I'm Liz Sour and this is Ghosts in the Burbs. A podcast about the people of Wellesley, Massachusetts and the ghosts and monsters who haunt them.

A warning. Adults who use adult language tell me these frightening tales. These ghost stories aren't for kids. Surprise! A neighbor had a story that was too good to keep until October, so here we are.

And if you're looking for book recommendations, I intend to pop some on Instagram shortly.

I just need to pull my thoughts together so stay tuned.

I've been burning through cozy mysteries lately and I need a horror fix.

I've been saving Paul Tremblay's last novel horror movie for our annual trip to Nantucket

and I can't wait to start it. But for now, we're on to ghost story, number 78.

Thorns. Our Bernadoodle Bernie is a gentle soul. We call him our indoor cat. He doesn't like to be in the yard without a trusted adult even when the other dogs are out there.

So I was out there with him, busying myself by rinsing the layer of yellow-green pollen off the patio table when I just had this

feeling you know the one that ping of intuition when things are a little too quiet

and a subtle alarm bell begins to sound.

I spotted him in a muddy corner of the yard,

snipping at something,

jumping back startled when whatever the hell it was, moved.

Initially, I thought he'd found a half-dead squirrel or something. it was

a half dead squirrel or something.

No, it was three baby bunnies tucked into a shallow nest.

They were really cute, but God damn it, I wasn't in the mood.

Two weeks of protecting the bunnies from the dogs ensued.

We made a makeshift fence around them, even rigging up an umbrella over the nest when it rained.

Ivy and Bernie were only slightly interested. rigging up an umbrella over the nest when it rained.

Ivy and Bernie were only slightly interested,

...