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I wear it in every episode, and their Pima cotton tea is another favorite because that extra long staple cotton holds its color and shape wash after wash. And it's not just clothes, bedding, bath, cookware, travel gear, Quince has quietly become my go-to for the house too. Upgrade your every day. Go to Quince.com/thewifiles for free shipping on your order in 365 day returns, now available in Canada and the UK too. That's QUINC.com/thewifiles for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quince.com/thewifiles Gather out. This happened in Edinburgh, Scotland. A homeless man slipped into an open tomb at Greyfriars Kirkyard, looking for a dry place to sleep. He took a few steps and felt the floor shift, then it gave out. He dropped into a pit filled with human remains. Lots of them. He crawled over skeletons wearing filthy clothes, over skulls some still in hair. He squeezed through his space in the wall, ran, and never looked back. This was the grave of Bloody Mackenzie, a 17th century lord advocate infamous for his brutality. When his tomb was disturbed, Bloody Mackenzie woke up, but worse than that, he got out. You call a plumber, get dumped straight into a voice mail that says, "No one is available." In a voice that sounds like it's been trapped in a Nokia since 2009. You hang up, you call the next guy. Simple as that. Now flip it. That's you. That's your business. Somebody calls, hits your dead-eyed robot greeting, and they're gone before the VPN finishes. No message, no call back. Just a customer you'll never know you lost. That's why today's episode is brought to you by Quo, spelled Q-U-L. The business phone system built so you never miss a call. Here's the fix. All your calls, texts, and voice mails live in one place. So anyone on your team can pick up a conversation, see the full history, and respond fast. Nobody around? 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In the Covenant, they swore loyalty to the king, but refused his authority over their faith. The copies went to every town in the country, but it was signed at Gray Friars Kirkyard. The signers were called "Cominators", and their Covenant started 50 years of war. Charles I lost his head in 1649, but his son continued the fight. Ministers were thrown out of their churches, so congregations posted lookouts and met in open fields. The government called the meeting's treason, violence broke out between the government, and the Coventers and escalated for years. The war finally ended in June of 1679, and a bridge over the river Clyde. Government troops broke the Coventer Army in about 1,200 men surrendered, and were marched to Edinburgh for prosecution, and then in charge of that prosecution was the Lord Advocate, Sir George Bikensi. There were trials, public hangings, then severed heads mounted on the city gates. Sir George made it clear, the cost of treason is your head, and those men were the lucky ones. The rest were held in pens in a field behind the Old Town Wall, and Burst still calls that field the Coventer's prison. The prisoners had no use to protect them from the cold Scottish rain, no fires were allowed. They got four ounces of red a day, that's it. The suffering and starvation were intentional. Any prisoner willing to sign a loyalty oath could walk out, most didn't sign it, so they stayed in the pens and endured the cold and hunger and fever. Kind of November, only 257 were left, and they were sent to the American colonies to work his slaves on the plantations, but their ships never made it. Ten days out, the ship hit some rocks and started to sink. The crew made it to shore, but the prisoners were trapped in the ship's hold. The captain got paid for prisoners delivered, or prisoners who died on the ship. Not for prisoners who escaped, so he had the hatches nailed shut. The crewman went back to the wreck with an axe and got some men out, but most went down in the ship. For days, bodies were washing up all along the coast. That's when Sir George got his nickname, Bloody Mackenzie. He died in 1691, and was buried just a short walk from the field where his prisoners starved. His tomb was called the Black Mausoleum. Bloody Mackenzie was dead, but his reputation wasn't. Robert Louis Stevenson even wrote about him. When a man's soul is certainly in hell, his body will scarce lie quiet in a tomb, however costly. Some time or other, the door must open, and the reprobate come forth in the abhorred garments of the grave. The world cursed Sir George Mackenzie, and at all that time, the Black Museum was quiet, but after 300 years, Bloody Mackenzie started fighting back. Bloody Mackenzie started his campaign of revenge with a woman who stopped to look at his tomb. She got within a few feet of the door and was hit with a blast of cold air hard enough to knock around the ground. She was the first, then it started happening to everybody. Visitors came out of that corner of the graveyard, with scratches down their arms and across their backs, three or four parallel lines, under clothes that were torn. Bruises in the shape of fingertips appeared while witnesses watched. Some people just collapsed. One woman was found outside the Mausoleum with bruises around her throat, she didn't remember going in. There were so many reports that every city council locked the gates and shut the whole place down. Jan Andrew Henderson lived near the cemetery and had an idea. He wanted to start a tour company and document everything, names, dates, injuries, photographs. He convinced the council to give him access. Now cameras worked fine until they got near Bloody Mackenzie's tomb, then they didn't work at all. People felt their hair being pulled from behind, but nobody was there. The animals were scattered all around the tomb every morning with no marks on them. Tour guides had to warn people in advance about the cold spots. Because if a cold spot appears, it's because Bloody Mackenzie is watching you. One visitor got back to his hotel and felt like his back was burning. Even though he wore a shirt and heavy coat, he was covered in red welts. Then a few of them started bleeding. By the end of 1999, the reports were in the hundreds. Colin Grant was a minister and had seen enough. In November, he walked into the Covenant of his prison with a Bible across the candle. In front of the local press, he started to perform a ceremony to cast out the dark spirits. He never finished. About halfway through the ceremony, he collapsed. While his son carried him out, Grant said whatever was in that graveyard was going to kill him. Two months later, his heart stopped. His last words were about grave friars. He said there's no good news there, only bad. In Grant's ceremony, a press photographer caught a dark shape in the church window behind him, but the church was locked and empty, supposedly. Anyone who got close to Mackenzie's tomb was a target. But if Bloody Mackenzie wants you, it doesn't wait for you to come to him, he comes to you. Bloody Mackenzie came for Jan and her Henderson first. Four years, Henderson wrote down every Mackenzie attack. He published a book about the graveyard. The attacks came in faster than he could even file them. In October 2003, Henderson's house burned down. Everything he owned was destroyed in the fire, five years of letters, photographs, and eyewitness statements. Investigators went through the ruins and couldn't say what started it. Now one of the surrounding buildings was even touched. Not yet.
Anyway, Bloody McKenzie did not want to be the subject of a book or a tour or an investigation. Henderson got the message and moved to Australia. Someone else tried to exercise the tomb. That didn't work either. And the guides had recordings of knocking coming from inside the tomb and from the ground under it. It's been more than 25 years since the floor gave way. Hundreds of attacks are on file, and more than 140 people just passed out in that field. Countries and sets of three and four burns in the shape of a handprint. Some people got broken fingers and he doesn't stay in the graveyard. People come back from the tour and light bulbs exploded their houses. Appliances turn themselves on and off and they feel a presence that they can't see. Henderson's wasn't the only house near the cemetery that burned down. There are four more. So far. Henderson spent years trying not to believe any of it, and this is where he landed. So let me put it this way. If the Machenzie Poltergeist isn't a genuine supernatural entity, then I don't think there's any such thing. For 300 years, a stone door held bloody Mackenzie in that graveyard with the many killed. Then someone fell through the floor and released him. There's an iron plate over the hole now. There are gates, bars, and locks all around the tomb. But none of that matters. The Mackenzie is out and he's never going back. Capital Long is set in court. They shut down nearly 300 Trump organization accounts back in 2021. Justification straight from the filing, they can close any account for any reason or no reason without notice. That's the same clause sitting in your bank account agreement. Meanwhile, J.P. Morgan is telling clients that gold hits $6,000 announced by Q4. Citibank says $90 silver. Central banks just bought a record 289 tons of physical gold last quarter. Stacking metal while showing the rest of us, they can freeze the digital kind on a win. And the Treasury Secretary on the record this week talking about the debt said there's nothing magic about the $40 trillion number. We can grow our way out of it. Translation? Print now. Don't pay down. Talk about it later. You watch this show. You know how to read that. Physical gold and silver can be frozen, can be printed, can be closed on a win. That's why I point you to golden crest metals. Real recognized coins, transparent pricing, zero buyback fees, free insurance shipping, or IRA storage, and an actual person on the phone. Get the free 2026 precious metals info kit or book a free portfolio review. Either could qualify you for up to $25,000 in free silver. Put a White Files LovesGoal.com or call 888-949-9172. That's White Files LovesGoal.com or call 888-949-9172. You know the number. My heart. Call it. Gather out. This happened at Hampton Court Palace outside London. A security guard on the night shift got a call. A pair of fire doors in the exhibition window were open. He shut them went back to the office to check the cameras. He watched it take three times, then wrote up a report. Both doors flew open on their own, nobody in the hall, nobody in the entire way. That was the first night. In the second night, the doors opened again, but this time, the cameras saw him get it. Hampton Court was Henry the Ace of Palace. In the autumn of 1541, he brought his fifth wife home. Her name was Catherine Howard, and she was a teenager. The king was 50, he was sick, he was enormous, and he had six years left to live. But he was in love with her. One morning he went to the chapel at her mass, and he thanked God out loud for the good life he led with his new wife. A few days later, the Archbishop came to that same chapel in the middle of mass, walked up to the king and slipped a folded paper in his hand. The note said the queen had a lover before she was a queen. A man from the house, she grew up in. They shared a bed for two years, then she came to court and married the king, and then she hired that man as her secretary. He had a room in the palace. The king read it and said it was forged, so they brought him the proof. He broke down in front of his own council and cried, then it got worse. The king sent people to question her household and they found a second man. This one was one of the king's own gentlemen, the men who dressed him and slept outside his door. While that summer on their tour, she met him at night with the king a few rooms away. The king had her locked in her room. She escaped. She got past the guards and ran down the long gallery toward the chapel, screaming for her husband. The king was in his pew above the chapel, hearing mass again. She made it as far as the door. The guards grabbed her and carried her back to a room with her still screaming his name. People heard it all over the palace. The king heard it. He stayed on his knees and finished the mass. The next morning he went to another palace, and he never laid eyes on Catherine again. The archbishop went to her room that afternoon. She was beyond a straw. He was afraid she'd lose her mind or even die. He told her the king might still show mercy, and she just went into another age. Soon after, the archbishop called her whole household into one room and told them what she'd done and dismissed every one of them on the spot. They shut her up in a house downriver for three months, then they took her to the tower. Both of those men were already dead, and on the way, she passed under their heads, still up on spikes. A few days later, they cut her head off. She was 18. They buried her in the chapel there, in an unmarked grave next to Ambulin. Ambulin was another one of King's wives you'd probably heard of. She was also Catherine's cousin. The gallery Catherine ran is called the haunted gallery now, a woman in white walks toward the chapel door. She reaches the door and turns back. Her hair is down. Her clothes are torn open, and her face is pure despair, and she screams the whole way back. So she goes through the door at the far end of the hall. She's still in there. A few years before the door started opening, a team of scientists put thermal cameras in the haunted gallery and sent hundreds of visitors through it one at a time, and asked them to write down what they felt. Half of them felt the temperature drop right out from under them, or felt some standing behind them when nobody was. A few saw a woman in a tutor dress. And the cameras found two spots in that gallery that went cold over and over with nobody near them. That's the door she never got through, and more than 400 years later, in that same palace, those doors started to open. I'd say I'm pretty on top of my finances. I check my accounts, I budget, I know where my money is going, but subscriptions are a different story. Those things just pile up quietly in the background. Before you know it, you're paying for a three streaming services you've forgotten you signed up for, and that's the gap RocketMoney fills for me. RocketMoney is a personal finance app that helps find and cancel unwanted subscriptions, monitors your spending, and helps lower your bills so you can grow your savings. It also pulls your checking savings loans and investments into a single dashboard, so you've got your whole financial picture in one spot instead of five different apps. You can set budgets and savings goals and get real-time alerts before a bill hits or your balance runs low. Let RocketMoney help you reach your financial goals faster. Join at RocketMoney.com/TheWiFiles. On night two, the alarm went off on those same doors. The guard walked out to shut them the way he had the night before, but when he got there, the doors were already closed. He stood in the hall for a minute, and he went back to the office to run the tape he expected to see nothing just like the night before. The picture itself in that chair, it's a middle of the night, in a 500-year-old palace, there's a row of monitors in front of you, and the only thing moving on any of them is you. You've done this a thousand times, you know what an empty hall looks like on tape. On screen, the doors were closed, then they flew open again, part, the same as the night before, but nothing in the doorway. And something stepped into it. It was the shape of a man. He came out of the dark on the far side of the doors, in a long robe that went all the way to the floor. One arm was out in front of him, his hand closed on the door handle, and he pulled the door shut. Whatever through them opened, this thing walked out after and closed them like it was tidying up. The guard leaned into the screen. The picture around the figure was blurred, but the figure wasn't. You can see the hand and the fingers around the handle. The face above it was white, dead white, whiter than anything else in the frame, and it didn't look like a face. I was shocked when the CCTV footage showed an eerie figure in period dress in the doorway. It was incredibly spooky because the face just, well it didn't look human. His first thought was good.
thought was that somebody was playing a joke, so he called his colleagues and ran the tape. They stood behind his chair and watched the doors fly open, and the thing in the robe come out and close him, and nobody laughed. They watched it again and again. Then they ran the first night's tape again right next to the second, same doors, same swing, same force, but only one of them had somebody coming to shut them. The palace has staff who walked the rooms and tutored dress for the visitors. The guards went to them first. They had hept in court, owned a robe like that. Then somebody checked the visitors' book, a woman who came through that wing wrote that she saw a ghost right there in the same part of the palace as the door. That was night too, but the ghost wasn't finished. The third night and the doors flew open again. They ran the tape, and this time he knew it to look for. But there was no robe, no hand, no face. The doors opened on their own, and nothing came to close them. The hallway was empty. That was worse than the face, because the face was at least something, then it stopped. No fourth night, no fifth. Three nights, one door, and a few seconds of tape with a man on it. The palace kept that tape to itself for two months, then a week before Christmas, they released a single frame of it to the press, and the press asked the obvious question. "Was this a joke?" "Look, we're baffled too. It's not a joke, we haven't manufactured it. We genuinely don't know who it is or what it is." The picture went everywhere. Newspapers and television in India, Australia and Peru. Somebody in the press looked at the white face and started calling it Skeletor, and the name stuck. The palace didn't think it was funny. They asked the public for help. Anyone who was in that wing, anyone who owned that robe or had a story like it, anyone who could tell them what stood in that doorway. That was more than twenty years ago, and the security staff who were there are still baffled by it. The door is still there. Every night a guard walks out of that wing checks it and makes sure it's locked. If it was a prank, nobody's ever taking credit. The palace puts it this way. No living soul has ever come forward. If they ruled out the living, it leaves only one other option. "Gather 'round. This happened in the village of Belmeds in the south of Spain. Marie was standing at the stove in her kitchen making lunch. She looked down at the floor between her feet, and the floor looked back. A face in the concrete, eyes, nose, and mouth opened like a man in pain. She called him Asin. He scraped off the face and plastered over it. The face came back through the plaster. Maria's husband took a pickaxe to the floor. He broke it up. He poured new concrete. The face came up through the new concrete, same spot, same face contorted in pain. Maria and her husband didn't know what to do, but they knew they needed help when a second face appeared. The city wouldn't let them break the floor again without proof, so the mayor came to the house to see for himself. He watched the first face come back twice, and he wanted the second one left where it was so people could see it. He asked for witnesses, and he got them. The entire village came first, then villages around it, then the whole province, till there was a line down the street. He waited from morning to night, while a man at the door sold photographs of the floor for 10 pesos each. The town cut the first face out of the floor in slab and hung it on the kitchen wall behind glass. The floor responded. New faces came up where the old one was, a woman, a child, a face with an arm next to it, and the hand reaching for something. Then more, until you couldn't cross the kitchen without stepping on somebody. When they changed, a mouth that was shut one week was open the next. A face faded out of one corner and came up in another. So the village stopped watching, and started digging. Men with pigs and shovels took the whole floor out. They turned Marie's kitchen into a pit almost 10 feet deep. They slowed down the digging when they found the first human bone. Then another, then more and more skeletons. They weren't sure how many bodies were buried here, but what upset them most was, all the skulls were missing. The remains were buried in your church and blessed by priest. The men filled the hole, poured a new floor and went back home. Everybody was relieved it was over. The dead were resting in peace. I'm Marie's house went quiet. Then the faces came back. The mayor came back too. He bought a priest, two local police, and the national police. In front of all of them, he took a pickaxe to one of the faces. He ground it into powder. He had fresh concrete poured over the spot, then he locked the kitchen door and everyone left. In the morning, there was a face and a new concrete. The mayor wrote to the governor. He had photos and more witness statements than he can count, including police reports. It wasn't sure the governor would take the letter seriously, but he did, and in a few days, a team of scientists were in that kitchen. The governor sent national police and scientists. They brought cases of the gear, tools, and instruments, and stayed eight days. They photographed the floor, measured it, took samples, and sent them to a lab in Madrid. On the last day, Maria asked the scientists what they thought was happening. The scientists and the police all agreed. We have no idea. A week later, a letter came from the mayor, not from the governor, from higher up. It said, "One more word about the faces in public, and you lose your office," then the national newspaper that put the faces on its front page in January announced that the mystery was over. It was a hoax. Somebody painted the faces, and the paper explained how. But the faces didn't read the paper. They kept coming. A parapsychologist from Madrid, a man who spent his life in rooms just like this one, started sleeping in the kitchen. He sat up nights with a tape recorder running on the floor. Most nights nothing. Then one morning, he played a tape back, and there was a voice on it, low and close to the microphone. "I have no eyes." In April, he was in the kitchen with two reporters when the concrete between them started to darken. The three of them watched a face come up out of the floor in about ten minutes. The way a photograph comes up in a dark room tray. On gray at first, then darker, until there were eyes in it. The parapsychologist called in Hans Bender from Germany. Bender was familiar with every haunted house in Europe. Bender looked at the floor and gave it a name, teleplasty. A picture pressed into solid matter by somebody's mind. He saw it once before in Chicago. Ted Sirius could put a picture on a roll of film by staring at the camera, but he never saw it happening concrete. When they sealed the kitchen, they laid a clear plastic sheet over the whole floor and glued the edges to the wall so nothing could touch it, not a hand, not a brush, not a drop of water, and they locked the door. A few hours later, two people from the village looked through the window. Under the plastic on the bare concrete, there was a new face, half made, still forming. They ran for the photographer by the time he got there with his camera and the face was gone. The seals on the wall were unbroken. The next spring, a professor brought in more than 100 students from Madrid. They packed the kitchen in shifts. 30 of them watched three faces come up out of the floor while they were standing there. By the time the bus left, all three faces were gone. The professor from Germany said there was no doubt where the faces came from. They came from Maria. She was making them, but she didn't know it. She lived in that kitchen with the faces for 33 more years, and the entire time faces faded, came back and changed. Eventually, Bender's theory was maybe proved right or wrong, because after Maria passed away, the faces kept coming, but this time people recognized them. In February of 2004, Maria died in a hospital in the city. She was an old woman by then. The faces on her kitchen floor were fading. A few blocks away, Maria's nieces live in the house where Maria was born. A few months after the funeral, a face came up on the wall of the bedroom in that house, then another in the basement, then more, men, women, and a child. The nieces stood in front of them the way the whole village once stood in Maria's kitchen. They knew the faces, everybody in the family knew them. One of the nieces saw her grandmother. Another face was her aunt, her aunt Maria. Years later, a city official came to the house and sealed the room. When she broke the seal in front of witnesses, there were new faces inside. That summer, she came back and sealed another room, and it happened again. The town built a museum for the faces, and once a year they opened both houses to the public. People still come to Belmas from all over the world, and the faces are still coming. The town cut the first face out of Maria's kitchen floor in 1971, and hung up behind glass. And it's still there. Maria always said the faces
would go with her, and they did. They went to the house where she was born, and that's where they stayed. People say there are more every year, and they're moving up through the house, floor by floor, making sure that the world never forgets their face. Thank you so much for hanging out today. My name is AJ. This is The Y Files, and that was a campfire story. No debunking, no analysis. Just a creepy story to scare you and the kids. And that one is true and unsolved. If you had fun, I'd appreciate if you can like, subscribe, comment, and share. That stuff really helps. And like most topics we cover here, today's was recommended by you. So if there's a story you'd like to see, go to the YFiles.com/tips or send us an email. We'd love to cover that story. And if you'd like to hear any of these campfire stories expanded into a full episode, there's a few I'd like to do. Then definitely let me know. Remember the YFiles is also a podcast. You could take us on the road. I post deep dives into the stories we cover on the channel. I also post episodes that wouldn't be allowed on the channel. Podcasts call of the YFiles, Operation Podcast, and it's available everywhere. And if you're listening on an audio platform, do me a favor, hit the thumbs up or the like or the follow, whatever those buttons are, those really do help. Make sure you check out our 24/7 stream on the YFiles backstage. Over there, we run episodes back to back with some fun content in between and the live chat is super, super fun. Special thanks to our patrons who made the channel possible and make every episode of the YFiles happen. Every episode is dedicated to our Patreon members. I could not do this without you. If you'd like to support the channel, keep us going. Consider becoming a member on Patreon. For as little three bucks a month, get access to perks, like videos early to know commercials, exclusive merch, and two private live streams every week, just for you to hear the whistle on my teeth. It's because I'm going to fast. The private live streams are a lot of fun. For members only, my web cam is on. Everyone on the team has their camera on. You can talk to all of us. Turn your camera on, jump up on stage, ask a question. It's a lot of. I think it's the best perk there is. Another great way to support the channel. Grab something from the YFiles tour. That is
[email protected]. You'll find it. But if you've got a vibe urge to become a member on YouTube, YouTube members get 10% off everything in the YFiles tour forever. So if you get us fed 40 bucks on t-shirts from festival mugs, become a member on YouTube for three bucks, pace for itself. And that money goes to the team. That's me. Those are the plugs I got through as fast as I could. And that's going to do it. Till next time, be safe. Be kind. And I'll let you. are appreciated. I played the Libya's an area 51. A secret code inside the Bible said I was. I love my UFOs, and the paranormal bones. Well, there's mirrors in it. So I'm saying it like I should. But then another conspiracy theory becomes the truth. My friends. And it never ends. I know it never ends. I feel the crack at it. I got stuck inside my own home. With them chaos truck. I'll be in only two hours. Do you stand, look you've red-faced the moon landing alone? On a field set, I wear the shadow people there. The raspberry is just for the smiling man. I'm told, and his name was Cole. I can't believe. I'm casted with the fishy. And the fish are Thursday. That's where they jade to. And when I have the ring, I'll do the night. All I ever wanted was to just see the truth. So the world falls on your feet all through the light. The Muffman side and van. The solar storm still come to a god-ther. The city underground. Mysterious numbers, stations. When it's supposed to. Bracket stockade. And what the dark watchers found. In a simulation, don't you worry though. The black night satellite told me so. I can't believe. And when I have the ring, I'll do the night.
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