We at Wundry live, breathe, and downright obsess over True Crime.

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Exhibit C. It's truly criminal.

Hello and welcome. Welcome yourself.

To me, to welcome you, Karen. To me and to everybody. To me too. To my pleasure.

The Pianyosome. The Pianyosome. This is where we read the emails you sent us that are about

your hometown murders, things you find in walls, ghosts, grandparents, and the like.

Any fucking anything. By the by and we are two weeks out from the event,

you can stop telling us about the teeth, the dentist's teeth and the walls. I've gotten over 500

tweets about it, which in today's money is 2000 tweets about a story that you can be sure

if something was found in a wall and it's creepy, I hear about it three minutes after that story

comes out. That's right. Well, we appreciate you thinking about us. And we love you.

You don't need to take further steps so I can get away. Then think about us. Alrighty, ready to dive in?

Let's do it. That said send us your actual stories. It happened to use.

Yes. To my favorite murder of Gmail. Okay. And we begin with a subject line. My mom survived a clown.

Hi, Karen, Georgian. Steven. You're all bad bitches. Yes, Steven. You too. Thank you.

I was. Thank you. On behalf of Steven. I was about when I was about nine, I was at school and my mom

was about to fight a fucking clown. So it's a pretty regular morning for my mom. She's drinking coffee

and getting ready. And if she goes to put more cream in her coffee, she sees something out of the

corner of her eye and she turns and sees a clown. No, no, no, no, no, really. It was just a guy with

a Halloween clown mask on as she drops the creamer and coffee and runs on her way out of the kitchen.

...