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Weekly Spooky
Weekly Spooky
Scary stories, urban legends, haunted places, cryptids and dark folklore with Henrique Couto. New nightmares throughout the week. Halloween all year long.
Oct. 1, 2026

Deadname: She Stole the Wrong Life — A Halloween Horror Story

Deadname: She Stole the Wrong Life — A Halloween Horror Story

A nameless young woman steals another girl's identity in Deadname, a Halloween horror story by Morgan Moore. With no memory of her past, she sees a costume and mask as a chance to belong. But at a Halloween party, someone is watching—and he thinks he knows her.
A stolen life. A stranger's obsession. One night behind the wrong mask. This psychological horror story brings slasher suspense to spooky season. Follow Weekly Spooky for more scary stories.
Narrated by Henrique Couto.

Bonus episodes & support: https://weeklyspooky.com/join
More scary stories: https://weeklyspooky.com/
Story submissions: WeeklySpooky@gmail.com

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On Halloween, everybody gets to be someone else. But what

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if you had no name, no past, and nothing to lose?

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One young woman finds the perfect disguise, another girl's life.

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Trouble is, she has no idea who's been watching that girl.

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Trick or treat! There's a chill in the air. Must

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be fall. Join me for a tale of Halloween. You

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will experience tales of horror, ghosts, and death. It is

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not recommended for the weak at heart. But who really

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listens to warnings anyway? This is Weekly Spooky.

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Hello, my spookies. October has finally arrived. just as promised,

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and I am so excited to bring you one of

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many extra spookies for your weekly. Tonight is our first

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of many Halloween horror stories for you to enjoy to

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make sure you get the most out of your calendar

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spooky season. But before we get to that, I want

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to say thank you all so much for joining me.

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I cannot wait to scare you with some Horror and joy.

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Because those do go hand in hand. So if you're

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new here, make sure you subscribe on your favorite podcast app.

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There'll be something scary, if not two or three, every

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single day in October. And, of course, in November and December,

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we bring the spooky to other holidays as well. But

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right now, oh my, it's time. Gather close, my spookies.

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The jack-o'-lanterns are grinning. The candy bowl is getting suspiciously light.

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And somebody at the Halloween party is wearing a very

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convincing costume. Not a vampire or a werewolf. Somebody you

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think you know. And that is a lovely little Halloween trick,

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isn't it? A different face. A different voice. And suddenly

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you can spend a few hours being almost anyone. Usually

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the transformation ends when you peel off the mask, find

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glitter in places you didn't even know you had. Tonight

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we're meeting someone who doesn't have an old life waiting underneath.

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No name that she can recall. No familiar place to

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return to. Just a terrible hunger to belong and an

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opportunity standing a little too close to the mirror. So

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settle in, keep your own face nearby, and be careful

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whose name you answer to. Dead Name by Morgan Moore

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Halloween is a weird holiday to me. It's the one

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day of the year when people choose who they want

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to be. Not in the normal way people decide how

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they want to be perceived or how they want to act,

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but actually decide, sometimes planning well in advance, who they

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want to become. Usually they choose to be anything but themselves,

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taking on the appearance and name of somebody or something else.

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It's something that's always fascinated me, but then again, my

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perspective on identity is a little skewed. I don't have

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a name, or at least, I don't know my name.

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The way I remember it, life has simply happened. I

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know things, obviously, just nothing about me specifically. At the

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bare minimum, I have a vague idea of my age,

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19 based on how others seem to treat me. Anything

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else is just trivial knowledge most people learn growing up.

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I know how to read, take care of myself physically, write,

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use a computer, and things like that. But anything about

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me beyond my physical appearance is a mystery. A while back,

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I can tell time, but I have no idea how

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long ago this was, I woke up in a room

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in what I guessed was a bed and breakfast. The

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building was a house, so I just went with that. Anyway,

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when I woke up, I had my pajamas on, at least.

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I assumed they were mine, and my regular clothes were

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sitting on a hope chest. I felt grimy, like when

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your hands are coated in thick film or dirt or

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sweat or stickiness for no real reason, so I took

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a shower. Naked and standing in front of the mirror,

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I didn't see anything to suggest I had been attacked

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or raped or Anything like that. I didn't see a bag,

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a purse, or any other belongings, so maybe I had

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been robbed. Hell, maybe I'd been drugged. Who knows? When

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I got dressed, I just left. Since then, I've wandered

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around the city. For a while, I tried to find

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clues to my identity, but I never turned anything up.

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I went into grocery stores and even police stations, checking

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bulletin boards filled with missing persons reports, but I never

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saw my face. I started to think that if I

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had been drugged, it must have been something that really

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fucked with my head. If there had been any kind

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of bump or bruise on my head, I would have

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assumed amnesia, but I had nothing. Not having money meant

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I couldn't hire anybody to look into it for me,

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and I doubted donating blood or anything would help since

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I'd have to give my name. And, oh right, I

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don't have one. Eventually, I stopped looking and settled into

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the mindset that maybe it would come to me down

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the road, but it wasn't in the cards for me

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right now. And that's okay. Some people would probably say

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that kind of thing leaves you a lot of freedom.

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And in a way, it does. No commitments holding me

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back from doing whatever I want. But you try getting

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a job or much of anything without a name or

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any form of identification. How could I do whatever the

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hell I wanted without money? not to mention I couldn't

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get a place to live, let alone figure out where

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I had lived before. So I live on the street

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and get by however I can, mostly from appropriating things

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I need from stores and shacking up in whatever abandoned

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buildings I come across. Before I knew it, Halloween was here,

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so at the very least, I knew it was October.

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I don't remember much about Halloween beyond the usual things.

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I have no memory of favorite candy, but I do

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remember getting candy. I just couldn't tell you what kind.

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I can't remember any costumes I wore either, only that

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I must have worn them since every kid does. Costumes

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are what brought me to the store today. It gets

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tiring not having an identity, and I decided that, at

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the very least, I could have one today, even if

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it was only borrowing it. And hell, at least this

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way I could participate in something other than just being

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another person going through day-to-day motions, which, for me, meant...

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a lot of time in libraries, long walks, and finding

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food however I could. Glancing around the Halloween section, it

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becomes pretty clear that waiting until the day of wasn't

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a great choice. There are next to no options left

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that are specifically based on people. My choices are generic costumes,

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a witch, a pirate, a student, things like that, Whatever

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I choose would mean adding some personal touch to it,

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which isn't exactly easy in this instance. While the costume

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selection isn't well-stocked, the masks are, for some reason. I

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pluck a witch costume in my size off the shelf

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and figure I can just throw on a mask to

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personalize it. Looking through them, I land on a Featureless

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one that's all black. If anything, the black mask and

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costume fit my lack of identity pretty well. Getting it

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all out of the store isn't an issue. I simply

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slip into a dressing room, put the costume on under

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my clothes. That's it. Luckily, I wear baggy enough clothing

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to hide a good chunk of my appropriations. The mask...

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is a little trickier, so I just hold it and

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walk out of the store like an average Joe who

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bought something and didn't want a bag. Out of the store,

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I find the closest park bathroom, pull off my plain clothes,

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and slip the mask on. Looking in the mirror, I'm

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taken aback by the utter nothingness of my appearance. Tangled

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curls of brown hair Hanging over the mask are the

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only color, aside from my skin. And then it dawns

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on me that I don't have anything to do other

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than wander around. All dressed up with nowhere to go

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sounds about right for where my life currently is, a

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living void. The bathroom door opens loudly, and by some

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instinct I can only attribute to basic human or animal survival,

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I take shelter in a stall and lock the door.

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A group of girls makes their way in and plants

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themselves in front of the sinks and mirrors where I

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had just been standing. Peeking through the space between the

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stall door and the wall, I watch them preen. Do

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we really have to go to this stupid party? One

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of them says. Looking over at her, I notice... Her

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hair is about the length of mine, only a few

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shades lighter. She's dressed as what I can only describe

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as a cherub by way of Mardi Gras, complete with

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a mask that looks equally angelic and stereotypically clownish. I

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thought that's where you were meeting your secret admirer, another

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one asks, this one dressed in attire akin to a schoolgirl. Yeah,

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but I don't really have an interest now, the clown

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cherub says. Why? asks a girl dressed like a sexed-up

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Statue of Liberty. It was cute at first, but I

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don't know. It's also kind of creepy to think somebody's

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leaving notes and things all over the place for me. Well,

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we're still going. Unless you want to go home by yourself,

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you should come with us. the schoolgirl says. Of course,

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if you go home alone, you'd have to walk. And

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you never know, maybe your secret admirer slash stalker could

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be waiting to give you a treat or a trick,

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the Statue of Liberty adds. Fine, give me a few

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minutes to touch myself up, the one with hair like

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mine tells them. All the girls save for the one

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with the apparent secret admirer leave the bathroom. Their friend

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alone to ready herself however she needs to. She slips

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off her mask and it's evident the similarities between us

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end at the face. Though our body frames are somewhat alike.

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Mine is only a little thicker around the arms and legs.

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From her purse, she produces a small makeup bag and

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gets to work touching herself up. A thought enters my

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head as I watch her touch up her makeup. It's

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an idea that any sane person would never consider, never

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dare to act on. But it is Halloween, and my

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thoughts become as black as my costume. What is and

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isn't sane suddenly feels unimportant. I think of our only

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slightly different hair, our only slightly different frames. I think

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of really getting into the spirit of taking on the

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identity of something or somebody. I unlock the stall door

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and step out. The girl sees my ghastly appearance. and

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is visibly taken aback. She opens her mouth to say something,

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but I give her no time. Before a full breath

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passes between her lips, I'm directly behind her. My hand

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latches on to the back of her head and slams

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her face-first into the mirror. I keep my eyes away

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from the remaining shards to avoid seeing the results of

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the damage as I repeat the action again. and again,

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and again, until I feel her go limp. Letting go

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of her head, I watch her slump to the ground,

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and for the first time, I look at what I caused.

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Not wanting to risk her friends returning and finding the

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mess I made, I drag the body into the backmost stall,

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the one reserved for people with disabilities- and get to

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work undressing both of us. Just as quickly, I dress

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myself into this poor girl's costume. Looking at myself in

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one of the unbroken mirrors, I slide on the mask

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and complete the change from nameless nothing me to a

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girl who has plans, friends, a name, and a life.

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It isn't a look I think is great, but hey,

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I shouldn't be too picky, right? I leave the bathroom

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and it doesn't take long to spot the other two

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girls sitting in a parked car. Thankfully, the one dressed

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as a schoolgirl is at the wheel. If it had

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been the dead girl's car, I would have had to

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get the keys. Aw, shit, that means I would have

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had to drive. and fuck me if I know how

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to do that. They haven't noticed me yet, and even

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though I don't need to look for keys, I quickly

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go back inside and grab her purse before making my

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way to the car. Well, it took you long enough, Constance,

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the Liberty Girl says. Constance. That was the girl's name.

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Now it's mine. She is mine. It occurs to me

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then that I don't sound anything like her. Let's see.

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Maybe I can approximate it a little. Yeah, sorry, I

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had to pee, I say. Her voice was a few

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octaves higher than mine, so I raise my pitch to

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what I think is close enough. Excuses, excuses. the schoolgirl

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says in a playful chastisement. They haven't noticed it isn't

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the actual Constance yet. Maybe this is going to work.

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I mean, I could have pissed in the car, I offer. Gross,

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she responds. I smile behind the mask. Can you bitches

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do the foreplay later so we can get to the party?

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The Statue of Liberty demands. Schoolgirl starts the car, and

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we're off to whatever party they and the old Constance

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were expected at. Behind the mask, I can feel my

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smile growing and my heart beating like somebody is playing

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double bass drums. I've been living, but for the first

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time since who knows when, I feel like I'm actually alive.

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Whatever this party has to offer, I'm ready for anything,

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and salivating at the possibilities of what this knight, this costume,

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this girl named Constance, can give me. The party is

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what I imagined it would be. Lots of people in

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my supposed age range dressed in an oddball variety of costumes.

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Most of the boys are some form of superhero, athlete, pirate, knight,

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or generic thing with only a few dressed as anything

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related to scary movies or being creepy. The girls aren't

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much different, either wearing plain costumes or sexed-up versions of

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something ordinary. But the party itself is lively, and everybody's

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having the time of their lives. It's infectious, and as

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we walk in and my friends go off on their own,

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I lose myself to the thrill of living. Nobody greets me,

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which I'm sure most people would hate, but honestly, I'm relieved.

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It means nobody knows who I am, even with a

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mask on, which means my little charade only has to

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be contained to the girls I came with. I'm sure

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some people here knew the real Constance. The dead Constance.

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But until somebody approaches me as if I were her,

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I have no reason to worry. Hell, it makes partying

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even easier. I care little about talking to people, but

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I throw myself into dancing and socializing. At least a little.

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When I find the makeshift self-serve bar, I experiment with

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whatever sounds good and enjoy the rush and the slow

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spreading looseness. of the alcohol. The looseness, in turn, makes

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me a bit more willing to talk whenever somebody approaches.

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I dance with people, whether they're boys or girls. When

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someone offers me a joint and some blow, I even

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do some of that, too. Because why the fuck not?

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If I'm going to truly live just one night before

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going back to the nothingness I've grown accustomed to then

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why not go hard or go home? I once read

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in the library about how the Amish will venture into

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the real world for a year or so, and how

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some go crazy with the freedom they have before returning

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to their old lives. In that sense, I am an

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Amish girl, let loose to explore and do whatever I

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want until it's time to go back. Making my way

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through the house and outside, it becomes pretty obvious that

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somebody is watching me. A guy in a cat-in-the-hat costume.

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I have to admit, he's unique compared to everybody else.

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Walking around the yard, I keep finding him, and whenever

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I do, his eyes are locked on me. I don't

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know what I would have done if not for the costume,

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or the booze, or the drugs, or even what I

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would have done in whatever life I had before this one.

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But I'm feeling nice and relaxed from everything, and Constance

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seems like the kind of girl who might have a

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little fun with a guy. After a while, he makes

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his way over to me.

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Constance?

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he asks. and I suddenly want to retreat. He's the

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first person to ask who I am. But cocaine and

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liquor have left me open enough to stay here instead

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of running away. Yeah? I say. Can we go somewhere

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to talk? He asks. I nod, and he takes my

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hand and leads me to a small park down the road,

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then to a pavilion. He starts to talk, but by

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this point I'm getting swept up in a sea of

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unclarity from everything I've had. What he's saying has something

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to do with our apparent relationship, so it's easy to

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guess that he knows Constance. But something about the way

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he talks is weird, and not because I'm shitfaced. He

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talks like we were an item, but... Like we're in

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a rough spot. Something about how I don't respond to

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calls or texts or show enough gratitude for the gifts

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he gives me. There's a change as he keeps going.

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He goes from sounding like someone in love but kind

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of sad to angry. And not just angry but full-blown pissed.

300
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I would say something back but I don't know anything

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00:25:06.279 --> 00:25:09.519
about the dead girl, and I'm too drunk and too

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high to think of anything as he keeps going. And

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then I laugh. Suddenly I'm on the ground, and the

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side of my face is pounding. He's standing above me,

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00:25:24.549 --> 00:25:30.109
fists clenched. He hit me. I try to move to

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00:25:30.210 --> 00:25:34.180
stand up, but His foot comes flying and this cat

307
00:25:34.279 --> 00:25:38.430
doesn't have paws for feet. He's wearing boots that I

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00:25:38.490 --> 00:25:42.309
can tell are steel-toed from how they feel when one

309
00:25:42.390 --> 00:25:46.410
connects with my stomach, and then again when he kicks

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me in the side. Inside the mask it gets hard

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to breathe, between the pain, the breath being forced out

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of me, and the confinement of my face inside rubber.

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I want it off so he can see I'm not

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00:26:03.069 --> 00:26:06.750
the dead girl. I'm just somebody who looks a little

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00:26:06.809 --> 00:26:10.559
like her. Somebody who killed her for a night just

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00:26:10.599 --> 00:26:14.660
to be anything other than an empty shell. But it

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00:26:14.720 --> 00:26:18.420
hurts too much to move, and my brain is going

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in too many directions to name, except for shock and fear.

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I look up at him. and see that he's taking

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what looks like a utility knife out of the pocket

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00:26:31.619 --> 00:26:35.799
of the suit jacket he used for his costume. With

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00:26:35.859 --> 00:26:39.509
a quick click, the blade is out for the world

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to see. And it is that moment, at that exact moment,

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I realize Constance is going to die. I am going

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to die. I, whoever I am, am about to be

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killed and I can't do anything about it even if

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I took the mask off he would probably still kill

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me and when the blade starts to force itself into

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00:27:09.619 --> 00:27:15.869
me again and again it dawns on me that nobody

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is going to know what to do with me even

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if the friends I came with find my body They'll

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realize I'm not Constance. I'm nobody. I'll only be a

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Jane Doe, and there won't be anybody to claim me.

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They might release a description of my body, but I'm

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00:27:40.309 --> 00:27:45.130
too plain-looking for anybody to know me from a description. Shit,

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00:27:45.869 --> 00:27:51.109
it isn't like they'll release a picture of my dead face. No,

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I'm going to die utterly alone. and nobody will care,

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and I'll be another statistic in a list of unsolved murders.

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00:28:03.839 --> 00:28:07.309
I feel cold and wet, and the man leaves me

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and goes wherever. Alone once more, I find that I'm

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not mad, or that I even have the will to

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00:28:20.170 --> 00:28:24.430
fight to survive. The knowledge that I'm going to die

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has numbed me more than any drink or drug. And

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why should I want to live? I've done nothing but

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live a life that is a blur of trivial things

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00:28:38.089 --> 00:28:42.299
followed by utter nothingness from the moment I woke up

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alone in that house. So little did I have in

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my life that I killed a girl just to get

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a taste of hers. And here I am. about to

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stop living. Maybe this is God's punishment for killing somebody

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00:29:04.400 --> 00:29:08.240
so I could be them. It's a cruel final bit

352
00:29:08.279 --> 00:29:13.039
of irony when I really think about it. I finally

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00:29:13.119 --> 00:29:16.490
get to have a name, only to end up on

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00:29:16.549 --> 00:29:26.619
a list of the dead who have no name. Well,

355
00:29:26.700 --> 00:29:31.000
my spookies, that's one costume you won't find on the

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00:29:31.059 --> 00:29:35.849
clearance rack. This Halloween, try to stick to borrowing a cape,

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not someone's entire life, and if you have a secret

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00:29:40.589 --> 00:29:45.690
admirer and they seem a little too secret, maybe skip

359
00:29:45.799 --> 00:29:49.579
the moonlit stroll. Big thank you to Morgan Moore, a

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00:29:49.720 --> 00:29:55.119
regular and appreciated contributor here at Weekly Spooky. And make

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00:29:55.180 --> 00:29:58.140
sure you're subscribed because there's going to be something scary

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00:29:58.200 --> 00:30:01.079
if not two or three scary things to listen to

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00:30:01.380 --> 00:30:05.809
every single day in October, including tomorrow when I sit

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00:30:05.829 --> 00:30:10.410
down with D.L. Wainwright to talk all about folklore and vampires.

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00:30:11.490 --> 00:30:13.150
And I want to say thank you all so much

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00:30:13.210 --> 00:30:16.910
for heading to weeklyspooky.com slash join and supporting us for

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00:30:16.970 --> 00:30:19.579
as little as $ 1 a month. It really does make

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00:30:19.619 --> 00:30:22.180
a huge difference for the show. There are over 90

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00:30:22.180 --> 00:30:25.200
Spookys supporting us, and now's a great time for you

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00:30:25.240 --> 00:30:27.829
to join up as well. And speaking of, I want

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00:30:27.849 --> 00:30:30.490
to say an extra special thank you to our Patreon

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00:30:30.549 --> 00:30:33.190
podcast boosters. Those are folks who pay just a little

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00:30:33.210 --> 00:30:35.170
bit more to hear their names at the end of

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00:30:35.210 --> 00:30:38.579
the show. And they are Johnny Nix, Kate and Lulu,

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00:30:38.650 --> 00:30:42.740
Jessica Fuller, Mike Eschewy, Jenny Green, Karen Weemet, Jack Kerr,

376
00:30:43.079 --> 00:30:45.019
and Craig Cohen. Thank you all so much. And if

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00:30:45.059 --> 00:30:46.420
you want to hear your name at the end of

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00:30:46.480 --> 00:30:50.299
every episode of Weekly Spooky, just head to weeklyspooky.com slash

379
00:30:50.339 --> 00:30:52.680
join and sign up at the $ 15 a month or

380
00:30:52.759 --> 00:30:55.819
higher tier. It really makes a difference and means a

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00:30:55.880 --> 00:30:58.599
whole hell of a lot to me. But now it's

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00:30:58.660 --> 00:31:00.359
time for me to get back to work because as

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00:31:00.440 --> 00:31:04.519
October approaches, we'll be publishing more than just once a day.

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00:31:04.900 --> 00:31:08.869
We'll have special novellas, extra stories, all kinds of goodies

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00:31:08.930 --> 00:31:12.089
for you to enjoy right here, so make sure you're subscribed.

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00:31:12.710 --> 00:31:14.599
Now it's time for me to get back to it.

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00:31:14.730 --> 00:31:18.029
So many things to record, including a very special Thursday

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00:31:18.109 --> 00:31:21.650
Thrills episode. with brand new horror Halloween releases you will

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00:31:21.710 --> 00:31:24.369
not want to miss. So, see you tomorrow. For myself,

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00:31:24.410 --> 00:31:27.849
for my executive producers, Rob Fields and Bobletopia.com, my producer,

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00:31:27.910 --> 00:31:31.180
Dan Wilder, and my creepy composer, Ray Mattis, talk at

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00:31:31.220 --> 00:31:31.720
you tomorrow.

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Thank you for listening. Make sure to find your way

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00:31:36.500 --> 00:31:43.609
back next week. But for now, you are safe. Trust me.

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