MFM Minisode 456

This is exactly right.

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Goodbye.

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Goodbye.

Hello

and welcome to my favorite murder.

The mini-sode.

Hi.

Stories.

Hey.

Yes, I have a really good one to start off.

It's very centric to my experience, but I think you'll be able to relate in just the insanity of this story.

So I won't read you this subject line.

It says, hi, Karen of Georgia.

My husband and I, and then in parentheses, it says, both PhDs, live,

really, us two, us two, live in Davis, California with our drag queen, Chihuahua RuPowell.

And it's P-A-W-L.

Of course it is.

Uh-huh.

And she's got her own Instagram handle if anybody wants to go check it.

Love it.

Anybody named Georgia.

We moved here from Boulder, Colorado, over a year ago, where we lived about two miles miles from Jean-Bonnie Ramsey's home, three exclamation points.

We wanted to write in for years because we've had multiple supernatural experiences, including a haunting in our old San Francisco home, but this recent one felt like it was made for the MFM audience.

As Karen might already know, Davis is 15 miles outside of Sacramento and is usually described as a haven for bikers and walkers.

There's a beautiful green belt that connects the neighborhoods, tree-lined and safe-feeling even at night.

It is a really lovely little college town.

I really thought bikers, I was in like motorcycle games for a minute.

That's very different.

Just those mountain bikers where the bike never sees a mountain.

So one warm summer evening not long ago, we were out walking RuPaul when my husband saw a short shadowy figure dart across the path.

At first, he thought it was an animal, but it seemed too tall, about four feet, and it moved like it was on two legs, not four.

We kept going until we turned a corner and saw it again, a four-foot-tall shadow figure standing still near a tree about 50 feet away.

It wasn't just dark, it was darker than the surrounding shadows, like the blackest black.

That's when RuPaul pulled back hard on the leash, basically saying, nope, absolutely not, and started dragging us back home.

And we did not argue.

We power walked the rest of the way, looking over our shoulder and both confirming, yes, you saw it too, right?

Once inside our home, we locked the doors and texted a friend who lived in Davis for years.

Her response, oh yeah, I used to see short shadow shadow figures running across my backyard all the time.

You

just learned to coexist.

Short shadow figures are like a known entity.

Right.

Goodbye.

I'm moving.

It says right here, nope again.

It says, Spooked and unsatisfied with my friend's resigned response, I googled Shadow Figures Davis Greenbelt.

The first thing I found was the widely reported 2023 case of Carlos Dominguez, a former UC Davis student who committed a series of stabbings.

And during his trial, he testified that he believed he was attacking shape-shifting shadow figures, not actual people.

His victims, tragically, were real people.

His testimony at his trial revealed that he has profound mental health struggles and terrifying delusions about shadow figures.

Reading this made us wonder, what if these shadow people were more than just hallucinations?

The second thing I found was folklore, where some local stories mention encountering the ghosts of twin girls in the vicinity of the Davis Greenbelt, though there is no factual evidence to support these claims.

This legend says the twins sometimes appear peering through windows of nearby homes or along the path.

This ghost story is part of Davis folklore, but there are no police reports or concrete evidence of ghostly children in the Greenbelt.

Our eyes that evening begged to differ.

Regardless and needless to say, we now carry a massive flashlight on our walks and sage the house as soon as we come back home, just in case anything supernatural follows us.

Thank you for all the wit, comfort, and keen storytelling you bring.

You have kept us company on countless road trips, commutes, and Saturday cleaning sessions.

Stay sexy and don't go chasing shadowy figures.

Jose Arturo and RuPaul.

How has it almost been 10 years and this is the first we're hearing about shadow figures in Davis, California?

Like, right.

It kind of gives me hope that everyone hasn't written in their, like, we don't know every folk.

You know what I mean?

Yes.

Because you know, like, you know, those ones that you always hear like on unsolved mysteries of like little children, push your car across the bridge.

Send those to us.

How do we, how do we not know about this?

And also, don't tell Ros Hernandez

over on Ghosted by Ros Hernandez because I bet you some of those stories are going over there.

But yes, I love the fact that Jose and Arturo knew that we would love this because it is like, wait, what just happened?

And then it is slightly connected.

It truly, it's like they are witnessing that man who committed those horrible crimes.

It's like, but other people are witnessing this perhaps as well.

That's chilling.

That is so chilling.

Really quite a story.

All right, changing pace.

I'm not going to read you the title of this one.

Hi, Karen Georgia and MFM crew.

I just finished the mini-sode where you mentioned sharing that story that your friends always make you tell at parties.

Well, here is mine.

I moved back to Denver in early 2016 after a brief hiatus slash mid-20s crisis in California with all my belongings in my car and no permanent home.

I've done that.

Yeah, scary.

I stayed with friends for a couple of weeks weeks while I searched for housing and finally had some luck.

I found a studio apartment on the cheap on Craigslist, really centrally located.

When I went to check it out, the place was a wreck with fist-size holes in the wall, but the property manager insisted it would be in perfect condition when she was done with it.

And feeling desperate, I applied.

Less than 24 hours later, they called to say they wanted to rent it to me, red flag, because now I know they don't background check anyone.

Takes a minute to get any legit check back.

Oh, that's a great point.

If you get accepted to an apartment building that immediately says yes, that means that other people in that apartment building aren't, have not been checked.

I would never even thought of that.

I would have been like, yay.

Instead, it's like, no, this is bad.

Yeah, think it through.

That's a wow, scary.

When I went back, it was all cleaned up and I decided to sign the lease.

Not moments after the ink dried, the manager let me know that the previous tenant was sent back to prison, but that there was nothing to worry about.

And then it says disclosure laws, question mark, question mark.

I quickly found out from a neighbor that said tenant was dealing heroin out of the apartment, violating his parole, and was sent back for life.

Shockingly, that part of the story is a dead end.

So as no former customers showed up at my door, I received a couple pieces of mail from the DOC for him, but that was it.

This isn't the story about that.

Oh, okay.

Well, next one.

Kind of a relief.

All right.

The first night I slept in my new studio, the tenant above came home around 2.30 a.m.

with a group of people and proceeded to have a party.

I was unemployed at this point, getting up early every day to hit the pavement.

The guests rolled out of the complex around 7 a.m.

just as I was getting up.

I had that, I had an upstairs neighbor who like worked like motorcycle boots when she got home from bartending and just clomped around her fucking apartment and then like, take off your shoes.

Yeah.

Just one simple act.

I decided to let it go, except it happened every night for a week.

I tried earplugs, fans, movies, et cetera, to no avail.

Finally, one night, I was so pissed, I went upstairs to say something, but when I was outside the door, I heard a click and this guy say, I've never held a gun before.

Uh-oh.

I bolted downstairs and sat in the kitchen in case this Yahoo accidentally fired the gun and it went through my ceiling.

The next day, I went upstairs and I could hear the tenant in there.

I knocked, but no one answered.

I left a note basically explaining my need for quiet and I didn't want to cramp anyone's style, but could he or she keep it down?

I left my phone number, but never heard from them.

The tenant continued to come home every day around 2.30 a.m., but no more parties.

It quickly became part of my routine.

I found out from a neighbor that the tenant was a man named Colin who worked at a bar around town.

I never saw him, but over time, I created this idea of who I thought Colin was.

I woke up in the wee hours of my birthday, April 27th, woo, to Colin bringing home a date around 4 a.m.

This had never happened before, and I immediately turned on Netflix because I didn't want to be involved.

Too bad, because not five minutes in, the woman started shouting, fuck me, Colin, over and over again.

About 30 minutes went by and I heard, you're a piece of shit.

Everyone I date is a piece of shit, followed by a door slam and stomping down the stairs.

Later that morning, my parents called to wish me a happy birthday and I proceeded to tell them I was going to kill my upstairs neighbor due to his prolonged shenanigans.

All tenants received a text from management later that day asking if we had info about the disturbance.

Now is my chance.

I called and let them know my upstairs neighbor had a guest and they got in a fight.

The manager manager let me know that they received multiple complaints because the guests exited the building and then tried to get back in by ringing everyone's doorbells.

Oh, no.

You know,

I'm just pressing all the intercom buttons.

I'm being delivered back to like my drinking 20s and all the garbage that you spent your time either doing or being a recipient of that was just always stressful and bad.

Just chaos.

Everything is chaos.

Constant chaos.

And then you're like, well, then does everything suck?

And it's like, put the meister down for five goddamn minutes.

Okay.

Luckily, my bell was broken, so I missed out on that part.

I decided then to let them know about my previous noise issues and told me Colin had 24 hours to come forward or they'd evict him.

That night, I went to sleep like a baby.

I left the building around 4:30 a.m.

to get to the airport as I was going to visit my parents in California.

I landed in Arizona after the first leg of my flight to a voicemail that said, Hey, Angie, we got a hold of Colin and he says he's been in Texas for the last three weeks.

So your stories don't match up.

Call us.

I'm like, what the hell?

So I called and proceeded to tell my landlord about the sex having and the quote, fuck me, Colin, to prove my story.

My landlord was in the building while we were on the phone.

And as we were talking, he went upstairs and found Colin's door open, blood all over the door, and a figure zipped up in a mummy style sleeping bag, non-responsive on the floor.

No.

The landlord said, in 40 years of being a landlord, I've never had a homicide.

There's a first for everything.

Let me call you back.

Oh my God.

At this point, I was freaking out because one, dead man question mark, but two, I had threatened to kill him out loud.

What if someone overheard me and now it looked like I'd fled the state?

Oh, yeah.

I landed in California from my second leg to another voicemail that said, hi, Angie.

We spoke with Colin again, and it turns out he gave his keys to a friend.

The friend has been impersonating him the whole time and is claiming squatters' rights and refusing to leave.

What?

We need you to sign an affidavit so we can evict him.

Holy shit.

Yeah, this is like, I've never, this never got that bad for me.

Thank fucking God.

No.

I got back to Denver to find out that this dude had totally moved into Colin's apartment and was on drugs.

It sounds like telling women that his name was Colin because

he was impersonating someone else.

His guest tried to get back in the building by banging on the front door and she cut her hand open, hence the blood.

Somehow she got back into the building, a mystery that remains to this day, and banged all over Colin's door, spreading blood.

The squatter didn't want to get kicked out, so he played dead until the police arrived, unzipped the sleeping bag, and this guy was totally fine.

This guy sounds fun.

This guy at least has a creative mind.

He's got some great ideas

and he's got some bad habits.

I bet you he's a Gemini.

Just saying.

As a Gemini?

I bet he's a Gemini.

He's more fun.

Needless to say, the real Colin got kicked out and the squatter had nothing left to sleep on, so he left too.

I stayed in that apartment for almost another year with countless police encounters, drug dealers, unwanted guests, etc.

I think I lived there.

If it was in Hollywood, I lived there.

So familiar.

Stay sexy and don't fake your own death, Angie.

I mean, that was the payoff right there.

It's just like weird after weird after weird.

It's all drug decision-making.

This is the thing that you lose sight of if you're going to be a drunk or a drug addict: is that you think what you're doing makes perfect sense.

Yeah.

And there is an outside life.

You're making sense.

It's all clicking.

Here, hold on.

I'm going to get away from the cops by literally

playing possum in an apartment I'm squatting in.

They'll never, they'll never get this.

They'll never get me.

They'll never get me.

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Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I'm not going to read you the subject line of this.

It says, Hi, Karen in Georgia.

My name's Brooke Lynn.

It's a hyphenated Brooke and Lynn.

Okay.

It says, I'm from Florida, and I've been listening to you both since I was in high school.

Love the show so much.

Thank you for making something that's made me obsess over every strange news headline for years.

Yeah, from Florida?

Fuck.

Yeah, really.

Brooke Lynn just needs to look out the window and be like, oh, yeah, that's what they're talking about.

Do you know that saying, you've probably walked past a murderer and you didn't even know it?

Well, dot, dot, dot.

I sat next to one in fourth grade.

Let's call her Kate.

Kate and I sat next to each other in elementary school.

Even back then, she was getting into trouble.

She'd stir up drama in class, cheat on tests, and one time stole from the book fair.

Oh, shit.

In fourth grade?

How dare, how dare you dismirch the book fair?

The scholastic book fair is a sacred place.

How dare you?

Oh, also, sorry, there's a parenthetical here that right after it says, which was was the hot topic for all of us fourth graders to discuss at recess.

That's so funny.

But weirdly, and this is my favorite ending to this paragraph, but weirdly, she was always super nice to me.

I remember her offering to share her sparkly lip gloss with me like we were besties.

After fifth grade, I moved schools and completely lost touch.

Fast forward to 2023.

I'm scrolling the news and I see her face on Facebook for the first time in years.

She's been arrested for shooting and killing her boyfriend.

According to investigators, she gave conflicting statements about how and why it happened, but she claimed it was an accident and that she didn't mean to shoot him.

It came out that she ended up shooting him in the face while they were in bed.

She was later charged with culpable negligence.

I went from sharing lip gloss with her to reading her name in a murder headline to think I thought the biggest crime she'd ever commit was stealing a goosebumps book.

Anyway, the moral of the story: always say yes to the lip gloss.

It could save your life.

Stay sexy and don't get murdered brooklyn

in bed

and culpable like was she saying it was accidental they were playing with a gun in bed or something i mean who knows but it's

horrifying horrifying yeah god wow

okay this one's called note to my favorite murder oh all right and unfortunately they're making me start this way yo yo yo

i've been holding back on writing this strictly because my attention span just can't be trusted to complete a task.

So maybe this is sent finished.

Maybe not.

Here we go.

I'm like, honesty.

Yeah.

Let's set the scene.

It's the 1990s and my mom needs to shop.

So she drops my older brother, 11, and I, 8, off of the arcade in the mall, as you do.

She lets us know, don't take candy from strangers, and off she goes.

I'm hitting these ticket games hard, focused.

I've got my eye on the prizes.

I've not seen my brother in approximately 100 hours because he's on the other side of this place doing those older brother lame kill everyone games with zero prizes.

Fuck yeah.

That's so true.

A man comes in and he's like, hey, do you want more tickets?

I've got some in my car outside.

Me, you bet I do.

So off I go, walking out of the arcade with said man.

I see the exit of the mall, just steps away.

My brother comes out and he yells at me, you can't leave.

Mom said no strangers.

Me.

Mom said not to take candy from strangers she said nothing about tickets

what an idiot of a brother i have i thought just let a girl live a little

unfortunately the man was no longer next to me and is walking out of the doors quite quickly quite quickly to run after him but he also ran

she ran after her kidnapper yep and he was like get the hell away from me this kid's a kid's brother's a narcissist

i was so mad at my brother the rest of the time in the arcade i even immediately told my mom when she came back.

To my surprise, I got in trouble.

Yeah.

What did we learn?

Be specific with your instructions because candy and tickets are not the same.

Thanks for sticking with me.

I almost gave up several times.

Okay, this is the end.

Bye.

Still not kidnapped, Jessica.

Jessica, incredible job.

Half-ass or no.

Yeah.

What a good story.

And also,

I love the idea she's trying to spin it that it was that her mom needed to be more specific, where it's like, you are you're parsing words you're trying to get kidnapped on a technicality please see the forest for the trees here and having an older brother who would have done that i bet he did it like to get her in trouble not to save her he wasn't worried he was like you're not allowed to leave mom said not like hey you know you get to have more fun somewhere else

exactly oh my god thank god for that

like he was fucking kidnapper yeah it was all real that was a real situation the The guy ran and she ran after him.

I'm on my tickets.

Yay, motherfucker.

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Goodbye.

Okay, I'm not going to read you the subject line.

It says, hi, Karen in Georgia, day one listener, all the way from Glasgow, Scotland.

Hi.

Did you guys go to Glasgow?

We went to Edinburgh, but you and I have been to Glasgow.

Yes.

I've been a citizen.

Oh, that's right.

That's right.

I love that place.

Okay, it says, you may not know this, but there was a time when Glasgow was simultaneously the murder capital of Europe and Europe's friendliest city.

And I have the perfect story to explain why.

Love that.

It is.

That is so perfect for that place.

It's amazing.

My dad loved to drink, as most Scots do.

And one night while walking home from the pub, he was battered and mugged.

However, somehow still willing to chance his luck, he called after his attacker to ask if he could at least have his bus fare back.

The attacker marched over to him.

But did he beat my dad more for his cheek?

Which is Scottish for sassiness?

Cheeky, yeah.

Yep.

Nope, he gave him back the money he needed to get home safely.

So that's Glasgow for you.

You might get beaten and robbed, but we'll at least get you home safely afterwards.

Oh my God.

And then it says, oh, we lost my lovely dad last year after a short battle with cancer.

A few months later, I got pregnant with my first child as soon as I came off the pill.

And my baby's due date.

Well, it was only my dad's birthday.

If that's not a sign that your loved ones still look out for you, then I don't know what is.

Stay sexy and always chance your luck, Demi.

Wow.

That was perfect.

That was perfect.

That was perfect.

Yep.

Okay, my last one's called Strange Coincidences, Lighthearted.

Hi, all.

This is my mom, Lynn's story that I bore witness to.

The summer after I turned 19, circa 2011, my godmother, Rhonda, passed away, and her partner decided against a funeral or celebration of life.

Wow.

That wouldn't deter my mom.

She had met Rhonda in the 80s while working in the kitchens at our local military base, so she tracked down everyone from their old work crew and got them together to tell stories and drink far too much.

I got to help hunt for everyone using Facebook and the phone book as she had lost touch with some 20 plus years prior.

Eventually, we got a hold of all but one of the crew and everyone decided on a day.

As I sat in the corner of the table listening to the stories of what my mom and her friends got up to at my age, I looked up, gasped, and elbowed my mom.

Hey, isn't that Shirley?

Question mark.

The friend no one could get in touch with happened to be in the same pub celebrating her niece's birthday.

What?

Yeah, no one could fucking track her down.

She's in in the place.

My mom goes over and Shirley bounces between the two groups until her niece's group is ready to head out.

After several hours and several jugs of kamikaze and then says, think vodka margarita.

I know.

You know,

Karen knows that recipe.

Our group is the last table in there.

Our waitress comes up to the table with the phone and asks, did anyone call a cab for Rhonda?

The whole group goes dead silent and just stares at the poor waitress until someone says, no, we are in fact there to mourn Rhonda.

Extra twist, another lady from the group had lost her husband about a month prior.

He was a cab driver, and this was the exact kind of joke him and Rhonda would have played.

I'd like to think that all the coincidences of that night were Rhonda pushing the group together and reminding everyone to lighten the fuck up, stay sexy, and don't be afraid to reach out to old friends.

Zoe.

Oh, that's so sweet.

I love coincidences.

I mean, the fact that that friend was actually there, I really wish we got a little description of what her reaction was.

Because how weird would that be to be the person everyone's been searching for and you're just like out at your niece's birthday or whatever?

All of it.

I love just like the random running into people that is so fucking weird and like unexpected.

Send us yours at my favorite murder at gmail.

Yes.

And describe what it was like.

We want to know.

Yes, that's right.

How much people freak out.

The screaming.

Go ahead.

Just get creative with it.

And in the meantime, stay sexy.

And don't get murdered.

Goodbye.

Elvis, do you want a cookie?

This has been an Exactly Right Production.

Our senior producers are Alejandra Keck and Molly Smith.

Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo.

This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.

Email your hometowns to myfavorite murder at gmail.com and follow the show on Instagram at MyFavoriteMurder.

Listen to MyFavorite Murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And now you can watch us on Exactly Right's YouTube page.

And while you're there, please like and subscribe.

Goodbye.

Bye-bye.

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