Episode Transcript
[00:00:05] Good evening, I'm Ben and welcome to the show where you and I gather around this campfire to hear some of our fellow campers scariest experiences. Whether you're a new or returning camper, I'm glad you're here. Tonight's story is one that is near and dear to me. It was sent in by somebody who I know has been following my online journey for a long time from a camper named John who's been watching his world vanish all around him.
[00:00:31] Now, without further ado, do you want to hear a ghost story?
[00:00:38] My name is John and I'm a Florida native.
[00:00:41] I know that probably means something different depending on who hears it. For some people it means I'm a beach bum, a Disney adult, or some old person just writing. We're full on any post online when someone mentions Florida, but for me it means that I know what this place looked like before all of the condos.
[00:01:05] It means remembering when the road behind my neighbor's house was just a two lane strip of cracked asphalt with palm meadows crowding the shoulder.
[00:01:14] It means I know that crane Landing, the new development down the street, was just where the sandhill cranes used to nest.
[00:01:23] To me, it means watching the state I love get paved over by one luxury mixed use community at a time.
[00:01:34] I work in the environmental field, which is a nice professional way of saying I get paid to watch things disappear slowly. The wetlands, the scrub jay habitats, the old oaks, the beaches.
[00:01:50] All of these places that had their own rhythm before anybody found a way to monetize it.
[00:01:55] I know it sounds dramatic. I know change is part of life.
[00:02:00] I know people need places to live, that cities grow, that roads expand, divert. I understand all of this.
[00:02:09] But understanding something doesn't always make it easier to stomach.
[00:02:14] Around Covid is when I started to feel this more than usual.
[00:02:18] Everywhere I went there was a new clearing, a new fence, a new sign with some family standing on it in front of a house that had yet to be built or some car wash storage coming soon sign. I would drive past the same patches of land I'd known since I was a kid and feel this strange grief rise up in me.
[00:02:40] It wasn't really the sharp kind of grief when a loved one dies. Not the crying in your car, more like a slow fog that slowly takes over your life and makes you care less and less about everything all at once.
[00:02:54] I was still going to work, I was still answering emails, still joking with people, but everything just felt thinner.
[00:03:02] Like the home I knew was becoming a memory while I was still standing in it around then was when I found your spooky Florida TikTok.
[00:03:12] I started watching at work, mostly because I liked hearing about a Florida that still had mystery in it. A Florida with ghosts in the hotel hallways, shadow people in old cemeteries, and strange lights over swamps. It felt weirdly comforting, like maybe not everything in this state had been mapped, bought, drained, and surveyed. Then there was one video in particular, about the ghost dog of Lake Eola. I had heard pieces of this story before, but never paid much attention to it. A ghostly dog seen near the lake. A tragic.
[00:03:49] A tragic story, really, of a family who needed to move and a father, overzealous.
[00:03:55] Sometimes this dog would appear to people who were lonely, grieving, or depressed.
[00:04:01] Some versions said if you saw the dog, it would cure your depression.
[00:04:05] Others simply stated it would keep you company long enough to make it through the night.
[00:04:10] I don't know which version of this stuck with me, the one you told, or the ones that came rushing back to me when I heard it.
[00:04:18] Perhaps this stood out to me because all of it sounded less like a haunting and more like a mercy. A ghost that doesn't warn you of death, doesn't scratch your halls, doesn't whisper your name in a dark room. Just a dog waiting for you by a lake in the middle of a city surrounded by people.
[00:04:36] I live close enough to Orlando that going to Lake Eola isn't a big deal.
[00:04:40] But for months after seeing your TikTok, I didn't go. I'd think about it, then talk myself out of it. I told myself it. It was silly, that I really was just depressed and that I needed therapy, not some folktale. Which I guess, to be clear, was probably true.
[00:04:58] But one Friday evening after work, I was sitting in traffic in i4, boxed in between those concrete barriers in a truck carrying stacks of sod for some new subdivision, and I just felt this wave of exhaustion hit me.
[00:05:12] I wasn't tired like I needed sleep. I was tired like I didn't want to be there anymore.
[00:05:18] So I just took the next exit, drove right into the heart of downtown Orlando.
[00:05:23] Lake Eola at night is strange because it's so beautiful. But it's not quiet, not really. There are always cars nearby, voices from the restaurant, scooters winding past the pavements, music leaking out from the bars and Orlando's excuse of a skyline.
[00:05:43] But the lake itself was still there. Still. Still.
[00:05:47] And pulled up a little after 9. The air was warm and heavy, that Florida nighttime humidity that almost feels alive against your skin. The fountain was lit up in the Middle glowing blue and purple, its reflection trembling across the water.
[00:06:02] This was back when there were still swans sleeping near the edge.
[00:06:07] I started to walk the loop around the lake.
[00:06:11] At first, I felt embarrassed. I don't know how else to put it. I was a grown man walking around a public park, hoping to see some magic dog because my feelings were hurt by urban sprawl.
[00:06:24] I don't remember actually laughing at myself, but I probably did.
[00:06:29] As I walked, I started noticing little things.
[00:06:32] Roots pushing up against the sidewalk.
[00:06:35] Cypress trees near the water.
[00:06:37] The smell of mud underneath all the food trucks, car exhaust. The black shapes of birds and squirrels shifting in the trees.
[00:06:45] The older Florida was still here, in pieces and buried underneath everything. But if you knew what to look for, it was still there.
[00:06:55] Halfway around the lake, I stopped near one of the quieter stretches.
[00:06:58] There were a few people on the side. The path curved under some trees, and the city noise seemed to soften for a moment.
[00:07:05] That's when I saw a dog standing near the waterline, maybe 30 yards from me.
[00:07:11] His ears were up and he was facing the lake, like he was watching something out in the water.
[00:07:17] I looked around for its owner.
[00:07:19] Nobody. No leash. No person calling after him. No jogger stopping to scoop him up. Just the dog.
[00:07:27] I stood there for a second, my heart doing that ridiculous thing where it speeds up before your brain has decided whether anything is actually wrong.
[00:07:36] Then the dog turned its head and looked at me.
[00:07:39] I can't explain this without sounding like I'm already more dramatic, but the second he looked at me, the park felt different.
[00:07:48] It wasn't silent. I could still hear the traffic, still hear the people.
[00:07:53] But it all felt far away, like someone had put a glass dome over this section of the lake.
[00:08:00] The dog didn't bark, didn't growl, didn't even wag his tail. He just looked at me.
[00:08:07] And then, as dogs do, he just pranced on over towards me. Slowly, calmly.
[00:08:15] I didn't move. In fact, I wasn't sure that I could. As the dog got closer, I started to notice something strange.
[00:08:22] The dog made no sounds.
[00:08:25] No rustle in the grass, no panting, no nails clicking on the sidewalk.
[00:08:31] It looked like a dog, but it was moving, more like a shadow.
[00:08:35] When it reached me, he stopped a few feet away.
[00:08:38] Up close, I could see deep into his eyes.
[00:08:42] They weren't glowing.
[00:08:44] They weren't red or yellow or anything out of a movie.
[00:08:47] They were just wet and impossibly sad.
[00:08:50] An old kind of sad. I don't know any other way to describe it.
[00:08:56] Like he had seen every person who had ever come to that lake carrying something too heavy to say out loud and taken it.
[00:09:03] Hey, buddy, I whispered to the dog.
[00:09:06] The dog stepped a little closer, then pressed the side of his body up against my leg as I petted the top of the dog's head.
[00:09:15] I broke, and I don't mean I sobbed theatrically. I didn't fall to my knees or anything, but tears came out of my eyes so fast I didn't have time to stop them.
[00:09:26] I stood there next to some trees on the banks of Lake Eola with this strange dog leaning up against me, and I cried harder than I think I've ever cried. But before or since, I cried for every place I remembered I was gone, for every patch of woods now a storage facility, for every orange grove that became an apartment complex, for every gopher tortoise relocated before bulldozers came in, for every version of myself that thought loving a place meant it would somehow love you back enough to stay the same.
[00:10:00] I cried because I was feeling tired of mourning my life.
[00:10:04] The dog stayed with me the whole time.
[00:10:07] He didn't do anything supernatural. He didn't speak, he didn't transform.
[00:10:11] He didn't lead me to some hidden place with some profound knowledge. He just stayed there, leaning up against me.
[00:10:19] And I think in my brain. It took me back to the Florida I remembered as a kid, the air full of cicadas, no high rises, no traffic lights, just darkness in trees.
[00:10:34] I heard a faint rustle in the bush next to me, and it snapped me out of this mental image.
[00:10:41] I looked back now at the fountain, glowing purple again in the lake, and a group of people passed on scooters behind me.
[00:10:48] The dog was still there, but looking in a different direction now.
[00:10:53] I followed his gaze to see he was staring at an older woman standing on the path about 20ft away.
[00:10:59] She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the dog.
[00:11:03] Her mouth was slightly open.
[00:11:05] For a second none of us moved until she just said, oh.
[00:11:11] That was all. Just oh.
[00:11:14] The dog stepped away from my leg.
[00:11:17] I wanted to say something, I don't know what. Maybe, asked the woman if she had seen the dog too.
[00:11:22] Maybe ask if she knew the story.
[00:11:24] But before I could speak, the dog turned and walked towards the water. He passed under one of the lamps, and for just a moment his body seemed to thin around the edges, like smoke being blown away by a breeze.
[00:11:37] And then he disappeared.
[00:11:40] There was no splash or ripple into the lake, just he was no longer there.
[00:11:46] The woman and I stood there staring at the same patch of empty grass.
[00:11:50] Finally, we looked at each other. Her eyes were full of tears, like mine.
[00:11:54] I used to come here with my husband, she said.
[00:11:58] I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
[00:12:04] He died last year.
[00:12:06] I think that dog knew that. I still didn't know what to say.
[00:12:10] I'm glad I didn't say anything now, because some moments, I think, get smaller if you try to explain them or discuss within them. Her and I stood together for maybe another minute, two strangers both pretending we weren't crying.
[00:12:27] Then good night, she said as she kept walking.
[00:12:32] I finished the loop too, but something had changed. I won't tell you my depression was cured. That is too easy and honestly, perhaps too dishonest.
[00:12:43] I still get sad about Florida. I still drive past scraped land and feel the same grief rise inside me. I still get angry when people talk about ecosystems, like their obstacles.
[00:12:56] I still feel sometimes like I'm watching my home become a brand.
[00:13:01] But after that night, the sadness has felt different, less like a deepening hole and more like proof.
[00:13:09] Like the proof that I loved something deeply enough to grieve it. Proof that the old Florida wasn't completely gone so long as somebody remembered it.
[00:13:19] A few weeks later, I went back to Lake Eola. During the day, I told myself it was just a walk, but really I was looking for the dog, though I didn't see him.
[00:13:29] I've gone back a handful of times since, sometimes alone, sometimes after hard days.
[00:13:35] I've never seen the dog again, but sometimes when I'm walking near the lake, the wind comes through the trees just right, and for a second I can feel him.
[00:13:46] Not completely, but just enough to remind me that the old Florida is still there and that my grief, my energy, is valid.
[00:13:56] It reminds me that Florida is still breathing, still haunted, and that sometimes ghosts aren't there to scare us.
[00:14:04] Sometimes they're here because they remind us of what we love.
[00:14:09] Thank you, John, for allowing me to share your story.
[00:14:12] I really appreciate this one because no one has sent in a story to the podcast yet that has followed my journey this long.
[00:14:22] Very few people remember my days doing spooky Florida back in 2023, and I'm glad that this story helped you find some comfort with that. I have no show announcements this week, but to everyone listening, if you'd like to support the show, gain access to our monthly bonus episodes and early access to the show, head over to patreon.com do you want to hear a ghost story?
[00:14:44] As always, I am just glad to have you all as campers on this journey. Please keep sharing the show with anyone you think might like these stories or support someone you're just trying to scare. If you're enjoying it, please leave a review. I would love to hear from you. Until next time.
