I'm Liz Sauer and this is Ghosts in the Burbs, a podcast of ghost stories from Wellesley

Massachusetts.

A warning, adults who use adult language told me these frightening tales, these ghost

stories aren't for kids.

I know I said I wouldn't be back with a new story until next week, but I need some

distraction and I'm guessing that all of you do too.

I desperately need to shut my brain off from real world horror.

To escape from the news, from my children, I apologize in advance if you hear them in

the distant background of this recording.

From Chris loud talking to clients and to his earbuds, from the dwindling package of

Twinkies calling to me from the basement, from the four elderly dogs who awake from every

nap disoriented and thinking it's time for their next meal, from the obsessive thoughts

of what's to come.

And so I've done what I always do when I need an escape.

I found a delightfully spooky little story and I'd love to share it with you.

I spent hours upon hours in the woods as a child, a creek ran behind our home and so

much time was spent building dams, searching for salamanders and making half-assed attempts

at treehouses.

The last activity came to an abrupt halt when a rusty nail sticking out of an old wooden

board slid right through my mud and crusted head and into my left foot.

I limped for a week, but it was the 80s so my family just thought I was being dramatic.

There was talk of determining the date of my last tetanus shot, but as far as I can recall

...