I stole her lucky charm, which made it cursed, because that's just the way it works

that all I touch goes bad inside.

I've tried, but some things you must abide.

That day, I vowed I'd see her end.

So I placed the cursed charm right back again.

Listen to spooked.

Stay tuned.

My grandmother's house.

My grandmother's house.

Near the corner of Kirchville and Fisher Avenue, Detroit, Michigan, every single one of us.

Her dozens of grandkids, we still call it Grandma's house.

But my grandfather lived there too, long after she passed, but it's still Grandma's house.

And I've told you about this place before, because it looms so large in my mind.

My first memory was there.

I still would call the gunfire, the screaming, my first hiding place, hoping no one would find me under the stairs.

The first time I saw a house burn.

The Perry's place right across the street that night,

watching the entire Perry family standing bewildered in just their underclothes.

Orange flames consuming the little bit they still had.

And I was in Detroit recently to visit some cousins.

And together we decided to drive by the spa.

The spot where everything happened.

...