Grab a roadie and your barber jacket because we're headed out of the swells.

We know each other well enough by now, but please remember that adults who use adult language

told me these terrifying tales.

These ghost stories aren't for kids.

Stay tuned after the story for a bunch of Patreon thank yous and a semi update about

Claire's Audible release.

Now pack your wool socks, L.O.B.in duck boots and Patagonia vest because we're off to

live free or die land.

Our neighbor Brian Keaton lives in Wellesley but his encounter occurred on an ill-fated

hike up Mount Washington.

Here's out of the swells ghost story, number six.

I gotta say, it was a bad plan from the start.

I climbed several steps to the side porch of the cottage-style home.

Though it was only around 5.30, the grey-cloud muted daylight was rapidly fading.

The home's weathered shingles were a faded brown, turned even darker by the rain that

had saturated them over the past few days.

I peeked in through the side door, it's pretty windowed decoration of clear and frosted

glass.

Beyond it, the dimly lit kitchen looked inviting and warm.

I was about to raise my hand to knock when I heard a car pull into the driveway behind

me.

I turned and saw black SUV parking in front of the detached garage.

...