I (20M) had always had an interest in the paranormal. I can still recall wearing out my Dad’s Ghostbusters VHS tape as a kid. I was transfixed on the paranormal growing up, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of High School that I decided that I wanted to be more hands-on with the paranormal. So all through High School I saved all my money from summer jobs, birthdays, and of course graduation, to buy a van and hit the open road.
Hell, I even started my own YouTube channel, and can proudly say that my little channel, Paranormal Inquisition, had up to about 600 thousand subscribers at that point. I had traveled to a lot of the popular haunted spots; Gettysburg Cemetery in Pennsylvania, Dudleytown in Connecticut, The Lizzie Borden House in Massachusetts, hell, I even got to check out The Amityville Horror House in New York.
I’d pass through state to state, town to town, and check in with the locals about if there was anything that was allegedly haunted in the area. Most of the time I’d get a side-eyed look, but there were a few times the locals would spill on the paranormal goings on nearby. And let me tell ya, it made some good content when something happened. At least I thought it must’ve been because, after about two years of scraping by, I had finally gotten monetized. So, I decided to keep the show going. I had just hit the Winchester House in California (a hotspot for activity lemme tell you!) when one of the locals told me about Stage 19A.
It was an old, abandoned studio in Hollywood that they had simply boarded up. Apparently, it used to be the home of an old children’s show that aired back in the 70s called Rosie’s Playtime. It was a typical kid’s show, kinda similar to Blue’s Clues or Barney but instead, starred a clown named Rosie. According to the Californian local I spoke with, after a few episodes, guests on the show began to go missing. And by guests, I mean the children that would randomly be selected to join Rosie on whatever adventure she was going on that episode. After the show was forced to shut down, they tried to clean it up to re-use it. But everyone who went in reported strange goings on. Children laughing and screaming, things are being moved or thrown, and some have even heard arguments in the studio. However, when they went to investigate it, no one was there. Eventually, the studio shut down 19A, but it was still standing.
I remember thanking the man for his time and packed up to head to LA. As I sat in my motel room after making the 5-hour drive from San Jose to Hollywood, I started to do some digging on the show. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but from what I found you could tell it was a cheaply made show.
All the images I had managed to scrounge up online showed Rosie as a young woman, about 19 or so, dressed as a clown. She wore a red and white short-sleeved dress that came down to her knees. She also wore black leggings, a black bowtie, and white boots and gloves. She fashioned her blonde hair into pigtails and was usually spotted with a small, old, black top hat. She wore simple clown makeup of course; white painted face, red lipstick with an exaggerated smile, a small red dot on her nose, and black diamonds over her eyes.
The local I spoke with had been right about the disappearances. The thing I found truly disturbing though, was that the police didn’t start getting involved until 6 kids had disappeared. Their first suspect was Gordan Daniels, the creator, producer, and director of the show. He also happened to be the father of the star of the show, Rose Daniels who portrayed the titular Rosie. When they tried to question him at his home, they found him packing his bags. A struggle had ensued and Gordan was gunned down after he grabbed one of the officer’s firearms. They looked throughout the house, but never found the missing children. They also found that Rose’s room had been thrown around and most of her clothes were gone. So, authorities concluded that she must’ve been an accomplice and fled the country. From what I could tell they never found the bodies of the missing children, there was a lot of push from the LAPD to simply close the investigation.
I remember finally managing to track down a clip of the show on a subreddit, and being an avid wrestling fan, I recognized the song Rosie opened and closed the show with as none other than the theme song to the Firefly Fun House. It was a gimmick about a dark kid’s entertainer one I had always been a fan of. It took some digging, but I eventually found the origin of the song. It appears that Gordan had originally written the song for the show and performed it while Rose sang the vocals. After his death, the ownership of the song went to some production company that ended up merging with another company, where it sat until it was re-recorded in 2018.
I drove my old van to the outskirts of the studio lot. By the time I managed to climb the fence, it was well past 9 pm. I looked around in the dark, fearing that my flashlight would draw unwanted attention until I finally found Stage 19A. It was a large white building with the number and letter painted on the side. I took out my lock-picking kit and made short work of the little padlock on the overhead door. After 2 years of being on the road and sneaking into abandoned places, I had become somewhat of an expert.
I held the door up just enough so that I could carefully crawl under it and then gently put it down. Now that the illegal act of breaking and entering had been done, I fired up my GoPro HERO6, took out my handy dandy flashlight, and began to shoot the opening I had memorized on the drive down.
“I’m here on Stage 19A where a popular children’s show once aired. The sounds of laughing children once bounced off the walls of this studio on the set of Rosie’s Playtime back in the 70’s. But with the show now being off the air for nearly 50 years, why are people still reporting the sounds of children? Join me tonight as I—” But suddenly, a feminine voice cut me off. It was as quiet as a whisper, but as sharp as a knife.
“Get out!” I rationalized that it was probably just something playing in a different studio. In my experience, the paranormal took some warming up before they made contact. I began walking further into the studio, making sure to light up all the props that had managed to gather cobwebs over time.
“Get out!” The voice rang out again. “Leave!” The voice had gotten louder and firmer.
“What’s your name, spirit?!” I had asked. Silence deafened the room for a minute as I eagerly awaited a response. But instead, I only heard the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter. At the time, I thought I had hit the jackpot. Ghosts that were eager to make contact. I remember getting jittery with excitement as I made my way down the hallway towards the dressing rooms.
“I quit!” A voice rang out. There was some loud banging coming from the dressing room at the end of the hall. I slowly began to approach it.
“Hello?” I called out. I began to get closer as I heard a man’s voice along with the woman’s But, he was talking too low, I couldn’t hear him at first.
“I can’t do this anymore! I’m leaving!” The woman yelled. As I listened closer, it sounded like the voice who had just told me to leave. “This whole thing is over!” I finally arrived outside the door of all the commotion. I put my hand on the handle, eager to spring into action but trying to eavesdrop more on the conversation.
“ITS OVER WHEN I SAY IT IS!” The man’s voice boomed through the walls of the stage. Out of pure instinct, I flung the door open expecting to walk into an argument. Maybe a homeless couple had set up shop here, but no one was there. I walked into the dressing room which was an absolute disaster. The place was musty as hell, a vanity was broken and on its side and there was garbage all over the floor. Upon closer inspection though, it wasn’t garbage at all. It was pages of a script. I wiped off some of the dust, revealing a script to an episode of Rosie’s Playtime. I continued looking through the papers, being sure that I didn’t cut myself on any of the glass that was all over the floor from the vanity, and ended up with a final copy of the script, along with a few kids’ drawings of a female clown. They were all of her holding their hands or playing with them. And since Rosie was an alleged accomplice to these disappearances, it made me eerie to think about it.
I looked and found a piece of glass that had old, dried lipstick writing on it. ‘Smile more’, it read. Funny enough, I saw the same note on the front of the script. I shined the light across the room and noticed an old, tan couch. Like everything else, it was covered in dust, but there were stains on it.
Smears as if someone had tried to clean something up. I remember noting out loud for the camera, thinking that it might have been blood.
This must have been Rosie’s dressing room. I thought to myself. As I backed away from the couch, I felt this force knock me back and onto the glass on the floor. I remember hearing laughter and running as I did my best to get to my feet.
“You’re it!” I snapped my flashlight all around, looking for my attacker. But I couldn’t find them.
Screw this. I thought to myself. None of the ghosts had ever gotten violent with me before. This was way out of my wheelhouse. Ignoring the sharp pain that my back was in, I dashed the door of the studio. And as crazy as it sounds… it wouldn’t budge. I kept trying the door, being slowly taunted with more giggling. Another force knocked me right on my back, again. The same child-like voice as before repeated,
“You’re it!” I got up and I ran. I went right into the nearest dressing room and barricaded the door with my own body. My arms were badly scratched up from the glass, and my back was in a lot of pain from the impacted falls. I looked around the room which appeared to be a children’s playroom. Discarded toys lay all around the room, and in the back was a handmade, wooden playhouse. The wood was primarily rotted, so much so that the ceiling had even caved in. But something about it…called to me. I slowly crawled to it, peeking inside over the collapsed roof. Aside from the expected debris from the roof, I found a brand-new rug. I gently moved the playhouse aside, trying my best not to break it any more than it already was. As I lifted the rug, wet cement began to slide down it. It was like someone had just poured it on the floor. I ran my fingers on it, I needed to feel that it was real. And that’s when it fell. I mean a whole glob of cement fell into what I suppose was a giant hole. Shaken, I grabbed my flashlight and pointed it down to where it had fallen. A little girl was sitting down inside this giant hole, she had this fiery red hair and was dressed in what looked like a blue dress. Oddly enough, I didn’t even wonder how she had gotten down there, or where there was. I just thought he was trapped.
“Do you need help?!” I asked. I put my flashlight in my mouth, planted one hand firmly on the floor, and reached down to grab her. But as my torso got halfway down the hole, I realized no one was there. Instead what I found was a large crawlspace filled with old children’s clothing. Clothing that had been worn out and tattered. Against my better judgment, I craned my neck down a bit more, which is where I saw bones lying in those children’s clothes. I jolted backward, back up to the floor. My flashlight dropped out of my mouth and began to roll. I made a dive to grab it before it fell down the hole, but there wasn’t a hole anymore. The whole ground was merely cement, the brand-new rug I had picked up earlier was now old and moldy. Sitting off to the side where I had left it. I began to panic…which is when I heard the giggling in my ear.
I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, there was the little girl. She was dirty and disheveled, bruised, cut, and discolored, and although her face looked as if she had been crying, she laughed when she saw me.
“Found me!” She giggled. I jolted back and rushed up against the wall. I looked around the room for others as laughter began to ring out, surrounding me. But no one was there, not even the little girl I just saw.
“We’re it! We’re it! We’re it!” I got to my feet and ran for the door, but just like the door upfront, it wouldn’t budge. I began to kick and throw my body against the door. I don’t know how long I tried, but at some point, I had been banging on the door for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that the children stopped laughing. I took a breath and tried the door again, relieved when it finally turned.
“Hey mister,” A voice called out behind me. I should’ve ignored it, but something made me turn my head towards the voice. Standing behind me, was this little boy. He was dirty, bruised, cut, discolored and his face looked as if he had been crying, just as the little girl had been. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and had brown hair that was styled into a bowl cut. I didn’t say anything to him. He gave me this wide smile, multiple of his teeth fell to the floor as if they had just been sitting in his mouth. “Run and hide,” He whispered. He started to laugh as I threw the door open and began to run through the main stage. The children laughed as I tried to open the overhead door again but to no avail. A large red rubber ball had bashed me in the hand. I gripped it in pain and tried to wiggle my fingers, but couldn’t. As I watched my broken hand begin to discolor, I heard the children scream at me.
“Cheater! Cheater! Pumpkin eater!” They continued repeating it as I desperately tried to find a place to hide, settling quickly on diving under what I had surmised to be an old craft services table. I cowered under there and prayed for the first time in my life. I used my good hand to lift the old, rotting tablecloth I was hiding behind. I needed to know how close they were and sure enough, I got my answer. I lifted the tablecloth and came face to face with another little boy. His overall appearance was the same as the others, but he was in overalls and a yellow t-shirt.
“Found you!” He laughed. The table flew up as if someone had thrown it, giving away my location. “You lose!” The little boy yelled. He began to kick and wildly throw punches at me. I tried to fight him off, but eventually, I was overpowered. Though I didn’t see them all at first, more children came in and joined him. They were pulling my hair and skin, kicking, punching and even biting me. I tried to shake them off. Hell, I even swatted at them, but they were persistent. They continued laughing, almost mocking me as they yelled “You lose!” over and over again.
I thought I was dead when I heard the music. At first, I didn’t recognize it from the ringing in my ears, but eventually… I heard the theme music from Rosie’s Playtime. The assault stopped. I looked out to see none other than Rosie herself standing at the entrance of the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. She was singing. But something wasn’t right. This Rosie was something out of a horror film. Her costume was dirty and tattered, her bowtie drooped around her neck as if it could hide the large gash that was covering her throat. She looked beaten on and discolored. Her face even had a large smile cut into it. Some of the skin had even been removed so that you could actually see some of her teeth and jaw. I looked on in horror as she held out her hand, the pinkie finger of the glove looked as if it was missing, revealing her broken finger.
She continued to sing the song, slowly getting down onto her knees. She opened up her arms in some kind of invitation. And that was the first time I heard the similarity. This was the same voice that had told me to leave when I first arrived. I watched the children run towards her as she continued to sing, a black liquid protruded from her eyes. It was almost as if she was crying. She wrapped the six children in a large group hug as she began to repeat the song. Now was my chance. I picked myself up and staggered towards the main entrance, praying that it opened. But before I could even grab the handle, the door began to open ever so slightly. I looked back to see Rosie who had just begun the third repeat of the song, but this time it seemed like…like she was singing to me. I dropped to the ground and painfully rolled out under the door, watching Rosie sing to the children as the overhead door slammed to the ground.
I must have passed out shortly after because the next thing I knew, I was in a hospital room. Apparently, I had crawled towards the guard booth, and he had found me when he went out to do his hourly rounds. The nature of my injuries led the police to believe I had been assaulted by a group of homeless people who were trying to get into one of the studios. My wrist was broken, I had 3 fractured ribs, a dislocated knee, a black eye, multiple cuts, scratches, and bite marks. I thought about explaining what really happened, but not wanting that pesky B&E charge or an involuntary hold at the psych ward, I merely told them I didn’t remember what happened or how I came to be inside the lot. I had originally planned to release the footage once I was out of the hospital, but that was until a lawyer came to see me. He was a man of average height and weight, with greying blonde hair that had been slicked back tightly. He had to be about 60 or 70 years old.
He claimed to work for the studio who was very sorry to hear about my encounter with vagrants on their lot. They were so apologetic in fact, they offered me a check. 1 million dollars for my pain and suffering. All I had to do was sign an NDA which stated I was legally never allowed to reveal the studio’s name…and my camera. I had asked why, but all the lawyer told me was that if the footage leaked out of my assault on studio grounds, it would lead to a load of bad publicity.
After all, I had been through, I had no interest in continuing with the channel or ghost hunting as a whole. So…I took the money. But as I handed over my camera, which was now cracked and probably broken from my assault, something came over me. I had to tell him about the hole in the dressing room.
“They’re still there,” I blurted out. “In the –,” But the lawyer cut me off.
“Mr. Michaelson,” He assured. “Our studio was found to not be at fault with any of the heinous alleged actions of Gordan Daniels and no evidence of these alleged actions were ever found on our property. Whatever it is that you believe you saw in Stage 19A was probably the result of a hallucination caused by a gas leak.” He tried to explain. “It was the reason we stopped using that particular building.” His cover was almost logical, I mean it made perfect sense. There was only one problem.
“I never told anyone that I went inside Stage 19A,” I told him. The lawyer smiled, put my camera in his suit jacket pocket, left the check on my hospital table, and then left without saying a word.
That was a little over a year ago, and I haven’t been ghost-hunting since. I even shut down the channel. With no new content, I was bound to get demonetized at some point. My body eventually healed up, but the psychological effects of my visit to Stage 19A remained. I get these panic attacks whenever I hear a child’s voice. It had gotten so bad that I stopped going out in public. But the worst part? The worst part is the dreams. In the hospital, they were frequent, over time they began to get less frequent but never less vivid. The memory of those final moments in Stage 19A still haunt me. I can see Rosie holding the group of children close to her, staring at me with her horrific smile as she sang to them. I can still hear her singing….
“We’re really glad that you’re our friend…and this is a friendship that’ll never ever end,”