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You're listening to a morbid network podcast. Listen as I launch a campaign against Christmas cheer, grilling celebrity guests, like chestnuts on an open fire.

They'll try to get my heart to grow a few sizes, but it's not going to work, honey.

Follow Tis the Grinch Holiday Talk Show on the Wundry app or wherever you get your

podcasts.

It was six o'clock in the morning of April 7th, 1830 in Salem, Massachusetts.

The first splintered rays of sunlight began to shine on the brick facade of the grand

three-story federal on Essex Street. on the

and brick facade of the grand three-story federal on Essex Street.

And inside, Benjamin White, a servant, was just getting started for the day.

Entering the kitchen, still thick and the dissipating shadows from the night before, Benjamin squinted his eyes and assessed the room.

Something felt off. It was cold. Cold even for an early

spring day in New England. He felt a sudden breeze of cold air hit his skin, raising goosebumps on his flesh.

He looked toward the source, and there he saw the window, wide open, and propped open with a plank of wood. An icy chill went through

him. He knew this was bad. How bad though he couldn't have guessed.

Benjamin's first thought was that the house must have been the target of a robbery during the night.

And alarmed, he quickly informed the maid Lydia Kimball.

Together they went on a thorough inspection of the spacious home.

As they investigated each room, nothing seemed to be amiss.

All valuables stood shining and freshly dusted in the proper place.

But dread loomed like a suffocating mist as they approached the door of Captain White's bedroom.

...