I'm Liz Sauer and this is Ghosts and the Verbs, a podcast of ghost stories from Wellesley

Message Usits.

A warning, adults who use adult language told me these frightening tales, these ghost stories

aren't for kids.

Here we are at Lucky No. 13 and frankly, that looks about to change.

Here goes the tear down.

Before I share this next story, I have to tell you that my husband's name is Chris.

He's given me the go I had to use his name though, he never really told me not to and

it's not like most of you don't know us anyway.

Besides, I'll get to agitated if I have to keep referring to him as C and so will you.

The poor man was actually with me for this interview and he is traumatized, which means

it's going to be a good one.

So on to the story.

The night started as a simple weeknight dinner at the cottage with Chris's colleague Chad

and his wife Emily.

Chris and I were running about five minutes late and as I pan the bar area, I spotted the

haze couple immediately.

Emily wore a kelly green sheath dress with gold jack Rogers.

A little bit of my ever present social anxiety disappeared.

Trust me, I know that at least socially speaking, I'm a 37 year old eighth grader, but I just

like to feel as though I fit in.

I was wearing bright pink sandals with a navy blue sleeveless dress with scalped edges,

...