Full : The Creepy Old Woman Everyone Feared
Part 1: The Creepy Old Woman Everyone Feared... Until She Took a Rotten Apple Onto the America's Got Talent Stage
The America's Got Talent auditions at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium were packed with excitement.
Thousands of fans filled every seat.
The judges had already watched incredible singers, dancers, comedians, and illusionists.
Everyone thought they had seen every kind of magic imaginable.
Then...
The theater suddenly grew quiet.
An 83-year-old woman slowly walked onto the stage.
She wore a long black Victorian-style dress.
A tattered charcoal shawl draped over her shoulders.
Her silver hair hung loosely around her pale face.
Deep wrinkles framed her piercing gray eyes.
She carried an old wooden basket covered with a faded black cloth.
From the audience, she looked more like a mysterious woman from a ghost story...
Than someone auditioning for America's Got Talent.
Nervous whispers spread across the theater.
"She looks terrifying."
"Is this supposed to be a horror act?"
"She belongs in a haunted house."
Several audience members laughed nervously.
Others instinctively leaned back in their seats.
One judge smiled awkwardly.
"Welcome to America's Got Talent."
"What will you be performing today?"
The elderly woman spoke in a calm, gentle voice.
"A little magic."
The audience chuckled.
One judge glanced at the basket.
"And what's inside?"
Without answering, she slowly removed the black cloth.
Inside sat a single rotten apple.
Its skin was blackened.
It was covered with mold and deep cracks.
The audience burst into laughter.
"That's her magic trick?"
"She brought garbage onto the stage."
One judge smiled politely.
"I hope there's a little more to it than that."
The old woman simply smiled.
She carefully placed the rotten apple onto a small wooden table.
Then she slowly rolled up the sleeves of her dress.
The entire theater became silent.
She gently rested one hand above the decaying fruit.
May you like
Closed her eyes.
And whispered something no microphone could pick up.
