Episode 210: The Passenger in the Hat – A Van That Waits, A Dream That Hunts

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Some stories don’t start with
creaking doors or ancient

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curses.
Some start with something much

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quieter.
A hum in the engine, a stretch

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of Rd. with no end.
Insight, eyes half shut,

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thoughts drifting.
And that’s when something else

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takes the wheel.
Welcome back to Paranormal Night

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Shift, where the veil between
this world and the next is

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always thinner than it seems.
And you’re chilling fan

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submitted stories take center
stage.

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I’m Andy, your narrator for
tonight, guiding you through

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another strange, disturbing, and
unforgettable experience.

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But before we dim the lights and
dive into the dark, if you

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haven’t already, make sure to
grab your free copy of The Birth

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of Dimensional Desperado over at
paranormalnightshift.com.

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It’s the first story in our
supernatural time travel saga

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where Buck Shadow Sheriff
Freeman discovers that time

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doesn’t heal all wounds,
especially the ghostly kind.

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Now settle in, because this next
story, it’s when you’re going to

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feel in your bones.
This is the passenger in the hat

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shared with us by Jacob.
And once you hear it, you may

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never look at a back Rd. the
same way again.

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They say you never believe
something can happen to you

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until it does.
I always thought those kinds of

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stories were for other people.
Headlines, horror movies, Reddit

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threads you read at 2:00 AM when
you can’t sleep.

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Not me.
I’m just a regular person who

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takes back roads when the
highways are jammed.

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Someone who drinks too much
coffee and not enough water, who

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tells themselves they’ll sleep
after this one last errand.

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I remember the night it happened
with unnerving clarity.

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It was one of those long rural
stretches of Rd. that make you

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feel like you’re the only person
on earth.

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No lights except your own
headlights, no signs for miles

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and trees that seem to lean a
little too far into the road

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like they’re eavesdropping.
I was driving back from a

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friend’s place.
We’d stayed up way too late,

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talking, watching somebody on
TV, you know, just life.

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I hadn’t slept much in the last
couple of days, but I figured I

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could push through just 30 more
minutes.

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I told myself I’d be home before
I knew it Wrong.

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I don’t remember falling asleep.
That’s the worst part.

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I remember waking up jerked
upright by the violent jolt of

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the car diving nose first into a
muddy ditch, tires spinning out,

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headlights cutting across a
shallow embankment, the whole

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frame lurching sideways like we
were in a slow motion car

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commercial gone wrong.
I slammed on the brakes, heart

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slamming harder.
Somehow we stopped.

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The car was stuck, angled
awkwardly into the ditch, but

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miraculously, it wasn’t wrecked.
No crumpled metal, no airbags,

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no broken windows.
Just stuck.

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My friend who had dozed off in
the passenger seat snapped awake

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like someone had lit a fire
under him.

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After a few deep breaths and a
string of profanity, we checked

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ourselves.
No blood, no bruises.

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Just shaking.
Grateful a tow truck came about

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30 minutes later.
The guy didn’t ask questions.

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The cops did, though.
That’s when my friend, still

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pale but quick on his feet,
piped up about a deer crossing

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the road.
Swerved to miss it.

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He’s lucky.
Could have been worse.

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The officer believed him, or
maybe he didn’t care.

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Just another small town call in
the middle of the night.

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Eventually they got us out, and
the officer, who gave me a tired

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look like he’d seen 100 versions
of me that month, decide to

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drive us home.
I didn’t say much during that

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ride.
I just kept thinking about how

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easy it was for something like
that to happen.

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One blink too long, 1 curve too
late.

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But what really got to me was
what happened a few nights

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later.
I’d finally managed to sleep

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again.
Deep sleep.

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The kind where the world falls
away.

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But this dream, this wasn’t like
any dream I’d had before.

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This didn’t feel like my
subconscious.

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It felt like a memory I hadn’t
lived yet.

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In the dream, I was back on that
country Rd. but this time I was

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alone.
No friend, no music, just the

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hum of the engine and the
darkness pressing in all around

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me.
The sky was void, black, and the

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trees lining the road seemed
taller, gnarled, wrong somehow.

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The kind of trees that look like
they’ve been watching too long.

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As I drove, I noticed something
odd about the landscape.

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It wasn’t just rural, it was
abandoned.

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A ghost town.
Cracked windows, boarded doors,

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porches sagging like they were
exhaling their last breath.

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Not a single light on in any
home.

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No dogs barking, no signs of
life.

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Just rot in silence.
I pulled out my phone to check

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the GPS, but the signal was weak
and kept stuttering between

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directions.
Still, I followed it, and every

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time I thought I was getting
somewhere, I wound up back at

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the same damn intersection. 4
roads, one street light that

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buzzed like a dying fly.
Buildings on all four corners in

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different states of decay.
And each time I pulled up to it,

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I saw the same vehicle waiting.
An old black cargo van.

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Not parked, not moving, just
sitting there like it was

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waiting for me.
I’d approach, it would start

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moving, but not toward me.
It would turn down one of the

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other roads and vanish into the
dark.

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No license plate, no brake
lights, just gone.

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The next time I reached the
intersection, it was there

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again.
The third time, the 4th.

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Each time.
Just out of reach, each time

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vanishing.
Then I noticed something else.

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The road was sloping now, a
gentle decline at first, then

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sharper, and without realizing
it, my speed began to creep up.

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The car started taking the
curves too fast.

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My hands were on the wheel, but
I couldn’t feel them.

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My foot was off the gas, but the
car didn’t slow down.

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I wasn’t driving anymore.
I was along for the ride.

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The curves grew sharper, more
violent.

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Trees blurred past and streaks.
My chest tightened.

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Panic surged.
I screamed, but it came out

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wrong, like it echoed inside my
skull instead of the air.

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Then impact.
I don’t remember the crash

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itself, just the after.
The windshield was shattered,

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glass glittered like Starlight
across the dash, smoke rose

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lazily from under the hood, my
door was jammed, and everything

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was still.
The quiet after a storm.

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That’s when I saw the light,
faint at first, glowing behind

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me like headlights through the
mist.

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I turned to check the driver’s
side mirror, and there it was,

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that same black van, parked,
idling, watching.

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I waited, staring into the
mirror, expecting the door to

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open, someone to get out.
No one did.

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Then I turned to the passenger
side, and that’s when I saw him.

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A man, or something shaped like
1, was standing just outside the

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passenger window.
He wasn’t solid.

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He was a silhouette, like
someone had cut him out of the

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dark itself.
No features, no face, just the

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outline of a body and a wide
brimmed, rounded hat, like an

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old undertaker’s hat or a
cowboy’s, I don’t know, but it

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didn’t belong to this century.
In his hand I saw something

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glinting.
At first it was too dark to

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tell.
Then I squinted, leaned forward.

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It was a gun, a revolver, old
Western style.

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My eyes locked on his hand, and
just as the realization hit me,

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he raised it.
The last thing I remember before

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the dream broke was the flash of
the muzzle, A deafening bang,

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and a white light that swallowed
everything.

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I woke up drenched in sweat,
heart beating so hard it hurt.

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My ears were ringing, just like
they did when I shot my first

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rifle as a teenager.
That same hollow, endless tone.

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I sat up, gasping, and the first
thing I did was check the clock.

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3:14 AM.
Of course it was.

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I haven’t had that dream again,
not once.

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But I think about it a lot,
especially when I drive at

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night, especially near
intersections.

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Especially when I see a cargo
van.

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Was it just a dream, my mind
processing the accident in its

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own twisted way?
Or was it something else?

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I’ll never know, But sometimes I
wonder, if I hadn’t woken up

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when I did, would I still be
asleep?

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Or would I still be driving
forever, looking for a way out?

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And that’s where Jacob’s story
ends.

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Or at least where he left it.
To Jacob, thank you for sharing

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something so personal and raw.
What happened to you on that

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road, that dream, that van?
It lingers in the air like

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static.
And if you’ve ever driven late

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at night, running on fumes and
instinct, you know exactly the

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kind of quiet that lets
something else creep in.

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To the rest of you listening,
thanks for stepping into the

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dark with me again.
I don’t take your time or your

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trust lightly.
This show doesn’t exist without

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you.
Your stories, your chills, your

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questions whispered into the
night.

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If you want to support what we
do here on Paranormal Night

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00:10:12,400 –> 00:10:16,000
Shift, head over to Patreon.
That’s where you’ll get every

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episode ad free, early access to
the show, and exclusive entry

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into all future journeys of the
Dimensional Desperado series.

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Not ready for that?
Totally fine.

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Just hit subscribe on Spotify or
YouTube, leave a comment, and

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let us know what you thought of
this episode.

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Your voice helps keep these
stories alive.

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And don’t forget Paranormal
Night. shift.com is where you

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can get your free ebook and even
submit your own story.

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We’re always listening.
Until next time, stay curious,

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stay safe, and if you ever find
yourself stuck at an

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intersection with a van watching
you, don’t blink.

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Good night time travelers.