Carnage. Carnage is
the story of Carol and Jonathan, a newlywed
couple, who move into their new house which
is haunted by the ghosts of another newlywed
couple who committed suicide in the house
three years earlier. (Creepy!) You can be
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button to start watching! The chat room is
also there, so during the Weirdo Watch Party
we can all join in to chat with each other,
comment about the film and the horror hosts,
and most of the time the horrors hosts jump
into the chatroom with us to get in on the
jokes and conversation. It’s FREE, it’s
FUN, and it helps to promote different horror
hosts and show them that we appreciate them
keeping the art form alive.  So join us for
the 1984 schlock horror film, “Carnage”!
Put it on your Google calendar, set a reminder
on your smart home device, write it on your
home or office calendar with blood – whatever
you have to do so you won’t miss the fun!
 This time the party is on the Weirdo Watch
Party page on  Saturday, May 23rd at 9pm
Central (10pm Eastern, 7pm Pacific, 8pm Mountain)
at WeirdDarkness.com!
* * * * * * * * * *
Here in the Chamber of Comments I answer your
emails, comments, podcast reviews, tweets,
letters I get in the mail, and more. You can
find all of my contact information, postal
address, and social media links on the CONTACT
page at WeirdDarkness.com. While you’re
there, join the Facebook Group, “Weird Darkness
Weirdos” and hang out with me and the rest
of our Weirdo family! Or drop me an email
anytime at: darren@weirddarkness.com.
(Review from JenF529): absolutely love this
podcast!  it has pretty much everything
i love: history, paranormal and true crime.
it’s wonderfully narrated and the host obviously
does a good job with research as well as picking
stories that are fascinating and creepy. i
also want to thank the host for also providing
information on depression, or where to find
information on it as well as if you need help.
REPLY: I’m glad you love the podcast, Jen
– welcome to the Weirdo family!
(Email from Adele Hebron): Hi Darren. Just
want to introduce myself as a new member of
the weirdo family! My fiancé (Russ, a long
time weirdo family member) introduced me to
your page and podcasts a little while ago
when we were driving from North East England
to Thurso in Scotland, close to John O Groats,
a good 8/9 hour drive! I have since listened
to your stories and weirdly enough I have
found that it helps me to sleep! Maybe this
makes me the weirdest of the weirdos. I hope
you and yours are safe and well during this
crazy time we find ourselves in. Regards,
Adele Hebron
REPLY: So you’re telling me that my voice
is so boring that it puts you to sleep.  Gee…
uh… thanks.  Okay, kidding.  I am really
glad you like what I’m creating and that
your fiancé turned you on... to the show
that is! Him turning you on in other ways
is none of my business. You’re actually
not as weird as you think.  I’ve heard
from numerous people who say they fall asleep
listening to the podcast. I think my voice
happens to be at a certain pitch that is easy
on the ear and I choose music that isn’t
too harsh, so it makes for a creepy but calming
sound.  I dunno, that’s just a guess.  I’m
just glad you’re listening! And I hope when
you get married that your groom-to-be is okay
with you sleeping with another man by bringing
my voice into the bedroom each night. Gee,
that didn’t sound inappropriate at all.
(Review from Captain Spider) I want to thank
you Darren for the charity that your doing
for the class of 2020 my cousins is in this
class and I feel bad that he didn’t get
to enjoy his grad bash , prom , and even gradation.
You’re so amazing for helping those out
and I’ll keep telling my friends and family
about you.
REPLY: Well, thank you, Captain Spider, but
I don’t know how much I’ve done for the
Class of 2020. You might be giving me a bit
too much credit there! But I do love that
you plan to keep telling your friends and
family about the show – that means the world
to me, thank you for that!
(One my patrons, DebiLynn, sent me a message):
Darren. I lost my daddy Wednesday morning.
He was one of the best Christian men out there;
a deacon for 45 years. He raised me in the
church and I had the privilege of studying
with some really solid seminarians beginning
at age 11. My father had me writing and delivering
Sunday devotionals standing on a coke box
behind the pulpit when I was so small the
congregation could barely see me. I’ve never
been afraid of public speaking or public appearances
since. Although I tried to wander from the
teachings I grew up with, the Lord my Daddy
introduced me to never let me get too far.
While my father was in hospice at home, my
mother couldn’t bear to listen to my Dad’s
favorite gospel music—so Dad and I listened
to you, episode after episode, until I fell
asleep by his bed. Your voice is so comforting.
REPLY: My heart is breaking reading this.
I am so sorry for your loss. I honestly don't
know how I'm going to react when the Lord
takes my own father home - we've been close
ever since I was kid. It is so touching that
you were listening every day with your dad.
That’s a mental picture I’m going to carry
around with me for a long time – thank you
for sharing that with me, DebiLynn.
I’ll answer more of your emails, comments,
and more next time! Again, you can find all
of my social media and contact information
on the CONTACT page at WeirdDarkness.com.
* * * * * * * * * *
If you made it this far, welcome to the Weirdo
Family. If you like the podcast, please tell
your friends/family about it however you can
and get them to become Weirdos too! And I’d
greatly appreciate you leaving a review in
the podcast app you listen from, that helps
the podcast get noticed!
Do you have a dark tale to tell of your own?
Fact or fiction, click on “Tell Your Story”
at WeirdDarkness.com and I might use it in
a future episode.
“The Monkey’s Paw” is by W.W. Jacobs
and is in the public domain
Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music.
Background music by EpidemicSound.
WeirdDarkness™ - is a registered trademark.
Copyright ©Weird Darkness 2020.
If you’d like a transcript of this episode,
you’ll find a link in the show notes.
Now that we’re coming out of the dark, I’ll
leave you with a little light… Matthew 6:14
= If you forgive men when they sin against
you, your heavenly Father will also forgive
you.
And a final thought... from Celestine Chua:
If you can see the positive sides of everything,
you'll be able to live a much richer life
than others.
I’m Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me
in the Weird Darkness.
