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I Spent a Night Inside Ted Bundy’s Murder Cellar. I’ll Regret It for the Rest of My Life

Estimated reading time — 11 minutes

My name is Clyde, and I’m a local near Salt Lake City, Utah.  Ted Bundy is a well-known legend here in Northern Utah, as many of his murders occurred in or around Salt Lake.  Regretfully, I had the bright idea of spending the night at the property where he is believed to have murdered many of his victims. 

Chances are most people know who Ted Bundy is, or have at least heard his name.  In case you don’t know, I’ll give you a quick rundown.  Ted Bundy was one of the most notorious Serial Killers in modern times.  He admitted to killing at least 30 Women, but it is suspected that his actual body count is 70 or more.  In Utah alone, Bundy admitted to 8 murders.  Salt Lake City Police records indicate that he may have committed as many as 11 murders.  In 1989, he finally met his fate on the electric chair.

Now back to me.  I’ve started a YouTube channel that I am trying to grow.  After Netflix recently put out a movie, starring Zach Efron as Ted Bundy, I thought that making a Halloween Special vlog of a full night stay ay Ted Bundy’s Murder Cellar would garner tens of thousands of clicks and subscriptions.  


Many locals around my Salt Lake and surrounding cities have at least visited the property as teenagers. Despite efforts to keep the address under wraps, the location of the property is widely known.

Although Bundy himself actually lived elsewhere in the city, in a small apartment that is still inhabited, the local Urban Legend has it that his killings took place at his small shack of a cabin.  The property is located just past the entrance of the beautifully forested Emigration Canyon.  My research shows that the cabin has since been demolished, but the cellar and its entrance are still standing.  The Cellar is where he apparently tortured and killed his victims

To avoid drawing any attention, I parked my Subaru about a mile away, near a local trailhead.  After making sure that nobody was watching, I took a turn off trail and into the woods, stepping off towards my true destination.  

It’s truly beautiful in that canyon.  I watched the sunset peeking through the orange and yellow fall leaves.  It was quiet too, I could barely hear the gentle whoosh of passing cars on the nearby road.  The only other audible sound was the rustling of the leaves in the cool autumn breeze.  It’s hard to understand how anybody could have any violent intentions while standing in this peaceful forest of solitude.  

After a 45 minute hike, I finally found it.  There was the Cellar, standing alone in a gentle wooded clearing.  It was painted white, with a red pentagram spray-painted on the outside.  The wooden door had a thick padlock on it, but there was a large hole in the middle as if someone had smashed through it.  Next to it, you could see the foundation outlining the small shack of a cabin that once stood there.

The sunset provided a perfect time to start filming.  I pulled my camera out of my backpack.  Holding my arm outstretched, I pointed the camera back at myself.  “Welcome back to the Channel and Happy Halloween.  Today, we’re doing something truly terrifying.  We’re standing now, at the remains of Ted Bundy’s murder cabin.”  I flipped the camera around to show the cellar.  “Inside here, down these stairs, is where he tortured and murdered as many as 12 women.  This is where I will be spending the night.  Should we go inside?”  


Honestly, I’m not even sure if this truly was Ted Bundy’s cellar.  There’s a lot of conflicting information out there, but not a lot of substantiated evidence.  Chances are, the stories of the murder cabin were nothing more than a local Urban Legend passed around by teens looking for a thrill.  The viewers didn’t need to know that though, and it made the event less scary for me.  

I took the camera with me through the hole, and down the dreary stairs into the dank cellar.  It was dark, so I clicked on the flashlight attached to my camera rig.  I pointed the camera to various parts of the small cellar room.  Showing the cement walls covered in graffiti, the dirty floor, and old rusty pipes.  While showing the room, I told the viewers about the stories and legends of Ted Bundy’s infamous murders, making them as dramatic and horrible as I can.  

After turning on my larger lantern to light up the room, I realized what I was standing on.  Painted on the concrete floor was a large red pentagram.  This was not a sloppy spray paint job, like what was on the outside of the cellar entrance.  This was a perfectly proportioned pentagram.  That discovery really should have been my first clue to leave.  

It was night now, and completely dark.  Time to get the real show going.  I set the camera on the tripod and focused the view at the center of the pentagram.  Out of my backpack, I retrieved the prop that would really draw views, an old Ouija Board that I had purchased on eBay.  I honestly didn’t believe that anything would happen.  My plan was to simply make the planchette move on my own and pretend as if the ghosts of Bundy’s victims were talking to me.  

I showed the board to the camera, and lit a few candles for a creepy vibe.  Setting the board down in the middle of the pentagram, I made circles with the planchette while chanting, “Ouija, Ouija, Ouija.”  Google taught me that was how you start the game. 

“Are there any spirits in here that would like to communicate?”  I asked loudly, to nobody but the camera.  I slowly moved the planchette until it rested over the “Yes.”  I gave a shocked look at the camera.  “What is your name?”  I asked the imaginary spirit.  

I slowly moved the planchette to the letters, intending to spell out the name of one of X’s victims.  N-A-N-C…. At this point, I felt a small tug on the planchette.  I stopped moving towards the Y.  Although I had stopped moving it, the planchette continued to move in an arc by the edge of the board.  I was no longer controlling the planchette, it was moving on its own.  Now, I was truly terrified, this was not what was supposed to happen. 

The planchette completed its arc and cut diagonally through the center of the board, where it curved back up.  It sped up at this point, completing a figure eight, and continuing into the next one.  Terrified, I let go, but the planchette kept moving in figure eights.  It was speeding up, going faster and faster.

That was it.  This was too much and it was time for me to go.  I got up and turned for the stairs when everything changed.  Immediately, a different type of darkness fell, and it was suddenly so cold that I could see my breath.  My eyes and ears were deceiving me, everything around me was altered.  All sound ceased to exist.  I felt like I had taken acid and slipped into a different dimension somewhere between Earth and Hell. 

That’s when the shadows appeared around me.  These were the shadows of monstrous winged creatures.  The shadows moved around the room, reaching at me.  My hearing returned with a vengeance.  I could now hear the horrific sounds of painstaking screams and cries, combined with the horrendous laughter of the shadow creatures.  

As I started for the stairs, a foul shadow beast appeared right in front of me, screaming at me as it grabbed at my chest.  I stumbled backward and slipped on the wooden planchette.  I fell to the ground, smacking my head in the cement ground.  Everything went black.

When I came to, I was walking through a house that I did not recognize.  I was horrified to realize that I had no control over my movements.  As I was reaching for the doorknob, I saw that my hands weren’t my hands at all.  It was as if I was living a vivid dream, getting the first-person view of someone else’s life.  

We quietly entered the room that was behind that door, where a young beautiful brunette girl was sitting at a desk reading a textbook.  Above her was a mirror, and I could now see who’s head I was trapped in.  The mirror showed that behind the girl, stood a handsome man that I recognized from pictures I had seen in my research.  I was inside Ted Bundy’s head.  Just as she looked up, seeing the man behind her in the mirror, Bundy swung down a hard metal pipe, knocking her out before she could scream.  Everything went black again 

Now we were back in the cellar.  I was still watching from the eyes of Bundy with no control over our movements.  The beautiful girl was awake now, her hands and feet bound tightly with thick black strings.  She was crying, begging, and pleading for us to let her go.  In all my life, I have never seen someone look so scared.  I saw Bundy’s hand rise, holding a kitchen knife.  


NO!  I tried to scream, but I couldn’t.  I tried to take control of the body, but I was powerless.  I watched horrified as Bumdy plunged the knife into the girl.  He ripped the knife out, splattering blood on our face.  He continued to stab the girl, stabbing over and over and over.  I could hear and feel her ribs crunching under the force of the knife, as blood spattered everywhere.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even close my eyes.  I was forced to watch the entire heinous murder.  Finally, just after she took her final gurgled breath, everything went black again.

I woke up on the cellar floor, as the sunlight was trickling back in through the hole in the cellar door.  My head pounded from the fall.  I sat up, recalling that awful dream.  It was relieving to be in my own head again.  I remembered the events with the shadow creatures, and I thought that possibly the ghost of Ted Bundy had somehow shown me one of his kills through my dream. Disgruntled, I sat up and realized that my shoes weren’t on.  Also, I was wet.  Everything was wet as if I had been sleeping in a puddle.  

As I looked down, I realized that I had indeed been laying in a puddle, a puddle of blood.  Horrified I realized that I was covered in blood.  My hands were coated in partially dried blood, and my clothes were covered in it.  Panicked, I stood up to look down at the bloody mess.

On the ground, was the girl from the dream.  She was pale, cold, bloody, and dead.  I gazed at the once beautiful and lively girl, now covered in blood and stab wounds.  “NO!”  I screamed out loud.  I dropped to my knees and checked her pulse as if there were some chance she was still alive.  Needless to say, there was no pulse. 

I hurried over on the camera, still on the tripod.  The battery was dead.  I fumbled through my backpack in a hurried panic.  At the bottom, I found the extra battery and inserted it into the camera.  Hopefully, I at least caught the true killer on camera.  I played the video. 

What I saw wasn’t Ted Bundy, nor was it a shadow creature.  The horrifying  footage showed ME, dragging the helpless girl down the stairs of the cellar.  It showed me, as I used my shoelaces to bind the girl’s hands and feet.  I watched the video which showed myself, lifting the knife and stabbing the girl while she cried, screamed, and pleaded.

My hands started to shake, and my legs felt as though they would give out.  Every portion of me wanted to collapse, but I had to get out of there.  I grabbed my camera and backpack and ran to the exit.  I stopped and looked back, one more time to the girl.  “I’m so sorry,”  I told her through my tears.  Then I turned and ran back to my car. 

After I got home, I removed my bloody clothes and stuffed them in a black garbage bag.  Even my socks and underwear were soaked.  I hurried to the shower and began vigorously scrubbing the blood off my body with hard brushes and even steel wool.  The puddle of blood I had been laying in had soaked through my clothing and covered me completely, covering every part of my body in blood.

After I finally felt comfortable and clean, I went and sat by my bedroom window to think clearly.  My window provided me a beautiful and calming view of the valley.  I needed to try to relax as much as I possibly could so I could process the events of my horrifying night.  Although I didn’t know if I would ever be able to cope with the fact that I had murdered a girl, even though I didn’t have any control.  I don’t deserve to go to jail for this though, so I knew I had to cover my tracks, as much as the thought of going back that cellar terrified me.    

After nightfall, I drove back to the same trailhead, but parked with the back of my car right beside the wood line.  I had covered the trunk space in plastic and 50-gallon garbage bags.  My Backpack now contained duct tape and 2 gallons of bleach.  The plan was simple.  Get in, bleach the body and knife, bag the body, and dispose of her in a random dumpster.  No body, no DNA, no murder charge.  

I reluctantly, but discreetly, followed my same path to the cellar.  The woods did not provide the same sense of serenity as It previously had.  Now, instead of peace, I felt panic and dread that made me jump at every last sound.  I looked around, paranoid and suspicious of everything.  Finally, I was almost at the property.  As the entrance came into view, I wanted to throw up just thinking about what I was about to do. 


After looking around once again to make sure I was alone, I made a quiet but quick run to the entrance.  Just as I was ready to make my entrance, I realized the hole in the wooden door wasn’t there anymore.  In fact, the door wasn’t even wood, It was solid metal.  I clawed around looking for a way to open the door, but there was no handle or lock.  In fact, the metal door was welded shut on all four sides.  

I took a step back to realize that the cellar looked completely different than It had yesterday.  Last night it had been white, today it was grey.  Even the graffiti was different.  Instead of the red pentagram, there was a colorful skateboarding panda painted there.  I looked around, initially thinking I was in the wrong place, but everything was exactly the same.  I was standing in the same clearing, by the same foundation outline.  I was definitely in the same place.  

I walked around to the backside of the cellar entrance where I received my second mortifying shock of the night.  There was the Ouija Board, my Oujia board that I had used last night, leaning neatly against the exterior wall of the cellar as if the board knew I would come back.  Beside the board sat the planchette.  I picked up the board, to realize that there was even still blood on it.  The blood wasn’t even completely dried.  

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a light.  Snapping my attention back to the moment.  I could see someone walking my way with a flashlight in hand.  “HEY!  THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY.  GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!”  The man yelled.  I didn’t need to be told twice.  I tucked the Ouija board under my arm and ran as fast as I could back to the car, getting whipped in the face by branches in the dark.       

I’m home now, and trying to think as rationally as possible in my current emotional state.  I’ve done more research, and that infamous Cellar was actually welded shut a few months ago.  So what the hell happened to me?  I’ve reviewed the footage, which clearly shows me entering the cellar through a broken wooden door, and murdering the girl.  The footage even showed the correct outside surrounding woods, I’ve even compared it to existing pictures of the property.  It’s the same, but how was there a different door last night?

The worst part is that the local news has now broken of a missing girl, who appears to have been abducted.  I’ve seen the pictures, and I know that it’s the girl that Bundy had murdered, or apparently the girl that I had murdered.  Here in my bedroom sits all of my evidence.  A bag of bloody clothes, a bloody Ouija Board, and most importantly a memory card containing the footage of me murdering the girl.  Everything I need to know that it really happened, and everything a jury would need to give me the death sentence.

I know that, although it was my physical self that committed the murder, I didn’t do it.  I had no control, it was as if the demonic spirit of Ted Bundy himself had possessed my body, and I was forced to live the crime from a first-person perspective.  The Police won’t see it that way of course.  

I’m stuck with two options.  I can either destroy all of this evidence and try to carry on with my life, or take all the evidence to the police and turn myself in hoping a Jury rules me insane.  Part of me believes that I ought to be in a mental institution anyways.  Clearly I’m not well, and I’m terrified to go to sleep.  What If Ted Bundy takes me again and I kill someone else?

I’m going to take some time to make my decision, but I’m writing this account to tell the truth of what happened in the instance that I do end up being arrested.  I understand that it’s hard to believe.  I just hope my family and friends do believe me.

Credit : R. M. Staniforth

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