Warning, the following podcast, which contains strong language and mature content,

is unsuitable for children or for the faint of heart.

The subject matter discussed will be frightening and graphic in nature.

Listener discretion is advised.

Three spooked girls.

Three spooked girls. Three spooked girls.

When you want to hear about the paranormal, you get the spooked girls.

True crime that makes you hypothermal with the three spooked girls.

Stabby snippets will give you dreams.

Terran Jessica will make you ice grave along with the spooked girls. Bring on the slaughter. We are mad haunted ground.

The three spooked girls.

Hey, spooksters, and welcome back to another Sunday Scaries here on Three Spooked Girls.

My name is Tara, and as always, I'm here with my girlfriend, Jessica.

Hello.

In case you are new here, our theme for the month of March is creepy national park stories. So if you haven't checked out the other ones, you're going to want to pause this, listen to those, and then come on back. For everybody else that's caught on up, let's go ahead and dive on in. I found a strange journal in the restricted area of a national park. I'm an avid hiker and happen to live near a national park that I think

it's best not to name. Me and my friends go hiking there often, or I guess, did. If you ever happen to be

near a national park, you might have noticed certain areas were restricted for one reason or another.

This one was no different, and the reason we were given was that the terrain was too dangerous. To me and my friends, this only made it sound more fun. When you spend as much time in a national park as I, you begin to catch on to the rangers' routines. Soon you're able to avoid them with ease. And so, we made our way into the restricted area. We were soon met with disappointment, as the terrain was quite flat and boring. It may have been safer there than the other parts of the park. My friends and I started speculating why they might want to keep people out of here, and then we started getting shot at. We started running, and I made the mistake of looking back. I didn't see the shooter, but I didn't see the hole in front of me either. After falling a good 10 feet, I began examining my legs to see if I had broken them. My eye caught something. Behind some rocks was an old deteriorating satchel. Contained within it was some shotgun shells and what appeared to be a journal. Soon my friends came back and helped me out of the hole. We escaped without taking any bullets. One of my friends proposed the idea that they were simply trying to scare us away and may have only been using blanks.

But that didn't make any sense. What would they be trying to hide? And why would they keep it in such a

public area? Now I think I know the answer. Once home, I began looking through the journal and found

many of the pages, although frail, were still intact. The name Ellie Johnson is written on the front.

The remaining pages read as follows. October 6th, 1915. The trees are all beautiful this time of year. It's a shame the leaves don't last long. I'd rather they'd look this way all year. I used some of the leaves to make beds for the sheep. I thought they could use them as it's getting colder. Dad says it'll be even colder this year because our new land is up higher than the

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