Dead Battery - The Crossroads

Who can steal the sunrise

and wipe away your grin

Make you wish that you could scrub away your darker skin The Shadow Man

The Shadow Mankan

The Shadow Man can Cause he cheats out everyone and makes the world out good

you've almost arrived at the crossroads stay tuned

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They said the shadow would not let it happen.

They were wrong.

Join me, Glenn Washington, for Spooked Live.

Amazing stories from people who can scarcely believe it themselves.

Magical, mystical, mysterious.

Best night out ever.

Spooked Live.

October 25th at the Paramount Theater in downtown Oakland.

Get tickets now at kqd.org slash events and don't turn out the lights.

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Swing into the game.

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Clarksdale, Mississippi, 1921, little Bobby was just eight years old when he discovered that sometimes with the grown folk, if you're quiet, if you stay in a corner,

if you look really close at the floor or the wall, even your own shoes, they will talk like you're not even there,

invisible.

And this evening, when his mama sinks her voice down low, that's when Bobby's hearing leans in.

Mama tells Hattie, don't you go out there?

Not for love, not for money, not for nothing.

But baby,

baby, if you do go,

don't you be late.

Don't touch nothing to give you.

Let him be exactly what you want.

Only thing he wants is whatever you can't give.

Bobby's still invisible, still as a secret.

Don't you go there, Hattie?

Don't do it.

Hattie's face set in that look you get when you ain't gonna cry no more because crying time is over.

Howdy, you hear me?

Bobby bumped the fork off the table and it tinkled on the floor.

Mama's head snapped back.

Invisible no more.

But tell your black behind outside, stop sticking around.

Yes'm.

Bobby walks real slow toward the door still listening

now Hattie

gotta bring him something

something nice make him think it's the most important thing you got

Bobby never asked why Hattie didn't come around no more

for his 15th birthday running back home from Mr.

Cooper's field there wasn't a cake

No wrapping paper.

And just when the grin was leaving his face, he looked at his palette on the floor.

And right on top,

still in the not-new Montgomery Ward box, lay a wooden six-string guitar.

Same one had been sitting in the display case at the Jones General store for over two years now.

Shocked,

he turned toward his mother to see her smiling back at him.

Gonna be your ticket, Bobby, I know it.

Every night he plucked and picked and strummed and slapped and knocked until one night, the G-string snapped.

He tied it back together as best he could till it broke again

and again.

He just started over.

Learned to play with five strings.

Then four.

Three, fingers sliding up and down till three strings swelled like six.

Figured once harvest time come, he could purchase purchase more.

Mama loved hearing him play.

She'd stomp her feet, clap her hands.

That's your ticket.

When she took sick,

he played for her.

Sometimes pressing wet tiles on her burning forehead, sometimes strumming a song she might like.

At first, she snapped her fingers to his time.

Then she didn't.

Two strings left.

On the third night, Bobby made himself look at her full on,

shrunken, tiny,

shivering underneath every blanket they own, eyes squeezed shut, mumbling to someone he couldn't see.

And he couldn't figure another way.

Bobby kissed her on the forehead, set his jaw like Hattie done all those years back,

and took the only thing he owned beside the clothes on his back.

A guitar.

Bought with long hours under the Mississippi sun, she said it was his ticket off the plantation because her dreams were always bigger than his.

The dream time was over.

He stepped out into the night and pressed the door close behind.

His walk turned into a run can't be late.

The way looked different at night.

Moonshadows swept the gravel road past row after row of devil's weed.

He ran and ran and finally came to the place where his road intersected with the other.

There he stood,

right in the middle.

The center like he'd heard her tell person after person to never do.

Then he whispered the words she told person after person to never say.

Starlight shone bright enough to read by.

No one for miles down either stretch of the road.

Then...

Hello.

Bobby spun round to see the shadow man walking toward him.

Only thing kept him from screaming was his mission.

Yes, yes, sir.

Yes, sir.

So my mama's sick.

Thought you might have some medicine for make it better.

Bobby kept his head down.

Don't look in his eyes.

Only take what you come for.

I brought you my guitar and trade.

It's a fine guitar.

It's real fine.

Real fine.

Bobby lifted the instrument out of the cardboard box.

He still carried it in, held it out to the man.

Just these stranging is all.

Thought maybe he might have some

medicine and trade.

Bobby felt the instrument lifted from his hands, then the man, like he was testing the quality, like he was weighing the terms, he beat on the guitar like a drum.

Started tuning it to a scale that Bobby didn't know.

Tapping in strained, stretching notes, high, low, low, high, high, low.

Wails, screeches, grinds.

I thought you might have some medicine.

The man played wild, frenetic, howling, shrieks.

Bobby's guitar calling angels and demons and sorrow and pain and mercy and lashes and cotton and chains and fire.

And the man stopped.

He held the guitar out.

Bobby snatched it back.

It wasn't until he saw the man's eyes

did the horror come.

A million times she'd said it.

Don't touch nothing he give you.

This is what you came for.

The man smiled.

No, sir, I come for medicine.

The man turned away.

I need medicine

for my mama.

The road sat empty.

Quiet except for the buzz of the crickets.

The negro was silent as well.

He looked down and stumbled back.

Six gleaming red strings shone fire from the guitar.

And even as he wanted to throw it down, he held it close.

Back down the road, past the field, to the shack where he'd left her shivering just a few hours before and terrified.

He cracked open her door.

Darkness.

Stillness.

Then,

boy,

mama, boy,

but what did you do?

He saw her, bolt upright on the side of her bed, desperate, searching for his eyes,

then horrified when she saw him clutching the guitar.

He touched it, didn't he?

He touched it.

Bobby couldn't answer.

Couldn't even look at her yet.

Take it back, boy.

Take it back.

He just strung it from his all.

He just gave me the strings.

He don't give nothing, baby.

He takes.

He saw her in

cheeks flushed eyes bright medicine

That's what he called a guitar now

medicine

He knew the price

She did too

smash it, baby.

It's gonna kill you smash it

But Bobby couldn't do that

Because that

would kill her

Instead there in the dark, it called to him and he reached for it.

And he played.

As she wept, his fingers sliding up and down the blood-red strings, it growled, low and hungry, like a living thing, breathing, laughing, spitting.

Some of his life for hers, it

tasted like a pretty good deal.

Please, please smash it, baby.

It will kill you.

Even as he felt the darkness like a drug, he felt too the thrill the magic the hurt the frow the wolf

don't worry mama

bobby smiled fingers dancing down the glimmering strings

don't worry cuz

i ain't dead yet

T is the season.

Today,

the very first step of a spook journey like no other.

The crossroads.

Be careful what you ask for

because the crossroads start

now.

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Swing into the game.

A story today comes from Ramin.

He's an apprentice violin maker in a tiny Pennsylvania town.

Now, Rameen is working for free, so he starts looking for a night gig, something to keep the lights on.

And one day as he wanders around the nearby town of Gettysburg, he spots a sidewalk sign reading, Tour Guides Wanted.

Normal enough, but when he takes a closer look at the sign, he learns the company is actually looking for someone to lead ghost tours.

Now, Mamin,

he's not really in that kind of stuff, you know, the spirits, the hauntings, everything.

But a job is a job, right?

So he signs up to be a Gettysburg Ghost Tour Guide.

spooked.

My first tour ever, I introduced myself as Rameen, and some snarky little eight-year-old boy looked at me and said, Rameen,

that's not a Civil War name.

And everyone laughed, and I was a little bit embarrassed.

On the one hand, I knew that he was right.

And on the other hand, I felt kind of bad, actually.

It was like, I can't be myself and give an authentic experience.

But if this eight-year-old is having his suspension of disbelief just because of my name, that's a problem.

So from there on out, I decided that I would conduct these tours under my alter ego of Charles.

I'd bring my violin along and I would play spooky songs as I was walking around town telling these ghost stories.

I'm a terrible violin player, by the way, like really cat-strangling bad.

Tonight, my name is Charles.

I'm dressed as a soldier from the 10th Virginia Infantry, wearing gray wool clothing.

My guests will be following my small candle that I have in my lantern.

We'll go up the hill past the National Cemetery and we'll go up to the abandoned orphanage where, after the war, children found only horrors at the hands of a terrible woman named Rosa Carmichael.

She kept the children in the basement, in pits, in chains.

Eventually, the townsfolk found out she was run out of town, never to be heard from again.

The guests, they are horrified.

They're shaking their heads in sadness and disbelief.

Some of them who have children with them reach down and squeeze their kids' shoulders to comfort them, maybe to reassure themselves a little bit.

But it's a true story, and it's absolutely horrifying.

But then at the end of the story, in order to make it paranormal, then I'm saying, and they say to this day, some of the children that met their end at this orphanage still haunt the grounds.

They may tug on your dress.

You may hear them pattering around across the street.

And if you listen very carefully, you can still hear their chains jangling from the basement windows where they were kept under horrific conditions.

And is this true?

Like, no, I don't think it's true, but it ties the true history into the paranormal experience in such a way that I'm sort of covering my bases now.

When I first found this opportunity to work as a tour guide, I was so excited to combine my interests in history and military history in particular,

and to tell the guests the reality of life in the 1860s that, to me at least, are terrifying, even without a paranormal component.

But these were not the stories that people expected.

And then I kind of got a talking too from my boss.

who very gently told me that I need you to spook things up a little bit here, dumb down the history, and amp up the paranormal.

I myself am not a hardcore believer in the paranormal.

I'm ambivalent, agnostic, but I recognize that this is the job, this is what people expect, and who am I to say whether a paranormal experience that someone else has is or isn't real?

Now I incorporate some of the more more terrifying paranormal stories that I've heard from other tour guides.

Our next stop will be the old creek bed at Weinbrenner's Run.

This creek used to meander its way all the way around the battlefield, and at the time of the battle, it was the site of terrible horrors.

The Battle of Gettysburg occurred between the 1st of July and the 3rd of July, 1863.

And then on the 4th of July, there was a torrential downpour.

All of the creeks were swelled up.

There was flooding throughout.

And in this particular little area of Weinbrenner's Run, The story goes that there was this wooden grate that had been placed there right where the creek sort of meets the edge of the town to catch tree limbs and other things that would naturally fall into the creek or be swept up if the creek got really full.

Unfortunately, there had been established during the battle a couple field hospitals on the banks of this creek.

And so when the medical staff were doing amputations,

They were piling up these limbs.

They were working as quickly as they could to try to save lives.

And the carnage was just sort of laying on the side of the creek.

In the aftermath of this rainstorm, hundreds of limbs and many dozens of bodies of men who had become wounded and had sought shelter in the creeks get swept up in the engorged creek until they encounter this wooden grate.

And you've got this dense mass of just horrible stuff that has blocked the flow of water going through the town

so at the end of the tour this older gentleman comes up to me and he's got a beard and a hat and he has a walking stick with him and he says look Look, I've captured something here.

You need to take a look at this.

I'm looking at this picture, and he says, you can see between the spokes of the cannon's wheel, there's a boot.

And sure enough, I'm looking at this picture, and there's a knee-height leather boot.

And he says, I think this might be the boot of a cavalryman.

And I smile and nod and I say, wow,

that's really something.

I've never seen anything like this before.

And meanwhile, out of the side of my peripheral vision, I'm looking at the footwear of everyone that is along on this tour.

And of course, there's a woman wearing riding boots.

And of course, these are her shoes in the picture.

But I'm not going to burst his bubble.

I encourage him to email it to the company email address, and we'll take a look, and maybe we'll add it to our own archives.

And that seems to quite satisfy him.

It is a normal afternoon at the Ghost Tour Company.

It's too early to be taking guests out, so I'm getting some hours in on desk duty, helping people with their reservations and advanced bookings.

And my coworker, who is one of the paranormal investigators, comes up to me and says, Hey, we are shortstaffed for a ghost hunt later this week.

Do you want to do it?

And at this point, I have never done a ghost hunt for a few reasons.

Number one, it's really not my bag.

Number two, the hours are rough.

I'm not going to be done until four o'clock in the morning.

My co-worker says, Look, the money's really good.

And it turns out that the pay for conducting these ghost hunts is like four times as much money as I'm going to make from giving tours that night.

So I'm convinced.

All right, I agree to go on my first ever ghost hunt.

This evening, there are three of us from the tour company that are in charge of the ghost hunt, and our guests, who number about 10, are gathered around in the gravel parking lot of this building.

And it is a hulking old mansion.

We're all decked out with vests and ball caps and flashlights and this, you know, tactical equipment looking like a bunch of mall cops, but conducting a ghost hunt.

And the people on the hunt love it.

They are so into it.

This house is a prime location for a paid ghost hunt.

My two co-hosts are doing a great job of setting the scene.

They are being cryptic about things that have happened in the house.

And it turns out, bad things did happen in this house.

A young woman hanged herself in the attic of this house.

The home was used as a field hospital during the Civil War with limbs piling up to the windowsills, that floorboards had to be replaced due to blood soaking them.

We

start distributing equipment.

And the first thing we have to do is conduct a demo to demonstrate to them how do they use the equipment.

We have EMF detectors.

That stands for electromagnetic frequency.

It basically looks like a gun and you point it in the direction of where you think a spirit is.

Now my coworker, who's a very industrious young guy, he's making these devices.

He's going to Radio Shack, he's getting bits and bobs, he's buying paintball guns and taking them apart to create this really tactical looking device.

And then there's this other device we have called the Spirit Box.

It's like a pocket radio.

It's got an antenna and it doesn't have a microphone on it.

It's got a very primitive L C D screen.

And essentially what the Spirit Box does is that it cycles through radio frequencies and you hear snippets of words where it might say

but every so often it's going to pick up a word or it's going to pick up a snippet of sound and that if you are an imaginative person, you're going to hear what the spirit box is telling you and thus interact with a spirit.

I believe that it is utter garbage.

Frankly, I feel guilty.

I feel like I'm participating in a scam.

Not because I was worried about people finding ghosts, but because I was so certain that they were not going to, and that I was selling them a false dream.

My coworker, the same one who is making EMF detectors, is leading tonight's ghost hunting expedition.

He is like a drill sergeant of fear.

He is completely deadpin, saying that the energies that inhabit this space are very unsettled and that bad things have happened in various areas of the house.

And we want you to go in there and see what you can feel.

And then at the end of the tour, you can tell us where you found evidence and where you felt energies.

And I'm just sort of taking it all in at this point, thinking that these are fools who are paying for the privilege of terrifying themselves in a building with no electricity, no running water, and God forbid one of them has to go to the bathroom in the next four hours.

Support for Spooked comes from Oakland San Francisco Bay Airport.

OAK offers non-stop flights to your favorite destinations across the U.S.

and Mexico with new non-stop flights to Los Cabos and Zacatecas.

OAK makes travel easy with Park OAK's convenient parking options.

Reserve a spot in the daily lot or economy lot and save on your next trip.

Learn more at iflyoak.com, the best way to San Francisco Bay.

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What makes these different is how they've paired THC and other cannabinoids with herbs and adaptogens.

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Add iconic superheroes and super villains from over 60 years of Spider-Man comics to your magic game.

This set gives you the power of Spider-Man.

But remember, with great power comes great responsibility.

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That's magic.wizards.com to learn more about Magic the Gathering, Marvel Spider-Man.

Swing into the game.

Once we make our way through telling people the ground rules, we basically cut them loose.

And our job is

not to helicopter over them so much, but to allow them to spend time within their groups and allow their group dynamic to play out however it's supposed to play out.

So the groups are out investigating.

And there's a group cycling in and out of the attic where this death by hanging took place.

Myself and the other two guides, we meet up outside, we're smoking some cigarettes, we're chatting, and then every 15 minutes or so, we think, okay, it's time to go check on the groups, see how everybody's doing.

So it's most of the way through the evening.

It's oh probably 2.30 3 o'clock in the morning at this point and I'm doing my little walkthrough.

I'm walking toward the parlor.

This room has some windows and a radiator that is looking like it's got leprosy.

Just paint falling off of this thing.

Then I get summoned by one of the groups.

They say, hey, we're having trouble with our spirit box.

It's telling us that the battery's dead.

It's saying battery dead through the speaker.

And

this is unusual because there is a battery indicator on the box, and I can see that the battery is full.

But if they're telling me that the battery is dead,

very well, I have a pocket full of AA batteries.

So I go ahead and pop the back off the spirit box, put some new batteries in there.

I can see still that the battery indicator says that it's full, and I hand it back to them and I turn to walk away.

No sooner have I done so than they call me straight back and they say,

the batteries are dead again.

And

I just got this weird feeling.

I know that these batteries are not dead.

I know they're good.

And sure enough,

the

radio scanner, which is really all that this device is, says clear as day,

battery dead.

The voice coming through the machine,

it's a male voice, is clear, it's strong, it is not like the snippets of speech that sometimes we hear from this device as it's cycling through radio frequencies.

There's an urgency

to the words.

I am still

highly skeptical about the prospects of speaking to a spirit through a broken radio.

But I have a role to play, which is to help these guests get their money's worth.

And

I don't know what has come over me exactly, but I get this feeling that I ought to see if the box is going to tell us anything else.

So, without thinking, I said,

is there someone there?

The box says in the same voice,

yes.

All of the people that I'm with, this group of three or four people, they're like giddy with excitement.

The thought crosses my mind that maybe someone is listening and manipulating the local radio channels to try to fake this out.

And I realize that it's not possible through a device that I know full well has no microphone on it.

So I go ahead and ask a follow-up question:

Are you a soldier?

And the box says,

yes.

I am feeling like

my entire insides are made of ice.

This voice, it sounds like it's

coming from far away.

It is

really freaky.

And at this point, my guests, they are discussing amongst themselves very excitedly what types of follow-up questions they should ask.

And one of them says, Are you a Union soldier or a Confederate soldier?

And the box says,

blue.

This, of course, we interpreted to be a reference to the Union uniform, which is blue, as opposed to a Confederate uniform of gray.

This carries on for a little while, and they're asking yes or no questions.

Are you cavalry?

No.

Are you artillery?

And the box says, Yes.

Battery dead.

Battery E dead.

Now, at this point, my stomach is is down in my shoes.

I have managed thus far to

not

allow myself to believe in the legitimacy of any of this technology.

And here I am.

I'm supposed to be the one that is playing it cool.

I am so shaken.

I cannot stay inside the house.

I need to get out.

I make my way out of the mansion as quickly as I can, and I'm back out into the gravel parking area where my co-workers are hanging around waiting for things to wrap up.

There's only a couple minutes left before folks are going to be coming outside, and I tell them what has just happened.

One of them says, are you okay?

And I said, yeah, I don't know.

I think so.

They were pretty understanding about my being freaked out and not wanting to go back into the building.

Neither of them are

particularly shocked.

This was something that they expected almost.

They said, yeah, well,

that's what happens.

My co-workers congratulate me on my first ghost hunt.

a job well done,

and I decided that I was never coming back to that spot ever again.

Later on that week, it's a sunny day.

I'm walking the battlefield.

I wasn't working that night.

This day, I just felt compelled to go walking.

And as I'm walking along the road near this house, I come across a memorial marker.

It's a seven and a half foot tall granite monument with a cannon parked right in front of it.

And I'm reading: Rhode Island light artillery, three killed, twelve wounded.

Battery E.

I just

stand there speechless.

So we're hearing battery dead, battery dead, and we were thinking, oh, okay, time to go grab some more AA batteries.

But a battery is also a term that would refer to a group of guns, horses, carriages full of ammunition, all the men that were part of the battery.

And as I looked at this monument and read, three killed, twelve wounded, thinking to myself,

is it possible that I

actually

encountered one of the men who fought in this unit?

It

really,

to me, brought the whole experience full circle.

I'm upset.

I feel as though we have disturbed a spirit.

This is an entity, if you believe that, that is stuck in a moment of great distress

and is trying to communicate a message of great urgency

that there has been

death in their military unit.

Battery E

Dead.

I continued working at the tour company on a part-time basis for the next probably

year.

My

attitude toward tours definitely changed.

I think my storytelling became a lot more somber when I told people to pay attention to their surroundings.

I really meant it.

One of the things that I

told my groups regularly was that

the men who fought and died here

were young men, by and large.

That they had more life to live, they had more things to do.

And

now

I wonder if the energy, that desire to stay,

is something that sticks around in a place.

and that just maybe if you go out looking for it,

you might be able to interact with that energy

when Johnny comes marching home again.

Hoorah,

hurrah

When Johnny comes marching home again, hoorah,

hurrah

When Johnny comes marching home again, we'll give him a mighty welcome then, and we'll all go marching.

Thank you, Rameen, for sharing your story at the Spook.

Now, Rameen, he works full-time currently as a guitar maker and musician in Nazareth, Pennsylvania.

But occasionally, Rameen does lead tours at the guitar factory.

That original score was by Nicholas Marks.

It was produced by Casey Georgi.

Now then,

what you've just experienced is but the first foray through that liminal space that connects and bars the gate.

Long it's been known across time, across cultures, that some entities routinely pass through the shadow side and this world.

And on the next, the crossroads, we're chasing after creatures straight from native Blackfoot lore.

And one young person who always wondered starts to question what he wished for.

On the next crossroads, the Goatman.

And no.

You've never walked this way before

The Crossroads is brought to you by the Spook team who wherever they go always sign up for the haunted house tours.

Except for Mr.

Mark Ristich, he just likes to pop out of closets from people least expected.

There's David Kim, Zoe Ferrigno, Eric Yanez, Taylor DeCotte, Marissa Dodge, Miles Lassie, Elliott Lightfoot, Suyi Chu,

Evan Stern, Eves Jeff Coate, Ishell Lopez, Jack Darrell, Doug Stewart, the spook theme song is by Pat Massini-Miller.

Transgressors, both here and in the shadow, should know that no Snap Studios content may be used for training, testing, or developing machine learning or AI systems without prior written permission.

Take that, Skynet!

On Team Spooked, the union represented producers, artists, editors, and engineers are members of the National Association of Broadcast Employees and Technicians, Communications Works of America, AFL, CIL, Local 51.

My name is Glenn Washington.

And it's long been understood that what you put into something

or someone is reflected in what comes out.

We treat children with love and kindness because we want to nurture the goodness that lies within.

We first tend the flocks to harvest the wool.

We paint the pictures to expand the beauty.

We write the books to share the knowledge because care and intention are seeds.

We know this.

Why then

are we surprised that when we drench a land with blood,

that it bears a very strange fruit from the poplar trees, we call forth monsters and wonder why they answer.

No.

We are holders of the sacred gift, the power of intention, the ability to construct our angels and our demons alike.

There is no horror we cannot manifest.

And no joy we cannot sing to life.

The shadow cannot move of its own volition.

We must light the pyre.

We must sacrifice the lamb, the ground.

And no,

they will unleash abominations in your name.

They are doing so right now.

Terrors.

So ask yourself,

What will you unleash?

What will you call forth?

Always remember

to never,

ever,

never, never, ever, never, never, ever,

never,

never, ever turn out

your life.

Support for Spooked comes from Oakland San Francisco Bay Airport.

OAK offers non-stop flights to your favorite destinations across the U.S.

and Mexico with new non-stop flights to Los Cabos and Zacatecas.

OAK makes travel easy with Park OAK's convenient parking options.

Reserve a spot in the daily lot or economy lot and save on your next trip.

Learn more at iflyoak.com, the best way to San Francisco Bay.

Magic the Gathering and Marvel team up for a magic set featuring your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Add iconic superheroes and super villains from over 60 years of Spider-Man comics to your magic game.

This set gives you the power of Spider-Man.

But remember, with great power comes great responsibility.

Visit magic.wizards.com to learn more about how to suit up with Spider-Man.

That's magic.wizards.com to learn more about Magic the Gathering, Marvel Spider-Man.

Swing into the game.

This episode is brought to you by Progressive Insurance.

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