This is exactly right.

Hello and welcome to my favorite murder, the minasode.

Here it is.

Look at it this.

Look at it this.

You can't.

There's no video on this.

Beasts your eye.

You're not, don't touch it with your eyes.

Feast your iers.

Iers. You want to go first? No, you have it. Okay. You've got it newscaster style right in your hands.

You're excited. Because this is a spooky hometown ghost story. Okay. Hi, didily ho. Murdering

knows. It starts. Is that the first time that's happened? I think so.

Wow. Aside from when Ned Flanders did it originally. That's classic. In 1979, it just gets into it.

My family moved to the coastal mountains of Oregon into a fairly new single wide trailer on a wooded piece of property with a creek running through it at nearly the end of a nine-mile dirt road.

Nine miles is too long. I know. As someone from the country? Driving 10 minutes just to get to

your front door from the street. What kind of weed are you growing back there? They lived in

that single wide while my dad built the house I would eventually grow up in. I never lived

in the trailer, but all my siblings did. I'm the youngest of four. My two sisters shared a room and then

my two-year-old brother slept on a little bed on the floor in my parents' room. For several nights,

my brother would wake up complaining that someone was walking on him. Finally, my dad grew tired of

this ridiculous complaint and took a turn

...