Pack your sage, your chicest black outfit, and maybe a snack (because ghost hunting can easily turn into beignet hunting) — we’re off to the most haunted corners of New Orleans. We gush about our love for the French Quarter — cobblestone streets, voodoo shops that smell like incense and secrets, the gothic beauty of the St. Louis cemeteries, and every witchy happening that makes us want to move in… even if the neighbors are dead.

Naturally, we can’t go to NOLA without diving into the twisted tale of Madame LaLaurie and her infamous mansion — the kind of place that makes even the bravest ghost go, “Yeah, I’m good.” Then, because our brains have no GPS, we swerve into the legend of La Llorona, the wailing woman whose “revenge” on her husband involved drowning her kids. We’re still screaming, “Girl… WHY?” because spite-parenting to the point of ghosthood is not the flex you think it is.

Somewhere in there, we take a Weird Al appreciation break for “My Bologna,” because clearly that belongs in this episode.

Oh, and speaking of left turns — remember that time I went to an ICP concert (questionable choice), got trashed, and suddenly became a drunk detective? A guy was frantically looking for “Crystal,” only identified by her rhinestone shoes. I stormed the bathroom on a rescue mission, determined to find her. I didn’t. She vanished into the night like a glitter-footed cryptid. To this day, I still wonder — is she okay? Did she find love? Did she join a rhinestone cult? Crystal, if you’re listening… call me.

It’s haunted history, folklore, bad singing, questionable logic, and the chaotic energy of two friends in a city where even the streetlights feel haunted.

Grab your sage, clutch your crystals, and prepare your eardrums — because this episode is a double scoop of unsolved madness that’s somehow spooky, unhinged, and snack-fueled all at once.

First, we dissect the Cleveland Torso Murders, committed by the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run (who we’re 1000% convinced was Sweeney — and honestly, we will die on that hill). Dismemberments, Depression-era detectives, and the wildest game of “guess the murderer” you’ve ever heard. Then we unravel the eerie mystery of the Edgecomb Killer — another unsolved case that’s as frustrating as it is terrifying.

And because it’s us, the episode also features a guest appearance by Mischa and her now-iconic ASMR moment — starring an unapologetically loud bag of veggie crisp greenbeans from DJ&A (not sponsored… but we would absolutely take a lifetime supply).

⚠️ Disclaimer: There’s some demonic static in this episode. We don’t know where it came from. We don’t know why it’s there. We tried yelling at it, we tried sage, we even tried pretending it was “aesthetic,” but it wouldn’t leave. We could have re-recorded, but we’re either too tired, too cursed, or just vibing with mediocrity this week. Thanks for loving us anyway.

This week, we take a frosty plunge into full-blown terror, starting with the bone-chilling legend of the Wendigo—a winter-loving, flesh-hungry cryptid who prefers its humans plump and panic-seasoned. We unpack the folklore, the eerie ceremonies once used to keep it at bay, and whether that existential dread you feel every December might just be… a vibe or a Wendigo.

Then, because we hate ourselves, we take a sharp left turn into the haunted Clown Motel—a place so cursed it garners multiple "absolutely the fuck nots" and a full-on panic spiral from Lauren. Between the ghost clowns, dusty dolls, and photos that feel like they’re watching you breathe, it’s safe to say Lauren tried to quit the podcast mid-recording. No, seriously. She was out.

This episode has it all: Wendigos, haunted hotels, emotional damage, and enough clown-based trauma to fuel your nightmares for a month.

Stay haunted. Stay homicidal. And say absolutely the fuck not to clowns.

Also, here is the link to the digital book by Christopher Sebela - I lived in a Clown Motel