Dorothy Newell
speaker
843 appearances
11 recordings
6 series
first heard Oct 2025
last heard 6 Jul
Dorothy Newell’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 11 in all, peaking in Dec 2025 with 5.
Appearances
Although we had visited several camps over the years, Camp Skadetimuc was always his favorite, as it wasn't a popular spot, which meant fewer campers, fewer chances for an interaction to turn contentious.
When I was younger, I overheard my parents discussing why many avoided it, whispered concerns about missing campers and hikers from Mom, Dad arguing that it was idiots who wandered too far off the path, becoming lost.
Friends at school spread hushed stories of vicious murders and beastly maniac that stalked the woods.
This piqued my imagination.
and my ten-year-old brain conjured the legend of a supernatural killer prowling the forest at night, moving through the trees like wind, stalking campers before snatching them away, devouring them in some dank, cave-like lair.
I even wrote a story about it for school, in which a family of campers was picked off one by one, in increasingly grisly ways, a story that my teacher, Mr. Johnson, presented to my parents with equal parts pride and concern.
That year, we camped at Wachusett's instead.
Dad turned the truck off and placed the keys in his pocket, took a deep breath before saying, Let's go find a good spot.
He stared through the windshield at something only he could see.
With that, he opened the door and slid out of his seat.
I followed, and I was about to close the door when I noticed it.
Dad's revolver sat on the car seat, its nickel-plated finish catching the gleam of the setting sun, momentarily blinding me.
The weapon had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had been passed down from my pap-pap when Dad turned 18, as a sort of right of manhood.
My father carried it with him wherever he went, and we were accustomed to seeing it on either his person or around the house.
He had always brought it when we went camping.
I looked more closely, my breath catching in my throat.
The muzzle, stippled in a dark, rust-colored matte stain, one that looked as if it would flake off if scraped by a fingernail.
I've always had a bit of a morbid outlook, possibly due to my lifelong obsession with true crime and real-life horrors, you know?
Mass murderers, serial killers, and other monsters that hunt in human skin.
This tiny blotch could have been caused by any number of things.
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