Paranormal Activity with Yvette Fielding

This week, Yvette Fielding takes Paranormal Activity to a bog-standard street in Wombwell, South Yorkshire, and through a little front door that opens into something extraordinary: the Old Bank House, a former Victorian bank now packed floor to ceiling with the strange, the sinister and the downright unsettling.

From the outside it's a flat above a shop. Inside, it's a Tardis: two floors of pure Victorian menace, where dark red walls crowd in on death masks, spirit photographs, a real lead-lined coffin and hundreds upon hundreds of dolls, all watching.

Yvette takes you through the house room by room, then sits down with owners Ria & Matt Readman to separate the stories she's inherited from the things she's seen with her own eyes.
The dolls named William and Billy, said to move on their own
A hatchet that tilted on the wall while the team stood talking
Guests scratched by unseen hands, describing a burning sensation that comes first
A crawl space so sinister that paramedics have reportedly been called
And then there's the teddy bear in the miners' room. The one that kept moving when no one was looking. This week, Karl was there. And Karl saw it happen.

Lock the door, mind the crawl space, and whatever you do, don't turn your back on the dolls.

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Two listeners. Two encounters with something older than any ghost. A bargain, and a journey that never ended.

On the family land near Ballycastle stands a lone hawthorn over a spring, and Fiona's family has kept the same rule for generations: never cut it, and every May tie a strip of cloth to its branch and leave milk at its roots. Nobody remembers why. Then her cousin brings a chainsaw to it and the engine dies five times, a wind rises around that one tree on a still morning while the grass twenty feet away stays motionless. He backs away. Within a year his cattle sicken, his roof tears off in a storm that spares everyone else, and he breaks two bones on that same field. Her father, from his sickbed: "He broke the bargain, and now it's collecting."

Then Wesley, a long-haul trucker, picks up a young woman freezing on a dark Oregon highway in the mid-eighties. The heater's roaring, he gives her his jacket and she never gets warm. She points out a house, walks up the path toward the porch light, and vanishes halfway, in full view. The woman who answers the door says her daughter died on that road twenty years ago. Then: "You can keep the jacket, son, she'll have it now." His jacket was gone.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the lone fairy thorn you must never raise a blade to, the ancient bargain a bloodline keeps without knowing to whom, and the phantom hitchhiker forever repeating the journey home her death cut short.

What happens when the debt isn't a haunting… but something you were always meant to keep paying?

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Yvette Fielding is back with five of your strangest, most spine-chilling stories, and this month they range from the comical to the genuinely unnerving.

Two orbs caught on a home camera as a glowing light drifts toward the window — what did our listener really capture?
A ghost hunt at a Lancaster hall where a spinning glass flies off the table and shatters, a ball of white light glides down a staircase, and a haunted new home may be hiding a Dalek-obsessed spirit — a Victorian chimney sweep, or a beloved late father?
A lady in a bright yellow rain jacket, soaked and carrying a lit lantern, who walks in from the dark asking for someone by name… while three dogs that bark at everything stay completely silent.
A 15-year-old on the Welsh border whose family cottage turns nasty after a box of old clothes — and a traditional tall Welsh hat — is disturbed in the attic.
And a driver who pulls over to tell us about the ethereal choir music and trumpets she heard singing from inside her bedroom fan.

Plus a Fact or Fiction from Lancaster: was Crookhey Hall, the atmospheric ruin where our listener went ghost hunting, really built as a Victorian lunatic asylum?

Got a story, photo or voice note? Email paranormalactivitypod@gmail.com or find us @paranormalactivitypod.

Early episodes + bonus content? Join us on Supercast

Stay safe, and stay curious.

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Two listeners. Two encounters that bent the rules. One of time, one of a single life.

On a dark road above Aberystwyth in 1994, Gareth pulls over to watch a silent amber light hang motionless over the valley. Then it slides sideways in two seconds across a distance that would take a car ten minutes and stops dead, the way nothing with real weight can. The next thing he knows, forty minutes are gone from the dashboard clock, he's cold through, and there's a taste like metal in his mouth. For a week after, he wakes at exactly three in the morning, certain something in the room has just been looking at him.

Then Marisol, a practical Louisiana nurse, describes the eight months her three-year-old spoke calmly of "the other mama". A grown-up life by the big water, a white dress, helping the sick people, getting sick in the chest. Then the girl points to a woman in an unseen family photo and says, "that's me, before." It was Marisol's great-aunt Alma: a nurse who moved to the Gulf coast and died of pneumonia in 1946. A woman her daughter had never heard named.

Producer Dom unpacks the folklore: the Welsh belief in time knocked out of true by the fair folk, thresholds where attention swings both ways, and the returning soul that comes home along the bloodline to be recognised.

What happens when the thing you witnessed doesn't haunt you… it just proves the rules aren't what you thought?

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This is what you're missing.

Every Saturday over on the Supercast, Yvette sits down and tells you a proper ghost story.

No investigation, no crew, just her and a tale to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and this week, we're letting you in on one.

In the winter of 1913, a rumour tore through the tenement streets of Chicago.

Behind the walls of Hull House, something was being kept hidden away: a child born with cloven hooves, two sharp horns, black ink-drop eyes, and a whip-like tail. They called it the Devil Baby, and within a week hundreds were pressing against the railings on Halsted Street, staring up at that second-floor window.

But the rumour was only the beginning. The house already held its dead: a pale woman waiting at the glass, footsteps pacing the halls at night, blankets folded by unseen hands. And after the crowds came, something woke hungry. A thin, mewling cry rising from between the floorboards at three in the morning, lasting exactly thirteen minutes. A small, low shape dragging itself toward a locked door. A wet trail leading up the stairs to that same cold window.

Yvette tells it the way they've always told it in Chicago for over a century: lights low, after dark.

This is exactly what you get every single Saturday on the Supercast: a brand new ghost story every week, plus main episodes a full day early.

So if you ever find yourself looking up at that window on a cold Chicago night... walk on. Don't stop. Don't stare. Because whatever is standing behind that glass might just stare back.

Goodnight. Sleep well. Or at least, try to.

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