Due to the graphic nature of this urban legend, listener discretion is advised, this episode includes descriptions of Gore and brief discussions of sexual violence. We advise extreme caution for children under 13.

Cold reading is just what psychics do. It's expected that's what you tell yourself, as the stately woman with the 60s hairdo tells the whole studio audience that you're going to die. The prediction is vague because she wants to look omniscient, but she's not. She's getting off on the audience's moves at odds.

She doesn't care about you. She cares about ratings.

And she knows that, saying there will be a massacre at a college in your state, in a dorm shaped like your dorm and on a floor numbered the same as your floor is both general and specific enough to fit her needs perfectly. When you tell your roommate later, she just laughs. Then she suggests you dress as the psychic for the Halloween party. Tonight, you wave her off, you're not in a partying mood. So you curl up in bed in your dorm on the second floor, hoping to sleep off the rage.

You're still angry at the psychic, but you should be thankful instead. At least your rage tired you out. And you were fast asleep when the murderer finished killing everyone else on your floor and plunged his knife into your gut. Welcome to Haunted Places, a Spotify original bypass cast. I'm Greg Polson. Today's episode is part of our Urban Legends series. Every Tuesday, we explore those chilling stories. You'll hear second hand, the kind that seem made up but contain a kernel of truth.

Urban legends is only on Spotify. So keep listening here to never miss an episode. But don't forget to come back each Thursday or a classic episode of Haunted Places covering yet another ghost filled locale, you can find episodes of Haunted Places and other originals from podcast for free on Spotify. Today, we examine an urban legend based on a shared memory the college Halloween massacre. Rumor has reemerged time and time again in various regions in the U.S., but always in cycles as new graduates depart the school, leaving room for a new batch of students to scare.

The legend appears again and again. But this tale of a psychic predicting a serial killer spree in a campus dorm sprang from a real tragic event. Up next, we receive a vision of dead coeds from regions beyond. Hi, haunted places, listeners. Did you enjoy last year's Daily Urban Legends series then? We have good news. Urban Legends has been running as a weekly bonus series exclusively on Spotify. Check the Haunted Places Feed for a new Urban Legends episode every Tuesday hitched a ride on a haunted bus, unravel the ribbon tied around a mysterious woman and be sure to follow haunted places on Spotify to get all new urban legends episodes every week.

The campus slasher film is its own subgenre, from sorority row to Scream two to Happy Death Day and Black Christmas franchises, slaughter beneath school banners and Greek letters is big business. However, the rumor that a talk show psychic predicted a series of Halloween murders at an American college predates all of those films. But the event that inspired the legend is far too disturbing for a celluloid.

Michelle crossed out the days on her calendar with fear and anticipation as Halloween loomed closer. She loved the holiday more than any other day, but she wasn't sure how to feel about the college version of it. She didn't want the pressure of wearing a revealing costume or having to drink Halloween, and her opinion was best enjoyed sober at home and alone. It was creepier that way. So she talked to her sorority into a week of alcohol free events. Not only would it make Kappa Theta look good, it would be a safe space where she didn't feel as much pressure.

There was a carnival, a scary movie marathon in the sorority house yard with hot chocolate and cider donuts and even an alcohol free mixer. She was excited for it all, except for the fortune teller. Michelle treated every fortune teller she'd ever encountered with contempt. She saw them as vultures, feeding off of people's pain and insecurity. Only a desperate person would turn to a stranger to learn how to move past a tragedy. But any objection she raised in meetings about the event was overruled.

The president of the sorority, Hally, was flying in a noted psychic and astrologer from Los Angeles, and she was the main selling point. They had collected thousands in charitable donations for the one event, so there was no way they were canceling.

Michelle wanted to sit the night out, but sorority events were mandatory and her fellow sister, Angela, begged her to take a turn with her in the fortunetellers tent. Angela had lost her mother the year before and was particularly vulnerable to this type of charlatan. She leaned on Michelle a lot in the past months, but Michelle was happy to help, especially if it meant protecting her from someone who wanted to exploit her pain for money. The look and feel of the fortunetellers tent was technically the sorority's responsibility, but one would think she'd ask for better production value when her contract, the tiny tent, was flimsy, bedecked with cheap looking, appropriate tip harlequin patterned in bright red and purple, a wooden table stood between the fortune teller and her guests.

Two mismatched dining table chairs were pulled out for Angela and Michelle to sit in. Michelle expected to see a woman wearing fake golden coins and colorful scarves. She thought there would be a thick Vagg Eastern European accent. They would take some wizened woman's wrinkly hands and wait for a story to unfold.

Michelle didn't expect a platinum blonde with gold hoop earrings and crisp British diction. The woman couldn't be older than 40, and her wrinkles had been smoothed away through science rather than magic. She introduced herself as Morgiana mistress of the unknown. Michelle chortled in her head.

The look might be different, but the flare was the same as she lit candles or to walk them through the process. She would place a glass ball on the table and direct them to look inside. In this way, she explained, they would be telling their own fortune. She shot a wry look over to Michelle and told her that letting the guests choose the fortune resulted in less accusations of quackery. Michelle wasn't impressed. She was terrible at hiding her emotions.

A toddler could have given a cold read on her opinion of fortunes. She would have told Morgan at this, but she held her tongue for Angela's sake. Michelle looked over at her friend. Angela was staring into the ball so hard that wrinkles crinkled across her forehead. Michelle patted her on the back and urged her to go easy. Angela made a small cooing sound, then giggled. Whatever vision she saw, she seemed to be enjoying it. Michelle had to admit she was a little intrigued.

She glanced into the ball, but she didn't see anything inside. Morgana snapped, catching Michelle's attention. She told Michelle that if she wanted a fortune, then she could go through the process. This was Angela's run of good luck. Michelle was annoyed, but she was also happy that Angela could find joy in something. The poor girl had been dealing with grief for the better part of a year. If a pseudo magic experience comforted her, Michelle wouldn't object.

Then something changed in Angela. Her smile started to wobble, the lines on her forehead became more pronounced. Goosebumps popped up on her skin. Michelle put her hand on Angela's arm. It felt like ice. Michelle called Angela's name. Angela mumbled that she was fine, but the words lacked their usual pep. She started to shake Michelle turned her ire toward Morgana, asking for answers, Morgiana shrugged. She told Michelle, but she wasn't responsible for what the spirits shared.

She was only the conduit. Their energy powered the ball. She had no control over the rest. Michelle didn't believe that. She asked Morgiana to stop. When Morgana's sat unmoving, Michelle took action. She put her hand between the ball and Angela's face. Angela blinked rapidly before pulling her gaze toward Michelle. Angela stared at Michelle for too long, like she was trying to commit each feature to memory. Then she burst into sobs. Michelle put a comforting arm around her, but her friend jumped back at the touch.

She mumbled an apology and ran out of the tent. Michelle turned to Morgiana. What kind of game was she playing? Organ side, then placed her hands on the glass and closed her eyes. She hummed into low vibration in her throat. Michelle wanted to roll their eyes at the Patric's, but an eye roll only worked when the intended targets eyes were open. But then Organa started to frown. Sweat dripped down her perfectly arched brow. She gripped the ball tight.

A high pitched whine left her throat like an injured animal. She winced and cried, head shaking violently. Then she raised the glass ball up and throw it down, cracking its center as glass shards cascaded across the table.

Michelle screamed what? Morgana was still humming. With her eyes closed, Michelle pushed out of her seat to get help, but she felt a vice like grip close around her arm. Morgana looked up at her with clear eyes still humming that unearthly hum. Michelle asked her to let go and told Morgana that she'd caused enough trouble. For one night. She needed to find Angela Morgana's fingernails dug into Michelle's skin. Michelle tried to shove her off, but she couldn't.

When Morgana finally spoke, her accent switched from BBC to Brooklyn. In an instant, her voice was grave. She told Michelle that she finally understood what yesterday's vision meant. She knew what was coming. Michelle balked. She didn't know what yesterday's vision was. And after the trouble Morgana caused, she really didn't care. She retorted that she wasn't interested in what some two bit con artist thought. Then Morgana's said a sentence that would keep Michelle up for the rest of the week.

If you don't leave here, you'll die. Up next, Michelle, skepticism is tested by a bump in the night listeners.

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Angela relented and told Michelle that Morgan was taking advantage of them. Whatever horror she had primed Angela to see were at least partially drawn from a psychic's appearance on her favorite talk show the day before.

Morgana was a big get for wake up Campden. She began the broadcast with the usual talking to dead relatives. But halfway through, she just stopped moving. She clutched her chair and gravely intoned that there would be a massacre at a local college on Halloween. She couldn't name the school or the building, but she said it started with an M and was shaped like an L 13 would die. It was just vague enough to sound believable. Angela insisted her stint at the sorority was the perfect opportunity to up her profile and reinforce her prophecy about the sorority only housed eight girls.

What were they supposed to do? Invite five more girls over for a sleepover and some murder? No, Angela was done with psychics. She didn't need anyone's help to speak to her mom. But now Michelle was invested. Her experience with Morgan had shaken her usual skepticism. She begged Angela to tell her what she'd seen even if it wasn't real. Angela made Michelle promise to be reasonable, then related the story. According to Angelo, a very cute guy in a sexy shepherd, his costume was going to flirt with Angela at their Halloween party, they would talk and dance, then go through all the pre hookup rituals.

Then he would take her over to his place. A few hours later, just before sunrise, Angela would sneak back to the sorority house and slip into Michelle's room, hoping to climb into bed with her best friend. Instead, she finds something so atrocious that she'd never forget it. Michelle's body parts would be strewn across the room like discarded candy wrappers. Blood dripped from the walls. It was the most upsetting Rothko to ever exist. As Angela kneeled over the body in, the police peered through the doorway, her vision suddenly ended.

Michelle played it cool, agreeing that Morgiana was a terrible person. But she couldn't forget the words or the images or her own corpse dripping with Gore. The entire downstairs was already covered with spider webs and fake blood splatters. Michelle's chest went tight. Every time she had to walk past the fake decorations, they reminded her too much of Angela's words. Michelle tried to remember the good part of what Angela had said. Morgiana was self-serving, nothing more. Michelle tried not to ask yourself how it was self-serving for Morgana to break her crystal ball.

That thing looked expensive. On Halloween, Michelle decided she was going to follow slasher movie rules, she would find a group and stick with them no matter what. She even stayed alcohol free, though her shot swilling sisters seem to forget the point of the supposedly sober event. It wasn't even midnight and their sexy angel, devil, cat, scarecrow and panda costumes were already soaked in jungle juice. Still, Michel stuck by them. She kicked out drunk boys and failed miserably.

At Just Dance. She slowly realized that she might actually like parties. She might actually enjoy spending Halloween with people. Meanwhile, Angela ignored any guy that came up to her. Instead, she and Michelle stayed by each other's sides, laughing the entire night. Before long, Michelle's fear evaporated. She was finally having a blast. Angela pulled Michelle upstairs at the end of the night, raving about her status as Kappa's newest party girl. They tumbled into Michelle's bed, talking softly until they fell asleep nose to nose.

Michelle didn't know why she woke up, it was still dark in the room. She glanced at her best friend. Angela was still asleep. Her glittery, shadowed eyes closed. Michelle listened closely to the room, ears alert for other sounds, but all was silent aside from their breathing. She felt the prick of fear, but she reminded herself that the house was empty. Now, just the eight sisters, she decided her thirst was keeping her up.

So she padded downstairs to the kitchen. She drank her water by the light of the fridge, then turned back toward the living room to go upstairs. A strange sound pulled her eyes to the lush pink couches facing the picture window. There were several potential pledges sleeping on the fluffy pillows and on the floor with their flowing costumes and wavy hair. The girls looked like a renaissance painting. Michelle counted in spite of herself. One, two, three, four new girls see still not enough to make Morgana's vision of 13 victims come true.

Even if the girls were lying very still, maybe two. Still, Michelle heard a rustling on the second floor. As she climbed the stairs, she told herself it was nothing. Angela was probably awake and looking for her. Michelle reached the landing, passing Hailey's room. There, she realized two things. One, Hally and her two sex partners were passed out after a very eventful night, too. There was a man climbing the stairs behind her.

He was tall and thin, his arms a little too frail for his form, his movements were languid but heavy, like a wild animal. His face was indiscernible in the Half-Light. Michelle didn't even know if he noticed her at the top of the stairs, but she didn't want to wait to find out. She ducked into his room and pressed herself against the wall. Listening footsteps moved through the hallway. She heard the slide of metal against wood and then something Weder Michelle bit down on her lip, trying not to hyperventilate.

She's not close to Haley's bed, hoping to wake her and her companions. But Hamleys eyes were open and one of them was missing. Michelle stumbled back, choking back her scream as the horror revealed itself in the moonlight. Half of Hamleys face was slashed beyond recognition. Her bones neck was almost completely severed and the third girl's stomach was torn open. Michelle's first instinct was to scramble, but that's how she'd gotten into this in the first place. She stood up as slowly and silently as she could, taking a deep breath.

She needed a weapon. She needed a phone. She needed a way out. But first she needed to get Angela. She tiptoed to the door and listen to Ken. After hearing movement in one of the rooms further away, Michele dashed across the hallway to her room. Angela was snoring, curled up in a ball from the cold. Michelle nearly crashed into the bed, shaking her friend awake. She was whispering that someone was in the house.

Angela looked up at her friend, still drowsy. But as she realized what Michelle was saying, a dark look passed over her face. Just then, there were footsteps outside the door. Angela snapped out of her trance and hissed at Michelle to get under the bed. Michelle tried to argue, but Angela pushed her to the floor and beneath the bed frame, Michelle held her breath as dust bunnies tickled her nose. She heard Angela settling above her covers, rustling to hide her.

Though her friend was right above her, Michelle felt alone, trapped. Then Angela dropped her hand over the side of the bed against the wall. A small gesture, but a great comfort, Michelle bitter, trembling lip and squeezed Angela fingers telling her that she was here.

They were in this together, they heard footsteps settle at the door as Angela whispered, Whatever you do, stay still. The door cracked open. The man's footsteps were heavy as he advanced. Drawing near the bed, Michelle inched forward, ready to take her chance and tackle him. But she felt Angela's grip close on her hand vise like holding her back. If Michelle struggled too much, she'd give them both away. Michelle realized what Angela was about to do.

She stifled a cry of protest, sobbing into her free hand and praying. This nightmare was just a dream. As the knife slid into her body, Angela's grip was steady.

Michelle could feel the bed bent as the stranger stabbed her friend. He did it again and again and again. But still, Angela held on tight to Michelle finally when she was gasping, drowning in her own blood. He stopped.

Angela spat at him and then her voice still wheezing. She asked him how many people he'd killed in the house. The man's voice was husky, as he said, 12 dead. And now it's your turn. Lucky number 13, Michelle counted in her head eight sisters, plus the four pledges downstairs and how these two sex partners made 14 14 people in the house minus her 13.

Angela squeezed Michelle's hand one last time.

The man's footsteps faded away. Michelle stayed under the bed as Angela's fingers went stiff. The tears came fast. Angela wasn't supposed to be there. She thought she was supposed to be far away safe hooking up with some cute boy. But there she was, lying in Michelle's own bed. And now the killer's 13th victim had been claimed. Michelle thanked Angela silently for seeing the future and changing it to help her survive. The campus Halloween murders rumor has circulated since 1968, it also swept across New England in 1991 and Pennsylvania in 1986 and in 1998, the rumor spiked nationwide, including new details like the idea that the killer would dress as Little Bo Peep or wear a scream mask.

The original legend and tales that a psychic predicted a rash of murders on a college campus on Halloween while on a talk show. The vague details of the premonition are then proven to be correct when a trail of bodies is found on campus. The psychics vision often relies on Barnham statements, a technique deployed by false mediums to offer predictions that seem specific and meaningful but are actually vague enough to apply to the general population. The psychic usually suggests that the site of the massacre will begin with an M or a W or will be a member of a major athletic conference.

While the dorm itself is often described as a common shape, like an L, t or a U, or being near a river or railroad tracks. The inspiration for this legend dates back to the 1960s. On July 13th, 1966, Richard Speck broke into a Chicago townhouse. He murdered eight student nurses and sexually assaulted his final victim before killing her. However, he miscounted the number of women living in the house. Little did Speck know there were actually nine women in the house at eight.

So a Filipina student named Corazón Amahoro was able to hide beneath a bed to evade his attention. The idea of the final girl, the last victim alive who confronts the killer is a common horror trope today. For that reason, we might expect victims to fight back. But in the 60s, 70s and 80s, women were commonly told that struggling was what got you killed. There hasn't been a speck style murder on a campus, let alone one on Halloween or predicted on a talk show.

But the possibility remains as long as psychics appear on TV, they'll offer Barnham statements. And as long as serial killers look for new hunting grounds, college dorms will be a fertile source of vulnerable prey. So it may be best to DVR those daytime TV shows just in case you never know what you'll miss. Thanks again for tuning into haunted places. We'll be back on Thursday with the new episode. And don't forget to come back on Tuesday for our Urban Legends series available only on Spotify.

You can find more episodes of Haunted Places and all other originals from podcast for free on Spotify until next time. Don't believe some of the things you hear. Believe all of them. Haunted Places was created by Max Cutler and as a podcast studio's original executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler, Sound Design by Carrie Murphy with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden and Isabella Way. This episode of Haunted Places was written by Lil Deridder and Jennifer Rachet with Writing Assistants by Alexandra Garland.

I'm Greg Poulsen. Don't forget to check out our love story, the newest Spotify original fun podcast every Tuesday discovered that many pathways to love as told by the actual couples who found them. Listen to our love story. Free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.