The Breeze Files
Talking about the paranormal
The Breeze Files
The Bloody Pit Ghosts of the Hoosac Tunnel
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Beneath the mountains of western Massachusetts lies a railroad tunnel so deadly that workers gave it a name that still sends chills down the spine: The Bloody Pit.
In this episode of The Breeze Files, Cody and Nick explore the horrifying true story of the Hoosac Tunnel, a 19th-century engineering marvel built at an unimaginable human cost. Explosions, cave-ins, toxic gas, flooding, and one of the most tragic industrial accidents in American history claimed the lives of nearly 200 workers, leaving behind tales of ghostly apparitions, phantom voices echoing through the darkness, and shadowy figures that investigators say still haunt the tunnel today.
Was The Bloody Pit cursed from the very beginning, or are the spirits of those who died beneath the mountain still trapped within its stone walls? Join us as we uncover the history, the tragedy, and the chilling paranormal legends surrounding one of America’s most haunted tunnels.
Lock your doors, dim the lights, and descend into The Bloody Pit… if you dare.
It Knows your listening
This episode discusses fatal workplace accidents.
SPEAKER_02There are places that feel wanted because of what people say. There are places that feel it because of what absolutely nearly five miles from the earth.
SPEAKER_01Working by lantern light. Working by hand. Working in smoke, dust, freezing water, falling rock, blasting powder, darkness so complete it must have felt a lot.
SPEAKER_02The Hoozak Tunnel was supposed to be a miracle.
SPEAKER_01A passage through the Hoozak range. A way to connect towns, markets, rail lines, and industries. A triumph of engineering. A victory over geography. But before the first train ever passed through it, workers gave it another name. It wasn't a proud name. Or a technical name. A name whispered by men who knew what the mountain had already taken. They called it the Bloody Pit. Imagine standing at the mouth of that tunnel. The rails disappear into blackness. Cold air spills out from inside the mountain. Not a breeze. A breath. The kind of breath that makes your skin tighten before your mind understands why. You look in, you can't see the end. You can barely see twenty feet. The darkness doesn't sit still. It seems to lean toward you. And somewhere beyond that dark, the tunnel keeps going. A mile, two miles, three, four, almost five miles through stone. Now imagine being inside it before electricity, before the modern safety systems. Before rescue crews could reach you so quickly. Imagine hearing the blast warning. Scramble of boots. The hiss of a fuse. The moment everyone holds their breath. And then sometimes the blast worked. Sometimes the rock gave way. Sometimes progress was measured in feet. Sometimes it was measured in bodies. Men were crushed, drowned, burned, buried. And on one October day in eighteen sixty-seven, thirteen workers descended into the central shaft. And never came back alive. Above them, something caught fire. The building over the shaft exploded into flames. The machinery failed, the way out vanished, and below, more than a thousand feet beneath the surface, thirteen men were trapped in the dark. No sunlight, no ladder, no escape. Just smoke. Water, falling debris, and the terrible understanding that no one could reach them. Long after the dead were counted, stories began to move through the tunnel. Workers heard voices, moans, footsteps where no one was walking, lights deep in the black, figures carrying tools through mist and snow. Some said the men who died under the mountain never truly left it. Others said the tunnel itself was cursed. And maybe that is what happens when a place is built from ambition, but paid for in blood. Tonight we're going into the Who's Act Tum, a place of engineering, a place of disaster, a place where history and folklore meet in the dark. This is the Breeze Files.
SPEAKER_00Nick. Never cage, Holly. Cody's my best friend, because someone has to be his friend.
SPEAKER_01I'm pretty sure you don't have any other friends in there.
SPEAKER_00I don't need friends. I got you.
SPEAKER_01Alright, so anyway, we have a good episode. Actually, no, not good. Spectacular episode prepared for you guys today. It's a bloody mess. It's a massacre. It's in the dark. I'm scared of thinking about it. It's gonna give me nightmares.
SPEAKER_00Probably not, but there's trains.
SPEAKER_01Yeah, there is, Nick. There's some trains. Before we get started though, I did wanna I did want to talk to you guys a little bit about uh yesterday. I watched Project Hell Mary. And I know that doesn't have anything to do with ghosts or ghouls or goblins, but Jesus, that was a good movie. Um I haven't watched anything that good in quite some time where you know it I felt an impact afterwards. Uh and it made Nick watched it a little bit after me. He cried. I didn't because I'm a big strong man. But Nick, what do you think of the movie?
SPEAKER_00Come on, say it. No, I I really liked it. Um I'm a big fan of Ryan Gosling, and I uh you know, listen to the reviews and stuff. But I mean I knew right away if Ryan's in it, it's gonna be pretty good. So um I gave it a shot and it had me hooked from beginning to end. Um Ryan did a really, really good job. Um his acting was phenomenal. Uh the story was incredible. Um, it hit on all the notes, I think a good movie should have. Um, you know, plot, acting, music. Um you know, it hit the whole spectrum of feelings. Um, it's funny, it's sad, um, it's emotional. Um, there's twists and turns, and the ending is satisfying. Um, I loved it. Uh, best movie I've watched, probably in two or three years. Um, nothing in recent memory has come close to how good this movie was. So and um yeah, you saying you didn't cry, that's bullshit. Everyone cried.
SPEAKER_01Anyway, so yes, that that movie. I recommend that movie to anybody that wants to feel something and he hits a spot on Ryan Gosling. Does a stupendous job in that role? All right, so we're gonna move on to the topic of today. Nick chose this topic we were covering this week. Uh Nick, can you tell me a little bit about it?
SPEAKER_00Sure. Um, so the goal was to find a story that kind of hits um all the right notes, right? So um, you know, I'm looking, I'm researching, and I found this story about a tunnel um in Massachusetts. Uh that's, I mean, the bloody pit, I mean, right away. You know, that I mean, it's disturbing, it's interesting, and um, but yeah, I wanted to pick something different from the usual haunted house or cryptid story. Uh the Hoozak Tunnel, uh, it grabbed me because the real history is already terrifying before you even get to the real ghost stories. Uh it's a nearly five-mile railroad tunnel, uh carved straight through a mountain, Massachusetts. Um, nearly 200 men died during the construction. Uh, so the tragedy behind it is very real. Uh the central shaft disaster is part of that uh that story that really got me. Um, you have men trapped underground, uh, no way out. Um, if I was in that uh position, which anytime we tell a story, I'm always putting myself um in the story. And uh yeah, I would I would hate that. Um what makes it interesting to me um that the haunting is more uh the haunting lore feels like it's uh it naturally grew out of the history. And even if you're a skeptic like me uh about ghosts, uh a place like that still feels haunted because of uh what happened. Uh it's creepy, historical, tragic, um atmospheric. Basically uh the exact thing that fits the breeze file. So um, Cody, I think you're gonna enjoy this. Um I enjoyed reading about it. Um yeah, it's I think it's perfect for the breeze file. So my body is ready.
SPEAKER_01Thank you for that long description. At least it is thorough, so now everybody knows what's going on. Um but yes, let's get into it then. Tonight's story takes us to western Massachusetts, to a mountain that stood in the way of progress, into a tunnel that earned one of the darkest nicknames in American railroad history. The bloody.
SPEAKER_00Before the Houstack Tunnel was a ghost story, it was a business problem. In the early 1800s, northern Massachusetts had factories, mills, and farms, and towns that needed connection. Goods had to move, and railroads were becoming the future. Industry was growing, and speed mattered. But between the towns of western Massachusetts and the routes leading west, there was a wall of rock. It wasn't just scenery, it was an obstacle. A hard, stubborn, ancient obstacle. If you wanted to move people in products or that part of New England, the mountain dictated your choices. You went around, you paid more, you lost time, you lost money, or you found a way through. That was the dream. A tunnel, not a short tunnel, not a little cut through a hillside, a tunnel almost five miles long, drilled through solid mountain. Today, that still sounds intimidating. In the middle of the 1800s, it sounded almost impossible, but that did not stop people from wanting it. Businessmen wanted it. Railroad men wanted it. Politicians wanted it. Engineers wanted to prove it could be done. If they could cut through the Hoozak range, they could create a crucial railroad connection through northern Massachusetts. It would mean trade, growth, power, progress. That word comes up a lot in stories like this. Progress. It sounds clean, it sounds noble, but progress has a shadow. Because someone always has to stand in the mud and build it. Someone has to swing the hammer, someone has to drill the hole, someone has to light the fuse, and someone has to go into the dark first. The work began in the 1850s. Almost immediately, the mountain made something clear. It was not going to make this easy. The tunnel was supposed to be a marvel. Instead, it became a war. Man versus stone. Machine versus mountain. Ambition versus reality. And the reality was brutal. The Hoozak Tunnel was dangerous for a lot of reasons. But one of the biggest was this. The dream was ahead of the tools. The people behind the project wanted something enormous. A nearly five-mile passage through a mountain. But the technology was still developing. The methods were experimental. The machines were imperfect. The explosives were powerful but dangerous. This was not a modern tunnel project with computer models, advanced ventilation systems, strict safety rules, and the equipment designed by generation of engineers who already knew what could go wrong. This was the 1800s. This was men trying to force a railroad through a mountain with drills, steam power, black powder, nitroglycerin, early machinery, and a level of risk that is hard to even imagine now. Early in the project, engineers tried using a massive stone-cutting machine. It failed almost immediately. It got only a short distance into the mountain before the mountain won. That failure set the tone for the entire project. The Hoozak Tunnel would not be easy. It would not be quick. It would not be gentle. So workers went back to the slower, harsher methods. Drill holes into the rock, pack them with explosive, and blast. Clear the debris, brace the tunnel, and move forward. Repeat, again and again, and again, feet at a time, sometimes inches. Imagine how maddening that must have been. You're not building a house where you can see walls going up. You are not building a road where you can look behind you and see the distance covered. You're inside a wound in the mountain. A blast. A breath of dust. You haul rock, hear water dripping, you feel the ceiling above you, and the next day the mountain is still there. Critics call the project the Great Boar. And honestly, the name fits. It was literally being bored through the mountain. People were also getting tired of it. The cost kept rising. The timeline kept stretching. Work started and stopped. Companies failed. The state got involved and new engineers came in. Old methods were abandoned, new methods were tested, and every solution seemed to create a new danger. But the project kept going. Because by then, too much money, pride, and political will had been sunk into the mountain. And once human beings decide they are going to beat something, especially something made of stone, they do not always stop just because the stone starts fighting back. The longer the Hoozak Tunnel went on, the more it became more than a railroad project. It became a test. Could the mountain be conquered? Could modern engineering win? Could the state justify the cost? Could the workers survive long enough to see daylight on the other side? That last question had the darkest answer. Because the tunnel was not just expensive. It was hungry.
SPEAKER_01To understand why workers called it the bloody pit, you have to understand the conditions. It was a long collection of them. Explosions, falling rock, equipment failures, flooding, fire, suffocation, accidents involving ladders, gathering voices and machinery. This was dangerous work in a dangerous place. And the man did not care how careful anyone was. Workers rolled in a rock by hand. They loaded explosives into holes. They waited for blast. They cleared unstable debris. They worked beneath stone that could crack shift and fall. They worked in darkness broken only by lanterns and lamps. It was a mountain. And if the mountain moved, there might not be a warning. Over time, the project became a place where innovation and death walked together. The Hoosak Tunnel helped push tunneling technology forward. Compressed air drills improved progress. Nitroglycerin, more powerful than black powder, changed blasting. Electric detonation allowed explosions to be triggered in more controlled ways. But more advanced did not mean safe. Especially not at first. Nitroglycerin was powerful, but it was also unstable. The same force that helped break the mountain apart could break men apart with it. Picture workers handling it in the 1860s. Not in a modern safety lab. Not with the kind of regulations we would expect now. But in a rough industrial landscape of temporary camps, machine shops, blacksmith buildings, blasting supplies, mud, smoke, and urgency. Every day the mountain demanded progress. And every day men went. But once a number gets that large, it almost becomes abstract. But those were not abstract debts. Those were workers. Fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, immigrants, laborers. Men trying to make a living. Men who woke up, report to work, entered the mountain, and never made it home. And the tunnel kept going. That's one of the coldest parts of this story. The mountain took men. The next shift still had to report. The work continued. The drill started again, which means the dust rose again. The fuses were lit again. And the tunnel reached forward foot by foot, through blood and stone. As terrible as the ongoing accidents were, one day in 1867 would become the story at the center of the tunnel's darkness. The central shaft disaster. Thirteen men deep underground and a fire above. The central shaft was supposed to solve the problem. To build a tunnel nearly five miles long, crews could not only dig from eastern and western ends and hope to me. That would take too long. So engineers create a vertical shaft. Into the mountain. If they could reach the town line from above, workers could descend into the central section and dig outward from inside the mountain. In theory, this was brilliant. Instead of attacking the mountain from two sides, attack it from four. But to do that, men had to be lowered deep into the earth. The central shaft tropped more than a thousand feet. Now imagine that. Not walking into a tunnel, but being lowered into one. The cage or platform descending into a vertical trope of stone. The light above shrinking, the air changing, and the voices at the surface fading. And below you was work. On October seventeenth, eighteen sixty seven, thirteen men went down to the central shaft. Above them sat a building that held equipment, supplies, lamps, boils, and materials connected to the work. It was a dangerous combination. You had wood, flame, fuel, explosives, a deep shaft, and men trapped below it. Around midday, fire broke out. The building above the shaft was engulfed. There was panic at the surface. Men tried to respond, but the fire spread too quickly. The structure collapsed. Burning debris, tools, bringing wreckage fell down into the shaft. The machinery that could have lifted the workers out was damaged and destroyed. The way up was gone. And below, those thirteen men were sealed in. Take a second to think about the shape of that fear. It's not a monster or a ghost or something supernatural. It's the realization that the only exit is above you. And above you is fire. You're deep underground. You do not know exactly what is happening in the surface. You hear noise, debris, maybe some shouting, and the dull roar of flames traveling downward. Then smoke and the sound of water. Because without working pumps, without working ventilation, without a clear way down, the shaft began to turn against them. The rescuers tried. One man, Thomas Mallory, was lowered down more than once to look for survivors. Before he went down, he reportedly made out his will. That detail tells you everything. He knew what he was descending into. And what he found was almost no air. A shaft filling with poison, smoke, and death. He came back barely conscious and reported no one could survive down there. The worst part is that it took a long time before the bodies could be recovered. For their families, the mound did not just kill them, it kept them. When the bodies were eventually reached, the scene suggested that some of the men may have survived for a time. They had reportedly built a crude raft to stay above the rising water. So with that for a second. The shaft flooding, the air thinning, the dark pressing in. Thirteen men trying to survive on a makeshift raft underground. Waiting, listening, hoping for rescue. Maybe calling upward. Maybe praying. Maybe hearing only the mountain answer back. The Hoozak Tunnel was already dangerous before that day. But after the central shaft disaster, the story changed. The tunnel was no longer just a difficult project. It became something darker. A grave. A warning. A place where men could be swallowed and kept.
SPEAKER_00After something like that, you would think the project would stop. At least emotionally. You would think people would say, no, this is too much. Thirteen men trapped underground. Families left waiting for bodies that could not be reached. A shaft that became a tomb. And yet, the work continued. That might be one of the hardest things to process above the project. History loves the finished product. The tunnel, the bridge, the railroad, the landmark, the achievement. But the people building it had to live inside the unfinished version. They did not get the clean, completed story. They got the mud, the smoke, the partial walls, the bad air, the broken machines, and the funerals. And after the funerals, the whistle blew again. Go back in. Keep digging. The mountain is not done with you. That is how folklore begins. Not always with someone lying. Not always with someone making up a campfire story. Sometimes folklore begins because people need a shape for fear. The tunnel gave them plenty. There were stories of unexplained lights. Stories of voices. Stories of figures seen near the mountain. Stories of mournful sounds from inside the tunnel. Workers complained. People whisper. And once a place has a name like the bloody pit, every strange thing that happens there gets pulled into the legend. A lantern becomes a ghost lane. An echo becomes a voice. A draught becomes breath. A shadow becomes a man with a pickaxe, still walking the ship. And the tunnel had earned that interpretation. Because nothing about it felt neutral. It had history in the walls before the walls were even finished. There's another story from that tunnel that feels almost too strange to leave out. The story of Ringo Kelly. Like many details connected to the Buzak Tunnel, this one lives somewhere between recorded history, rumor, and folklore. But it became part of the tunnel's dark mythology. In 1865, workers were using nitroglycerin for blasting. This was cutting-edge and extremely dangerous. According to one commonly repeated account, three men were involved in setting a charge. Two men were still trying to reach safety when the blast went off early, and they were killed. The third man, Ringo Kelly, was suspected by some workers of setting out the explosion before the others were clear. Whether that suspicion was fair or not, it had attached itself to him. And then Kelly disappeared. And for weeks no one knew where he was. Then his body was reportedly found inside the tunnel, near the place where the other two men had died. He had been strangled. No one was ever convicted. That story changes the atmosphere of the tunnel. The central shaft disaster is tragic, but this is sinister. Because now the tunnel is not only a place of accidents, it becomes a place of suspicion, revenge, guilt, unanswered death. Some said Kelly was killed by men. Others whispered that something else had taken its revenge. The truth is unclear. But the story stayed. And in a place already known for death, even an unsolved killing becomes part of the haunting. Because ghost stories are rarely only about the dead. They're about guilt, fear, suspicion, the feeling that something unresolved is still moving through a place. And the Hoozak Tunnel had unresolved darkness everywhere. After more than 20 years of work, after the failures, the restarts, the political battles, the machines, the drills, the explosions, the deaths, and the disasters, the Hoozak Tunnel was finally complete. And that is where the story tries to put on a rhythm. The last rock is cleared. The tunnel is open. The first train passes through. Progress wins. Everyone claps. But the Hoozak Tunnel does not let the story end that cleanly. Because when that first train went through, it was not just passing through a mountain. It was passing through a graveyard of labor. Every foot of that tunnel had been paid for. Some sections in money, some in blood. Think about what it must have sounded like the first time a train moved through. The iron wheels on rails. The engine breathing smoke. The sound amplified by stone. The tunnel taking that noise and throwing it back. A train in the open air is loud. A train inside a mountain must have sounded like the end of the world. And the workers who survived got to see it happen. But not all of them. Not even close. Nearly 200 men did not live to see the achievement completed. And that is the tragedy of it. Their work became part of the structure. Not symbolically, literally. The rock they blasted, the debris they hauled, the bricks they laid, the shaft they dug, the air they breathed, the danger they endured, it all became the tunnel. And once a place is built that way, it's hard to look at it as only a piece of infrastructure. It becomes a monument. Even if no one meant for it to be one.
SPEAKER_01The ghost stories. According to folklore, strange reports began circulating around the Hoozak Tunnel even before construction was fully complete. Workers claimed to hear voices, mournful sounds, cries from the door. And then there's expectation. Your brain does not walk in the room. You're scanning for danger. You're listening hard. You're watching the door. Trying not to be scared, which usually makes you more scared. Your body rats you out immediately. And the Hoozak tunnel is also dangerous in real-world ways. It's an active railroad tunnel. That means the scariest thing in there is not a ghost, it's a train. So no one listening to this should ever go inside it. No trespassing, no ghost hunt. No, the podcast made me curious. Don't do it. History and folklore from a distance. From a skeptical perspective, a lot of the ghost stories can be explained. A lot of them, yes. But not necessarily all of them. And that is where the story keeps its teeth. Because even if every single apparition was misidentified, even if every voice was an echo, even if every light had a normal explanation, the tunnel is still haunted. By history, by memory, by human cost. You not need a ghost for the central shaft disaster to be terrifying. You do not need a spirit to explain why workers were afraid. You not need a demon in the mountain for the place to feel cursed. Sometimes cursed is just the word people use when a project keeps demanding bodies. The bloody pit is not scary because people saw shapes in the dark. It is scary because we know exactly why they expected to. What makes the Hoozak Tunnel so unsettling? Let's imagine it. Standing near the mouth of the Hoozak Tunnel at night. The legal safe distance. The smart distance. The distance where your brain is still saying, This is fine, but your stomach disagrees. The landscape is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes small sounds feel personal. Wind moves through the trees. Stone holds the days cold. The rails run toward the opening and disappear into black. The tunnel mouth looks less like an entrance and more like an absence. A missing piece of the mountain. You stand there, you look into it, and immediately your eyes try to solve the darkness. They search for shape, for depth, for movement. But the darkness gives nothing back. Just black. The kind of black that makes you feel older than the tunnel itself. You think about the workers. Men with dirt under their nails. Men with families in the camp nearby. Men who probably complained about the cold, the pain, the bosses, the danger, the food, the exhaustion. Real men. Not ghost story props. Men who woke up in the morning and went to work. Men who expected to come back. You think about the central shaft. All the fire, the smoke, the raft in the dark. The long wait before recovery. And suddenly the tunnel mouth seems different. Not just empty. But now it's occupied. But not by a figure you can see, but by the knowledge that you have. By the awareness that the mountains is not just stone. It is witness. You hear something. Maybe it's water. Or a loose piece of metal. Or maybe the mountain's settling. Maybe it's nothing. You hear it again. A knock. Farther in. Then another. You keep telling yourself there's an explanation. Of course there is. Everything is explainable if you stand far enough away from it. But then the air changes. The cold pushes out from the tunnel. It moves over your face. Over your hands. And for one second, it does not feel like the wind. It feels like breath. You see a light deep inside. Tiny. A blue white. Maybe a reflection. A signal. Maybe your eyes are inventing hope inside the dark. The light moves. Slowly. It's not coming toward you exactly, but it's also not going away. Just moving where nothing should be moving. You blink, and it's gone. And now the tunnel is black again. But it's not empty. That's the difference. Before it was dark. Now it feels like something is hiding the light from you. Then from somewhere impossible to place, you hear a sound. It's not loud. It's not clear. It's definitely not human. It's a low moan. Or maybe a voice stretched thin by distance and stone. Your mind reaches for all the explanations. Wind, water, animal, echo, train, anything. Then the rails begin to hum. A vibration under the ground. A reminder that the tunnel is not abandoned. It is still used. Still active. Still swallowing sound and steel. A train is coming from somewhere afar. Maybe not visible yet. Maybe miles from where you stand. But the tunnel knows before you do. The rails know. The mountain knows. And in that moment, every ghost story makes sense. Because the Hoozak Tunnel is not scary because it is dead.
SPEAKER_02It's scary because it's still alive.
SPEAKER_01Wow. What a fucking story. This was a good pick this week, Nick. Um is heavy. That's a heavy story. I mean, describing the way that these people, the the working men, especially the 13 that got lost in the central shaft, that'd be one the most terrifying experiences anybody could imagine. And I always go back to it and I always will, but a place like that, it remembers all the darkness, all the tragedy. And I think this is another example of one of those places where your thoughts.
SPEAKER_00Darkness, water, no idea whether you're gonna get rescued or not. Um for our claustrophobic listeners, uh, I'm sure this did a number on you. Um yeah, it's very interesting, uh scary. Uh I would definitely not like to be in a situation like that. Very interesting.
SPEAKER_01But Nick, earlier, uh, because Nick works in the union uh and knows more about this than me, but he was telling me actually, Nick, talk about the OSHA thing.
SPEAKER_00All right, Cody. So in the 1970s, um uh a program was started, OSHA. It's designed for workplace safety. And it took uh, you know, this story takes place in the 1870s, so uh 100 years later, OSHA was established uh to help workers and uh you know being safe on work sites. And it's crazy that it took all this time just to create an organization for workplace safety. And I mean, could you imagine the difference if OSHA was alive and well back then? Maybe some of the people would have been alive and well to witness the the Hoozak tunnels uh actually operate with uh you know with trains and not you know be buried in, you know. You know what I mean? You you want to come into work and go home, your families are expecting you, and and unfortunately, like there's just so many instances in that situation where they never came home and they never got uh you know be with their families or see like the victory of their their labor in the end where the the rails became operational, you know what I mean?
SPEAKER_01So I'm gonna go with I'm going to I think it took so long for that to be instituted because people as you know we started to further as a society, people start to catch on to these workplace incidents and start suing the shit out of these companies. So that's why OSHA was created to protect these companies, is what I'm guessing in some way. Because in the 1860s, they're like, who gives a shit? You know, these guys are expendable next man up. Unfortunately, you know, that's just the way big companies are. You know, they don't care. Uh not to get it. Yeah, it's way off topic. Anyway. Anything else? Any closing notes, Nick?
SPEAKER_00Uh just a reminder to our viewers, uh, this is an active railway. So please do not ghost hunt in these tunnels. Uh, we would hate to see the body count grow after all of this. So um be safe in your ghost hunting. Uh, do not play around with haunted railways, please.
SPEAKER_01All right, thank you. And uh my closing notes, uh any submissions from anybody, uh, go ahead if you want to talk, tell your story, any kind of paranormal story, ghost story that you, your family member, your friend, your uncle, your neighbor has had, go ahead and send it our way to Breeze Files IG, Breeze Files TikTok, Breeze and Maverick on Facebook, um, or Cody Breeze25 at gmail.com, which is codybr e-z two five at gmail.com. I spell breeze two different ways, different things. It's stupid. I know I'm an idiot. Anyway, I hope to get some more submissions. Also, if you guys just want us to talk about something you guys are interested in, we'll take, like, you know, um what word am I looking for?
SPEAKER_00Um your uh your ideas about topics. Yeah. Yeah. If you guys have any ideas about specific topics that you'd like Cody and I to cover, um message us, you shoot it over. Um Cody's already covered, you know, where to find him. We're also Breeze and Maverick on Facebook. Um feel free to message us on there. Uh comment, whatever you'd like, reach out, please.
SPEAKER_01All right. With that, thank you guys for listening. We very much appreciate it. Um it's always a pleasure to tell you guys these stories. But just a reminder, it knows you're listening.