A bomb in the night, your heart fills with dread, probably a murder of who wants you dead.

It could be a ghost, a demon or worse, perhaps you're the victim of a witch's curse.

It's hopeless, You're doomed.

You'd call a priest if you could.

You'd rather just listen to Who?

Sinisterhood.

I'm going to kill you.

Hello and welcome to another edition of Freaky Friday,

where we tell your odd but true stories.

It is Friday, July 18th, and we're off this week.

But in the meantime, here are some of our most memorable stories from Freaky Friday's past.

Enjoy, and we'll be back soon.

This next one's from Misty, and it is called The Motherfucker in the Attic.

Picture it, Tulsa, Oklahoma, 2022.

It was two days after Christmas, and I had just gone to bed with my one-year-old and six-year-old after a long day of playing with their Christmas presents, cleaning up after them,

playing with more Christmas shit, and cleaning up again. Just after my two little bed-hogging

garbage gremlins had finally drifted off to sleep, my husband, who had just gotten off work,

barreled through our bedroom door, 90s boy band hair swaying to and fro with the frantic side-to-side movement of his

body. I could tell something had him triggered, but I was not about to hop out of bed to chew his

head off and risk waking those two slumbering cherubs, who were surprisingly still asleep.

I was about to get pissed as it usually takes me for fucking ever to get the kids to sleep on my own.

On top of that, my lovely other half has extreme anxiety.

...