This is a story about a quiet conspiracy and an inheritance marked in blood.
Written by Bryn C. Bell
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This is an unofficial transcript meant for reference. Accuracy is not guaranteed.
Hi listeners. This is actually flowers. Thanks to the support of stature premium, we were able to make ten additional full length. Episodes of full body chills this year, you're about to hear a full premium episode of full body chills that were releasing for free. There are nine more full length episodes just like this one: releasing weekly. Instead, your premium just go to stitch her dot com, slash premium and sign up with promo code chills for a three month of stick. Your premium you'll get access to the weekly really
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sound and listen cliffs. Much like the details of Jones Life. The coins in manner of his grandfather staff had been a matter of much secrecy and speculation. Rumours had sprouted in cast their seeds like weeds until all whispers of truth were wash
Away in a flood of conjecture, the executors of his estate had glided in liquidating asset settling debts and perhaps most importantly, buying privacy, men
of those involved were suspected of taking bribes neighbours of
local coroner watched from their bay windows with pursed lips as construction began on his home extension
when the sheriffs daughter rode off on her first day of private school, it was accompanied by many raised eyebrows in sidelong glances. Nevertheless, secrets remained as the old man's fortune was
clean to the bone and left to bleach in the sun. When the dust settles,
all that remains, is a massive unoccupied estate on the woodland edge of cops hill passer by took note over months as its forlorn foresail signed slowly faded when John thought of his grandfather, feelings of anger and risk
had been burned in his brain. He had no relationship with him, nor did he had the opportunity to share in his opulent lifestyle for
and of means he had done shockingly little to support his family. The extent of their resemblance was that John much like his grand
other, had a desire for wealth and an aversion to people. So far,
he'd succeeded only in the latter,
lived alone in a small dark apartment existing in limbo. In on the verge of addiction, life had been as unkind to him ass. He had been to others
He was not unaware of his grandfathers death. Nor was he sorry to hear of his passing. He had called lawyers left message
and finally got in touch with a woman who was able to verify that he was not a beneficiary of any assets. The dial tone had echoed in his head as his attention fell,
once more to the final notices piling atop his counter? It was a new
segment on the unsold estate that set the rusted gears of John's mind in motion as the cast
delivered their lines and the camera panda across the grounds he envisioned himself. Looking down from one of those great windows, key intoxicated him energized him making his head spent the next morning he packed his bags. The hissing of the gas stove was punctuated by the front door, shutting behind him on the counter, a pile of bills. Slowly burned, it was not hard to find the house, nor was it hard to break inside. To John Surprise, the house was.
functional and still sparsely furnished. It was apparent that items of significant value had been removed, but what remained could still be exchanged for more money than he had ever had at one time days of exports.
She's yielded many items of promise. The house itself with massive with
long, dark, hallways and stale air that tasted like old leather. It was at the end of one such hallway that John came upon the record room
the room was small lit only by the sun filtering in through the curtain window facing the woods peeling wallpaper was yellow from years of cigar smoke with white rectangle suspended. Like ghosts on the walls, where picture frames once hung littered across the hardwood floor, where vinyl records coated in a layer of thick dust that
Puffed with each footfall catching John's eye was an old record player sitting in the corner. It was made from a rich dark wood, with ornate, carvings and garnished with embossed metal, a brass horn, flowered up and out from its base and a hand, crank sat ready at its side on its turntable, laid a record of such dark red that it was nearly black, the red, ridges and grooves of the Vinyl Gay John, the impression a blood cated hair
he knew the record player must be worth something as an antique, but the price it would fetch would depend on whether it could still play so carefully. He moved the needle to the edge of the record and gave the crank a few turns
The word released a disembodied shriek that made him linge as a turntable twisted to life before falling into static. There was a pause, then, from the static came a woman's Francis Whisper, his stomach singed and his breath caught in his throat as the desperate hist of her voice crackled through
The roof. There's a finger in the attic there's a finger in the TIC theres, a fine in the Atic there's a fine in the attic,
the whispering with sweet, with increasing urgency before coming here said, inherit every
air on his arm raised John tossed the record aside and replaced it with another, he tested the turntable with a few cranks and a big band. First, fourth, with rich fullbody tones
letting out a nervous. I relieved John silence the record and continued his search elsewhere. Eventually, that search would bring him to the attic the attic could be accessed by a pulldown staircase lodged in the ceiling as John's head crested the floor of the pitch dark case.
in this room. He felt vulnerable at the whim of the unknown planning a flashlight across the void comforted him the light,
someone bare walls and a baron floor? It was after Sun
and John had every intention of calling it a night as he descended the staircase with disappointment.
then, as if someone had struck the ceiling with a hammer, a loud bang shocked him into falling down the remaining steps. Panicked and furious John picked himself up off the floor and slowly ascended once more. An Erie stillness fell, as he pulled himself up and over into the room again his flashlight panned across the attic. He was sure he was alone, but in the beam of his headlight he saw it a small sparkle of light in the dark cautiously. He moved forward and there on the floor, lay
a massive diamond ring with his light aim down upon it. The gem splashed light across the room like shattered glass
in the elation of the discovery? It took him a moment more to register that the ring was worn on a pale severed finger even as chills trickled down his body John stood transfixed frozen in thought. How had it gotten here? How long had it sat there? Who did it belong to before his nerves could get the better of him he reached down and carefully picked up the finger using the sleeve of his shirt, even through the fabric, the finger felt soft disgusted. He slipped the ring from the finger and in into his pocket after a wary pod
He decided to leave the finger where he found it dropping it
the ground hurrying back down to the floor below joy.
And returned to the record room and immediately started searching the floor for the red record. Had it really
told him about the finger at it led
Into the ring, and who was that whispering woman, his flashlight
nervously across the room. Until finally, he found nested in place on the record players turntable. Had he put the record back on. Maybe he miss remembered, he took a deep breath and gave the
one turn to turns three turns again: the rapid fire squeaked before turning to steady job
means into the horn and listened women's whisper.
there's an arm in the ice Box, a man's voice bellowed from the horn there's an arm in the ice box. There's an arm in the ice box. There's an arm the record scratched as John knocked the needle away breathless his heart pounding John, put his back to the wall and show
his flashlight around the room and through the doorway. There was no
movement or sound, except the distant sharp of crickets dust laser leaf.
through the beam of his life in his gun, he knew
he should wait until morning to go looking for the ice box, but in his pocket the ring began to feel heavier and his breath began to calm the excitement of the find emboldened any couldn't shake the feeling that he was meant
a fine that ring. Maybe with some luck there was more wealth for him to find. The answers were
somewhere in these dark halls, his search took him through room after room hallway. After hallway John did his
to keep his flashlight away from any windows holding it low to the ground. Through his lens, the house looked quite different: shadows fled around every corner,
it was minutes after midnight when John finally discovered the icebox hidden in plain sight,
Lay in the empty parlor, the only
Their ideas in the room were an old chandelier and a broken chair in the back of the room. The icebox sat with its back to the wall. Looking much like a big anti chest of drawers,
upon closer inspection, John realise that the doors were made of metal and they were called to the touch for the first time. He noticed the fog of his breath clouding the air John tense. Does he reached for the latter
Part of him fear that there may be nothing to find that this. It all been a fluke another part of him, one that he could not repress feared that he may find what the record promised he was met with a surprise when the door creaked open, as if it had only just been stocked. The old ice box was filled top to bottom, with large bricks of ice. Each the size of small logs with freezing numb hands. John emptied it brick by brick by brick until there was nothing left inside
no arm no treasure just an empty metal box, remembering how he missed the ring. The first time around. He very carefully felt
around the edges, for any scenes are secret panels. The icebox forward
behind it under it all around it, nothing nothing that is until his flashlight turned the growing puddle of water on the floor,
and their with in one of the melting breaks with the outline
a man arm from hand to elbow conspicuously missing was the ring finger on a frozen hand,
John, had no doubt where the finger could be found but wondered why the man's
had been discovered wearing a woman's ring. Did it but
to the woman whose voice was on the record still before the ice and even fully melted. It was clear that the record had brought him another gift.
around the of the armed with a luxurious gold watch and through the ice John Couldst
the second hand making its journey around the watches face, the watch band felt ice cold on his wrist, as he made his way back to the record room like the finger John left, the arm where he had found it packing it back with the ice to stave off the stench once inside. He closed the door behind him with a long creek,
His heart beat hosts in his stomach, as once more he moved the needle to the record and gave the player several pranks John took a step back and weed
as before. A screech, followed by static crackled from the Hawaii seconds past then minutes
John. We did with anticipation, as his gold watch marked the passage of time.
Then, suddenly, from the record player came a thumb, then the voice of a little girl who spoke.
Slow, uncertain voice,
tiny, Valise Mumble
the rapid, slow to a stop warping the voice into a deep drowned in the silent John felt an overwhelming urge to search the woods. The ring wait heavy in his pocket, as if beckoning him outside the watches, Tick grew louder, go go, go, go. They urged
terror echoed somewhere from the back of his mind, urging him to search in the morning, but he couldn't wait. Another second go: go, go. Go
he navigated through the dark and lonely mansion out into its sprawling backyard, as he crossed the overgrown bond. A dark wall of trees loomed up to meet him
suddenly John Shadow loomed up before him in the woods lit up from them.
Chintz Drive, a police car spotlight was fixed on his back John.
And around and shielded his eyes with the blinding light wouldn't subside without hesitation. John pushed his way through the brush and sprinted into the woods.
Neighbors had called a little after midnight when a flashlight was seen through a second floor window. The share
had been dispatched investigated by the time he arrived, the house was as dark and dead as ever he was preparing to leave when across
the grounds he saw the figure of a man stumbling towards the woods. The sheriff put his high beans on and trained the spotlight toward him. Even from afar. It was obvious this man was injure blood soaked his shirt.
in jeans and when the light fell on him, he raised up what remained of his own severed arm before lurching into the woods
air. If radioed for back up what was met with only static from somewhere in the woods came a decent bodied shriek.
Asserted the house. The next day told of his story drops of blood trailed around the house,
and led to the attic were. A man's bingo was found in the parlour police found a large pool of blood and a freshly severed arm in an old icebox, with much larger trail of blood led to an
old room, full of records and back down again leading investigators out the door to the edge of the woods. The conclusion of the forensic team was that the degree of blood ass was fatal without medical attention, but strangely searches of the woods came up empty after several days of searching with dogs, helicopters and volunteers
investigators, were forced to give up the search wherever there John DOE wise. There was
nothing more. They could do for him.
the sheriff knew just how similar the circumstances of death were to those of the estates previous owner, but his lips were sealed.
want to hear even more stories of full body chills like this one go to stitcher com premium and use code chills for a free month of stitcher premium. This series was produced by Ashley Flowers and David flowers
This episode was written by Bryn, bow and read by Ashley flowers. This story was modified slight me for
retailing, but you can find the original info on our website. Body chills is an audio chuck production. So what do you think chuck
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Transcript generated on 2020-11-18.