The Conjecturing: A Horror-ish Podcast
Sep 12, 2026 · 28 min · 8 segments
READER BEWARE… Solo-Rob tackles one of his favorite childhood passions... GOOSEBUMP BOOKS!! In this first book review, reaction & commentary, he checks out Monster Blood: Ch 1-3 by RL Stine (1992) and…
Please don't leave me.
Evan Ross tugged his mother's hand, trying to pull her away from the front stoop of the small gray singled house.
Mrs. Ross turned to him, impatient frown on her face.
I'm gonna do a female's voice.
Okay, everybody? All right.
Evan, you're 12 years old.
Don't act like an infant, she said.
That was a pretty horrible voice.
That was pretty horrible.
Let's see if I can do better.
All right, okay.
Evan, you're 12 years old.
Don't act like an infant, she said, freezing her hand from his grasp.
I hate when you say that, Evan exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Softening her expression, she reached out and ran her hand tenderly through Evan's curly carrot-colored hair.
Oh, a ginger.
Okay, all right, that's good to know then, I guess.
Um, uh, and I hate it when you do that, he cried, backing away from her, nearly stumbling over a broken flagstone in the walk.
Don't touch my hair.
I hate it, he said.
Okay, so you hate me, his mother said with a shrug.
She climbed up the two steps and knocked.
Knocked on the front door.
I hate it when there's like a page break like that.
Come on.
Please don't leave me.
Evan Ross tugged his mother's hand, trying to pull her away from the front stoop of the small gray singled house.
Mrs. Ross turned to him, impatient frown on her face.
I'm gonna do a female's voice.
Okay, everybody? All right.
Evan, you're 12 years old.
Don't act like an infant, she said.
That was a pretty horrible voice.
That was pretty horrible.
Let's see if I can do better.
All right, okay.
Evan, you're 12 years old.
Don't act like an infant, she said, freezing her hand from his grasp.
I hate when you say that, Evan exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Softening her expression, she reached out and ran her hand tenderly through Evan's curly carrot-colored hair.
Oh, a ginger.
Okay, all right, that's good to know then, I guess.
Um, uh, and I hate it when you do that, he cried, backing away from her, nearly stumbling over a broken flagstone in the walk.
Don't touch my hair.
I hate it, he said.
Okay, so you hate me, his mother said with a shrug.
She climbed up the two steps and knocked.
Knocked on the front door.
I hate it when there's like a page break like that.
Come on.
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