(Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai. Go Unlimited to remove this message.) Night has fallen, and the moon is a
glowing golden orb in the black sky.
See how it shines on the dark back
roads of America, and on one road in
particular.
Come with us, and we'll take a walk
down the moonlit road and listen to bone
-chilling tales told by some of the nation's
best storytellers.
Join us now, and simply step out.
For the night is waiting, and the moon
is full.
This is Lanny Gilbert, and the story I'm
going to tell you is called Grandma's Furry
Robe.
And if you stick around till the end,
I'll tell you where this story came from.
Ashley and Megan were sorority sisters and best
friends at a large Alabama university.
They bonded as soon as they met, both
fleeing from dull, rural towns into the whirlwind
of college life.
But as the end of junior year approached,
with the real world looming ahead of them
with all its scary uncertainty, the girls gained
new appreciation for the small-town lives they
came from.
That's when Megan had an idea.
She told Ashley one night they should spend
a weekend at her family's mountain house in
northeast Alabama.
It had once been her grandma's house, kept
in the family as a mountain getaway.
But her parents were too ill to travel,
and her disinterested brother had moved on with
his life.
In fact, he barely spoke to Megan at
all, due to some sibling conflict Ashley knew
better to ask about.
So, the poor house sat vacant most of
the year.
This sounded perfect to Ashley.
She grabbed her suitcase to start packing.
I gotta warn you, said Megan, there's not
much to do around there.
Pack light.
So, the next weekend, the girls loaded up
on snacks and wine and headed north.
Their bustling college town faded away into a
bucolic world of family farms and lush green
hills.
Ashley lowered the window and took a deep
breath of the cool mountain air.
This wasn't her home, but it sure felt
like it.
Without warning, Megan swerved onto a dirt road
beside a battered mailbox, a faded owl face
painted on it.
She laughed at Ashley's shell-shocked look.
Oops, sorry, been so long I forgot where
to turn.
See, no one's gonna know we're even here.
The paved two-lane highway gave way to
a bumpy dirt road.
They plunged into a thick, deciduous forest that
the sun struggled to penetrate.
For hours, it seemed, they rattled along a
shadowy mountain slope with no homes in sight.
Ashley instinctively checked her phone, but her signal
was long gone.
Megan smiled at her friend, rolled her eyes,
and said nothing.
The trees finally parted, revealing a pretty meadow
deep in a small valley.
Squinting through the sudden burst of sunlight, Ashley
saw the house.
It looked like something from an old movie.
A white clapboard farmhouse perched beside a gurgling
stream, rocking chairs beckoning them on a wraparound
porch.
A giant old-school TV antenna sat on
the rusted tin roof like a wounded buzzard.
No internet here, Ashley thought.
Beside the front door was a hand-carved
owl statue.
Wow, they really have a thing for owls,
Ashley thought.
Megan grabbed the house key underneath, laughing at
her friend's incredulous look.
Yep, we're in the country, she quipped.
They opened the creaky door.
The home looked like a 1970s time capsule.
Sun-damaged couches and chairs and matching Scottish
plaid filled the cozy living room.
An avocado green refrigerator buzzed loudly in the
linoleum kitchen.
Water-damaged board games like Clue and Monopoly
were stacked on card tables.
Everything was dusty, but Ashley could sense this
was once the home of a close, loving
family.
The girls climbed the rickety stairs and threw
their bags into the guest bedroom, with two
twin beds where Megan and her brother once
slept as children.
Faded pictures of Megan's grandparents filled the room.
Ashley was surprised to see all the places
they'd been.
Morocco?
Paris?
Switzerland?
Grandma was country, but she saw the world,
said Megan.
Here, you'll love this.
She swung open the closet door.
Inside, crammed behind her grandpa's worn and stained
fishing clothes, was a rack of beautiful gowns,
some still in dry-cleaning bags.
These weren't Alabama department store dresses.
The labels were from fancy European shops, many
long gone.
Megan pulled one from the back and tried
it on.
A flowing red velvet robe with a puffy
white feather collar that seemed to swallow her
head.
It looked virtually untouched since the purchase date
decades ago.
Pouring a glass of wine, she pranced around
the house like a silent movie star.
You must bring that back for Halloween, laughed
Ashley as Megan hung it back on the
door.
They retired to the porch and sat in
blissful silence, sipping more wine.
They were enveloped in solitude, the sound of
every buzzing insect and chirping bird weirdly amplified.
An acorn fell on the tin roof, banging
like a gunshot, startling Ashley.
Megan laughed.
The country girl needed some country back in
her life, she thought.
Late that evening, Ashley awoke to what she
thought were timid footsteps on the front porch.
One by one, she could hear the old
boards groaning around the house, as if someone
was circling them.
She nudged Megan away.
It's probably a deer or something, she groggily
answered.
They wander around up here sometimes, go back
to sleep.
Ashley stared at the ceiling as the noise
continued.
If Megan isn't worried, then maybe I shouldn't
be, she thought.
She willed herself to sleep.
The next day was filled with hiking, board
games, more closet rummaging, and of course, more
wine.
After a brief adjustment, Ashley found herself not
craving connectivity at all, nor the internet.
It was nice not being at everyone's beck
and call.
They were off the grid, not a care
in the world.
Whatever visited them in the middle of the
night was a distant silly memory.
That is, until she was awoken again that
evening.
This time the footsteps were heavier, walking slowly
around the porch again.
The work boards groaning loudly.
If it's an animal, it's a large one,
like a bear, Ashley feared.
She wasn't going to wake Megan this time.
She just stared at the ceiling, pulling the
bed quilt tight around her chin, waiting for
their visitor to leave.
First thing the next morning, Ashley inspected the
house perimeter, looking for footprints, paw prints, broken
twigs, anything left behind by their visitor.
But she found nothing.
Megan again reassured her there was no one
around the home for miles.
They did have a lot to drink.
Did Ashley wake up groggy from all the
wine, thinking she heard something that wasn't there?
Ashley scowled at the suggestion.
She knew what she heard.
It was the next evening when Megan finally
heard the same footsteps.
They were louder and heavier, almost stomping around
the porch, moving closer and closer to the
front door.
You locked the doors, right?
whispered Ashley, her voice shaking.
You didn't leave the key out there, did
you?
No, I have the key, answered Megan.
Everything's locked.
Just stay quiet.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
The buzzing crickets and katydids deep in the
forest filled the void, their high-pitched calls
sounding unnatural and menacing.
Then they heard the footsteps again, but this
time not from the front porch.
They were in the kitchen!
Ashley and Megan glanced at each other, eyes
bulging with terror.
The footsteps paced the kitchen as if searching
for something.
They heard drawers slowly opening and shutting.
It's my damn brother, Megan whispered.
It's got to be.
Who else knows how to get in?
But we would have heard his car, protested
Ashley.
He sees we're here.
He would have called out.
Megan was already up, looking for something to
slip on.
She found her grandma's furry robe.
I'm going to see what's up.
Stay here.
Please don't, pleaded Ashley.
Don't leave me here.
I'll be back, I promise, whispered Megan, closing
the door behind her.
Like a child, Ashley threw the quilt over
her head, shivering uncontrollably, tears streaming down her
cheeks.
She heard Megan's footfalls down the stairs.
The noise in the kitchen, the sounds inching
closer and closer to each other.
Then there was silence.
She bit her hand, stifling any scream or
whimper.
Please God, please send her back, she prayed
silently.
Agonizing minutes passed before Ashley heard footsteps slowly
climbing the stairs.
The bedroom door creaked open.
And in the darkness, all she could see
was a shadow, staring at her.
It moved toward her bed.
She had nowhere to run, cowering under the
quilt.
The figure moved closer and stood silently over
her, motionless.
Ashley slowly lowered the quilt, then reached out
to the figure with a trembling hand.
Megan?
She then felt the soft velvet of the
red robe.
She burst into tears of relief, moving her
hand up the figure's body.
What's wrong?
Megan?
She then felt the white feather collar.
It was matted and soaked.
Reaching for Megan's face, Ashley's hand waved through
empty air.
And as her eyes adjusted with the hint
of moonlight streaming through the window, to her
horror, she saw why.
For before her stood the figure in Grandma's
furry robe, a bloody stump where her head
once was.
Now you may wonder, where did this story
come from?
This is an updated version of a classic
campfire tale.
In the 1960s and 1970s, many stories appeared
with college-age kids threatened by escaped convicts
or serial killers.
Most took place in and around college dorms,
as students faced independence for the first time
without the protection of mom and dad.
We changed our version to a remote mountain
house.
Another popular story is The Hook, or Hookman,
where a killer with a hook for a
hand threatens a young couple on Lovers Lane.
If your storyteller was good, she even used
sound effects for the scraping hook on the
car hood.
And if you liked Grandma's Furry Robe, you
may want to listen to our take on
another urban legend, the Coughing Dog, in an
earlier episode.
We hope you enjoyed this story from the
Moonlit Road podcast.
Please tell your friends, family, and complete strangers
about us by rating and reviewing our podcast.
You can also find us on Facebook and
Twitter, now X, at TheMoonlitRoad.
Visit our website, themoonlitroad.com, for many more
stories not on the podcast.
This episode was adapted from folklore and produced
by Craig Dominey.
Your storyteller was me, Lanny Gilbert.
I also picked a little guitar.
Audio production by Henry Howard.
The Moonlit Road podcast is a production of
the Moonlit Road LLC.
See you next time!
That concludes this walk down the Moonlit Road.
But you can always come back on your
own.
It will be here all year round, brimming
with captivating and spooky tales for the whole
family.
The Moonlit Road can be found on the
World Wide Web at www.themoonlitroad.com.
The stories are always chilling, and the moon
is always full.
On the Moonlit Road.