This week, the guys read one of the oldest creepypastas to exist. Written by a very talented screenwriter, this thread of email correspondence unravels a theory that a particular house keeps luring them in. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Chapter 1: What is the Dianaya House?
I moved up to Dallas, etc. So when I got this article in my mailbox, it caught me by surprise. Yeah, I'll transcribe the thing for you. I wasn't sure if maybe you were the one who sent it to me. I'll put it into this email at the bottom. I remember him. He was never the kid with the idea. He was the kid who agreed with yours. Slowest to get the joke, usually. Laughed the longest.
That's Andrew in a nutshell, yeah. At least that's how I remember him. He got on my nerves sometimes. But damn, if he didn't love being part of the gang. Er hat gefragt, ob er Poker-Chips auf der Karten-Nacht hat, oder ob er Dice für meine Tasche verkauft hat. So etwas. Jedes Mal, wenn wir auf der Nintendo-Nintendo-Tecmo-Bowl spielen, wollte er immer auf meinem Team sein.
Das wäre gut gewesen, wenn er gut wäre. Ich habe noch nie von Travis oder Dave gehört.
Es fiel mir auf den Radar, genauso wie du es gemacht hast. Keiner von uns hat viel versucht, in Kontakt zu bleiben. Es war nur einer dieser Dinge.
Das ist okay. Ich wollte nicht auf die Finger schießen. Es passiert. Aber ich hoffe, du hast schon von Andrew gehört. Wie du eine Kopie des Artikels bekommen hast. Ich habe noch nicht die Nummer oder E-Mail für Travis oder Dave bekommen. Vielleicht wissen sie mehr darüber, als wir. Andrew fährt meistens mit Travis mit. Es war auf dem Weg nach Hause für Travis.
Hatte Andrew mit seiner Mutter gelebt? Wie in einem Apartment? Sein Großvater war Einzelhandel. Er hatte ein Haus auf der Straße 6. Erinnerst du dich daran? Andrew war furchtbar über das Haus. Hier ist der Artikel. Es gibt ein Foto von Andrew mit ihm. Sieht vielleicht aus wie seine Fahrradlizenz-Fotografie. Sie hatte nur schmutzige Haare.
Der Schützmann schießt zwei. Er tötet sich im Boise-Restaurant. Die Diener des Roadside-Breakfast-Cafés auf Interstate 84 fliegen in den Parkplatz und panikieren am Nachmittag, als ein Mann reinkommt und beginnt, Patronen zu schießen. Er tötet zwei.
The couple, John and Lucy Madsen, were having lunch with when 26-year-old Andrew Hughes entered, wielding a Smith & Wesson 59 pistol, according to police. Witnesses claimed the perpetrator was muttering to himself as he approached the smoking section and opened fire. Something funny, Hunter? Open fired into the first occupied booth. Fatally wounded, the Madsens.
Soon after, he turned the weapon on himself. All three were taken by paramedics to St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center, where John Madsen and the shooter were pronounced dead. Lucy Madsen, 37, remained in critical condition for several hours, but did not survive the night. Police are investigating Hughes' work and personal background. But as of this morning, a motive for this attack is unknown.
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Chapter 2: Who wrote the Dianaya House story?
It's why I was laughing, because I like the idea of this guy being like, you motherfucker! Ja.
They've had it too good for too long.
Exactly. You keep dancing with death while the dance is over!
You don't appreciate what you have. That's pretty much the plot of the Saw movies. Exactly.
That's how Jigsaw walks into a place. He's like, you were smoking. It's like, yeah, dude, I work 12 hours a day. Can I smoke?
At the beginning of... Why don't you try digging this key out of your stomach? Was hat das mit allem zu tun? Oh, vielleicht könntest du die Realität locken, dass dein Leben ein Geschenk ist. Fuck off!
Am Anfang von, ich denke, es ist der fünfte. Er tötet eigentlich einen Mann für Smoking. Erinnert du dich daran?
Ich meine, ja, ich fühle mich, dass ich eigentlich, seitdem ich mein Video von Saul gemacht habe, fühle ich mich, dass ich... I've erased all those from my mind.
Okay, is it the fifth one where it's all about the one insurance guy who has to go through... It's got like the carousel shotgun. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
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Chapter 3: What is the significance of Andrew Hughes?
I don't take too kindly to that sort of behavior. At the time, I was in another state from the one with my last known address. A tourist. Never mind, I had all my shit in the back of my station wagon and a revolver in my glove box. To anyone else, I was a visitor from out of town. So I was the man I shot to death. It wasn't a local either. See, we both were from Boise.
There was a trial, there were lawyers and all that shit, and I would have been happy to serve my time in a cell for what I'd done. Now I'm out. Been out for a few years. I still carry a gun on me, too, and I'm not afraid to kill again if cornered. Maybe I've walked right past you, but I guarantee you didn't pay a cent of attention to me. That's the way I like it.
I would have stayed that way, never to go into one of these coffee places with computers hooked up on the tables like were the Jetsons, because anyone who wanted to know the truth just had to read the court transcripts. It was all there. But they're gone. Disappeared from Boise police. Man named Mark Condry came looking for them, then calling for me. That's how I know.
Used to be, you could type my name into the search engine things like Wahoo. My name would get you these news stories about the shooting in Salt Lake City. Now, there's nothing. Well, I aim to put a stop to that. I'm going to tell you what happened, and also what happened to that fellow Mark. A slew of other names you may not recognize. First thing I can tell you is this. They aren't houses.
Stop thinking of them like houses. So soon as I can panhandle enough money for another hour on this bitchbox, I'll be back. Bitchbox is so funny. So I assume when it says, she said she killed a man, how long ago? October of 2001. That was before any of this, right?
But I assume it was after Mark died in the house or was scooped out or whatever, that Mark, quote unquote, started looking for her police records, right? Right. So, another post from September 20th, 2005. So, about a month later. Called Newtown, same Lorraine. So, about Boise. I best get to that now before someone finally catches up to me.
Now it's really just a matter of time before I'm dragged through that front door of a house that smells like fresh bread and warm blood. But as I said, they aren't houses. Here's what I know and what I said to everyone in the courtroom. It started with the little things. This was a week after I moved in, summer before my first semester teaching.
The sound traveled in odd ways, especially in the kitchen. No echo, even in empty rooms. Jetzt und dann dachte ich, dass ich den Kühlschrank unter meinen Beinen fühle. Die Outlet-Dinge. Sie fühlten sich, ich weiß nicht, wie man sie nennen würde, ich glaube, lecker, ist das Wort. Als ob ich den Plug in eine Schale von Gelee füllen würde.
Die Kraft flutterte viel, aber ich war verdammt, ob ich eine Fuselbox finden konnte. Der Thermostat sah nicht so aus, wie ich mich damit befusste. Die Luft kam einfach auf und wollte es nicht. Die meiste Zeit war es warm und riech wie Zimtkuchen. All of this feels par for the course when you buy a home at auction.
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