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A few summers ago, I worked at a mall in Toledo, Ohio, a pretty big city nestled right up against the west end of Lake Erie. I was very concerned about money at the time,

and I wanted to work as much as possible in order to save up for an apartment,

my first major purchase.

To do that, I took a job at the Great American Cookies Shop in the Mall's Food Court,

which had been around since before I was born.

And to get some more bang for my buck, I worked there at night. For those who don't know, a lot of bakeries and coffee

shops will often hire a baker to come in at dead of night in order to make all the pastries

and treats for the morning. They'll come in around 3 a.m. and just bake for hours on end.

That was exactly what I did.

I pounded out cookie cakes and put cookies in the oven until the sun came up, and then I stayed

even longer to make some more money.

It was actually really cozy and relaxing, between the heat from the oven, the silence of the

mall, and the freedom to blast my music or my podcasts.

But it also put me on edge sometimes.

It was haunted as heck, and nobody really knows why.

One morning, I was in the middle of eating breakfast at my counter,

...