As The Raven Dreams Podcast - 50 MORE Of The BEST Scary Stories of 2025 - Part 2 | As The Raven Dreams Podcast

Episode Date: December 29, 2025

Today we have over NINE FULL HOURS Of True Scary Stories for you to Enjoy! This is the SECOND HALF Of the Best Of for 2025! There will be 2 ad breaks in this video, one after story 2 and after story 3 These are TRUE scary stories — real horror experiences submitted by viewers like you. Every story is creepy, disturbing, and based on real events. 🎧 Submit your stories, find my social media pages & Listen to the podcast on other platforms → https://AstheRavenDreams.com Real people. Real terror. New scary stories every Monday, Wednesday & Sunday. Sleep compilations on Fridays and Livestreams on Most Saturdays (@ 6PM CST) 🕯️ Must-Watch Horror Playlists (Perfect for binge listening): ALL TRUE Scary Stories ➤ https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyjanWDZygZ-cq9gavLVSGHbuC9XkpYkW Glitch In The Matrix ➤ https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyjanWDZygZ-H-bzEozeBNm0mCFKsuf1o Unexplained Strange & Scary stories ➤ https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyjanWDZygZ_okKMKezu3Q2uC5M-hMXzd Scary Stories For Sleep (With Rain Sounds) ➤ https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyjanWDZygZ8-2ndc059wG8xygZwotmNx Merch & Book Official ATRD Merch ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Signed Books & More ➤ https://ko-fi.com/AsTheRavenDreams Book is also available (unsigned) on Amazon, just search "The Insomniac's Experiment" Support & Get Early Access Become a YouTube Member ➤ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkW0ihdMHfBUjQrMKjRto6g/join Support on Patreon ➤ https://www.patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Gaming Channel ➤ @superNefariousBros Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I want to begin this story with a warning. This does mention depression and suicidal thoughts, so if that's not something you can listen to, I understand. But I want to warn others first. I wanted to share my story as a way to hopefully help others out of that dark mindset and also help them identify some warning signs that you might see in yourself or a friend. I wanted to share my story as a way to hopefully help others out of that. that dark mindset and also help them identify some warning signs that you might see in yourself or a friend.

I will say that this was several years ago, and I'm doing a lot better, and I don't have those same thoughts either. I have a therapist that I see regularly too, and she helps me on my worst days, but before then, I was not in a good place. I'd been struggling with depression for some time, but didn't know. know what to really do about it. I didn't have the best insurance, and it's not something we really talked about in my family. It's not to say they didn't care.

My mom meant a lot to me, and I knew that she did care, but it's just hard to explain unless you've been in that darkness. Anyway, I did my best, carrying on in life. At the time of this event, I was in a relationship, too, but it was already rocky. He was emotionally abusive and had cheated on me before, but I wasn't strong enough and didn't have enough self-worth to kick him to the curb. So some days were really good, and others just made me want to hide in a corner alone. But my work was the one stable thing in my life, and I was good at it. I could go in, put in my earbuds, block out the rest of the world, and just dive into my assignments.

kept my mind busy and I loved it. But then we had a new hire named Chloe. She was hired as a junior associate, and since I had seniority in the department, I was asked to train her. From day one, she was incredibly charming. She was funny, bubbly, engaging, and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know everyone.

I helped introduce her to the rest of the team, and she quickly seemed to click with everybody. She even asked thoughtful questions about our projects and seemed eager to learn. Maybe she really liked this field, or maybe it was just the eagerness of starting a new job, but either way, her positivity was a breath of fresh air for me and it reeled me in. We clicked immediately. She was fun to talk to and had this way of making me feel like the most important person in the room. We started getting lunch together, went out for drinks together, something I never did.

We even went to the movies a few times. For the first time in years, I felt like I had a real friend. Someone who actually wanted to spend time with me and helped me get out of my head. What I didn't realize at the time was how vulnerable I was. She would ask probing questions about me in my life, about my relationship, my family. my past. I thought she was being a good friend and showing interest in my life. Instead, it was like she was gathering ammunition.

The manipulation started subtly, and with my mindset, I didn't recognize it for what it was. She would make comments about my appearance, like telling me I should wear more muted colors, claiming that they would make me look more mature and professional. She would take me shopping and help me pick out these long, skirts and dresses that were plain cream, brown, or white. Before I knew it, I was wearing the clothes that she picked out for me. Styled my hair the way she suggested, and even tried wearing subtle makeup. I wasn't a makeup person before, but she had me wearing a nude lipstick and mascara,

and to be honest, it did make me feel a little better. She even started inserting herself and her suggestions into my work. She had this way of building me up and tearing me down in the same conversation. She'd say things like, You have great ideas, but your presentation and lack of selling yourself holds you back. Then she'd convinced me to be more assertive at work, but it always seemed to benefit her projects. She would encourage me to challenge our boss on certain decisions and processes,

and then position herself as the reasonable alternative to make it work. I would get a reaction from my boss, typically one of surprise, maybe even impressed, so I thought that it was a good thing. But the worst part of her manipulation came when she exploited my depression. She was one of the few people I felt like I could talk to about it. When I'd have bad days, she would listen sympathetically, but she would also subtly reinforce those negative thoughts. If I said I felt worthless, instead of challenging, that and giving me reasons for the contrary, she would ask me what was making me feel that way, and just listen to me name off all the reasons, not once stopping to disagree or give me a

genuine comfort or perspective. She'd basically just validate my darkest thoughts about myself. She started isolating me from other co-workers, too, but I didn't realize it at the time. She would make comments about how certain co-workers felt uncomfortable around me. and mention how this person didn't acknowledge your contribution in the team meeting. It started to get me thinking that maybe I wasn't as good as I thought I was at work. But while I was pulling back, Chloe would be getting more recognition for projects we worked on together, and even provide feedback and ideas that I once told her about, telling me that she was speaking up for me.

She was so supportive to my face that I had just convinced her. I sensed myself that she truly had my best interests at heart. Then there was the relationship with my boyfriend. I learned that he had been cheating again, or maybe still, and was just caught again. And we, of course, had a huge argument about it. He told me that it was my faults, and for once in my life, I took initiative and told him that I couldn't do this anymore.

He packed up a few things he had at my place, and left, saying some pretty hurtful last words to me. After he was gone, I called Chloe so I wouldn't be alone, and she was quick to come over. However, I was hoping to be comforted and to be helped to forget about my now-ex, but that's not what happened. She practically agreed with him, once again in a subtle way. She pointed out that I had been pretty stressed lately and probably distant, not to mention depressed and that that probably pushed him away.

So, that night's already feeling pretty damn low, I confessed something to her that I hadn't told anyone. I told her that I considered ending my own life. Nothing seemed worth fighting anymore. I expected what any friend would do, be shocked, tell me to seek help, and that there were plenty of reasons to live. Instead, she got quiet and asked me to tell her more about that feeling. What followed next was the most chilling conversation of my life.

But the scariest part was that I didn't recognize it at the time. Chloe never tried to talk me out of these thoughts. Instead, she helped me to explore them. She asked me some probing questions, but I'll not put them here. I don't want anyone who has similar thoughts to even consider. consider them, but just know that they were not questions you ask someone who's in a dark place like I was. So she asked those questions.

She even made me make a list of pros and cons of continuing to live. She would nod sympathetically as I listed all the reasons people would be better off without me, but when I struggled to find items for the reasons to live, she would just sit quietly, never once giving me any reason. Not a single one. Over the next few weeks, these conversations became regular occurrences. Chloe would check in on me daily, always steering our talks back to my darkest thoughts. But what I wasn't expecting was her to start helping me plan it.

She would send me links about different methods and discuss them with me. She even made a comment about making sure it works the first time. You can see where this is all going, and what she meant by that. So that's what happened. she tried to help me plan everything. She even offered to take care of some of my affairs after I was gone. The night that I planned to go through with it, I texted her one final time, letting her know what I was doing.

I texted a few other people like my mom and my sister that I loved them, and while they all responded with the same thing, asking if I was okay, Chloe responded with the hug emoji and said that I was so brave. I won't tell you what I had played. planned, but I was sitting on the bathroom floor with the door closed, crying, went out of nowhere I saw a paw under the door. My cat, Ollie, was pawing at the gap under the door, making this very specific little mew he does when something is wrong.

It's the same sound he makes when he finds a bug or when I'm crying or yelling because of a fight with my ex. Something told me to let him in, and I did. When I did, he immediately did. jumped onto my lap purring intensely and refused to leave. I tried to let him stay and keep the door open, but he would not leave my lap, and was constantly nuzzling my chin and hands. And, in that moment, sitting on my bathroom floor, something shifted in me.

I've had Ollie since I was young. He was my first and only pet that I got on my own, and he'd always been with me. I couldn't imagine leaving him with anyone else. No one knows your pets and their personalities like you do, so I broke down again in a completely different way, telling myself that I had to get better for both of us. I took a shower after that, and I texted my mom asking her to take care of Ollie for me.

I didn't have the heart to tell her what was going on, so I left a note telling her where I was going. and I went to the hospital. For the next few weeks, I had no contact with the outside world. My mom had to come pick up my car and belongings, like my phone, and I just went through the motions of therapy, medication adjustments, and testing to see what worked best for me, and slowly we went through the process of rebuilding my will to live.

When I finally was released, my mom picked me up, and she hugged me tighter than she had in a while. She took me home and Ollie and I smothered each other in love for a few moments, both of us happy to be together again. That is when my mom and I had a long and very serious conversation. She apologized and explained how she had no idea how bad it was for me and wished that I had told her sooner. She explained that I was never a burden to them

and that she and my sister both felt just as guilty that they weren't there for me. But she also admitted. to going through my phone trying to get the information for my work to let them know. That's when she saw my conversations with Chloe and asked about her. That's when my eyes really opened to what she was doing. My mom said that the things that she said to me were very manipulative and dangerous. And she made me promise that I would not associate with her anymore. And with how much clearer I was thinking and seeing, I understood and she was absolutely

right. What kind of person calls you a friend but then tries to help you end your own life? When it came time for me to return to work, I spoke with my therapist on ways to stay in a healthy mindset since I would be working with Chloe, and I held on to that. I went into work and was once again surprised with how incredibly supportive and relieved my boss and co-workers were with me being there and being okay. I had a long talk with my boss, and he explained how he thought something was wrong because of all the great ideas I would come up with at work, but would then push them off or suggest Chloe to do them.

He fully expected me to take charge of these projects, but was concerned when she was always involved. And, at the time, I once again didn't see this as someone stealing my work in recognition. I spoke to a coworker that I was close to, and she explained how Chloe had come in the next day, and told everyone that I was dead, which confused my boss because my mom had also contacted him that same morning about me being in the hospital

and didn't know what happened. I don't know if he told my mom or not, but maybe that's what prompted her to look through my conversations with her. I was feeling the love from every direction, and it really helped lift me up that much more. I was feeling good, I was feeling confident, but I was still the person I was and part of me said that I should at least let Chloe know that I was alive and that I was better. I think that was the part of me that craved that loyalty and that connection.

I went to her little office and saw her busy staring at her computer. I knocked on the door and she just looked up at me and said, Oh, hi. I stood by the door and told her that I just wanted to let her know that I was doing better and was about to thank her for being there for me, even though I know she really wasn't, and she just gave a thin smile and said, Okay?

It was the only weird interaction I had gotten since I got back, and I was confused. I thought that maybe she might be happy to see me again, so I pride. I asked her if there was something wrong, and she quite bluntly said, I thought you promised you were going to do it. I spent all that time,

helping you plan it, listen to you bitch and complain, and then you just didn't? I was in complete shock. She was upset because I didn't follow through with my plans that night. Who says that to someone? Someone you claim to be your friend. But that's when I truly realized that my mom and my therapist were right. She was toxic. She was dangerous and dare I even say she was evil.

She didn't care about me at all. I don't know what her end results were. Like, did she just want my position? Or just the power of knowing that she helped someone do something like that? So, I avoided her completely after that. I continued to shine at work, not speaking to her or sharing any of my ideas with her. My relationship with my mom grew so much stronger, and my toxic outings with Chloe turned into loving, thoughtful lunches with people

that really mattered to me, and vice versa. I got out of that dark place, and I do think that my cat Olly had a lot to do with that. After a few months, Chloe actually quit. More so, she raided and stole a bunch of supplies from all of our cabinets. No-call-no-showed for about a week, so we just assumed that she was gone, and I couldn't have been happier for that.

I'm incredibly thankful that I got a second change, and because I have a clearer head, I can better recognize these toxic and manipulative traits. It was hard at first, but it is something you can get through. So if anyone ever tells you that it's not worth it, or tries to help you end it, please don't listen to them. It'll always be worth it.

I promise, and Ollie promises. I've had this story. story that I have been wanting to talk about for a long time. It's the kind of thing that feels unbelievable, almost unreal, like it happened to someone else. I guess it did technically happen to someone else, but myself and my whole family were very much affected by the whole thing. It's hard to explain.

Maybe the word surreal is what I'm looking for, but I'll do my best to just give you the information of what happened without letting my personal thoughts or emotions get in the way of me writing it. My older brother, Mark, was the kind of person that just didn't get angry. The entirety of his life, he was the most chill person ever. You could insult him to his face, call him names, yell or threaten him. And not once had I ever seen him lose as cool. He was five years older than me and he was my rock.

When I got my first car, which was an old hand-me-down from my uncle, he spent an entire weekend teaching me the basics of maintenance. He taught me how to check the oil, check my tires, how to change the tires if I ever needed to, and where the jack goes to lift the car. All the basic things that, even though they're simple, a lot of people just don't really know. Another thing he taught me was how to not be an idiot on the road. He would always tell me things like, if someone gets on your tail and wants to pass you, just let them do it. It's not worth getting mad about or reacting to

because you never know what kind of crazy is behind that wheel. I think he lived by that rule. He was an incredibly patient driver. With that out of the way, I want to get on to the day that everything happened. I was about 17, which would put Mark at 22. He was working as a carpenter for a little local group, working on a fairly major project that was about an hour and a half away from our parents' house.

Because Mark was always a family-oriented person, and he didn't have a girlfriend or kids or anything like that, he liked to come home for the weekends when he could. He would spend time with our dad and with me when I was available. I wasn't too busy or anything. It was just that I had a part-time job at a sandwich shop, so when I wasn't at school, I was usually there. It was a Saturday.

I know this because I had to work at noon, and I never worked on Sundays. Mark was home for that weekend, and I remember mentioning to him that my car had made a strange sound, the day before, like a popping sound or something. He and I were talking about it, but I really couldn't get into it, so we came to an agreement. He would drive me to work in my car and then take it for a spin around town to see if he could replicate what it was doing. He was concerned that it was something that could become major, so he wanted to be the one driving it if something went wrong.

I agreed. I trusted him to drive my car. no issues there. He drove me to my job. I told him I would be off at five if he could come pick me up, and he said that he would be there. Then, I watched him drive off.

What I didn't realize is that this would be our last conversation. This would be the last time that I ever spoke to my brother, and I hate that our last conversation was what it was. The rest of the story, unfortunately, is from secondhand reports, so I can't tell you that every single bit of it is exactly how it happened, but I have to assume that it is accurate for the most part. These secondhand reports come from the police reports and witnesses to the whole thing that

happened, including my cousin who was actually nearby at the time. There was a stretch of road in town where three lanes merged down to two, and the speed limit drops five miles per hour. It was always a nightmare because merging and slowing down at the same time seems to be won too many tasks for people on that road. Apparently, Mark was in the middle lane, and a guy in a big black SUV was driving in the right lane trying to get over. The driver of the SUV was a maniac, weaving left and then back to the lane that

ended to pass people, and tailgating literally everyone he got behind. He was clearly in a hurry and was losing his mind to the slowdown of traffic. The next part is speculation to some extent, but I would guess that Mark, being Mark, saw the SUV coming and what he was doing, and slowed down a little bit to let the guy pass. Mark wasn't passive-aggressive, and he wouldn't have done anything to block this guy or intentionally piss him off, and he would have done anything he could, to prevent an accident. It was reported that when the SUV passed in front of Mark,

he slammed his brakes, hard. Mark was able to stop the car. He didn't hit him, thankfully. After this, the SUV driver just sat there. He stopped his car in front of Mark, unmoving in the middle lane of traffic that was already slowing everything down. It was like this for several months,

until someone hit their horn for him to go. I don't know for sure that it was Mark, but what I've been told says that it was likely him that hit the horn, which is probable. Again, Mark wouldn't have laid on the horn or held it. He would have probably hit it once or twice, like, Hey, dude, move, please. At that point, it was reported that the SUV driver put his car in park,

got out, and then started to walk back to where Mark was stopped, a foot behind his SUV. Mark apparently rolled down the window and was just sitting there looking bewildered. The guy in the SUV was a huge dude, reported as being muscular, bald, and tattered up to the top of his head. He was screaming obscenities as he walked up to Mark's window, and Mark put his hands up and said, Hey man, it's cool, let's just go. This maniac then grabbed the handle to the car and yanked the door over. and then started beating on Mark.

He pulled him out of the car and, from what I was told, hit Mark's head against the door of my car multiple times. Then, when Mark fell to the ground, this guy kicked him in the face. The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds. Mark was lying on the ground unmoving, and the maniac just stood there for a moment and then walked back to his SUV and floored it. just like that. The traffic started to flow around Mark in my car

and the only reason he didn't get run over was because a couple of other drivers had seen what happened and stopped to block the lane. A couple moments later, the paramedics were on the scene and Mark was rushed to the hospital. This is where I have to control myself and try to just state the facts because it is quite hard for me.

The damage that Mark's sustained. when the man hit his head against the car was bad enough, but it was likely the kick to the face that actually did the most damage. Mark suffered from a subdural hematoma and a major brain swell. The bones in his face were destroyed. His cheekbone and orbital socket on the right were shattered. The paramedics and the medical staff did everything they could to try to save him, but the end result was pretty much the worst outcome.

Mark ended up in basically a vegetative state. There was literally nothing they could do to bring him back from it. And my parents had to make the call to take him off life support and let him go. Having to make that decision almost makes it worse. If the man had killed him, it would have been out of their hands. But instead, that monster left him teetering on the edge of life with no way to climb back up. The worst part of all this, the one thing that kills me inside every time I think about it, is that they never caught the guy.

He had a faded temporary tag on his SUV that no one could remember or read. There was no security footage of it happening since this was before cameras and dash cams were everywhere, and the guy just vanished. It's entirely possible that he was just passing through our town on the way to his destination. and he and my brother ended up in the same place at the wrong time. My family was devastated, completely ruined, because this psycho got mad at traffic and mad at my brother for hitting his horn. The life my brother had, the promise he showed,

was all ripped away so some lunatic could get his anger out. And then he got to go on and live his life normally. I have to assume that he's probably in prison for something else. No one crazy enough to commit murder in the middle of the street like that would stay free for too long. And I have to keep that assumption in my mind because it's one of the only things that keeps me going. Even if it's just pretend, I want to believe that my brother's killer is in prison for something else and that he will rot there. Mark lost his life way too young, over something so petty and so petty and he's, and pointless, all over a single act of road rage.

I will always miss him, and I keep this idea of, you never know what kind of crazy is behind that wheel. In the back of my mind, every time I decide to drive somewhere, because it was that same crazy that took him from me. Hi, Raven, I may or may not have submitted a post where I briefly mentioned this listing off mostly mundane paranormal experiences. But I'm here now to share something that felt like too much of a coincidence. It's not scary, exactly.

Compelling, perhaps. When I was 21, I lost my mother. It was sudden and unexpected. I was newly married and seven months pregnant. It's safe to say that I was going through a lot that year with several ups and downs with a twist or two. My relationship with her wasn't the best, but not the worst. A little backstory. Growing up, we lived with family as she couldn't financially support herself.

She received disability checks, so she was always home. In life, my mother suffered from serious mental health issues, schizophrenic paranoia disorder, manic depression, anxiety, and alcoholism. She did the best she could as a single mother in a time when mental health was stigmatized, and misunderstood. All her life, she would periodically have meltdowns, some alcohol and trauma-dumping-induced, and psychotic episodes where she was not in her right state of mind.

It's safe to say it put a huge strain on her relationships. On top of that, I was a difficult child to raise. Attention-seeking, headstrong, angry, neurodivergent with ADHD, and stress-inducing. I was that kid that you couldn't take to the grocery store. Once, I refused to go to school and she fought with me so hard, gave up and then retreated to her room to drink. I think that was when I realized I needed to do better,

because I was realizing that she was a little different. That day forward, I slowly became more mindful and self-aware. By the time I was 10 years old, I was aware enough to anticipate my mother's emotional needs. Her aging mother was burning out, and my older brother was distancing himself more and more. She felt rejected as a parent and a daughter, so it made everything worse. It wasn't always doom and gloom. She went to Alcoholics Anonymous, and she made friends there. She was able to let it all out, and I went with her often because, well, no babysitter.

Every New Year's Eve they would host a dance party, dry of course, and I would go with her. They always planned this one particular song emphasizing the importance of a support system, reaching out to your friends and loved ones when you need them the most. It was Lean on Me by Bill Withers. This detail is important, I promise. The older I got, the more prepared I became in regards to her needs. One year it was something else to see her eyes light up so bright when I brought her a Mother's Day card and a gift, like she hadn't expected it.

She actually gasped and kissed the card that I gave her. That's how alone she felt. I don't think my brother got her anything that year. He had a home and a family of his own at that time, but come on, man. He could have mailed a card or something. It didn't take long for me to develop a sense of duty as her daughter to take care of her. She was a very spiritual person and believed in the paranormal. Yes, she had schizophrenia, but she had the occasional prophetic dream and they came true.

She believed in God and in times when she was faring just fine. she believed there was more to this world than meets the eye. Her final years of life had other sets of challenges. She managed to get her own apartment, and she was finally living on her own independently. But the revolving door to and from the hospital, regular and psychiatric ones, continued. In her final weeks of her life, she seemed to finally pull herself together a little. After all, she had a grandchild. that she would soon meet.

Sort of. The day after she passed away, we visited her apartment. My closest friend at the time even visited out of respect. My brother even showed to my relief. He was going to handle the funeral and I was responsible for most of her belongings. I'm not sure how my friend knew or if they were telling me just to make me feel better, but they told me how it felt like my mother's spirit was still in the importance. apartment.

That she was scared, like she didn't know what to do. She had passed in her sleep and didn't know what had happened. This was a shocking revelation, and I really wasn't sure what to think. Emotions were high that day, and we were all on the verge of tears. The energy of the small apartment was changed. In the apartment, I unwittingly sat down in the very spot that she passed away, And something strange happened. Parts of my body that never felt pain before suddenly hurt.

Bad. It wasn't because of the pregnancy either. I'm sure of it. My right knee had shooting pain, the same leg that she had a serious ligament tear from a fall. My lower back was an agony and I had serious chest pain. She was a smoker and on heart medication. I had only been sitting there for a moment before I had to get up and sit somewhere else.

And the pain was gone, just gone. There's a theory that sometimes spirits can leave behind residual energy. I think what could have happened was that when I sat down where my mother left her body, I felt an echo of her physical ailments in life. It's easy to dismiss, blame it on late pregnancy aches and pain. but everything I felt on the couch quickly went away when I sat somewhere else. If it was just me, the chest back and knee pain would have kept on, but it didn't. That was enough evidence for me to believe my friends, so I reached my mind out and started talking to my mother,

mostly when everyone was outside of hearing distance. I told her that she was going to be okay, and that we would take care of everything, that She didn't have any of the problems that she had in life anymore, and to look forward to what was ahead of her. I think it helped, because the next day, when we return to the apartment, the energy of the entire place felt lighter. She was truly gone then. Losing my mother that young hasn't been easy.

She was opinionated and difficult at times, but she was still my mom and she loved me. About five years ago when I was working a graveyard shift, house sitting, I'm a DSP and work in group homes. The one I was currently in, everyone was ambulatory and independent. I was watching a Netflix documentary on people reaching out to mediums to talk to loved ones who had passed on. The entire time, I was thinking heavily about my mom, wishing I could do the same thing. This young woman was speaking to a medium where, The past-on mother explained to her daughter, through the medium, to not feel guilty.

That there was nothing anyone could have done. But that it was okay. I admit, I burst into tears crying my eyes out. I was missing my mom. I'd been marathoning this Netflix series all night and was getting around 5 a.m. One of the residents who usually woke up at that time to smoke turned on their radio. and it was Lean On Me by Bill Withers. This person typically puts on something more energetic.

Pop, alternative or hip-hop. Out of everything, he put on that song, one that held significant meaning to my mom. It was unlike them to play that track. They had no way of knowing what I was feeling at that time, but I was glad for it. It felt like she was reaching out, telling me. me the same thing, that there was nothing I could have done and that she was okay.

This hadn't been the first time that song had come on when I was going through something difficult. I've been at the pharmacy getting something, going through something serious or stressful, and lean on me would begin playing. So, despite my rocky relationship with her in life, I feel my relationship grew stronger with her in death. Strangely put, Sometimes I get flash mental images of her looking younger around the age that I am now. I'm in my early 30s. Healthier and like herself as I remembered when I was young. I think that she knows that I'm fighting some of the same demons that she had,

minus the schizophrenia. And she wants me to know that she's still here. I hear you loud and clear. I'm a functional adult, with a career, married for over 10 years. And my kids are far better behaved than I ever was. Rest assured, Mom, I've got these demons on the run. Thanks for eating my long winded tail, Raven. You're the best.

This happened to me back when I worked nights at a gas station. I used to live in a very small middle-of-nowhere type of town. It's one of those that most people drive right on through. We had two grocery stores. The second one was fairly new, which was the talk of the town, even though it was literally the same grocery store with all the same stuff, except it had a pharmacy in it. We didn't have a local pharmacy prior,

so if you had a prescription, you had to go to the next town over, and that was at least a 20 to 30-minute drive. Our little gas station was everything. The parking lot was the spot for high school students to hang out at. We had better prices on some things like eggs and butter, and of course we were the only place to get gas. It's one of those places that if you were on the road, you would pass it by for a popular chain instead. But everyone in the city knew the place and each other and just felt comfortable for all of us.

That also leads into the whole everybody knew everybody, which was more true than I would like to say. My gym teacher in middle school went to school with my dad, and he was at my house near weekly to help him with whatever he was working on at the time, helping with the farm, or just to come over for dinner. It was a different time, for sure. But to explain the story, or what led up to this event, I started working at the gas station at the age of 17. I wanted a job so I could start making my own money. especially after my parents helped me get my own car. I now needed an income to help keep gas in it, and for the upkeep.

I didn't really know what I wanted to do after school, but when my dad had a serious health scare, I decided that I wanted to stay close to home to help my mom take care of him and the farm. I began working full-time at the gas station and took classes online, at least my core classes, until I figured out what exactly I wanted to do. The thing was, the gas station was desperate for overnight help.

As my generation got older, they realized the shift in clientele was changing, and many of us were up late, worked late, or even overnight in nearby towns. And there was a chance for good profit. So I took on that shift, which worked for me. I could help out my parents and take my courses during the day, and while they were asleep, I could work without worrying about them. The gas station also had internet, and they installed a line that the owner and manager often plugged their clunky laptop into, so they could play their stupid online car games.

They didn't care if the rest of us did it too, so I often brought my laptop with me to do schoolwork at times. It was actually a pretty comfortable gig for a tiny middle-year-old. of nowhere gas station, and I was content with it. So, there I was, one random night working per the norm. It was a little after midnight because one of my regulars had already come by, and he usually showed up there around then. I knew it was going to be pretty slow after him, so I settled into the old computer chair behind the counter,

and booted up my laptop to see what I could work on. That's when a car pulled up that I didn't really, recognize. It caught my attention because it looked very new and very shiny. New cars like that were not something we were used to seeing. It was like the town was stuck in this time bubble where nothing was newer than maybe 2001, and that was pushing it. My car was a 98, and I thought that I got lucky on that. But this car looked like it was from the future. The parking lot was pretty lit up, and I watched them back into a spot. Unfortunately, I didn't see the tag because of this.

I couldn't tell what the make was either because it didn't have any logos on it. It was a sedan that was either black or very dark blue or gray. The car itself looked very sleek and I honestly didn't know how else to explain it, other than it seriously did not fit in, which is why I watched it so closely. I watched for a few moments, but they didn't immediately get out of the car. I went back to my laptop, glancing up a few times, wanting to keep an eye on them. We had never had a robbery, probably because we'd recognize them by their voice or face if it wasn't hidden. But not knowing who this was, I was feeling a little on edge.

But after about five or so minutes, someone finally did get out of the car, the car. When he got out, he closed the door, walked around the entire car, and then went back to his driver's side window, and seemed to rub it with his sleeve. He looked around like he was in a panic, as he did it, too. My first thought, when I see people acting like this, is that they're clearly under the influence of something. Our town is not without the one or two people that are heavy users, but they also don't rob or do anything violent. Probably because we'd all know who they are and where to find them. But this guy?

I didn't recognize him, so I didn't know what to expect. When he finally walked toward the building and entered, that's when I got a good look at him. He was wearing a gray business suit, but his jacket was unbuttoned and the white shirt underneath was extremely dirty. It had what I assumed to be dirt on it, and two large tears near the chest. His sleeve cuffs were caked in something dark, like mud.

He only had socks on, no shoes, and his hair was a mess. It seriously looked like it had been singed, all sticking up with part of it darker and short on one side, like in patches. And when he entered the store, he had that crazed look in his eyes. I greeted him as I normally would, and he nodded and then walked to. to the side of the store. I watched him from the side or in the mirrors in the store and realized that, of all the aisles,

he was in the one with the miscellaneous household goods, like baby stuff and housewares like wipes, Ziploc bags, and so forth. He looked up and down the shelves, moving stuff around quickly and then sighed heavily. He seemed to stand there for several seconds, breathing slowly like he was trying to calm himself down. Then he walked back up towards the front. I once again greeted him, trying to be nice, and asked him if he needed help with anything. That's when he asked me what day it was.

No big deal, I told him it was Thursday, and then he stared at me for several seconds like a deer in a headlight type of stare, and asked me what year it was. I told him the year, curiously, and he looked down, shook his head and then mumbled something. I asked him if he was all right and he quickly looked back up

and asked me if we had any foil, pepto, and traps. I tried to clarify what he meant by traps, like mouse or bug traps, and his response was, yeah, that should work. So I pointed to the aisles for each and he ran over to them. I watched as he went through each one mumbling something and reading the packages. Then he brought them all back up to the front.

He put his items on the counter, he grabbed exactly what he had asked for, and I told him the cost. As he went through his pockets, he asked me if I had called anybody. I didn't quite understand what he meant by that, so I asked him, and he looked around the store and commented

how he didn't check for other people either. That is where I started to get worried. He asked me, about calling someone and if anyone else was in the store. Was this some kind of weird robbery? Never having been in that situation, I just told him that he could take whatever he wanted, but that I didn't have more than $200 in cash on me.

I remember how confused he looked. He shook his head and explained that he wasn't going to rob me. He could just hear the voices, and he wanted to know if it was just him again. I told him that I hadn't called anyone and he seemed defeated. He made a comment about them following him here and how he didn't understand how. But then, he held up, of all things, the bug traps, which were just glue slides, and said this will help. I know, I was expecting some comedic joke with the foil, but instead, the bug traps seemed to be the clutch.

So, he finally managed to scrounge up enough cash, but he also threw down some non-US currency, which was pretty strange. I don't remember what it was now, though. After he paid, he shook my hand saying that it was nice to meet me, and then apologized for bringing them there. I asked him what he meant by that, and he leaned in and said, Them. You know who I'm talking about. then explained how I just needed to hide if they showed up, and that they can't see me in the cold, so I should hide in the freezer.

I remember pulling my hand away from him, and he stepped back saying that he should go quickly and then left the store. I watched him go back to his car. He opened up a few traps and put them on the hood of the car, fastened there with some kind of tape that he had pulled out. He then covered his windows with the foil and then balded up. and shoved it in his wheel well? The entire time, he would stop and look around to see if he was being watched.

I remember thinking, this guy has to be insane. I've clearly never seen him before. He was in a car that looked way too advanced, and even though he was messed up and dirty, he was dressed way too nice to be from around here too. So why did he choose my gas station? I looked away for less than a minute. I wanted to try to get a picture of the car with the crappy camera we kept under the counter. The owner kept one there to take pictures of damages to the buildings,

or items to have proof for ride-offs. I wanted to see if I could look up the car later and maybe see the license plate and find out what state they were from. But in the time it took for me to bend over, move a few things, and grab the camera, I heard a very loud horn in the lights flickered. It sounded like it was right at the building and it startled me. So I looked up and that car was gone. There was no way with him being in the middle of doing whatever he was doing

that he could have left that fast. It was hard to believe and then I was just left there just as confused and no proof that anything in the past 15 to 20 minutes had happened. Nothing else happened for the rest of the night, at least not physically. No one ever showed up at the station, but I kept getting this weird feeling like someone was going to. I kept feeling like I was being watched, but no one was ever there. I even took a short break outside and walked around the building, but there was no one around, and no sign of anybody. So where did this feeling come from?

I remember laughing at myself that this guy came in with his paranoia and left it at my feet. But that feeling just would not go away. I went home that morning and slept harder than I ever had before. When I woke up, everything felt normal. And I didn't feel like I was being watched, thankfully. I did tell my parents about my experience, and they also thought that it was strange, but they chalked it up to a person passing through,

probably with mental health issues or possibly drugs. I agreed with them and moved on pretty quickly. but every night I went to work, that feeling would start to come back. So, I decided to humor myself. I pulled out one of the bug traps that he bought, placed it by the door, and then shortly after that watched feeling actually went away. I felt like I was going crazy. Why would that make the feeling go away?

It made no sense. I immediately threw it away, and I swear that feeling came back. I was losing it. I had to be. There wasn't a single bug on that trap, so how did they help? I wish I could give a better ending to this, but honestly, it never went away. I laid out a few traps a few times, and that feeling would go away. I started telling myself that it was just a placebo effect and did my best to ignore it. Until one day I came in, didn't put out any traps, but that feeling wasn't.

there. I felt like I had finally gotten over it. But then as I was cleaning up the store in the back, I spotted a few traps. Of course, they were empty. I hadn't put them there and had no idea who had. So, how could the feeling be connected if I wasn't aware? I stopped fighting it and just left the traps where they were. I don't know what it was about them, but part of me thinks they were actually doing something. And maybe that man did leave some kind of trail for someone or something to find. And maybe that person or thing latched on to me instead. So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

Didn't talk about it. I just dealt with it as I worked there until another opportunity came up and I quit the gas station, leaving that place and that feeling behind. I never got any actual answers. and I never saw that man again, but boy, I wish I would so I could get some answers. I wanted to share with you all something that happened to me several years ago while I was house sitting. For all intents and purposes, the story is about my aunt. She dated my biological uncle, that's my mom's brother, for many years,

but they were never married, never had kids together. My uncle is and always has been a real P-O-S. I know he had one kid with someone else, but I was too young to really remember her. Same goes with that cousin. My grandma apparently used to watch us both as kids, but my mom realized who my uncle was, and they left. I can't say that I blame her. The new woman in my uncle's life, Sue, was an incredible woman, and I have no eye. idea how she tolerated my uncle as long as she did. He was an abusive drunk and didn't care

who saw him like that. But Sue jumped in with both feet and got involved with our family and helped wherever she could. She was incredible with kids, and I quickly became attached to her when I saw her doll collection. Barbie dolls. She had all the original Barbies, and I loved looking at them when I visited her home. She was very nice, as she explained the difference between the toys you play with and the ones that you collect. She's the one that eventually got me into collecting the ones that I really cherished. I know people would consider her an aunt, especially with common-law marriage and everything,

but she ended up leaving my uncle. She knew her worth, learned that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't change him unless he wanted to change. She came over to our house one day, and spoke to my mom, and my mom even encouraged her to leave, too. After that, she was no longer at any family gatherings or parties. However, she was still a part of my family's life, as in my mom and I's life. I had a younger brother, but he didn't really know her as well. My grandma's very blood family first and chose her son over anyone saying that he just needed

help. He was given help multiple times and he stole from my grandma and parents just as many times, so I was happy to choose Sue over him. So anyway, sorry for the long family history, but this is to explain who Sue was to me and why I was willing to do this for her. At the time of this story, Sue was in her 60s and lived alone with her old man cat, as she put it, in the same house that she lived in when I was a kid. I was in this small town that looked like it was left behind as the world around it evolved and grew into modern times. The town had a church that knew when people didn't show up.

There was a small Amish grocery store that made the best apple butter. There was a literal family doctor that also owned the pharmacy run by his wife, and a small bar that also knew everyone that walked through the doors. Sue loved her house. house. It was kind of tucked away in the back of the town. She had a large backyard where she grew different flowers on one side and vegetables and herbs on the other, including things like basil, rosemary, tomatoes, and squash. She said everyone leaves her alone and she wasn't afraid of people looking at her funny at the grocery store. It was her home, and she said that she would stay there forever.

But when her mother got to the point that she couldn't take care of herself, she was moved to an assisted living facility that she visited weekly. Sadly, her mother's cancer relapsed, and this time, there was nothing more they could do, nor did her mother want anything anymore. We all knew what was to come, and we supported Sue and her mother in any way that we could. So, when the time finally came, the doctor took. told Sue that her mom didn't have much time left, so she was going to stay with her mom for the entire week to be with her. I jumped immediately on offering to watch her home and her cat.

She mentioned that she didn't know what she was going to do about her cat because she didn't want to take him with her and have to watch him too. I immediately offered to house and pet sit for her. It was only going to be a week, and I knew that I could arrange time off at work. Her cat was very sweet and very easy to take care of, and it would be a nice time away for me, even though I know it wasn't under good circumstances. She didn't want me to at first, feeling bad, but I assured her that it was no problem at all, and she agreed to it. This is how I ended up staying at her place in a small town alone for a full week.

I showed up on a Saturday and made dinner for her so she didn't have to worry about it. She left the next morning, leaving me at home with Teddy, her cat. That day went fine. I had brought some groceries with me to make my own meals and prep some for Sue when she came back. I had some of my art supplies, as I was wanting to paint her backyard and the trees that surrounded it. I slept in her spare room, learning that Teddy tended to follow you around and hated closed doors, so he stayed with me. and to be honest, it was a little eerie. There were no lights around other than the ones that Sue had around her property and driveway.

It was also silent with the road that she was on only being used by those that lived on that street. I ended up bringing my laptop into the room and had music playing on it because it was too quiet for my liking. Once I had some background noise, I was finally able to get to sleep just fine. It was two days later when things got weird. I was in the living room eating dinner when I saw something move from the living room window. At the edge of the driveway, I saw a man standing there and just a pair of pants, staring up at the sky. I thought it was strange, as where did he even come from, but I wasn't freaked out or anything, just a bit curious. I watched him for several minutes as he stared at the sky,

scratched his head and looked around, and then stared back at the sky. It had me so confused that I actually went to the window to look up and see what he was seeing. There was nothing there. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch to get a better look, but nothing. I assumed that maybe whatever he was looking at had passed by like a plane or a bird, but he was still looking. He wasn't doing anything else, though, so I just went back in and finished my dinner. By the time I finished my meal, he was still standing there, but he was staring at the house, not the sky.

He was probably standing there for a good 10 to 15 minutes. I went back outside and shouted to him asking if he needed something. He didn't look away, didn't budge, and he didn't rest. He hadn't done anything, though, so I just went back inside and closed the curtains. By the time I was ready for bed, I checked the window, and thankfully he was gone. The next day it was back to normal. I left the house to go pick something up from the store that I had forgotten to grab, and then went back. Then that night, I found myself in the living room again watching a movie with Teddy next to me.

I realized while I was sitting there that something I had brought that day must have fallen out of my car because it wasn't in the bag. I went out to check my car and was startled when I saw the same guy standing at the edge of her driveway again. This time the guy was in boxers and a t-shirt

and he was staring straight at the house. I screamed as I wasn't expecting to see anyone, and once again he didn't budge. I looked at him and, realized just how unnatural he looked. He was pale, and the shirt he was wearing looked easily two to three sizes too big. He had shoulder length curly and unkempt hair, and he just had a slight sway to him, like a tree branch.

It was the slight sway that had become unsettling. Not knowing what else to do, I asked him if he was okay, and again there was no response, no movement. and so I quickly searched my car for my missing item, grabbed it, and then ran back inside. This time I was concerned for both of our safety, so I called 911. I couldn't find a non-emergency number that covered the town, only the sheriff's department.

They said they would send someone out to check the area, but by the time I finished the call, the guy was gone. I explained to the cop that showed up what had happened, And they said that they would drive around for him, and that was it. I never got a call back. They never came back. And neither did the man that night. I felt a little better, at least, knowing that I had called it in so there was a record of it.

I didn't want to bother Sue, as she had already had enough to worry about. I didn't want to add to her plate. I told myself that I would bring it up when she came back so she knew and she could talk about what to do about it then. The following night had the same results. I had the curtains closed, but it was nagging at me to check, and sure enough, that man was out there again at the edge of the driveway and staring. I made sure not to make it obvious that I noticed him, wanting the police to catch him, and then went to grab my phone. I called and explained what I saw and was shocked by what I was told. This time, they told me that since he wasn't actually on the property, he wasn't.

wasn't doing anything illegal, so there was nothing that they could do. I was furious and scared, to be honest. No, he wasn't technically on the property, but what if he was just standing there trying to intimidate me? Or to try and get down my pattern in order to break in? He was brazen to do it so openly, but it was possible. This time it was around 11 p.m., and I didn't want to call Sue so long. late, so I told myself that I would the next morning. At this point, I told myself that it would be important to tell her, so I had receipts in case

something else did happen. I made sure that all of the windows and doors were locked, and I closed any curtains that I could. I searched Sue's house for some kind of weapon, and found some shovels in her basement. I felt silly, but I brought one of them upstairs and had it leaning against the wall by the couch. I found it hard to fall asleep that night. I was hoping to stay in the living room, reading, or working on one of my puzzles, until I was tired enough, but I was too awake at that point. An hour had passed and nothing happened, so I told myself to try and get some sleep. I turned off the TV and went to the bedroom to change when I heard this weird scraping sound.

I paused and listened for it as it continued. It was a long and slow Shlick, shlick, shick, shick sound. It made it even worse when I went back to the hallway and saw Teddy staring towards the door. My heart was pounding as I went back to the living room and saw the doorknob now being jiggled. I watched the doorknob shake and the scratching sound continued.

I dialed 911 as someone was clearly at the door and trying to get in. While I explained to the person on the call what was happening, I looked out the window to the front door and saw that same man, now completely naked, eyes glassy looking, standing at the door and shaking the door handle. I screamed at the operator to get someone there immediately, and what I saw. I grabbed the shovel and the cat and I locked us in Sue's bedroom,

which faced the backyard, trying to get as far away from the front door, door as I could. I stayed there until the operator told me that the police were there. I kept Teddy in the bedroom but went back to the window. I quickly went from terrified to confused. Two cops were walking up to the porch, no weapons drawn, just casually walking to the door. One of the cops put his hand on the guy's shoulder and I heard him say something about

wrong house. The guy stopped scratching. groaned and then turned around and walked back with the officer. They didn't cuff him, but opened the door and let him get in on his own. I was utterly confused at this point. Why did they approach the guy like he wasn't a danger? Once he was in the car, I opened the door and spoke with the officer. The first thing he said to me, I swear to God, the first thing he said was,

you're new around here, aren't you? I was stunned by the question, but explained that I was house-sitting for my aunt Sue. The guy nodded, and as the other officer approached, he repeated to him what I had said. He had a smirk on his face, as he said, that explains things. Clearly, it was my turn to make faces, because what the hell did that have to do with literally anything? The first officer said that the guy standing there in his birthday suit was Dale. Like, that was supposed to mean something to me. and asked if I ever saw him around town.

I told him no, as I really didn't get the chance to explore the town, as if there was anything to really explore. He explained that Dale was a long-time local, said that he went down a bad path when he was younger and got involved in some pretty bad drugs. His wife no longer wanted anything to do with him and left him and their home, moving in with her sister in a different town. Since then, they say that he has sobered up, but the damage was already done, so now he just kind of exists.

He wanders around town or his yard, and some days he's totally fine, talking up a storm to others. He goes to the bar for a few drinks and doesn't cause a problem. Then some nights he's like that, just wanders around like a mute zombie. One of the officers joked that he probably saw my aunt around there, and then when he saw me, it broke his normal routine and that put him in that trance again. I don't think they meant it this way, but at the moment, I felt like they were almost blaming me for him doing what he had done. I got a bit defensive, and the response was that the naked thing was new for him,

so they would, quote, talk to him about it. They told me to have a good night, and I went back in, frustrated, confused, and relieved. since everything was okay, I guess, I decided to just wait and tell Sue about it when she got home. When she was back, I told her what I had experienced, and as soon as I mentioned the man standing in her driveway and describing what he looked like, she said,

Oh my God, I forgot about Dale. So she knew Dale too. She apologized for not telling me, but immediately agreed that what he did was still wrong, regardless of what was going on with him. But she did also say that he was harmless. He had walked by before but never approached her porch. Again, I was relieved that I was safe, I guess,

but at that moment I was terrified of what could have happened. I have been back to her place plenty of time since then, and I only saw Dale once. He was at the grocery store, back to his normal self, I suppose. but I cannot unsee him standing on the porch that night as much as I've tried. So to Dale, if we ever meet again, please keep your clothes on. As a kid, I was never too big on trick-or-treating. The first few times I went, when I could comprehend the whole concept, it was fun.

I enjoyed showing off my costume and getting candy. But as the years went on, it really started to lose its appeal for me. I still had two younger siblings and absolutely enjoyed it, so until we were all done with it, we all went. I don't know, maybe it was the middle school angst, or maybe I was just at that awkward age where you're too old to be excited about it, but too young to do anything actually fun on Halloween night. The year that I turned 11 pretty much solidified my thoughts for me.

We were out trick-or-treating, going about it as we normally would. I was still in costume, a makeshift vampire, because I didn't want my parents to spend too much on my costume. I had a long black cloak and vampire fangs with fake blood running down my mouth. Black clothes underneath. That was about it. We hadn't even finished our block. We approached a door, and when the lady answered,

she gave my siblings candy first. and then held her hand up for me saying that good line, aren't you getting a little too old to be doing this? This gave just enough fodder for me to say that I was done with it, and for my mom to explode on this woman. There was a solid five to ten minutes where my mom tore this lady apart, and the woman just looked absolutely shocked to be called out on her comment. I was embarrassed as other families walked by and stared,

but I also agreed with my mom and still do to this day. Just let them trick or treat. If I was still into it at that age, I would have continued doing so. It just wasn't for me. After that night, however, I decided that I was too old to trick or treat and didn't want to do it anymore. The following year, when they asked me about getting a costume, I told them my thoughts, and that I didn't want to go. They were disappointed.

I think they wanted us all to go, both of them being big on family tradition and whatnot, but ultimately they respected my choice. They even said that I could stay home then and pass out the candy for those that came by. That was something I was excited for. I would get to be home alone with the bowl of candy that I would occasionally have to pass out to others.

I could handle that. Halloween night, my parents left with my two siblings, went over the rules again, and then left me to my own devices. The first few hours were uneventful. I was watching something on adult swim and would have to answer the door here and there and share the goods. They were all polite kids, and I noticed some of them were even my age, which at least made me feel a little better about myself. Around 9 p.m., the flow of trick-or-treaters slowed tremendously, which was good, because I was actually running low on candy. I knew my family typically finished around 9 or 10 as well, depending on how much family and friends we stopped to see. I was looking like a blob as I lied on the couch, waiting for my family to get back home.

I was just starting to drift off when I heard the doorbell again. I looked at the clock and noticed it was a little after 10. First, why weren't my parents back yet? And second, were people still really out trick-or-treating? Not thinking about it, I just got up and opened the door with the bowl of candy, without even thinking twice. What I did not expect to see was a group of about six adults, probably in their 20s or 30s, and not a single kid in sight. They were all in costumes, if you could call it that. They were half-assed at best.

One guy wore a hockey mask, but was otherwise in jeans and a t-shirt. There was a girl who had what looked like poorly applied clown makeup that was smeared and fading like she'd been sweating. Two of them literally just had small kids' blankets wrapped around their necks like a cape, not even over them like a ghost. I assume they were for kids because one had rug rats on it, and the other one was, I think, care bears. The fifth guy just had on a white t-shirt with the word Halloween costume written on it.

And the last guy stood behind them all not dressed as anything. No makeup, nothing at all. They all stared at me with this weird blank expression. Nobody said anything, myself included. And I didn't know how to react. Finally, the guy with the hockey mask said, Uh, trick-or-treat? and the rest of them laughed.

They just stood there with their hands out, no bags or buckets, just their hands waiting. The whole thing felt off, and if I wasn't so weirded out, I probably would have laughed. But instead I reached into the bowl and put one piece of candy

into each of their hands, except the guy in the back. They all looked down at it and then back up me continuing with that same blank expression, and then they started complaining, complaining. The hockey mask said,

Just one? Come on, don't be stingy. The girl with the carebear blanket said that she wanted more and demanded a certain candy, one that I didn't even have. I didn't know what to say or do in this situation, but the fact that I was facing six full-grown adults barely in a costume was really throwing me off, not to mention the red flags.

So I told them that I'd didn't have what she was asking for and threw in, besides, you guys are way too old to be trick-or-treating anyways. I know, very hypocritical of me, but the least you can do if you try to trick-or-treat at that age is a real costume. But their reaction was not one that I expected. They all looked at each other, and the guy with the Halloween shirts said, Why would you think that? The way he said it made me feel weird, is all I know how to describe it. It sounded sincere. Like he truly didn't understand what I meant, but at the same time it had a slight twinge to it, almost like a sense of mockery. They kept insisting that I give them more,

and finally, with a little more sternness in my voice, I told them that I wasn't going to give them anymore and that they needed to leave. The guy with the Halloween shirt leaned forward without losing his creepy grin, and he said in a slow, sinister voice, or how about I smash your effing face in and just take the whole damn bowl? I tried my best to not look scared, but let me tell you, my heart was pounding, and I thought I was going to cry. Who the hell says that to a 12-year-old? I tried to keep my voice steady and just said,

If you don't leave, then I'm going to call the cops. I was really expecting that to deter them, for one of them to say, let's go and just finally leave. But instead, the same guy just said, oh, so you're alone. And they all chuckled. I didn't say another word. I didn't try to do anything other than shutting the door and locking it. I then went back to the living room and looked out the window. They were all still standing there, but they were not.

now facing the window I was looking through. The living room windows had blinds, but two of them were busted, so they remained open at all times. The other one I closed, but they then moved over looking into the living room, and to make it even worse, the windows weren't at eye level. They had to be standing on their toes, maybe even pulling themselves up a bit just to look in. Creeped out by this, I yelled at them to go away, and they started banging on the windows.

yelling something that I couldn't quite make out. Someone started banging on the door, but I was starting to feel overwhelmed by all the noise, growing more and more scared that they were going to break the window or burst through the door. And then what? I was a small 12-year-old boy. I couldn't defend myself against six adults. So, I ran to grab the cordless phone from the wall and then locked myself in the bathroom that had no windows. I called my dad and when he,

He answered, I was confused to hear loud music and talking in the background. I ignored it and immediately told my dad what was happening. His casual and relaxed tone changed immediately to one of concern and directness. He told me to stay in the bathroom and if I heard anything more to call the cops. He shouted to my mom that they needed to go and hung up. I didn't dare leave that bathroom. I kept redialing 911 ready to hit the call button. I'd never had to do that before,

and in that moment I kept feeling like I was doing it wrong, or that I was missing a step. As if calling for help, calling for someone to come save me, shouldn't be that easy. The banging continued, but it wasn't as frequent, and then finally I could hear a car pull into the driveway. I hoped that it was my family.

The banging stopped and I heard my dad's voice as he yelled at someone. Then finally there was a knock on the bathroom door and I heard my mom calling out for me. I opened the door and hugged her tighter than I had in a while. My siblings were now lying on the couch in a confused and tired state. My dad came inside, slammed the door and began complaining to my mom. He had chased those people off, but not before they had smashed our pumpkins, knocked down some of our decorations out front and smeared candy bars across our house.

My parents were furious. Furious at those people. Furious, they left me alone, and very apologetic to me for it. It's not like I blame them for it, though. We didn't live in a dangerous area. There were kids everywhere, so this was definitely out of nowhere.

Those that didn't have any makeup or masks also didn't look familiar. I don't think they were from the area and our house was just chosen since it was on the corner. I was slightly mad at them at the moment because they had apparently stopped at a friend's house that was having a Halloween party. That's why it was loud when I called and why they hadn't come home yet. But I moved on from it. Thankfully, they reacted quickly and believed me. I don't know if my parents reported it or anything because, after everything, calmed down,

they helped the three of us get to bed. My dad was cleaning up the candy the next morning, and we never heard another thing about it. No one in the neighborhood even mentioned witnessing or experiencing a group of adults trying to trick-or-treat. I didn't trick-or-treat after that, but I also refused to stay home alone after that. So from then on, I just rode in the car with them.

Now being an adult, I let my kid decide if he wants to go, and for how long, and every year we do go, I can't help but keep an eye out on all the people in costumes around me, anticipating some creepy adults ready to bully a kid, but, thankfully, that never happens. I'm an experienced skier and had been going up until 2015, which is when my story took place. My friend Scott and I had been going on these ski trips for years and always had a lot of fun on them. It was the adrenaline rush for me. I loved being up high in the snow and flying down these mountains. We were in the backcountry of British Columbia, not the first time either, and Scott and I

had checked the avalanche forecast that morning. It was rated as considerable, but we'd skied in those conditions before. The fresh snow from the night before was too tempting. We convinced ourselves that we would stick to safer terrain. That was our first mistake. We were on what seemed like a moderate slope, something we were very familiar with when I felt and heard this deep sound that every backcountry skier dreads.

It was like a wump, the sound of a weaker snow layer collapsing. If anyone who reads the skis, you probably know what I'm talking about. The entire slope, fractured around us, watching it spread like glass breaking. Scott was slightly higher up and to my side. I saw him try to ski out of it, and thankfully he made it to the tree.

Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky. The avalanche hit me fast. I had also gone whitewater rafting, so I know the feeling of the violent waves and trying to keep control. But this was different. It was more violent and more chaotic. Before I knew it, I was tumbling and completely disoriented. I didn't even know which way was up, with snow being all around me. It was forcing its way into my mouth, my nose, and even my goggles.

I tried to remember my training, fight to stay to the surface, try to, quote, swim or dig upwards, and most importantly, create an air pocket before the snow settles. Through the fear of breaking my wrist or arm, I managed to get one hand in front of my face as the avalanche slowed. Then everything stopped. The snow around me turned from this soft fluid state to concrete in seconds. I quickly realized that digging my way out of this was not going to happen. I couldn't move at all.

My right arm was pinned across my chest and my left arm was somewhere above my head, I think. At least that's how it felt. I couldn't move my head. I couldn't feel my legs at all. The pressure was insane, like I was wrapped tightly into a full body cast. One of the most eerie parts of being buried in snow was the silence.

I used to love that dead silence after a large snowfall, but knots after this experience. After the roar of the avalanche, that's all I was left with. Nothing. Complete darkness and total silence. I tried to scream for help, just a quick one to try and alert Scott or anyone of where I was,

but barely a sound came out. There wasn't enough room for my lungs to expand properly. I could feel my breath creating a small space in front of my face where I had managed to cut my hand. However, with each exhale, the moisture from my breath was freezing, making my little air pocket smaller and smaller. I could seriously feel the ice forming on my face and inside my nostrils, wherever there was even the smallest amount of dampness.

When you're quite literally stuck in a situation like this, time becomes meaningless. I tried counting seconds but kept losing track. I would start hearing my own heartbeats, or I would try listening for sounds around me. I remembered the training we went through. I knew Scott would activate his beacon and then would search for me, but until and unless he did, I had no way of knowing if he had made it to safety.

I mean, what if he had ended up buried too? What if he was injured? Those kinds of thoughts lingered in my head longer than they should have, too. And of course, it was all making the situation worse for me. At least in my head it was. Between the anxiety, the physical exertion, and most importantly the limited oxygen, I started having troubles staying conscious. I kept telling myself that I had to stay awake. I didn't have a choice.

With hypothermia, you have to stay awake, and I feared that it would set in soon too. The carbon dioxide that I was exhaling was starting to build up in my own small air pot. pocket, and I could feel myself getting drowsy and confused. I remember at one point just repeating my daughter's name, like I was looking for her and then I would come back confused as to where I was, making me panic for a moment. I knew this was bad. I was running out of oxygen. At one point, I really fought to stay awake. Sleeping sounding so easy, and I could just do that.

and conserve energy. This was a very dangerous way of thinking. Sadly, I was losing the fight. I kept finding myself closing my eyes longer and longer. Until I felt a vibration. It was rhythmic and familiar. Someone was probing the snow above me with an avalanche probe. I tried to scream, but only a groan came out.

I tried to move my arms, but they were. were like concrete and pinned in place by the snow. Then the vibration stopped. My heart sank as I feared that they didn't locate me, but then it came back. And then I heard the most beautiful sound that I have ever heard in my entire life, a shovel hitting snow. While I was in the hospital, Scott told me that he managed to get out of the slide, but that there was no way he'd be able to help me without getting himself buried, and then we would both be trapped. I understood that, too, and there was no ill will towards him for not saving me either. Once it stopped, he started searching with his beacon.

My signal was showing, thankfully, but I was buried under nearly seven feet of snow. He dug for 40 minutes straight not stopping until he reached my hand. Turns out, it was above my head. and I'm thankful that it was because he may not have seen me. He said that he was worried at first because I wasn't moving. He kept digging to clear the area around my face, clearing the snow from around my nose and mouth. It was an incredible feeling taking that first breath of fresh air.

It was a relief, but it also burned my lungs. I started coughing, gagging on the snow that was packed into my mouth. I was still slightly out of it, but that was the best cough in my life as it jolted me back. I spent four days in the hospital. I had severe hypothermia, frost spite on my fingers and toes, and my oxygen saturation was dangerously low. The ski patrol said that another ten minutes, and I probably wouldn't have made it. The carbon dioxide poisoning combined with the cold was well on its way to shut up.

shutting down my organs, which was a terrifying thought, knowing how I was having trouble staying awake. I did end up losing two toes to the frostbite, and I had to partially learn how to walk without them. You wouldn't think a toe or two could change that much, but my balance was completely off. Simple things like going upstairs or standing on one foot, they felt it possible at first. The frostbite damage also affected the circulation in my remaining toes, which meant more months of treatment and monitoring. So, there's my story. I may not have been doing something that caused this, but that's even worse.

Mother Nature can be a beast, and you have to both respect it and know how to react in those kinds of situations. And I will always be thankful for Scott. He did everything right and he saved my life. We're still great friends and we have skeed since, but I don't like doing the extreme ones like we used to, even though this happened over a decade ago. I don't ever want to be in that situation again. Just no matter what you do or where you go, be as detailed as you can about your location to someone, anyone, so you can always be found.

I was listening to some of your videos when I heard a story that reminded me of something that happened to me last year, so I wanted to share it with you. First, I will say that I'm a 24-year-old guy. I was 23 at the time of this story. I've always been into hiking and camping, as it was something I did with my dad and siblings when we were younger. I haven't moved far from where I grew up, so all the places I regularly go hiking at, I know pretty well. Getting lost isn't something that happens, and I pretty much know the ins and outs of what to expect when I get out there. But one thing you really can't account for are other people, and how they may react when you come across them.

For the most part, you can determine what a wild animal may do. Humans are a little more difficult. I had left work an hour early after having a rough day. I was in a bad mood and a little bit. stressed out, so I decided to give myself a break and go for a hike. Being outdoors can lift my spirits quite a bit, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to get out there. There's a nice forest that's about a 20-minute drive from town. Not exactly a popular hiking destination, but that's why I loved it. It was usually empty, except for more experienced hikers, and it has these beautiful

old growth sections. It was pretty serene. By the time I got home, changed, grabbed my gear and drove to the forest, it was around 4 p.m. I also wanted to point out that when I arrived, my car was the only one in the little gravel parking lot. Now, it's possible that someone could have walked to the forest or maybe even rode a bike here, but there at least weren't any other cars in the lot.

Having walked it plenty of times before, I knew that I would get through it with a little sunlight left. It was late October, which was also my favorite time to walk through there. It was a little cooler, but not too bad. And the leaves changing colors were perfect for taking pictures, which I've also enjoyed. My mom is a photographer, so I guess they've both had a little influence on me. The trail is about two and a half miles long, and makes a loose. through dense hardwood trees. About a mile in there is a side trail that branches off, but I had never taken it before. It was marked on the map, but it was clearly an old path that was no longer kept up with, so I never bothered with it before,

keeping to what I knew. But for some reason, that day, probably because of my mood, I decided to explore it instead. Going through that trail, it was quite obvious that it was abandoned. The grass and weeds swallowed what was left of the trail. Branches would snag on my jacket, and I would have to maneuver my way over fallen logs and under low-hanging branches. I had to keep a mental note to check myself for ticks afterwards, which alone was pretty terrifying. I love being outdoors, but I cannot stand ticks.

So, after about 20 minutes into this part of the hike, I came to a small clearing with an old dilapidated hunting blind. At first I was confused because while this was a decent-sized forest, it wasn't nearly big enough of an area to hunt in, and there were signs posted that hunting wasn't allowed. However, it did look very old and like it hadn't been used in years, so I assume that maybe someone left this behind some time ago. It did make for a cool focal point for some pictures, however, so I pulled out my phone to take a few. While messing with my photo settings, I heard something in the distance that made me stop. It was a whistle, but not like a bird call, like another person whistling. But it wasn't like someone was whistling a song either.

It was three very separate and sharp notes. I stood there and listened as it got louder, until it finally seemed to stay at the same decibel, like the person had stopped moving. I looked around the trees to see if I could find where it was coming from, and finally, I did. About 50 feet away or so, standing just behind a large oak tree, was a person. The thing was, they were mostly hidden, but I could clearly see part of their body. At first it tickled me because it was like a kid not realizing they were too big to hide behind a little tree. So I smiled and waved, thinking maybe they were just being silly.

just two random people in the woods trying not to scare each other, maybe. But after several seconds, they continued to just watch me without returning the gesture. They weren't smiling. They didn't wave. They didn't speak. Just continued to stare. It was a little weird, but I just thought maybe they were bad with people or strangers and decided it best to move on. So I took one more photo of the tree line with the sky.

trying to, I guess, show them what I was doing there. Then I put my phone away and started walking. I only walked maybe 10 yards when I heard the whistle again, the same three notes. But it didn't sound like it was further away like you would expect. Curious, I turned around and that person was still there. But now they were behind a different tree, maybe 40 feet away. They were keeping pace with me, but still staying just out of clear view. view. Were they doing that on purpose, maybe? Trying to obscure part of themselves, maybe so I couldn't

make out what they looked like. From what I could see, a bulky red jacket with the hood up and dark pants, I couldn't even make out if they looked more masculine or feminine. Still, it was weird to me, so I turned back around trying to act normal and continued walking. Then I heard the whistling again, and I glanced back. Again, they were not only keeping up with me, but were getting closer. Finally, I turned back around to get a better look at them, and I think I saw some facial stumbles, so I assume they were more masculine. Still, they were clearly following me at this point, and only whistling, so I thought I should ask if they were okay, or if they needed help. Maybe the whistling was some kind of signal that was lost on me, but they didn't respond,

just continued to stare. I looked back once more and saw, that they were maybe just a few feet away behind a tree, and my heart was racing at this point. I didn't want to know what could happen if they reached me, so I turned back to continue walking, and after a few steps, I bolted. But I could clearly hear the footsteps on fallen leaves behind me, going just as fast.

Now they were chasing me, and I was freaking out. I ran without looking back, trying to follow the trail as best I could. The whistle continued, but still sounded just as clear and even. Not how I would expect a whistle to sound when it was being done by someone running as fast as we were. How was that even possible? After what felt like forever, I finally saw the main trail ahead. I burst out of the side trail, looking back to see if they were still following me, but I didn't see them.

They weren't there, not even peeking out from behind a tree. but I wasn't going to take any chances, so I started jogging to get out of there, when I heard the whistle one more time. At this point, it sounded like it was back to about 40 feet behind me. I was not going to risk it, especially since I couldn't even see the person anymore, so I ran again and didn't stop until I got to my car. I was shaking it out of breath.

I got in and locked my doors. What the hell even was? was that. I had never experienced anything like that before, not in those woods or anywhere else, for that matter. I wish I was good at music to share what the whistle was because it was just as unsettling hearing it so many times. I did call the police and told them what happened, but I know that there wasn't much that they could really do at the time. I know the person didn't really do anything wrong, other than maybe just following me. But they didn't follow. But they didn't follow me out of the woods.

And I suppose they could just say that they were going the same way as me to leave. I did feel kind of foolish telling the police, but I also thought that it was probably best to report it in case something worse does ever come up. I didn't go back in those woods for the rest of that season, but I did go last spring. Granted, I only took the regular more populated trail, but I didn't have any incidents there either. I didn't even hear the whistle. So while I wish I hadn't experienced that at all, I hope that I was the only one, and that that person got a good laugh out of my fear.

But also, I hope I never run into them again. This was something that happened to me back in late August of 2016. I was taking a solo road trip driving from Montana to Oregon to attend my sister's wedding. I don't like planes, so if I can drive there, I will do so, even if it does take me longer. But I took a few extra days off work, left before my parents did, because they were flying, and thought that I would just have a nice little trip by myself. The drive was going to be a little over 12 hours, so I expected to stop in between there once to sleep. The plan was to drive as far as I could, then sleep.

in my car at a rest stop. I ended up leaving a little later than I wanted, around noon, but I was finally out the door. The trip started fine. I had only stopped about three times. I was in a good mood and still had plenty of energy left in me. I had driven for about eight hours and was now starting to wind down. The first half of the drive was going so smoothly that I was thinking that I might make the entire thing. But I knew that that was probably not going to happen. My eyes were starting to burn, and my back was killing me, so I knew I was going to have to stop. I rolled the window down to help keep me focused until I came across the next rest stop. The one I stopped at was pretty average. It had an older brick building with restrooms and a few vending machines inside. There were a few

covered picnic tables and a small fenced-in dog park on the outside. So pretty average-looking and nothing really stood out. In fact, when I pulled in, my car was the only one there. There were no other cars in the lot and none on the truck side either, which wasn't really a surprise. It was a little after nine when I finally stopped, so it was pretty late. This didn't bother me because I just needed a restroom in a place to put. park to sleep for a bit.

I got out and stretched, which felt great, and used the restroom too, but here's where it got weird. As I was walking out and back to my car, I saw someone standing at the edge of the parking lot, just in the grassy part after it. But it wasn't just some person standing there. It was a clown with a full get-up. He had the fluffy rainbow wig. the baggy jumpsuit, with bright colors and shapes all over it,

the big red nose and the oversized red shoes. His face was even done up. It was painted white with a giant red smile and diamonds around his eyes, with over-exaggerated eyebrows. And he just stood there perfectly still like a statue, holding a single red balloon in his right hand with the other down to his side. When I tell you that I had the goosebumps, that is a fact, not just a saying. I felt the hair on my arms and neck stand up.

I had stopped right at the edge of the sidewalk and stared at him. This clown wasn't moving either. There was a decent amount of distance between us, but I could still see his face clearly enough, that I could tell that he wasn't smiling or frowning or anything, just a lights on but no one's home kind of stare. It didn't help much that he was standing under a light, which made it that much creepier. We both just stood motionless for what felt like ours.

What the hell was he even doing there? There was no reason for a clown to be at that location. Not like anyone was having a kid's party at 9 p.m. at some random highway rest stop. And to make it worse, I broke eye contact long enough to look around and notice that there were still no cars in the parking lot. So how did he get there? I wasn't in the restrooms that long, but I suppose it was possible that someone dropped him off there. But why?

On the off chance that someone else would be there to scare them? Then I did something that I still can't explain. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe it was just a nervous instinct as a way to say, hey, I see you over there, but I raised my hand and waved. Just a little wave, almost without thinking about it. And as I waved at the strange rest-stop clown, I thought to myself, What the hell are you doing? So I went to lower my hand, and to my surprise, the clown raised his hand and waved back.

but it wasn't a slow, casual wave like mine was. It was an enthusiastic and theatrical gesture with his whole arm. Then, he smiled. And even from a distance, I could see his massive, exaggerated, toothy grin spread across his painted face. After waving like that for a few seconds, he dropped his arm back down and went back to that eerily still position. But the smile remained. Let me tell you that was terrifying. To see someone smiling like that with no other bodily expressions, it was uncanny.

Like I mentioned, the smile was way too forced, too wide, too fixed, like someone who didn't know how to smile. That was enough for me, so I slowly walked toward my car, trying to sort out my keys without taking my eyes off of this clown. I reached toward my car and went to look at the door to insert the key when the clown raised his right arm and let go of the balloon. I looked at him as he watched the balloon, which caused me to look up at it too. I watched it float up and up until the sky, until I saw some movement in the corner of my view, as well as heard shuffling toward me.

I looked back down, and I saw that the clown was shuffling his feet quickly in my direction, He wasn't running. He wasn't even hardly walking. It was that little shuffle kids do without picking up their feet. I caught him in the act, getting just a little closer to me, but he stopped once we made eye contact again. I did not like that. I didn't like the idea of him approaching me,

and I certainly didn't like that he tried that while I wasn't looking. The whole balloon thing made it seem like a distraction in a way, even if he was loud about it the entire time. So I unlocked my car without taking my eyes off of him, and his creepy smile, hopped in, and immediately locked my door. By the time it took me to start my car and put on my seatbelt, he had managed to get a lot closer to me, to the point that I may have hit him with my car door if I opened it. I slowly backed out of the spot, went around him, and got the hell out of there.

I looked back once more as I drove away, and I saw him waving again, but it was more of a slow mechanical wave. I watched for quite some time, making sure that no one followed me from the rest stop. It seemed crazy because I still did not see a single car there, so it wouldn't make sense that someone would follow. me. But that just made it all that much worse. I still had no idea where he came from. If he was standing there when I pulled in, I would have seen him and probably wouldn't have stopped. I wouldn't say that I'm afraid of clowns, but I certainly am not a fan of them, so having this random clown standing around a dark rest stop was pretty freaking terrifying. Was that all he was planning

on doing? Was to just stand around and freak people out? What was the purpose of trying to get closer to me? And what would have happened if he had? That experience woke me up enough to go another hour or so until I stopped at a 24-hour gas station instead of sleep. There were no other events after the clown either, so that was preferred. Once I arrived at my sisters, I told her and a few other people over time what happened. It just became one of those creepy and unexplained things that I was unlucky enough to experience. It wasn't until a few years later that I realized

there was this whole clown pandemic thing. And after watching a video about it, I realized that it took place around the same time that I saw that clown at the rest stop. And I wonder if that is what he was doing, there. Was it just a copycat? An art thing? Or just someone trying to get pictures and a little prank? To this day, I still have no idea. And I just hope that it was someone trying to have some fun and not something more sinister. Hello, I wanted to share something that happened to me

last year. It may not be the scariest thing you've come across, but being in it. in that moment really scared me and put some things into perspective. It started out as one of those typical weeks. My wife, who at the time, was seven months pregnant, was having a rough time. Her car had broken down and had been in the shop, so we were down to one car, which we were able to make work. Based on our schedules, I worked later than her. I typically dropped her off, and then sometimes I picked her up, or she might get her ride from a co-worker, depending on how quickly she needed to get home.

She was having a very stressful week and reaching towards the end of the pregnancy. She was just having a really rough time. It was our first kid, so she was pretty worn out and was a trooper throughout the whole thing, even during the difficult moments. On this night, she texted me saying that she was going to get a ride from her co-worker since she was running behind, telling me that it was a number. another rough day for her. She had a larger and longer lunch because there was a corporate outing,

which is probably what set her back too. And with how her appetite had been, or lack thereof, I knew she wasn't going to want dinner either. So I had some leftovers and just hung around at home until she got there. But as I set around doing nothing like a bum, I decided I wanted to do something nice for her instead. With the weeks that she's had, I knew just the thing that would make her smile. She's been obsessed with this gelato from the ice cream shop throughout her pregnancy,

and I thought that I would buy her a pint of it. I mean, when you don't want dinner, you typically just want ice cream, right? So I started feeling like a genius and did some things here and there to prepare it to go. I killed some time by picking up the living room, swapping out the laundry, and then before I left, I looked at the dishes in the sink. We had a few things in there from dinner, our bowls from breakfast, and then I had my reheated dinner, and they hadn't been done yet. I know some people would call that lazy or whatever,

but my goal the night before was just making sure the wife was comfortable after having a breakdown at work. So I know that I needed to do the dishes, too, and that was the plan, but I wanted to get the gelato before she got home. So I told myself that I would go get it real quick, get home, do the dishes, and then she could come back to a clean house and a lovely treat. Don't worry, I'm not trying to justify my laziness,

it is all relevant to the story, I promise. The drive was fine, as it was only about 15 minutes from our house, if that. The place was very colorful and modern, and with the back wall full of those little polaroids and post-its that anyone could add to. It was always fun to look through them. I got in there and there was a couple sitting at one of the tables enjoying their time, and one girl behind the counter.

I'd seen her there before, a younger girl with short black hair, always very chipper and willing to let my wife sample different flavors, even though she still always got the same thing, pistachio and dark chocolate. Usually we just got the small cups for us, but today I was spending a bit more to get a whole pint for her and a little German chocolate cup for myself. The girl working there said that I was a good person and then asked where my wife was, and we had a small conversation about all that as she rang me up. I paid and thanked her and then began walking back to my car feeling like I was doing a good thing. As I got in my car and buckled in, my wife texted me again saying that they were just about to leave, and I responded to her.

I thought this was even better because it gave me enough time to get back and get those dishes done. That's when all of my plans came crashing down. It took my brain a moment to process what exactly was happening. There was a loud pop, and at first I thought it may have been a car back firing, but then I heard the scream. I looked around and back towards the big window into the gelato shop and saw a man standing there pointing a gun at the young girl that had just rung me up. I just remember staring into the building,

trying to process if what I was seeing was real. I was just in there. I tried looking around and I could just barely see the top of the couple's head that had been sitting in there just over the store stickers. I didn't know if anyone was hurt, but the girl looked terrified as this guy was clearly yelling at her. I finally came to and told myself that I needed to do something. I didn't know if anyone else had called the cops yet, but I had. I finally called them and reported what was happening,

as I lied across my front seats not wanting the guy to see me in the car and possibly come out. I stayed in that position for what felt like ours. the gelato now in a bag on my floorboard. Then I heard the sirens. There was another gun shot and a bunch of shouting, and I finally looked up over the dash when I heard them shouting, gun. They had cuffed the guy with the gun, and another cop and paramedic were inside the store.

That's when I looked around and saw the ambulance. I was worried that someone had been injured, and based on where the paramedic was, it must have been the couple. I remember being so terrified and feeling so bad for them. They were probably just out on a nice date or enjoying a little treat like myself, only to be shot at. I stayed in my car not knowing if I should get out and tell someone that I called or just leave. So I rolled down my window and waited for someone to notice me.

I did take the time to text my wife that I stepped out, thinking now she would beat me home, kicking myself for the whole thing. I didn't tell her where I was going because it was supposed to be a surprise. I didn't even leave a note. So if I had been in there, or shot, even, she would have no idea where I was. And I wouldn't have even been able to answer my phone

if she did try to contact me. And that was a terrifying thought for me. Thankfully, one of the cops did notice me, and so I started talking to him. I told him why, I was there and that I had called it in. He was trying to be optimistic, I'm sure, but he told me that it was a good thing I got there and left when I had, and said how the other man in there had been shot, but it wasn't life-threatening,

which did make me feel a little better. Finally, I got to go home. Now, with a gelato, more of a soup, and tell my wife everything that had happened. She freaked out. She cried, and she laughed. In that order, too. She was scared to hear that I was sort of involved in the whole thing and being in her current state. She cried for me, cried for the kind gesture of getting her the gelato,

and then laughed that it would be our luck with the week we were having. But she also made a very good point as we spoke about it. If I had stayed and done the dishes before I went, like I had debated, I may have been walking into that store at the same time that the gunman showed. up. I could have already been inside or maybe even walking to the door with him. And that terrified me. A simple change like that, a simple change in the order of things that I did, and I could have been in there and this could have gone a lot worse. And the cop showed up about the time the operator told me they would, so did anyone else even call for help or was it luck that

I would be out there and call it in? It was one of those I almost literally dodged a bullet. I learned about a week later from the news and things found between local pages and social media that the shooter was the ex of another girl that had worked there. He showed up for whatever reason to try and talk to her, and when the girl told him she wasn't there, he didn't believe her and started yelling. That's what made the other guy that was there try to stand between them,

and that's why he got shot. I saw a post from the local news where his fiancé was interviewed and ended up finding her on Facebook and pieced together more of the story. So, overall, it was a crazy situation that shouldn't have happened. And with just a few choices I made, I nearly avoided it. Because if I was in there, I think I would have done the same thing that man did to protect that young girl. She was too young, too full of life, and I hope that that didn't cause lasting damage to her. So, there you have it. Other than my kid being born, that was probably one of the scariest things I've ever experienced.

And if there's anything to learn here, it's that sometimes procrastination can save lives. The dishes can wait. life is unpredictable enough as it is. It has been far too long, Raven, and I miss you guys. I miss you too, Fox. I finally had time between everything going on in my life to share one of the many crazy stories that happened recently, and this one is from a couple of months ago.

I don't know who might be triggered by this story because it does deal with some racism and what might be considered an attempted kidnapping and or homicide, but rest assured that everyone is okay. I was on my way back from dropping off a DoorDash order, mainly because I still do deliveries when I want to make some extra cash to pay for equipment or other things. And this time I was actually outdashing for some extra cash

to get gifts for my wife's upcoming birthday. We live in an area that's developing, but still has some rural aspects to it, including a small cluster of little towns that still hold their traditional ways and looks. Without giving out too much detail on where we live, sometimes there are signs, flags even, that let you know an area isn't as welcoming as you'd hope. We avoid these places, but apps like DoorDash don't really differentiate an area as being dangerous or risky

until enough people in that area market as such, or have issues with residents. Well, I ended up in one of these areas, and it was nighttime and raining heavily. Back roads are often two lanes in dark, except for any illumination caused by your headlights, but I don't have a problem seeing at night, so I stuck it out to drive as long as I could, despite the rain. I ended up being cut off by a very old Ford pickup truck with a Confederate flag on the back of it, which started off behind me a distance and then quickly caught up to me and pulled into the

opposite side traffic lane, aggressively. The driver blew his horn and sped around my car. I could also see he had someone in his passenger seats, and at first I thought nothing of it. But they did seem to stay at my left-hand side for a few seconds longer than I liked. We were approaching a roundabout up ahead, and they, of course, gunned it to pass me, and went into the roundabout where they circled it twice, and then seemed to go on their way. I forgot all about it and went back to listening to one of Raven's older stories sent in by truckers because it helps me to stay awake and I'm a fan.

A few minutes passed and I realized that I didn't stop for gas like I intended to and my needle was hovering on E and threatening to ruin my night. So against better judgment, I pulled into one of the only gas stations I saw within the next 10 miles on the map. I parked at the pump and walked inside the store where I immediately felt something was off as the cashier stared me down. He was an older Caucasian man, handlebar mustache, American flag bandana on his head. And he didn't seem to like that I walked in. I wasn't sure if he was on the phone or not, but I heard him say something along the lines of, hold on a minute, through a thick southern drawl, and then he went silent.

I asked him for gas, told him what Pompi was at, and he chuckled and shook his head. You don't know where you're at, do you, boy? He asked me. I didn't answer him, but I did give him a sharp glare back and then scoffed at him and walked toward the door to exit when he decided to add to his statement. I didn't say he couldn't get gas, but I would definitely suggest you hurry up before the wrong party sees it. He warned me. I turned to look at him.

visibly irritated by his statement. Since my tank's basically empty, I'll drop ten for the tank and be on my way. I know the tells of not being welcomed somewhere, but I don't have a choice. I told him and tossed a crumpled $10 bill on his counter. He didn't say anything to me, and I walked briskly across the parking lot to my car, where I pumped my gas and kept my eyes on the station ahead of me and the road behind me. I didn't like what he said about the wrong party, and I know a minor threat when I hear one. But I also realized I wasn't currently in a position where an altercation would be ideal.

Technically, even though I had the GPS, I was still in the middle of nowhere, and had a decent distance to go to get home. As soon as I was done pumping and was back inside my car, I heard the noisy engine of a truck roar up the road and into the parking lot of the gas station. and it was that same Ford with the Confederate flag on the back. This time I could see it in its full glory. Red, rusted old truck easily from the 50s, with a complimentary Confederate license plate and several stickers on the back,

most of which were images of guns and mantras like Come and Take It. The one that read, if you can read this, you're already dead, actually got to me. And I did start up my engine and begin to pull out of the, parking lot as the two men emerged from the driver and passenger seat. I heard one of them yell something that sounded like, where you going, boy? But I wasn't trying to stick around after that. I got back on the road and continued on my road trip back towards civilization. I don't know how long it was exactly, but I did end up back in an area that I knew, not too far from where I lived, and got a notification from DoorDash that I had an order to pick up from a local barbecue spot.

It was for $25, and I hesitated. But if you know anything about dashing, when you have to spend some of your take on fuel, every sizable order after that looks ideal so you don't go home with less money. So I took the order. I pulled up to the barbecue place, went to the front counter, and avoided really dealing with anyone except the cashier. who was a younger lady with glasses. She informed me that my order was going to be ready in a few minutes

and offered me to sit at the bar and wait for it, so that's what I did. The dining area was semi-empty with a few people here and there eating or watching one of the many big screens stationed on walls where the patrons could see them. After what felt like forever, the cashier brought me a big brown paper bag with the order that I was supposed to take, and I headed for the front door.

It was still raining considerably, but by this point I really didn't care, until I saw that same Ford pickup truck roar into the parking lot. This time they stayed at the entrance of the parking lot, engine running, and I felt like they were watching me specifically. It only got worse when I got into my car and left, and they followed me. DoorDash does have a service for letting them know when you feel unsafe on an order, but DoorDash's helpline can be unreliable at best whenever you need it. So instead, I called my wife and let her know what was happening.

And I asked her to keep an eye on her Life 360 app, which both of us have since we both travel and drive for delivery apps alone sometimes. I hung up and kept an eye on my rearview mirror the entire time I navigated to the next stop, which took me a little out of the way from where I'd go to get home, but now I had another issue. They followed me up until I took a turn

and entered a neighborhood to deliver the food. And then they drove off straight ahead. I thought, I wasn't sure if I was out of the woods at this point, but just as a note for any listeners, my wife and I have talked about crazy situations and plans to deal with them. So we stayed prepared as much as we can. Our cars have dash cams,

and we actually wear our own body cams when we drive, just as added evidence and security. We also have small backpacks we call fox packs, which are filled with supplies like flashlights, portable chargers, walkie-talkies, small toolkits, med kits, and yes, a few simple weapons of choice. We keep these items with us during our drives, just in case anything should happen.

My wife actually has two different bags because she also rides a motorcycle. But I digress. As I exited the neighborhood, once I dropped off the food, I saw that the truck was actually waiting for me. And as soon as I turned right to get back on to the main road, they were right behind me again. At this point, I knew that I had enough evidence and confirmation

that these guys were following me, so I actually did call 911. I told the dispatch my name, where I was currently heading, and that I was currently being followed by two guys in a truck with a gigantic Confederate flag on the back of it, and a brief description of the vehicle, driver, and passenger. They told me to stay on the line, and that where I was currently headed would intersect with patrols from the local town's police. Dispatch asked me if they were driving aggressively or using their vehicle to strike my own, and I told them that thus far they hadn't, but that they were bringing their truck all the way up to the rear of my car,

which would make it impossible for me to slow down if I needed to. And I mentioned that I did have a dual-facing dash cam and recorded some of the activities of the night on it. Dispatch told me that officers were headed to my location and were going to intercept the vehicle that was tailing me in a few moments. And all I could do was keep on driving down the dark, rainy, two-lane road until help arrived. I could hear the men whooping,

and saying indistinct things as they played this game, but all I could think was that they had no idea what was coming their way. In the distance, I did see headlights approaching quickly, and dispatch told me that an officer confirmed that he saw my car in the truck tailing me. The officer hit a sharp U-turn and flipped his lights on, which, I guess, spooked the two men in the truck, because they sped around me and took off down the road. But for some reason, the officer pulled.

pulled up behind me and ordered me to pull over. He was from a small county in the area, and apparently he wanted to ask me questions about what happened, even though I told dispatch everything I could. So I cooperated, and even threw in that I had dash cam footage rolling the entire time and caught most of the action. The officer told me that we would get to that, and started asking me what I was doing out here at this time of night, where I lived and sucked. And before anyone says it, yes, I used to train police officers and I understand there's a whole argument on what you should and shouldn't do.

But in this situation, I kept my cameras going and took note that the officer let the two men escape. He took down my statement and information and said that their precinct would look into the situation, which I didn't believe. And I did ask the officer why he didn't pursue the men when he initiated a traffic stop and they fled. but look at who's using the big words was all he had to say to me about that. He told me that his precinct had enough evidence to look into the pickup truck, including their license plate, and that they would handle it from there. He said they didn't need my dash cam footage, and even though he took down a statement from me,

he didn't give me a card to confirm that there was an open case on the situation. I asked him about that, and he said that not every police, Police station handles things the same way, then told me that if they had any questions, they would give me a call. I insisted that something was off, and he told me flat to my face, don't go play in the hero or trying to make this a big issue, be a good boy and stay out of trouble. When I tell you that my blood ran hot, that is an understatement.

My wife was calling me at that point, so I did answer the phone, and the officer went back to his cruiser and left. As he passed, I saw him answering his personal phone with a grin on his face, and he sped off down the road. I told my wife what happened, and after a few minutes of literally fuming in anger, I went ahead and drove home. This is where my story ends, but just a heads up, there was a story that recently popped up in the local community group in our area about how apparently a man was found dead at the

park on the 4th of July, and that the police were keeping the story out of the local news because they didn't want to cause a panic. Witnesses who found him reported seeing an old red pickup truck leaving that park in a hurry, but no one has been arrested nor identified. One of the shared photos circulating in the group was taken from a few yards away from the park, which was roped off by local police. In it, you see several officers, and the man that pulled me that night standing right next to the mayor. I wanted to share the videos from my dash cam and body cam I have, but my wife said it's not a good idea because that officer purposefully let those men go, and got my information because I called

the police on them. If I were to leak the footage, we believed it would have turned into a more severe situation. People can say what they wish, but the truth is, you don't know what you would do in a situation like that. And since these men aren't identified and apparently the police don't care to stop them, it's an unfair advantage. We just won't be taking any more DoorDash orders in this area and steering clear of dashing at night. Just a heads up, this is going to be a long story.

I wanted to tell you about an ex-friend of mine named Lexi. Lexi and I had been best friends since I moved to the next friend. the school district that she was in. We met in sixth grade and became close friends ever since. We did everything together and stayed at each other's home all the time.

Our parents even held a joint graduation party for the both of us and we loved it. After high school, it just made sense that we should find a place together too. Word of advice, do not get a place together with your friend. Living with someone

is completely different, but I learned that the hard way. We found the perfect little two-bedroom apartment with reasonable rent, and I was genuinely excited to start this new chapter of our lives together. We sorted everything out, who got which room, Lexi wanted the smaller room because it had a large bay window in it, and she wanted to turn it into a reading nook. This worked for me because the other room was slightly bigger,

with its own attached half-bathroom. We had a similar taste for decorations and did everything in pastels. Even found a vintage couch and dishes that matched our theme. The first few months were amazing. We made our own girls night out together, where we would get ice cream and watch a movie or show together. We had friends over for small get-togethers or parties, and we just generally lived that young adult life that I had always imagined.

Lexi was so much fun. just as she was in high school. She was spontaneous and easy to be around, and I felt so lucky to be living with my best friend, sharing the bills, expenses, and chores. It honestly made it all worth it. But as we settled into our routine and got more comfortable, I started noticing some of Lexi's habits

that I hadn't been aware of before. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't perfect either, I know. I had my quirks, like leaving my quirks, like leaving my craft stuff scattered on the coffee table, or sometimes I would forget to take the trash out on pickup day. I left about an hour before her, so I usually took it out, but Lexi had some behaviors that struck me as genuinely unusual. The first thing that I noticed was how she handled the dishes,

or typically the lack thereof. When she finished eating, she would just place the plate in the sink as is. The thing is she rarely finished eating everything on her plate. But instead of putting what was left in a container or scraping it into the trash can, she would just put it all in the sink. We didn't even have a garbage disposal in the sink, so she would just toss the plate with whatever was on it, bones on the plate, crust from her pizza,

the cereal and milk in her bowl, straight into the sink. At first, I thought maybe she had just, forgotten or was in a hurry, but it happened consistently. Every single meal. You would think you know how much you can eat and not get too much, but she always did and never finished it. So there was also that bit of wasting food that I didn't like either. I finally asked her about it, honestly just curious about it, and she just shrugged and said that's what she's always done. So I explained to her that since we didn't have a disposal, she has to scrape the food off into the trash first. The first time, she seemed to understand and agreed to stop doing that, which made me think,

okay, problem solved, moving on. But that didn't happen. She didn't stop. She continued to do the same thing, unless I caught her walking in there, which I would tell her to scrape it, and she would. Otherwise, to the sink it went, and it became a constant pain. point of me saying scrape it, and she would say that she forgot and would get to it. But if I didn't, she never would. I know it's not good either, but I didn't do the dishes for two days to see if she would, and she never did. The food sat there until I cleaned it up.

Another strange habit was her approach to laundry. We had our own hookups in the apartments, and I would try to do laundry on several occasions, and she would have her clothes in there. No big deal. I just waited. But then I would go and check it for a few days and see the same clothing items sitting on top of the washer bin and would have to remind her to change it out.

She did this so often that the clothes would get that musty smell and would have to be rewashed taking even longer. I would eventually move her clothes to the dryer for her, but she got mad at me because something shrank and said that she hung it to dry. That was one of those talks we had to have, and I said that she then needed to set reminders for herself to change it out or something, because I can't do my own laundry of hers is sitting in the washer.

But again, she didn't change, and I didn't want her to get mad at me for moving her stuff, so I just started using the community one. I didn't want to do that, because it meant that I would have to pay for it, but at least I knew I could get it done, and have clean clothes. The third thing was her treatment of shared spaces.

She would leave her stuff everywhere in the living room. Shoes were all over even though we had a decent-sized shoe bench. I would trip over them all the time. She would leave food wrappers on the couch or tables, and in the bathroom we shared with the shower. She would leave messes on the counter. If she spilled creams, makeup, or even toothpaste, she just left it.

And I cleaned it up to not deal with it. I'm starting to think that telling her about it would do nothing anyways. We had a few arguments about these issues over the months, but we always made up afterward. I tried to keep in mind that it could also be a difference in upbringings. We both lived at home prior, but maybe her parents cleaned up after her more than I realized. But then, Lexi's behavior or she said,

started shifting in more concerning ways. She became increasingly disrespectful and inconsiderate, going beyond just annoying habits, and it was starting to feel deliberate. She started borrowing my things without asking, and never returning them or giving them back dirty or damaged. She took a sweater from my closet, and I later found it crumpled up on the floor in the living room with a huge stain on it.

My straightener actually went missing, and when I asked her about it, she said that she didn't recall ever using it. Then I went into her room, while she was home, so she was aware, looking for our glasses because we were almost out, and there were none in the sink or dishwasher. She hid glasses in her room all the time. That is when I found my straightener on her dresser, caked in what I think was candle wax. I ended up just buying a new one, not wanting to take the time to clean it all up. But when I confronted her about it, she always acted like I was being unreasonable for caring about material things. It was less the items specifically and more her lack of care for someone else's stuff. But the final straw for me struck when I came home late one night after pulling a double at work.

We needed the extra hands. I wanted to save up some more money, and it got me out of the apartment, so I figured, why not? So I came home around midnight, exhausted and ready for bed. As I entered the apartment, I heard the shower running, so I knew Lexi was already home. I made my way to my room to just pass out for the night, but froze in place as I opened my door. There was a naked man in my bed, looking at his phone. I remember being so terrified, not having a clue who the hell he was. So I ran into the bathroom where I hoped it was Lexi taking a shower and locked the door.

She poked her head out from behind the curtain confused, and I told her there was some guy in my bed. Of all the reactions that she could have had, she laughed and said that it was just some guy she brought home. So I asked why the hell he was in my mind. room and she said it was because my bed was bigger and better for two people. I did have a queen bed, once again brought from my parents' house, and she had a full-sized bed, but that did not give her any reason nor permission to use my bed to do God knows what. And that's what I told her. I was furious.

I told her that she wasn't allowed to just go in my room and take or use my stuff without asking. But the thing was, she didn't even seem to understand what the big deal was. And she was confused and offended that I was so mad about it. So, as she finished her shower, we had a bit of an argument about boundaries and how she was crossing them all. And I genuinely asked her what the hell was going on. If there was a reason she was acting this way, and she again seemed confused. I remember telling her that she had to be deliberately being disrespectful to me, or she was seriously not understanding what exactly she was doing wrong,

and I didn't know which one was easier to believe. After this guy left my room, I tore all my sheets and blankets off my bed and trying to clean my mattress, until I ultimately just flipped it over. The next morning, after the guy was long gone, I tried to have a conversation with Lexi, a heart to heart to try and figure out what the hell was going on with her. That did not go over well.

She exploded, screaming that I was being a controlling bitch. And, well, she was practically throwing a tantrum. She started throwing things. She kicked over the floor lamp in the living room. She even broke this vase my mom had given us as a housewarming gift. I just watched in horror as my friend transformed in a. as someone I did not recognize, someone genuinely frightening. Even when she got into fights with her older brother, she was not like that.

No, this was new. Not knowing what to do and to avoid getting something thrown at me, I just locked myself in my room until she calmed down. I called my older sister to talk to her about what had happened as I sat in my closet. Yes, I turned the music on and literally sat in my closet, talked to her. I'd been telling her everything that was going on. My sister and I have always been really close.

She offered to let me stay at her place until I got a new one if I wasn't planning on renewing the lease. All of this had taken place over several months, and we had about five months left on our lease. With how she was acting and treating me, I definitely did not want to renew with her, so I took the offer. I would tell the office that I was made. moving out, and Lexi that I wasn't renewing with her and get the hell out of there as soon as I could.

I did my best to keep the peace between us, while figuring out the best approach for the living situation. Lexi continued on with her inconsiderate behaviors, but she completely stopped helping with basic household chores at that point. If I didn't clean it, it didn't get done. And I didn't want to live like that, so I did it. even if I did look like her personal maid, I just didn't touch her room. Finally, we were four months out, and we would have to tell the office what we were doing within 60 days of our lease being up. So I brought it up when I came home one night to the dishes in the sink. She was off that day, and she managed to use two plates, a bowl, and three cups.

I remember this because I was so surprised by it. So I sat on the couch next to her and told her that I wasn't going to be renewing the lease with her. She once again acted like she had no idea why I wouldn't, like this was completely out of nowhere. I began to remind her of the way she was acting and what she was doing and, well, not doing. And she snapped again. She was screaming, calling me names, kicking and throwing stuff again. And I told her this was exactly why. and then locked myself in my bedroom again.

I waited for it to get quiet and late enough before I left my room again. It was late and I hadn't made dinner and I was hungry. After saying that she had broken several plates and left them in the sink, I just made myself a protein shake and went back to my room. But as I started drinking it, I noticed that it tasted funny. It had this strange bitter aftertaste that didn't make sense to me. It was a strawberry powder and I used soy milk, so I couldn't understand why it tasted that way. The only thing I could think was maybe I didn't clean my cup well enough and there was a soap residue, so I dumped it and just went without.

The next day I made another protein shake to take with me for lunch at work and used a different cup. When I went to drink it for lunch, I once again noticed that it tasted funny. I had just bought the soy milk, so I doubted it was bad. Not that it spoiled the same way as regular milk either, so I just couldn't explain it. And so I once again just dumped it and got something else for lunch. When I went home that night, I admittedly was not in the best mood, but it was worsened when I saw that it was still trashed after her tantrum the night before. I didn't clean it up, and I refused to do so, so I left it.

I started by picking up some of the things that were knocked over in the living room, and Lexi just complained that I was blocking the TV. So I told her that she needed to grow up and start helping out around here, saying that I refused to be her mother. I went to the kitchen to start cleaning out the broken ceramic in the sink when she followed me in there. She stopped in the entryway smiling and asking me in this weird way how my shake was, following it up with a giggle like a kid who thinks they're being clever. I asked her what she meant by that and just gave me this unsetely.

settling smile and shrugged, claiming there was no reason and that she was just curious. That's when I got suspicious. I remembered both of the shakes that I tried tasting funny, so I went to grab my soy milk from the fridge. I opened it up and was shocked to see not only did it have a slight green hue to it, but it also looked lumpy, like it was curdled. How was that even possible with soy milk? Not to mention I had just bought it that week, so it was. wasn't expired.

So I got defensive and asked her what the hell she had done to my milk. She again had that stupid grin on her face and claimed that she had no idea what I was talking about. I remember her looking so pleased with herself too and it pissed me off. She was being childish at this point. Clearly she had done something to the milk. And what? Was it supposed to be some harmless prank?

A way to get back at me for being mean to her? her, or was whatever she put in there possibly dangerous? At this point, I was concerned. I didn't know what she was capable of or just how far she was willing to go. I poured it all down the sink, and from that day forward, I didn't even eat at home unless it was either takeout or something I bought at the store that day, and didn't take my eyes off of it.

I even changed my doorknob to one with the lock to make sure that she didn't go in my room, whether I was home or not, clearly not being able to trust her anymore. I started avoiding her at times that I could, going straight to my room when she was home. I would wash the dishes that I used and would keep them in my room so that she couldn't break them, and all the while her stuff piled up, and the place looked worse and worse. I didn't even bother trying to do laundry in our place. I really had no reason to be there anymore, so after talking with my sister, I started moving all my stuff out at three months. I went down to the office and told them that I wasn't going to be renewing, but I didn't know what Lexi was going to do.

They asked me about rent and the deposit, and I told them I would continue to pay rent until our lease for that year was up, and that I didn't care about the deposit. I just wanted to be done with the place. My sister didn't work. She stayed at home with my four-year-old niece and her husband worked, so I took a few days off of work myself to move some of my bigger items with her help while my mom watched my niece. I planned this specifically so that we could do this while Lexi was at work, so she wouldn't be in our way either. Most of the furniture was staying. I was taking my bed in the swinging chair because my grandma had gotten that for me as well as the living room TV. because my mom specifically bought that for me.

However, I didn't need a TV in my room, so we used it in the living room. Lexi had one in her room, so I figured that was fair that we both had one at the end of the day. Other than my personal belongings, that's all I was taking. Even the couch I went half in on, I was leaving with her. Then, we ran into problems. Lexi came home, and I still have no idea how she ended up home that way. other than she took just half a day or something. At first it was awkward, as she didn't acknowledge my sister at all

and just kept making these remarks under her breath every time she walked by me. But then as we started unplugging the TV and wrapping the cables up, Lexi snapped. She started screaming at us about how we couldn't take the TV because it was hers. I wasn't in the mood to deal with it, so I quickly corrected her and offered to show her the receipt. She stomped off into the kitchen. We got the TV into her van, then went back up to finish the smaller things in my room. I was in my bedroom with my sister standing in the doorway when, out of nowhere, I heard Lexi scream out,

That's my TV! I looked behind my sister to see Lexi running toward us with a knife in her hand. I tried to get my sister out of the way, but I wasn't fast enough, and she drove that knife right into my sister's back. Everything slowed. My sister was screaming, and Lexi was beating her on the back of the head. I managed to get in between them,

bit Lexi on the hand to get her to let go of my sister's hair, and then pushed her out of the doorway. It got her back enough that I was able to close my door and lock it, while also trying to keep my sister calm. I didn't know that she had actually stabbed her until she turned around and saw that she was stabbed in her right shoulder blade. I had her grab a towel from my bathroom to wrap around her back for the moment. Both of us were too afraid to pull the knife out. I sat against the door, being very thankful for the lock now as Lexi continued to bang against the door.

My sister was on her phone calling for help. Those next few moments felt like an eternity waiting for them to show up. The rest of that day went by in a flash. We heard the sirens. We heard the police come in. Alexi was yelling at them that she would kill them too. And then we heard the popping of the taser. Once we could no longer hear her screaming, they came to my door.

My sister turned out okay. The knife went deep into the muscle, but managed to miss any main nerves and arteries. My sister, of course, pressed charges and rightfully so. And I just filed for a restraining order. I wanted nothing to do with her, and I never wanted to see her again. I told the police everything and how that wasn't who she used to be, and I still have no idea what happened to her. I don't know if she was going through something and just refused to talk to me about it,

or if maybe she was using something. Or maybe I just refused to believe that was just who she was as a person, to live with. And that was how she handled confrontation. I never did see Lexi again, which is good, I suppose, but I still don't know what led up to all of that. And I suppose I never will. But since then, I've lived by myself and I refuse to let anyone move in with me. No matter how well I claim to know someone, I am not taking any chances. Back to you, back to you. in my 20s, my girlfriend Stacy and I lived in a decent little apartment complex where most people were pretty chill. At the point where the story takes place, we had lived there about six years,

and we knew most of our neighbors and most of them quite well. Like shared keys to feed the pets and water the plants, kind of knew them. We all got along, talked a lot in passing, and probably knew enough about each other that they could be family. But then one year this woman moved into the same building we lived in, two doors down from us. I'll call her Denise. Right off the bat, Denise was different, and not necessarily in a bad way. Or at least not at first. She was probably in her mid-forties, lived alone, no pets, no visitors that we ever saw.

I saw her carrying in boxes on her own, but never saw her with any help. I was expecting to see a truck one day so I could offer to help, but either it never happened, or she managed to have them over when we weren't home. Most people in our building at least say hi in passing, but Denise actively avoided eye contact. She would literally turn around and go the other direction if she saw people coming. If we both walked out at the same time, she would go back in until I was gone. At first, Stacey and I just figured that she was shy, or maybe she was going through something tough. Alas, live and let live.

But then the complaint started. About a month after Denise moved in, Stacey and I got called into the building's management office. They said they received a noise complaint about our apartment, and they asked us to keep the quiet hours in mind. We've lived there long enough that I don't think they've found. felt like we were out here being troublemakers. We did have a game night and had a few friends over, so I just assumed that maybe we got a touch too excited, so I accepted it.

We apologized, made a mental note to bring it down a notch, and we were on our way. Two weeks later, there was another complaint. This time there was a letter attached to our door from the office saying the cooking smells coming from our place were disturbing other residents, and to make sure that we open windows, use stove vents, etc. And to try to avoid strong sense.

I was confused because the day before we got the letter, I had made a simple curry. It's something I probably make once a week and had never gotten complaints before. I also always use the exhaust fan and the ceiling fan because otherwise it would get too hot in there anyways. We just, again, accepted it and moved on. Then, one day on my way home from work, one of our neighbors, Mike and Kelly, said that they got a noise complaint too. The problem with this is that Mike works nights, so he's not home. Kelly works during the day from home, but they're the quietest people ever.

They never have people over and you typically have to initiate conversation with them. That's why he asked about it. He asked if we had heard anything and apologized to us. We certainly didn't hear anything from their apartment and had never had issues with them before either. But as the days continued, more and more of us long-term residents were getting complaints about the silliest things. Noise, smells, someone got a note because she left her porch light on after 8 p.m. She keeps it on because, again, her partner gets home from work late. Someone else got one for having a trash bag on her patio.

her private patio that only the residents can get to. The thing is, it wasn't even trash. She had a bag covering a plant that she had just moved out there. We were all getting frustrated and wondering if maybe the office was trying to weed out all of us long-term tenants in hopes to charge more to the new people. But the office people just didn't seem like the type to do that. Then, we all started piecing the time. timeline together and realized the complaints didn't start until after Denise moved in.

The complaints were all petty enough for someone like that to do, just to cause problems, and of course the office wouldn't say who they were coming from. But it became pretty clear when all the complaints were for people in the same building as ourselves, and Denise. I wanted to say something to her, or maybe even the office, because it wasn't right. but instead of getting mean, Stacey had a better idea. The complex held a little Independence Day celebration every year for our little community. It was nice because they would block off part of the back parking lot,

which gave the kids a safe place to shoot fireworks. They also have a cookout and ask anyone who attends to bring something, whether it's meat, sides, desserts, drinks, just anything to make it easier. and Stacey and I are very outgoing people, so when we found out they did this, we attended every year and helped wherever we could. We also brought our grill down and helped with the cooking, and even contributed to the fireworks for anyone to use. But when 2020 showed its ugly head, they of course canceled it for that year and 2021. We asked about it for 22, and they said that they weren't going to host it indefinitely, so we didn't. decided to have a smaller version of it and kept it to the folks in our little complex.

We had all gotten to know each other pretty well, and after talking to them, they also agreed that it was a good idea. Stacey said that she would go and invite Denise in the hopes that we could all get to know her, and maybe she would loosen up a bit. I was certainly reluctant and was expecting Denise to slam the door in Stacey's face. Or just maybe not answer at all, but to my surprise, she answered, she was polite, if not shy and quiet, and accepted her offer. So, I thought at that point, maybe this would all actually work. Fast forward to the day of our cookout, we were all out back, and Mike and I had started grilling. Everyone brought out chairs for us to have a place to sit, and we started enjoying each other's company,

something we haven't really been able to do to this extent. About an hour into the cookout, Denise walked around back, carrying a box. I ran to help her, and with a smile on her face, she explained that she made her famous three-bean chili and her family's cheesecake. I was impressed. She was smiling, talking about what all she used in her chili, and even joked about her secret ingredient that made it her own. We set them out on the table with the rest of the spread and got her a chair.

Like I said, Color Me Supposed. by how social she had become. She was chatting with everyone, making jokes, and even asking others about the food they brought. I could tell that a lot of us were relieved, but I did notice how she was pushy about people trying the stuff she made. She kept talking about how the cheesecake recipe was very special, because it had been a part of her family for decades. Unfortunately, I had been eating a lot before she showed up. Stacey and Kelly both made some killer finger foods as they normally do, and I had a few brots on top of that. I never did try the chili, but I told her I would pack a small container for myself to have later,

and while she seemed a little disappointed, she accepted this. I'm also not a big dairy person, and cheesecake especially. I don't like the textures of most of them, so I only took a small bite of what Stacy cut for herself. It tasted pretty good, but still wasn't my thing. Nothing against the cheesecake at all. But everyone else that had both seemed to really enjoy it, and by the end, we were all in a food coma. That is, we assumed it was a food coma.

Kelly said that she was going to head home early because she wasn't feeling well, and she just assumed she overate. No big deal. Then Mike said that he was feeling the same, him so he left. The conversation slowly dwindled as we all noticed the look in everyone's faces. Stephen told us that he probably shouldn't have had so much cheesecake since he was out in the sun, and after trying to help clean up some, he had to run to the side of the complex because he got sick. I offered to help him back to his place, and he accepted because, I honestly don't think he would

have made it on his own. He looked pale and was having trouble standing. That's when I was started feeling a bit weird, mentally, that is. There were three people now that were not feeling well after our little party. Was something bad? Was it food poisoning? Does that even hit that fast? I was physically feeling fine, and when I looked back at the group, I saw several other people looking a bit out of it, including Stacy. She said that she was just going to take something and would come back to help clean up. By the time I walked back. to the lot after dropping Stephen off, most of the people were gone. The niece was still in her seat with a glass of tea staring up at the sky.

I asked her where everyone went, and she said that some left saying they were tired, and some said they weren't feeling well. This convinced me that something must have happened to the food. We all ate the same stuff, and most of us were feeling sick now. So what was bad? Or was the meat not cooked properly? I was freaking out. I thanked Denise for coming, but started picking up, which included me stacking all the food in a box,

not caring if it was stored or not, as I was going to throw it all out. I didn't know what it could be, and there was no way for me to figure it out. Denise thanked me for inviting her, and left with her container of chili and cheesecake. Not much left of either, and then I asked her how she was feeling. I remember her shrugging, her smile fell little as she said she felt fine, just a bit warm from the heat. So why didn't she seem to feel ill? Then I realized I wasn't feeling ill. So if it was the food, what was there that neither myself nor Denise ate?

I started thinking more on this and realized the only thing I didn't really have was the cheeseball that Jessica brought, and Denise, Denise's chili and cheesecake. But Denise, from what I remember, had a little bit of everything, except her own. I remember her not eating her own food and someone had asked about it. Her explanation was that she was lactose intolerance, so while she loved cheesecake, it didn't love her. And she said that she was snacking and having the chili as she made it, so she wasn't too hungry. But as I said, she was still eating everyone else's stuff.

This immediately got me thinking, and you know where I'm going with this, I would hope. But I didn't even know how I could go about proving that Denise could have put something in her own food. Most of it was consumed, and she had taken the containers back with her. I checked in with everyone that was there and learned just how ill they had all gotten, including Stacy. Some were throwing up, some were in severe stomach pain. some, including Stacy, practically slept in the bathroom. I ended up taking her to urgent care, fearing that she was dehydrated. We told the doctor how it came to this, at least what we knew,

and they were honest and said that her symptoms specifically definitely seemed like a bad reaction to something. We went in claiming possible food poisoning, but the doctor felt it was something more than that, which is when we explained the party. Unfortunately, this was two days later, so the party was long over and Denise probably long discarded the leftovers. The illness lasted about the same time for everyone else that we checked on too. I couldn't help it, and I asked them about the foods too, and a few of them agreed with me that something wasn't right. Everyone was eating prior and we all felt fine, until Denise showed up with her share. But would this woman really try to drug?

or even poison us. We all treated her like one of our own, welcoming her to our party in conversation, but she'd been calling in complaints on us, or most likely. Again, I guess I can't confirm that. It's just awfully convenient that she moved in. The complaints started and we would all end up sick as hell when she showed up. I'd like to say that we have some kind of resolution, but we never did. We couldn't prove anything, so nothing could be done.

not like we could call the police and say, hey, we think our neighbor poisoned us a few days ago. All we could do was go back to how we were. Those of us that knew each other, stuck together, and we all did our best to avoid Denise. There were a few more complaints that were made, but after going to the office about it, they said neither the person complaining nor them could prove the claims,

so they never took action. In less than a year, however, Denise moved out. One day the office manager was standing in the doorway complaining to someone in the apartment, and we learned that she had left abruptly. She told the office that she was moving out. They asked her for timelines since she would be breaking the lease, and she never responded. They went to talk to her and found the place trashed with very little taken.

Her clothes and some other belongings were taken, but she left everything else, making it their problem. I guess, surely, the office manager was pissed off enough about it that she let it slip out that Denise was the one complaining. So, she moved in, complained about all of us, tried to potentially poison us, and then left? None of us, including the office, understands why she did this. And I don't think we will ever have answers. But all I know is that I hope she found some happiness somewhere. But for me personally, let's never meet again. So this was something that happened back when I had my first house.

I had been living there for a few years at this point, and I was itching to do some renovations. I was wanting to replace the carpet in the bedrooms, tear up the carpet in the living room, and have hardwood in there and in the kitchen. I also wanted to paint the walls to add some much-needed color and eventually replace the kitchen cabinets. I knew that was going to take some time and money, so I started with the paint.

I had a few people take turns coming over to help out. I was painting the two bedrooms in the living room, which didn't take too long, and after that was done, I focused on the flooring, deciding I would do the cabinets last after I got some quotes on them. As for the flooring, I found a good deal on the carpet that I wanted, but everywhere I looked for installers, their prices were way out of my range, or they just weren't available to do it when I was wanting to get it done. So I decided I would try to find an independent installer,

maybe someone running their own smaller and local business. And as such, I started my search on Craigslist. After looking at a couple of advertisements, I finally narrowed it down to two different guys and messaged them for quotes. One of them said they were out of town and wouldn't be back for a few weeks, and the other guy said that he was available, and his price was about what I was expecting to pay. He was very professional and laid out what to expect, and how long it would take, and I accepted.

I sent him pictures of the rooms and the dimensions, and we locked in a price. He was going to be coming out the following week with another one of his guys and doing the installation. I had everything moved out into my garage in a storage cube, wherever I could get it out of the rooms, so they didn't have to worry about it. Then, promptly at 11 a.m., there was a knock on my door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see just one guy, Rick, as he said that someone else would be with him, but otherwise I paid it no attention.

I asked if he was Rick. He confirmed, and I let him in. I did what I normally do when I had some kind of maintenance work being done and started explaining what I was wanting. I showed him the carpet that I'd had delivered and watched as he looked over the rooms with an almost confused look. Now, I can be a pretty awkward guy myself, so I just kept talking as he looked around and even grumbled a few things.

Then he let out a big sigh, smiled at me and said that he was ready to get to work. I told him I would be out back trying to clean up my yard. I was outside for a good hour or so when I took a phone call from my dad. We continued talking and I went back inside to write something down. I looked down the hall and could see the pile of old carpet and heard familiar sounds of thuds and tearing. Afterwards, I went back outside to finish my work.

It had been another hour, and I was getting hungry, and thought I would be nice and offered to get food for both of us. I went back in and noticed that the old carpet had been completely removed from both rooms, and Rick was standing in one room staring at the roll of new carpet. It was standing up, still rolled, and it was like he was examining it. I asked him if everything was good, and he just gave me a slow, uh-huh. a little strange, but I thought maybe he was just thinking over the best way to start. I thought that it was weird that it had been two hours, and all he had done was tear out some of the old carpet.

But I also wasn't a carpet installer, so I didn't know how long each step was going to take. Even though, in the estimate, he gave me a time frame on how long it would take to tear out and replace the carpet in both rooms, as well as the flooring in the living room in the kitchen. I decided to let it go, and I asked him if he wanted pizza and that I was going to order some. Again, he just kept staring at the carpet and nodded, slowly saying, Sounds good, brother.

I asked him if he wanted anything specific, and he shook his head. Maybe he just wasn't a social person, so I backed out of the room and placed my order from my laptop. I shoved it in my backpack, and put it back in the closet, and then went back outside. The pizza only took about 40 minutes, as it normally did when I ordered from that place. And I once again was outside the entire time. I had moved to the front yard and was deweeding, thinking it would be easier when the pizza did arrive. They showed up, I paid and tipped and took the boxes from the man and then went back in through my front door.

I put the boxes on the counter and started making my way down the hall to let Rick know the pizza was here when I noticed he wasn't in either room and that roll of carpet hadn't been touched. I looked back and noticed the bathroom door was closed and that the light was on. He was clearly in the bathroom, which was fine, but it had been about 40 to 50 minutes since I last saw him and he hadn't even unrolled the carpet. What was going on? I just went back to the kitchen not wanting to be awkward and grabbed a slice. I again kept in mind that we had a locked-in price and estimate on time,

so it's not like I was going to give him more if it took longer. Well, unless something went wrong, but he hadn't done anything for almost an hour. Regardless, being mean does not come naturally for me, so I shouted from the kitchen that the pizza was here and sat on my counter as I ate and scrolled through my phone. It was probably another 15 minutes and the guy was still in the bathroom. Now I was growing a little concerned, or I guess maybe curious. I shouted down the hallway, asking if he was all right, and there was no response.

I started a text to my dad, preparing to tell him and ask him about all this. He had his own lawn care business, so I wanted to mention my experience with Rick. But then the bathroom door opened, and I noticed that I didn't even hear the toilet flush. He walked into the kitchen and stared at the pizza. That was when I really noticed that something was wrong. He was very sweaty. His forehead was completely wet and his hairline was dark. His eyes were white open and red, and worst of all, there was a small.

bit of blood running down his arm from the inside of his elbow. I just remember thinking at that moment, did this guy do what I think he just did in my bathroom? I stood there silently watching him when he looked at me and asked if I was paying him in cash or check. I told him I was going to pay by check as we agreed. He sighed and said that he wanted to be paid in cash instead. Odd request, but I told him that was fine, but I would have to go to the bank to get it

because I didn't have that kind of cash on me. He asked me, why not? And I explained that I had no reason to have that kind of cash on me and reminded him that we had agreed on a check. He didn't acknowledge that, but then asked if we were going to go get the cash then. Confused, I told him no, because I wasn't going to pay him until he was fed.

finished, again, as we had agreed. I asked if he wanted half up front and the rest when he finished, but he said no, since he would have it done the same day that I could just pay when he was done. I had the messages to prove it. That is when he started to become agitated. He said that he would never agree to that and demanded his payment now, adding another thousand dollars to it. I stopped him and reminded him of the price we had agreed on and again, and again, he said,

he was angry. He yelled at me that I was messing with him and trying to rip him off. I told him that we had this in writing, and I even offered to pull up the messages to prove it, when he pulled out a carpet knife from his pocket and lunged at me. I managed to move to the side missing the knife, but he elbowed me in the process. Everything happened so fast in that moment.

There was a good scuffle between us. I bit him on the arm, which got him to the arm, loosen his grip on me, and I ran through the kitchen door, which led to my backyard. I only had my phone on me that was, thankfully, still in my pocket, but I didn't even have my car keys. I ran down the street, wanting to be out of view of him in case he ran after me, and I called the police from the corner and told them what was happening. I waited there until I heard the sirens and then ran back down to my house. I warned the police that I thought was high in that he had a knife on him.

Two of them walked in the front door and one went to the back. I stayed by the front door per their directions. I heard them shouting, put the knife down, and then a lot of thuds, and then they led the guy out in cuffs. He had a white substance on his face and head, as well as blood on his face and arm. Once they had the guy in their car, I went inside with them and learned what that white substance. was that was all over him, and no, it wasn't what you're thinking it was. Rick had completely destroyed my kitchen wall that the door was on. The cop said that when they walked in, he was smashing his head against the wall and was still

holding the knife, scraping at the wall with it. There were large gouges and scratches where he was carving at it with that knife, as well as dense and holes where he put his head and maybe his fist through it. The whole thing was just so bizarre to me. because the door wasn't even locked. He could have just opened it like I didn't left, but it was like he was trying to dig his way out? Ultimately, he was charged with property damage, assault, and possession.

He still had a baggie on him, but he graciously left his needle in my bathroom. He didn't even finish the carpet, nor did I pay him, obviously. I physically made it out okay, but then I had to find someone else to finish the flooring, and now repair the kitchen wall. And no, I did not go through Craigslist for any of that. I learned my lesson.

So this story is going to be a little different, but it still scares the hell out of me, so I wanted to share it. Several years back, back when I was still in my 20s and still running off of energy drinks and protein bars, I would party a lot. I was big into music, still am, but I would go to just about any concert that I could. I followed all my favorite bands like Hawks, and if they were even remotely close, I tried to go to the concert.

I even liked going to some of these smaller, local, and cover bands. They were typically just as fun, and if anything, the drinks there would make it fun. This is where I kind of landed myself into some trouble. I'd been sick with the flu and was out of work for almost a week, which completely wrecked my paycheck. It was a little shorter, and I had some unexpected bills come up, so I was cutting it pretty close, but I was able to keep everything afloat.

I finally got back to work, and my friend told me that one of our favorite bands was going to be coming to town. I was ecstatic. I hadn't seen these guys in a few years, and they put on one hell of a show. I don't want to say who it was, because I think a lot of people would be able to figure out my general location. Anyway, we for sure both wanted to get tickets, but I had to get paid again before I could even think about buying them. So, we waited anxiously to buy the tickets until the following week, slowly watching the amounts left. I was getting nervous that they would sell out, but finally, Friday came around, I got paid, so I went in to buy them.

That is where the problems began. I went straight through the venue and they said they were sold out. I've run into that before, but typically they weren't actually and they were just basically holding tickets back for purchase at the door. And so I tried a few ticket places online with no luck. I even physically went to the venue to see if I could just buy the tickets at the box office, and they said that they couldn't sell tickets for a future event. So I went back home empty-handed and upset that we probably wouldn't be able to make the concert. I started checking on some sites that I had used in the past to buy tickets that individuals were selling,

people that couldn't go and now needed to sell them, and of course the occasional scalper. I didn't want to go that path because I know that they were typically overpriced, and I really wanted to see these guys. I hadn't even been to an actual concert in a while due to life just getting in the way. So I made the decision to buy tickets from this person on said site. He claimed that he bought several tickets for him and his friends, but a few people cancelled on him, so he was just trying to recoup some of the money they lost. He had a few general admission tickets, but then he also had some for the balcony area to the side. They weren't much more either.

I believe $100 each versus about 60s, so I asked for the balcony ones, knowing my friend would be super excited for it too. I paid him through PayPal, and he sent me a screenshot of the QR code and code for each ticket. I thanked him and even told him that if he had another. balcony one, that he was welcome to join us since he saved me some stress. And he agreed, saying he'd be happy to. I didn't mind. He just made our entire night, and now I was back to being excited for this concert. So fast forward two weeks to the night of the concert, we were both dressed up and looking nice, and standing in the already long line to get in. We finally got to the front of the line, and the girl there first looked at my paper that I printed out with the

codes, like she was confused. I remember her mumbling something and then trying to scan the code. It clearly didn't capture it. She said that it wasn't accepting it, and she asked me where I bought the tickets from. I explained that it was from an individual trying to sell tickets that he had bought, and then she asked me to show her the confirmation that I got from it. I explained how I paid Vival. a PayPal and he just emailed me the screenshots. She then asked us to stand to the side for her manager and that's when I started to get concerned. What was wrong with my tickets? Finally, the manager showed up and I explained everything to him and he explained that the tickets appeared to be fake.

I was shocked and scared. I showed him the payment and the email, freaking out thinking that he may have thought we faked the tickets. He apologized and assured us that he believed us that we were just victims, but he asked if he could keep the papers that I printed to report to the police about the fakes, explaining how it's all been pretty bad. He even showed us what their codes looked like, pointing out that it was long and almost barcode-like, not the normal square QR code. He then gave us a few suggestions, like trying to fight it with PayPal or the bank to get our money back. Unfortunately, since it was inside, he couldn't let us in,

but he said that if we waited around for everyone else to get in, then we could be first to buy any remaining tickets. He also gave both of us a free t-shirt for the venue, which was really nice of him. We thanked him for trusting us, and he went back inside, leaving us to wait and watch all of these other people go in. The line seemed never-ending, and to be honest, that was pretty discouraging. We were both thinking that they weren't going to have any tickets left,

and standing there was just making us feel worse, so we decided to just pass on the whole thing. We instead went to a little bar and grill for dinner and drinks, then went to another bar for even more drinks. We blasted the band's music, and even the Uber driver got into it and played it for us. Maybe it was because we weren't. We were pretty drunk, but he also did get a pretty big tip from us, too.

We were upset that we didn't get to go to the concert, and that I was out $200. But we ended up making a great night out of it anyways, and we were thankful for everyone involved. We ended up back at my place, and my friends stayed there. The next morning, my phone was blowing up with texts and missed calls, people asking if we were okay to answer ASAP and call people back. My sister, my mom, a few friends. I was trying to figure out what the heck was with all the worried messages. I started with my sister and said that I was home and asked why,

explaining that we didn't go to the concert. While I was responding to my mom, my sister called me. I was not expecting what she told me. She said that there was some kind of fight that broke out at the concert, and someone started shooting people. One person had died, and several more were injured. I was shocked. I told her that we never even got in,

and I could hear the relief in her voice. She said that she would send me the news article, and I let her go so I could respond to everyone else. I got up and went to the living room to check on my friend, who was still ungracefully passed out. I woke her up and told her what had happened, and she seemed to have the same reaction that I did, grabbing her phone and seeing all the missed calls and texts.

We sat there clearing through all the messages, and I finally got to read the story. It said that there was some kind of altercation, and someone was asked to leave. That's when the person pulled out a weapon. It didn't say what they had, but then another person brandished a gun and began shooting. They shot the guy that first had a weapon and then shot someone else nearby,

which was the person that died. Then several others were shot. It also didn't specify if there was another shooter or if it was all the same guy, but both people that had weapons or started it had been arrested. It was even on the news later that night as they interviewed some comments. concert goers. The place looked like a mess. Some people looked terrified and were crying. I was just in shock. We were supposed to be at that very concert. And because we wouldn't even have been on the balcony, if we got in at all, we would have been on the floor, and probably

near the back, too, since we would have been one of the last ones in. Since the shooting took placed close to the door, as the person was being escorted out, we could have been right there by it, possibly shot, maybe killed. It was way too close for comfort, and I had to talk my friend down from a full-blown panic attack, both of us getting that survivor's guilt in a way. We were upset about being out $200 when others were right there in that moment, struggling to survive or get away. Or maybe even grieving over a friend, or a family member, or a partner that they lost.

Things were a bit weird for us for a few days. We certainly couldn't bring ourselves to listen to their music the days following, and I still felt a twinge of guilt when something negative happened. Like, I had no right to be upset. But over time, we both got better about it. It was an awful thing to happen, and we respected the, the situation for what it was. But I just became incredibly thankful for how things turned out for us.

Getting scammed was potentially a lifesaver for us, and I don't take that lightly now. It did take a while before either of us wanted to go to another concert, but eventually we did. And thankfully, there have been no other incidents like that. Now I just have a handful of people that require me to message them before we go, and after, which I can live with. I won't take these fateful moments for granted anymore. I have a pretty basic and kind of nothing happened sort of story from when I was a kid, but it scared the ever-loving hell out of me back then,

and I really don't have answers for it other than the obvious possibilities. This all happened when I was 13, so mid-90s. My parents used to occasionally go out to their friend's house on Saturday night to have a group dinner and play cards. It wasn't an every weekend thing, more like in every two to three weeks. They would leave me home with my older brother, David. David was newly 17, had a new girlfriend that he'd been with for a few months, and he was good about telling me he'd be back before my parents, and if I told them that he was sneaking out, he would unalive me.

So, on those nights, it was just me. Our house was pretty old. It had a few spots in the living room and hallway that would pop and creak when you walked through. It was pretty much impossible to do anything in the main area at night in a sneaky way. I was pretty well used to the usual sounds when people were around. None of it scared me. Of course, when you're alone and you hear those sounds, things feel a bit different. I was in the living room reading a book when nature called.

I didn't like the half-bath that was downstairs, so I went up the stairs to the full bathroom to do what I needed to do. After a few moments while I was up there, I heard what sounded like a rhythmic thumping sound, like a soft thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, like heavy but slow steps. It sounded like someone was walking through the back, part of the house, near the back door and kitchen.

At first I thought I was just hearing things, old house sounds of the furnace kicking on or something like that, but then there was the telltale sign that there was, in fact, somebody downstairs, the pop and squeak of that living room floorboard. There was, without a doubt, someone walking around down in the living room, and there I was, caught with my pants down with nothing to protect me from someone with malicious intent, but a flimsy bathroom door. At least the knob locked, so I guess there's that. I stood there with my ear to the door trying to listen for where the person was walking to.

Of course, I had a few thoughts. Maybe David was home early. Maybe it was my parents that were home early, and David was going to be unalived by my dad. But something told me that it wasn't either one. I think it was how slowly they were walking around. My throat was dry and my heart was beating fast. I think I just instinctually knew that this was not someone that should be in my house. I know that sounds silly, but at that age, I think I was just trying to will it to be my family,

because anyone else was too terrifying of a possibility. Then I heard someone call out. Hey David, are you here? But they didn't like yell it out. They called it out creepily, almost sing-song-like. Like they were intentionally trying to be creepy, stretching out all the syllables of every word. At that point, I was obviously certain that it wasn't anyone in my family,

but it was someone that knew my brother. Again, I thought maybe they were just a friend of his, but why would they have broken in to the mostly dark house in the middle of a Saturday night, instead of knocking on the door or calling to see if he was there? I turned the bathroom light off just in case they came up the stairs. I didn't want them to see that someone was in the bathroom, and I listened. I could hear the person walking around and calling out for David again. Then it sounded like they were rifling through some random things,

like they were looking for something but not finding what they were looking for. After a few more moments of all that, I heard the person walk toward the steps, then step on to the first step. Again, my heart was pounding. I thought for sure they were going to find me. Now, I don't believe in guardian angels or anything like that, but if they exist, then mine was absolutely looking out for me at the that exact moments in time.

On the stairs, my dad had installed one of those carpet runners, the kind that you attached to the stairs firmly and tightly so that it doesn't move, but it protects the steps. Well, the third step, however, was partially detached, my fault. And if you stepped on it wrong, it could slip. It wouldn't slip completely off the step, but just enough that if you weren't, paying attention, you could very easily lose your footing.

I think you probably see where this is going, because this home intruder's lack of knowledge of our house worked out in my favor. I heard him take the first step, quietly say David again in that stretched out way, and then I heard him slip, a very loud thud, and then him screaming a few F-bombs. After a few minutes of him yelling and groaning in pain, I heard another voice say, Holy shit, dude, are you okay? I wanted to panic about the fact that there were two guys in the house,

not just the one, but I also wanted to laugh my ass off at the fact that this idiot had broken into our home and most likely bashed his head onto the top step while committing his crime. The first guy said something like, I hit my head on the steps. I can't effing see straight, dude.

They talked back and forth for a few more moments, and in their conversation, the second person said that they would just get what they needed from David later, and that they needed to get him to the hospital. Of course, he argued asking what they would tell them since they were kind of doing something illegal, and the second guy just said, just tell him you fell on the stairs.

They don't need to know whose stairs. Then I heard them walk back to the living room and out the back door. I sat there for several more minutes just soaking in the whole event. I was terrified, absolutely. I was scared witless, but I was also laughing so damn hard. After about five or ten more minutes, I decided that I needed to get downstairs and call the cops, or my parents, or something.

I ran to the phone, and there, attached to the counter near it, was a post that said, if anything happens, call me first, with a number that I assumed was my brother's girlfriend's house. So I called that just because I didn't really know what else to do. After about ten minutes, David came running in the back door asking me if I was okay, and what the hell happened. I told him that two guys had broken in and were looking for him,

because they, quote, needed something from him. I told him about how the guy started up the stairs, but that he tripped and bashed his head on the steps, and then they left. The thing that was weird was that David honestly couldn't figure out who it was, or why they were there. I know that some people could say that he was probably dealing drugs or owed somebody money, but he really wasn't that kind of person.

He did drink when he was. a teenager, but he was never really interested in any drugs or anything, so he really could not figure out why they would have been there to try to scare him or what they were wanting to get. So this was my creepy home alone story, and yeah, like I said, nothing really happened, but it certainly scared the hell out of me. I never did get answers about any of this, and we never did tell my parents. David, my brother, passed away in 2023 from an accident at his work, but this was one of those secrets that he and I kept. And after a few years, we were able to laugh about the time that some dude broke into our house and probably gave himself a concussion,

while a 13-year-old me sat in the bathroom less than 10 feet away, laughing my ass off the whole time. Hi, Raven, I hope you're finished moving and all settled in. It's so not a fun sure overall. It's definitely not fun. Mostly settled in, completely moved. This story began with a lovely invitation from a friend I hadn't seen in many years. She and her husband had purchased an old three-story Victorian home in San Francisco. My friend, who I'll call Marcy, wanted to catch up in person, visit an art exhibit we were both interested in,

and catch several other activities around the area. We'd been college roommates at one time, and we had much in common. I had missed her company throughout the years, so this was an invitation I eagerly made arrangements to make happen in my schedule. I took an evening flight and arrived fairly late at night, so we had a nightcap while marveling at how time passes. Soon, Marcy showed me the guest bedroom before going off to bed herself. The moment Marcy left the room, I could feel that I was being watched. I've had the feeling of being watched many times before, but this time it was the strongest I'd ever felt. If I had turned around quickly and seen a full-on apparition, I would not have been at all surprised, but I only felt a presence.

No apparition appeared. Regardless of the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, I got ready to be. ready for bed. The only light in the room was a small hanging light over a mirror that was on, but quite dim. As I was ready to get into bed, I went to turn off the light, but I couldn't find any on or off switch at the base of the light as one would expect. I tried the electrical switch on the wall. It didn't connect to anything. The light stayed on and no other light responded. And since it was such a dim light, I gave up and decided I would just sleep with it on and ask Marcy about it in the morning. I got into bed and closed my eyes, and suddenly I heard a click, and the light went out.

I was left in the dark with an urge to say thank you, but I was somewhat fearful that I might hear a voice answer back with, you're welcome. So I remained silent. The next morning, with the sun streaming in the window over the bay, I investigated the light. I had to know what was up with it. There was a long cord that was hidden down the back of a mirror that I hadn't noticed the night before.

On the cord was a kind of on-slash-off switch one has to roll with the thumb. I then rolled the switch on, as it made the clicking sound I had heard in bed. Then I rolled it off again. Same click again. All the while, the continuous feeling of being watched pervade. That feeling would never leave the entirety of my visit in that guest bedroom.

I didn't bring the matter up about the feeling of being watched or the light situation with Marcy. We were having too much fun and all that other stuff seemed too weird. Plus, I knew Marcy and her husband to be skeptics. After I returned home, I began second-guessing my experience. So, I bit the bullet in cold Marcy. I told her that I needed to ask her something, but that she might think I'm crazy. I said, Marcy, has anyone ever told you that your house is haunted? To my utter surprise, she laughed and said,

Didn't I tell you? Yes, it's haunted. That's how we got the house so insanely inexpensive. She explained that the real estate agent revealed that it was haunted when she and her husband were looking at it. So she went inside and told whoever was there that if they let her and her husband live there, the ghost or ghosts could stay. So, I asked about the light. Was it on a motion detector? The answer was no.

Was it on a timer? Again, the answer was no. Marcy said emphatically that the only way to turn it off or on is to roll the switch, on the cord. I told her about the feeling of being watched, and she congratulated me on sticking it out. saying they had once hired a house sitter who bailed after the first night. I did stick it out. I wasn't keen on being watched so intently,

but I stuck it out because I've never felt this ghost was malevolent. Just highly curious about the new guest. And actually helpful in giving me a good night's sleep in the darkened room. So I usually just lurk around these parts and don't have much to say, but I actually do have a story that I wanted to go ahead and share from a few months back. Thinking about it now freaks me out because of all the things you read about online when it comes to trafficking and all that. And the whole thing happened in broad daylight.

I think that's the worst part. I live in a fairly decent apartment building downtown in a major city. I don't want to say which major city. I'll just say that it's to the south. It's got a large population, and most people here don't suck. It's a decent complex that has a doorman during the day and some cameras that are pointed at most the hallways and the doors. And I probably pay way too much, but I like the location and I feel mostly safe here. I work a pretty standard 8 to 5, so I'm usually home by 6.

On this particular day that this happened, I had actually taken. taken a half day, because I had a doctor's appointment at once, so I was home by two in the afternoon. I had just gotten in, kicked my shoes off, and was about to finally get something to eat for lunch when there was a knock on my door. I'm pretty careful. I always check the people. Standing outside were two people, a man and a woman.

Both looked to be in their late 30s to early 40s, and they were worried. wearing identical navy blue polo shirts, kind of like a uniform. Just as well, they both had clipboards, and the man was holding up what looked like an ID badge, but was just far enough away that I couldn't actually read it clearly through the glass. It just kind of looked generic, like something you could make, print off, and laminated home in about 30 minutes. The guy then spoke up. I'm guessing that he had heard me moving. inside or something. He said,

City Wellness Check Initiative, we're here for a mandatory wellness check of all residents in this building. This felt like a very confusing potential red flag. Mandatory wellness check from the city? All residents of the building? At two in the afternoon? That was a bit strange, but I'm also fairly new to this part of town,

and sometimes stuff happens. that I'm not aware of. Still, a little voice in my head was saying, yeah, no, this isn't legit. I decided that I would at least respond through the door to try and see what the hell they were going on about. I said, okay, what is this about?

Which felt kind of silly since they had kind of told me. The woman then spoke and gave a bit of a strained and fake smile, saying, Oh, it's just a few questions about your living, situation. It's all standard. And then she gestured her to her clipboard. She then asked me for my first name and said in a very assured way, we don't need your last name, just the first name for privacy reasons.

Almost like she was trying to get me to feel more comfortable with the whole thing. Oh, we care about your privacy. We're so legitimate. I told them that it was Sam. I didn't mention that it was short for Samantha, but they could probably have figured that out. They asked one or two more generic questions about the rental property, like what my monthly payment was, and how much I paid in utilities. Then, the questions got strange. The man spoke up again and asked, Do you live alone?

He then looked like he had written something down on the clipboard before I even answered. Now I do live alone, but I'm sure. not about to tell two random strangers at my door that. So I lied, trying to sound casual. Uh, my roommate's at work right now. He made a show of ticking a box and then looked back up and asked, And when are you normally at work? Just in case we need to come back.

I swear, when he said come back, he stretched it slightly almost like he was warning me that they would be back. I told him that I couldn't really answer the question because I was home randomly depending on my work's need for staff. This also wasn't true. I was pretty much never home during the day, but, again, they didn't need to know that. Then, the woman asked the question that was the absolute line for me. The indication that this wasn't a wellness check, this was some kind of vulnerability check. She asked,

and your windows, do they have any additional security locks or security systems? Anything to tell you if someone opens them from the outside, for instance? The thing about this question was that it was very direct. It was very straightforward in what she was asking. But it felt strange because why the hell would anyone tell them that? Especially after the other two questions. I asked them to hold on for just a moment saying that I was getting a phone call and would be right back, that I absolutely had to take it.

I then pulled out my phone and immediately called the building management office. The manager of the property answered pretty much immediately, and I put the phone on speaker. Hey, John, it's Sam from apartment number X. A quick question. Do you have any knowledge of city workers doing some kind of man? mandatory wellness check on the building right now. There are two people here that are asking some very intrusive questions about the building's security and about whether I live alone.

There was a quick beat of silence before John replied with, Uh, no? Let me get someone up to your floor from security. I then heard him start talking in the background, probably into a walkie, to someone else. I looked back through the peephole again and the two people were gone. No, we'll be right back, sir goodbye is just gone. I mentioned it to John and he told me that he was still sending someone up to talk to me about it because this could be something way more serious.

They came up and asked me a couple of questions about the whole thing and said that they would check the cameras to see how they got in and what they looked like, and then mentioned that they were going to report it to the police as well to make sure that they're aware of whatever it was, and that they may want to speak with me about it too. The next day I actually went down and spoke to John in person. I knew he would be in. He said that the two people had actually entered through the main door,

and that they'd sneaked in when the doorman wasn't there. They never gave an ID or anything, but they did look official. However, he said that they looked like they were going to my door specifically. because they didn't stop or slow down. They went straight to the stairs, straight to my floor, and knocked. They came in no more than a few minutes after I had, so they may have been following me, but at the same time, how did they know specifically which apartment was mine?

The kicker came a few days later. I was chatting with another woman in my building, and she mentioned that the same thing had happened to her, but she just blew it off. The people showed up and mentioned that it was a mandatory wellness check, but she wasn't as willing to talk to them as I was. She was short with them, and said that she would refuse to answer some of the questions. But then they also asked her if she had a dog.

Honestly, the scariest part of all this was the implications. It seemed like they were targeting single women. Both myself and the other woman were both single, and it seemed like they may have been gathering intel on our living situation. Again, not for wellness, or vulnerability. They were trying to see if we were vulnerable. I don't even want to think about what could have happened next, or what they were actually planning.

Nowadays, I just yell, not interested, if someone knocks on my door and I'm not expecting anyone. I don't even bother with the people. And believe me, the security chains on my door are always on, and the deadbolt is always locked. At this point, I don't care who it is. If they want my attention, and I know them, they'll call or text me.

Back when I was a kid, my uncle Brett started seeing this woman named Dana. I never really cared for her, and I don't think many people in my family did either. From the beginning, she rubbed everyone the wrong way. She had this condescending way of talking about our family traditions. She always commented about how some of the things that we did were outdated and suggested improvements or mentioning how things were done, quote, the right way. Not to mention, she also had a very bad habit of trying to one up every day.

one, especially me who, at the time, was 12 years old. What kind of full-grown adults is threatened by a child? And that is exactly how I got this story. It literally started over cookies. Back when I was 10, I had invented these peanut butter and banana cookies inspired by the sandwiches that Uncle Brett and I used to make together when I stayed over at his house. I know I probably didn't actually invent the idea,

but my mom and I spent time experimenting in the kitchen until I got them right. My uncle had cancer that had caused him to no longer be able to have kids, and it crushed him. I may not have been able to fully understand it as a kid, but I could tell that he was upset and not quite the same after his surgery. So, I wanted to make those cookies for him, and I made them just as I wanted. I used real mashed bananas in the dough,

and after baking, they were still soft and chewy, and he loved them. They became my signature dessert at family gatherings, and Uncle Brett would dramatically hoard them, pretending to guard the container from everyone else. It was just our thing. Then, Dana was invited to our family get-togethers, as she was with our favorite uncle.

We could tolerate her for a few hours so that we could spend some time with him. But when I brought out the cookies, she would get so angry. At one point, Uncle Brett joked with her that he would marry her on the spot if she could figure out my secret recipe. And while we all laughed, she looked pissed. I remember her even making a comment about how they were made by a child, so it was probably just loaded with sugar and preservatives. I didn't even really know what that meant, but before any of us could respond, my uncle would jump in and calm her down and say that he was just joking.

But the way that she acted toward my family, that had always been close, it irritated me. So I always made sure to personally hand him the container of take-home cookies, just for him. But even without my recipe, they got married in 2005. and only a few select people were allowed to be at the wedding. I was not one of them. Unsurprising, but her sister's kids were all over. Anyways, after the wedding, Dana became more competitive for his attention and approval, and we saw him even less. He still came to major holidays, but he did miss some of the smaller ones, including birthdays,

which was disappointing, but it is what it is. That was until Thanksgiving of 2007. I was 16 at this point, now old enough to help out more in the kitchen without supervision. So when Uncle Brett and Dana showed up, I looked over to greet them, saw Dana carrying one of those aluminum foil containers, and told her that she could put it on the card table in the dining room with the rest of the food. I didn't ask her what she brought or even talk about it because I was busy helping my mom. I also didn't pay much attention that she wasn't standing with my uncle, as my mom and I talked to him. I assumed that she was looking over and judging what food was there, as she liked to do.

After dinner, we were all scattered around and someone mentioned desserts. Dana went to the table that we had set up with them and brought her container back to the dining room. As she took the foil off the top, she confidently said that she had tried her hand at making the peanut butter banana, Nana cookies, too. She had this smug look on her face when she said it as well. I knew that mine were great. Even if she had figured out a way to make hers better, I knew that mine were the original and that my uncle and I would always cherish that.

Even so, I was excited to try hers, to see what she had come up with without knowing my full recipe. I pulled one out with the rest of the group and noticed that they looked identical to mine. Then I tried it. It tasted fantastic, and also exactly like mine. I was honestly curious if she had come up with it herself, or if my mom may have shared my recipe. My uncle was impressed, telling her that she nailed it.

But something was off to me. This whole thing was weird. I went and grabbed my container of cookies, and immediately noticed that they weren't as cakey. However, when I pulled them out of the oven, they were. So how could they have deflated so much since cooling off? That hadn't happened to me since my first batch. I placed them on the table and ate one anyway to compare.

Those were not my cookies. They were dry and crumbly, with a slight crunch, which aren't necessarily bad things in cookies, but that is not how I made mine. After eating both, I had this crazy idea in my head and kept it to myself. What if she swapped our cookies to make hers look better? I was a kid, accusing an adult of this and, at the time, even being 16. It seemed outrageous to me.

So, with my suspicions, I asked her how she got them so soft, and she scoffed at me like it was a silly question. She said that she just experimented with the amount of oil that she used. I then asked her how much banana extract she used, and she said that she couldn't remember because she would pour some in to taste it. Then, my uncle joked with her, asking what her technique was, and again she chuckled a bit, delaying by taking a drink, and when we were all watching her, she said that she wasn't going to tell us,

because she didn't want me to steal her recipe. But here's the thing. I didn't use banana extract. I used real mashed-up bananas with the right kind of peanut butter. That way you don't need extra oil because of all the oil and that. That, combined with some of the other things that I add, with my mom's suggestion, is how I made them so soft and fluffy. She was wrong because she undoubtedly swapped them

and didn't have a clue on how to do it. I was angry. I was planning on telling my mom about it after they left, not wanting to cause a scene, and probably give her the reaction that she had wanted, so I waited. I started walking over to the dessert table to find something else to eat. I didn't even want to eat my real cookies to give her an ounce of satisfaction. As I started cutting into a pie,

I heard my cousin on the couch behind me cough. I looked back because it was a pretty hard, cough, but then he smiled and said that he was fine. No big deal. But his mom then walked in there too, a different aunt, and mentioned that his lips looked swollen. He was three years younger than me, so he was still a kid, but he was able to talk and explain what he was feeling. He said that he choked on the cookie, but was fine and then asked for water. My aunt went to grab a cup, and he started clearing his throat more and touching his throat and chest. That's when it started to sound like he was gasping.

I went over to him thinking maybe he was choking and was going to pat him on the back, but then I noticed his lips swelling even more. And the hives started. I yelled for my aunt and uncle who ran back to the room, and my aunt yelled about him having an allergic reaction. My aunt asked him what all he ate, and he had pointed to the second cookie on the coffee table. Of course, he was allergic to walnuts.

To my horror, I realized it was one of the cookies in my container, the ones that Dana had swapped. I went to the dining room, and I asked her if she put walnuts in her cookies. And again, as if there wasn't a sense of urgency, she scoffed and said, of course she did. I didn't hide my anger anymore.

I told her that she had swapped out the cookies because I did not add walnuts to mine, because I knew that my cousin was allergic and I knew that he loved them too. A few people looked at her and she still denied it. She said that I was being childish because hers were better and that I clearly needed to pay more attention to people's allergies. It didn't make sense. She admitted to putting walnuts in hers, but I did. yet he ate what he thought was one of mine, because he knew they would be safe.

My aunt was on the phone with 911, digging through her purse for an Epipen. My cousin was now on the floor wheezing, and still, Dana blamed me. My uncle Brett just stood there staring at Dana with this horrified realization. The paramedics arrived and rushed my cousin and aunt to the hospital, my uncle following behind in his car. They did spend the rest of the night in the hospital, but thankfully he was okay. Dana never admitted to what she had done. After the ambulance left, she acted like she was the victim in the entire thing.

She said to my uncle Brett something about wanting to leave because some people were disrespectful. My uncle gave us all hugs and well wishes and then asked us to keep him updated, and they left. My parents both told me that night that they knew something was up with the cookie thing. They hadn't tried the real ones that she brought, but said that when they tried her container of them, they were clearly mine, or an exact replica of them. My mom even said that she would never have shared my recipe unless I wanted her to. She not only almost killed my cousin, but she also wouldn't let my uncle go to most family events after that. He came over for Christmas and would stop by for Thanksgiving, but he never stayed for dinner. He just came in to talk and would take a whole container of cookies home with him.

Anything else like birthday parties, there was always a reason that he couldn't come. We all knew that it was Dana. But, thankfully, that didn't last much longer. They were divorced two years later. Then with me being a young adult, he started coming to more parties and events, and he would actually talk about the problems between him and Dana. He mentioned some pretty manipulative tactics that she would pull on him, and little did she realize that she forced them into counseling,

and that that same counseling made him realize his worth, and that they really weren't compatible. He filed for divorce, which was the most control and decision he had made for himself in quite a long time. We were all just happy to have him back around. He always has been the life of the party, and we were back to being a happy and goofy family. I was back to making my cookies for everyone and not having anyone almost die from eating the wrong thing

because someone was jealous. So, to Dana, I truly hope that we never meet again. That goes for my entire family. I live in a pretty rural area. It's not completely isolated, but the nearest town is about 20-minute drive, and I work in a city about an hour away. I got my house pretty cheap, and it was perfect for me. The city is still growing and developing, so I thought it would be a good place for my first home. I didn't need much anyways, as I was typically a homebody, so it worked out for me.

What I'm about to share is something that I still can't make sense of, on one of those late-night drives home after work. I had stayed a lot later than I had planned. I was working overtime to catch up on some numbers and got stopped talking to a coworker that was there doing the same thing. I finally left around 11 p.m. The route is mostly highway,

but the last 30 to 40 minutes are on a state road. Two lanes, long stretches of driving with very few streetlights, and a lot of open fields, farms, and woods. During the day and even during the sunrise and set, it's pretty peaceful to drive through. But when you're in a rush or exhausted, it can be a long, boring drive.

Luckily, I had a late night energy drink, so I was pretty awake, just physically drained. I had music going and the windows cracked to keep me focused. This was a few years ago, and back in mid-autom, so it was a bit chilly at the time. That is when I first spotted the figures. Going along my normal drive, I saw something on the right side of the road, maybe about a hundred feet ahead of me,

near the edge of a tree line that bordered a large, empty field. At first, I just registered it as something out of the ordinary, a momentary blip on my path home. You get used to seeing deer, coyotes, the occasional fox, maybe even some farm equipment, but the closer I got, the more I realized it wasn't any of those. It looked like a person standing there, perfectly still. My immediate thought, it was something like, what an odd place for someone to be standing at nearly midnight. But then I thought maybe it was a farmer that was scaring something off his

land, or maybe just looking at something. So I slowed down a bit, squinting, trying to get a better look. As I got closer, my opinions began to change, because it was way taller than any person I knew. It was also incredibly thin, like unnaturally so. It was just silhouetted against the slightly lighter sky above the trees, but it looked like it was wearing dark clothing that just blended into its shape. The shirt, or whatever it was, must have been tight or form fitting because I could tell that it was wearing something, but I could still make out just how skinny it was. Other than that, there were no distinctive features, just a tall, skinny, dark shape.

And it didn't move at all. There was no sway in the slight breeze, it didn't adjust, nothing. It just stood there. Because of its immense ability to not move, I figured maybe it was some weird modern art sculpture on someone's property. And maybe the owner didn't like it and ditched it on the road. Or maybe it was one of those realistic and creepy scarecrows that I've seen some farms put up around Halloween, and they just never took it down. Either way, I just shrugged, made a face, and sped back up driving past it. I mean, I may have felt awake, but maybe I might have felt awake, but maybe I just shrugged.

I was more tired than I thought I was. I drove for another few miles, the figure long gone and out of view behind me, but that experience had left me slightly jolted, and I was a bit more awake. But then I saw another one. This one was closer, maybe only 70 feet off the road, still in a field, but closer to my side. Again, it stood perfectly still, but had the same impossible height and things. thinness, the same dark, indistinct form? That's when my heart rate picked up a bit.

There were two of these creepy figures or scarecrow's in different fields, miles apart. I slowed down again, feeling that sense of unease. I drove past this one a little slower than the first. As I got closer, it remained utterly motionless, just a dark and spindly figure standing there facing perpendicular to the road, looking into the field. I still couldn't make out any facial features and details, and it was still just a silhouette,

but everything around me felt heavy. It's still hard to explain, but it was just there with this intense stillness that felt wrong. Again, after staring it down for a few seconds, I passed it by quickly, as if it was going to follow me. I seriously felt, crazy at that moment.

I looked this thing up and down and there was not a single movement from it, but I kept anticipating some stupid horror movie trope where it would turn around and scream or something. But regardless, what even were those things? I take this road almost daily, and I had never seen them before. I was probably another five to six minutes down the road when I saw a third one. That one was the worst. It was right on the edge of the pavement, like just a few feet from the white line. I stopped pretty hard.

At first, I was thinking it was walking into the road from the looks of it until I got closer and came to a complete stop. It was maybe 10 feet from the road. It was facing away from the road looking into the field just like the last one, but this one looked much taller, closer to 7 or 8 feet. And being as close as I was, calling it skinny was an understatement. It just looked like a dark line against the slightly gray field beyond its limbs. I had to have been sitting there in my car on the road for a few minutes.

I'm both glad and disappointed that no one else ever drove up behind me. I would have had to have kept moving, but I also wish someone else would have to see if they were seeing the same thing I was. I was just far enough away that my headlights were right on this thing's back. I could see the texture of whatever it was wearing, and it looked like it would have been incredibly uncomfortable. It looked rough, like burlap or something similar. But like I said, it looked stretched over what I assume were incredibly thin limbs. And I know that my description partially sounds like it would be some kind of scarecrow in a T position,

but that's not even how it was standing. The posture was just wrong. Its shoulders seemed too high and the back of its head and neck seemed elongated and slightly bent forward, almost as if its head was too heavy for its neck. It wasn't rigid like a pole either. There was a hint of curvature,

but it was completely and utterly motionless. Every instinct was going crazy in my body, telling me the obvious answer to this situation was to leave, keep the doors locked, and get home. But I was still morbidly curious as to just what the hell I was looking at. So, I continued to sit there for who knows how long, still refusing to believe that this thing wasn't alive. I flashed my brights at it and honked my horn.

Not a budge or jump. It didn't twitch. Didn't shift its weight, nothing. Still a bit freaked out, but not having anything else to do, I put the car back in drive and slowly crept past it. I kept my eyes on it as my car's bumper pulled even with it, and I started to crane my neck to try and see its side, maybe its head better, or even if it had a face.

But as I did, as the side of my car was directly beside this thing, I felt something. This is the part that I tried to explain, and I feel crazy. It wasn't a sound that I heard with my ears exactly. It was more like a pressure inside of my head, or a brief sharp burst of static right in my skull. It was like that muffled thwump sound you hear when you hit your head on something,

but it felt invasive and unpleasant, like a tiny silent scream or a blast of interference inside of my mind. Like someone just barged into my head and started going through my memories. Things were coming up that I had no reason to think about at that point in time, but yet there they were. I had a slight moment of control and I looked back at the figure and I caught the tiniest glimpse of its face. But what I saw wasn't much of a face.

It was just smooth and featureless. Like that same burlap-like fabric was pulled over its face, but the shape was long and sloping. The only thing you could make out was where one of its eyes should have been, and it was just a dark hole. And, well, that was it. The moment my brain fully came back to my control, it switched from,

what is this freaky thing to, this is an absolute primal terror, and you need to get as far away from it as possible. I floored it. I curved slightly, fearing something might happen if I just grazed the damn thing, and I took off, not even checking my rearview mirror. I just drove as fast as I dared on that dark road, praying that something else didn't pop out at me. My heart was pounding so hard that I was struggling to catch my breath.

I was sweating, which made no sense with how cool it was, and I remember being too afraid to even check my mirrors. I got home, locked my door, made sure my windows were locked, closed every blind and curtain, and turned on practically every light. I didn't want to be in the dark, and I've never had that problem before. No one was in my house, but I felt like someone was around, like someone was watching or listening. I felt so paranoid and crazy, and I hated it. I couldn't sleep, so I stayed in my living room playing something on my Xbox for most of the night. I finally started feeling tired and was forgetting about the figures around four in the morning,

and thankfully I didn't work the next day. However, I was supposed to meet up with my mom for lunch, so I pulled myself off the couch, made myself presentable, and took that same path out there. The only thing that comforted me was that it was daytime. I drove that same route, nervously looking around for those figures again, but they were nowhere to be found. I took that entire road to get back on the main highway, and I didn't see a single one. It had been about 12 hours since I was on the road the previous night. Where could they have gone?

When I met up with my mom, I told her about the figures without mentioning the creeping feeling in my head, and she found it very strange too, and had no suggestions on what they could have been either. After that, I never saw them again. I worked the same shift and was a nervous wreck the next night that I drove home, but they were gone. And as of today, I still have not seen them again. But this feeling that they seemed to emanate

and that awful feeling in my head will never go away. While they looked like they were just some weird statue, or something, I can't help but wonder if they were living things. And if so, what the hell could they have been? Worse yet, what was their purpose that night? I just don't like the idea of thinking that they may still be out there somewhere. This is something that happened to my twin sister and I when we got our first place together at the age of 20.

We'd been living at home. Neither of us quite set on what we wanted to go to college for, if at a lot. all, so we just focused on working. After saving up enough, we got an apartment together for a decent price. It was a two-bedroom, one bath. It was in an older building, but it was our first place that we got all on our own, so we were proud of it. Our landlord Donne not only owned the building, but lived in one of the apartments as well on the top floor. We had to supply bank statements to show that we could afford the rent, pay a deposit, and two months of rent,

but we also didn't have to apply or do any kind of credit pulling, so we were pretty happy about that. Don seemed like a pretty normal guy, maybe in his late 40s. He was professional enough, going over the rules, what was allowed, what was not. He explained if there were any maintenance issues to just call or come tell him and he would take care of.

of it. He did the walk-through with us, making sure the place looked fine and that nothing needed to be fixed immediately. As we worked on the process in the walk-through, he asked about us, about where we worked, what we did for fun, if we planned on having any friends over or pets. At the time, it just seemed like normal questions to learn about the tenants, so we answered them honestly. At the time, we just had two parakeets, so nothing that would make a mess. mess in the apartment. As for friends, we did plan on having some over, but nothing long-term. About two months after we moved in, we started noticing small things that felt off. I would come home and feel like things had slightly moved. Not obviously ransacked or anything,

just different. I was pretty specific with how I leave things. My drawers were always completely pushed in. When they're slightly ajar or crooked, it would drive me crazy. Same with chairs. Even if I was just getting up for a second, I would push it all the way in. So when I came home and went to my room and noticed that

my drawer was slightly off, I knew that it had been moved. The drawer in particular had my bras in it, and I asked my sister if she had borrowed one and she said no. I thought it was weird, but it didn't look like I was missing any,

so I assumed maybe it was just a one-off chance that I didn't realize I didn't push it all the way in. To be honest, I didn't believe that, but I had no other explanation. But when it kept happening, but to areas like the bathroom or the living room, I started wondering if it was maintenance. There were a few things that we had reported. The sliding door didn't seem to lock properly, and the dryer started making a loud noise. Well, at this point the dryer wasn't quite as loud, but the door still wasn't locking,

so I kind of just assumed that maybe maintenance had come in for the dryer. However, they weren't supposed to enter when we weren't home. And since our stuff was obviously being moved around, I had a big problem with it. So, I went to Dawn's unit to complain about it. I didn't want us to be pushed around just because we were younger, so I was ready to put a stop to it immediately. I knocked on his door and he answered in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. He looked surprised to see me. I explained that I noticed things being moved around in our apartment that neither I nor my sister had moved.

I tried to keep my tone polite but firm, explaining that I know the rules and I know that maintenance could not enter without us home, and that they also had to give us a 24-hour notice. I remember how Don's face did this weird thing where he looked almost panicked for a sense. second. Then when I mentioned maintenance, he overcorrected into being super apologetic and understanding. He said that he would look into it and make sure that it didn't happen again. It seemed like he did talk to them because the weird moving of objects stopped for a while, and my sister also never saw anything out of place. Fast forward a bit, my sister talked about a nightmare she had and worries about sleep paralysis. She mentioned how she was locked in a room with a

slit in the door that slid open and shut. When the slit opened, she could see a pair of eyes staring at her, but she couldn't do anything about it. She tried to scream, but she couldn't. She tried to move or hide under the covers, but she couldn't. She'd never had issues with sleep paralysis before, and I know those nightmares could happen. I'd had them before as a kid, but that was just it.

Neither of us had had a nightmare to that degree since we were kids. It was pretty crazy, but we both agreed that maybe she was just stressed at something weird, and we moved on. That is, until I woke up one night needing to use the restroom. I was in one of those positions where you know you will not get that comfortable if you get up, but my bladder was shouting at me. I rolled over to face the door, and as my eyes focused, my heart dropped. My door was cracked open. something I didn't do.

And it looked like someone was standing there watching me. I lied there for several seconds trying to figure out what I was seeing. Was this real? Was I dreaming? I didn't know how to react, not wanting to get out of bed, so I just said out loud, "'Sys, what are you doing?' And that's when I almost peed myself. The figure slowly backed away.

I quickly sat up trying to grasp if what I just saw was real. I got up, turned on my light, and slowly opened my door and looked down the hallway. My sister and I are both pretty small, so if this was an intruder, there was no way I could take them. I was afraid to rush out there and confront them, but was hoping that I was sleepwalking or just imagining it. But I was not feeling confident in that, though. After a few seconds, I opened the door all the way and looked down the hall towards our kitchen and dining room. I didn't see anyone, so I quickly opened my sister's door across from me and saw her asleep in her bed. I woke her up and told her what I just saw, and she quickly sat up, now fully awake.

We called the police and reported it. The slider still wasn't fixed at that point, but the balcony didn't go anywhere and we were on the second floor. and to no surprise to anyone, there were no ladders or ropes leading to the bottom, meaning the person had to have come from our front door, of which I was certain we locked. The police asked the normal questions, and since they didn't see anyone around and didn't catch anyone, they left, and we were unable to fall back asleep. It was crazy to us. We didn't have a lot of stuff, as we were just going alone and getting stuff as we had the money,

for it. Everything else, like our couch and TV, were clearly older, as they were brought from our parents' place. But since nothing was missing or even searched through, it seemed like robbing us was not their intention, which I felt even more creeped out about. The next day, my sister and I went to talk to Don about what happened. I remember him being completely shocked about it, and made a comment that he had never had reports like that until we moved in. It wasn't until we left that I realized what he said. We told him that we wanted to better secure the apartment and mentioned getting a doorbell camera and he was apprehensive. We explained that we would be paying for it and installing it ourselves, so there was no cost to him.

But he said he didn't want those installed on the doors because it invaded people's privacy. I argued that it wouldn't because it's on our door and would only catch people walking by it or stopping at our door. I even reminded him that someone broke into our apartment, so we were trying to catch the person that did it, making his apartment complex safer. But no matter what, he refused. He gave a half-assed apology but said that he wouldn't allow anything on the outside of the building, and also felt that it was appropriate to say any damage done to the apartment

would come out of our deposit if and when we moved out. We left feeling defeated and like he definitely would. wouldn't do anything for us if it came down to it. We were barely six months into our lease, and already we were getting some really bad feelings from it all. We did tell our parents about everything that happened, and they both agreed that they didn't like his response to it. My dad understood him not wanting things installed on the outside of the building, but

said that there were other ways he could have handled it. He mentioned using a magnetic plate to put it on the door, that way nothing had to be installed. no holes being made. But they both didn't like how he didn't seem concerned about the break-ins in general. That's when my sister pointed out the way he said that it didn't happen until we moved in. Like it was our fault. So my dad helped us with the way around it. We went and picked up two cameras and had them set up to face both of our doors.

One was on the bookshelf facing the front door and the other was on the entertainment center facing the slider, just in case. This way it just captured the doors, so it wasn't too intrusive for us, and if someone broke in, we would have even better proof that they were inside our apartment. I know setting up the cameras didn't really secure us any better, but it at least gave me a little more fire, knowing that we would have proof. We both just made sure the doors were locked at all times, the slider being fixed at this point, so there was no doubt that it was left unlocked. Things went back to normal after that, and we started to relax for a bit. We didn't feel quite as uncomfortable being home at night, and our dad called or texted us goodnight every night, making sure we were okay. Then, it all came to a head about two weeks later.

We were both asleep, and I once again had the urge to use the restroom. I rolled over and noticed that once again, my door was slightly open, but this time there was no figure in the doorway. I did, however, immediately sit up, knowing that I didn't leave my door like that, and was worried that someone came in again. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 ready to call, as I slowly stood up and walked the few steps to my door. I swung my door open quickly, into my horror.

There was a guy facing my sister's room with her door open, and his pants were down. I know that he heard me swing the door because he started to whip around as he tried to pull his pants up. But my scream is what woke up my sister. She turned so quickly covering herself up as she was sleeping in just a t-shirt. I was so angry and freaked out at once.

I wanted to just lock myself in my sister's room and call the police, but the anger took over when I recognized the intruder. and you probably guessed at this point, it was dawn. I grabbed the first thing within my reach, which was a boot on this shelf that sat between our rooms, and I threw it at him. And then I kept throwing shoes at him until I ran out and finally got up and left our apartment.

My sister was on the phone with the cops while we waited for them to show up. I checked our cameras. It clearly showed him entering our apartment through the front door, pulling down. his hood and looking around the apartment. He then walked down the hallway where he was out of view until it showed him crawling across the floor,

ducking my shoes. He'd been there for about 20 minutes. I was horrified and disgusted. No wonder he didn't want us to install a camera. He had a key to the place so he could come and go as he pleased and the camera would just show him doing as much. He clearly wasn't expecting us to have cameras inside, the apartment based on his conversation with the police.

When they arrived, we told them everything, and then showed them the camera footage. They went to confront him, and he had completely changed his clothes and denied everything, claiming we had caused nothing but trouble since we moved in. He actually told them that we were probably doing it, because we had tried flirting with him to lower our rent. But when they told him that we had video proof, it was him, he shut up and wouldn't say another word. There was a whole legal thing after all this,

which is why I didn't use any real names, just in case. He still tried to argue that we had to pay to get out of our lease, but that didn't go as he planned. He was charged for basically breaking and entering, among some other charges. We moved out pretty quickly after that, even though he wasn't around. We still didn't feel comfortable being there.

So, back to our parents' place we went, at least until we figured it all out again. The next place we got, we vetted it much better, and we went through a company rather than a single person. And we still had our cameras up, too, because now, I just find it hard to trust people. For many years, I still don't know if it was just my childhood imagination. I used to tell friends that I saw something in my house. Usually I would say that it might have been a ghost, but honestly I have no idea. I can't say exactly how old I was, but I was definitely still in primary school. It happened in winter, in Poland in 2009, most likely, probably a few days after Christmas Eve,

because I was playing with a Lego set that I got as a gift. It was already dark outside. The lights were on in my room, and I was playing on the carpet across from the door that opened into a lit hallway. From that angle, looking out the door, I could see a wall and the banister around the space above the stairs. I was really focused on playing. My eyes were down, but for some reason, maybe because I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye, I looked up and glanced at the door.

That's when I saw it. From the left side of the doorframe, a figure slowly started to emerge. It must have been over a meter tall, but not. No taller than a meter and a half. It had a strange color. Not so much the figure itself, but more like an aura surrounding it. Kind of a mix between purple and celadon? It was floating in the air, maybe half a meter off the ground.

Hard to say exactly. I was just a kid sitting on the floor, so I had to look up slightly. It had bent legs and a bit of a hunch, and in that position it slowly drifted to the right through the air. I don't remember what it was wearing exactly, but I know that it had clothes, purple for sure,

pants and black leather shoes. It looked like a formal outfit. It appeared to be male. I remember it had a fairly large head so big that it looked disproportionate to the rest of its body, with a black mop of hair and big ears. The face features were hard to tell.

I saw it from the profile, definitely very prominent cheekbones and a big nose. I froze for about three seconds. I couldn't move. I was in shock. And then a wave of chills hit me and fear took over. I immediately looked back down at the Lego bricks and started pretending to play. In my head I was thinking,

just pretend you're playing, maybe I won't notice you and pretend that you didn't see it. But after a few seconds, I couldn't process what I had just seen. or even whether I had seen something, or if it was just my imagination. I might have believed that it was all in my head to this day, if not for what happened next.

Curiosity won out, and I looked up again, without lifting my head too much because I was afraid it might still be there. And then I saw that from the right side of the door frame, part of the figure was still visible. After a short moment, it completely moved out of view. I was stunned, terrified. I sat there for a while trying to gather the courage to run to my parents who were in the living room downstairs. When I finally managed to do so, I ran out of the room not looking to the right out of fear that it was still there,

bolted down the stairs, and sat on the couch next to my parents. I didn't say a word to them. I just took comfort in the feeling of safety, and I was scared they wouldn't take me seriously. I didn't have the strength to try and explain it to them because the emotions I had just gone through had completely drained me. That thing never even looked at me. It was like it didn't know that I had seen it. I didn't tell any of my friends at school either because I didn't want to be laughed at. For the next few days, I felt uneasy any time I played in my room.

I would see it again. It took years before I finally told anyone, usually after a few drinks and only in vague terms, just saying that I had seen something I couldn't explain, without going into detail, so I wouldn't sound like a weirdo. Has anyone else ever encountered something like this? Was it just my imagination? What keeps bothering me is that when I looked again, it was still there. If it weren't for that second glance, I wouldn't even think twice,

and I would have just assumed that it was just my imagination. Hey, Raven, I believe your podcast came to me for a reason. I heard stories where people said exactly what I went through in my life, and I strongly believe in quantum immortality, and you actually don't die until you're 100, and in some people that never die in a life, or have extra lives and live to whatever. the oldest age was.

I actually have four stories. I don't know how you put them together, but I'll let you handle that. I'm just here to hear my story from another person's view. So let me get to it. When I was nine or ten, I had my first sleep paralysis. I heard my grandma talking to my sister, but I couldn't move. I could just see the area around as I was lying on the floor, the opposite way from my grandma.

When I finally woke up out of it, I asked my grandma where my sister went. My grandma stopped reading her book and looked at me telling me that my sister was not here. I tell her what just happened to me, and she says that it was the devil, that my mom used to have them all the time and to just wiggle my toes,

which I never remembered to do. One day I was sitting with my grandma watching a movie, and she tells me to get up and let the man sit where I'm sitting. I look around and ask her, what man? She points to the door, but nobody is there. I'm scared and confused. I just sit there, and about a minute later, she goes back to normal. The next day it happens again.

This time, my cousin and oldest sister are there, and she tells my sister to open the door and let the man in. Then she proceeds to talk to the man. man and tell him to sit down. My cousin, being the dramatic person she was, and still is, starts crying saying that she did the same thing some other day, and about a minute later, my grandma goes back to normal like nothing ever happened. On August 25th of 2001, one of my favorite singers died in a plane crash.

I cried for months. I cried for her, even though 9-11, I ran out of tears, and I cried, so. so much that the last person to pass away around me was one of my mom's best friends, so I wasn't really good with death. Come April 25, 2002, I lose another one of my favorite rappers, and I couldn't cry for her because I was still cried out from Alia's death. I just couldn't anymore, no matter how hard I tried. I told my grandmother that I couldn't cry anymore, and her words were, I hope nobody cries for me

like that when I die. I tell her, of course, we will. And my cousin says, don't say that. You know we will. And hopefully, that doesn't happen for a long time. On May 27, 2002, it was Memorial Day about 12 p.m. I decided to take a nap at my mom's house at the time, and we all lived in the same neighborhood. I lay on the couch facing the door that comes from the living room into the dining room,

and I fall asleep. Of course, I get sleep paralysis. I heard you read a story about this little person, and it gave me chills bad. I was lying there, and the door flies open. I can't move, so I'm just lying there looking at this tiny little thing with a top hat on, looking at me and breathing hard. He runs and jumps on me. I could feel him breathing on me.

Then I hear through its breaths, Go to your grandma. I wake up thinking that somebody is essaying me because it felt so real, but nobody was there. So I get up and go up the hill to my grandma's house, and when I walk in, she's leaning over the couch, throwing up black stuff. I asked her if she was okay, which it was obvious she wasn't, but my 13-year-old mind wasn't thinking right, so to my surprise, she says no. I asked her, do you want me to get my mom, and she says yes. That's when I knew something was really, really wrong with my grandma.

My grandma never wanted help. She never wanted to go to the hospital. And at that time, she was mad at my mom for, I don't know what reason. I do, but it's not my business to tell. I go tell my mom, and my mom and her girlfriend go up there, and I decide to go back. I see my mom crying, and they help my grandma up and take her to the hospital. It's the last time that I saw my grandma alive. Me and my family clean up her house.

I cleaned up the vomit. The phone rang and it was my grandma. I don't really remember the conversation. It was pretty short, but I do remember her saying, I'm going home. Hearing that, I got happy before my oldest cousin snatched the phone out of my hand. Like I did something wrong, but I didn't care. I was just happy that my grandma was coming.

home. It didn't occur to me until years later that she said she was going home, not coming home. On May 28, 2002, my grandma was gone. Everybody was expecting me to cry the most because I was the youngest, and at the time the closest to her. But I remembered what she said, and I didn't cry because I was all teared out, but because I just felt like that's not what she wanted. But now that I'm older, I cry more than ever about it. May I add that both my sisters had babies before my grandma passed away. They're 23 now, and she got to actually see my oldest nephew who was born in January. But my older nephew, she saw a glimpse.

But it was a cold man, she said keep him in the house, so she never got to properly see him. What I'm getting to is we thought my nephew was mute. He made no sound when he could. cried, like nothing. We had to watch him 24-7 to make sure he was okay. However, the day my grandma passed away, we heard the loudest cry from him. It was so crazy. My grandma was only 60 when she passed, so I don't know if that was related to her, but it happened. I didn't really believe in reincarnation until one of my nieces was born in 2015. She arrived. She arrived. arrived the same time they were having a funeral for the guy she was named after.

And when she was about one or two, she would just stare at me. And when I would notice that, she would smile and be like, hey, Jazz. Nobody that she knew called me that. But you know who did call me that? The guy that she was named after. Her name is Mariana. So one day I'm playing with her and I ask her what her name is. She looks me dead in the eyes, gets close to me, and says, Marcel.

I said what? My oldest niece was shocked, and just like me, and said, WTF. I was so shocked that I couldn't even tell her to watch her mouth. She had never heard anybody say that name, and when she said it, she said it again. And she looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something. We were all shocked, and she was. was just laughing. But yeah, that's my first weirdest experience.

I don't know what this would be put under, but thank you for reading. And I still have more to come. I used to live in a small apartment complex in Chicago. It was the only place I could really afford with the job that I had at the time. It wasn't the best, but the rent included the utilities, which was a big saver for me. I figured I would stay there for a year or two and move out once I saved up enough money. For the first few months, I took the same route home from the station every night. It took about 15 minutes total, which isn't bad on foot, but when you're exhausted after a 10-hour shift where you're on your feet all day,

or it's freezing cold or pouring rain, every extra minute feels like torture. I considered getting a bike or something to save a little time, but I didn't have a place to store it, and I wasn't comfortable leaving it outside. Again, I didn't live in the best of areas. It's not like I was at risk of being mugged every night on my way home. I'm also a guy and not a very small one, but if someone wanted to, they could easily take my bike from the stand out front, bike locks be damned. So, I tried to look for shortcuts, which is how I found this alley.

It was just one of those typical Chicago back alleys, narrow, running between two rows of old brick buildings, maybe 20 feet wide. During the day, it's just a normal-looking alley with dumpsters, some trash on the sides, and the occasional person cutting through, but, at night, it's dark as hell. because only one of the buildings had a back light, so it's pretty dim. For a lot of people, I'm sure it would have been a deterrent, but for me, it cut about five minutes off of my walk, and on those rough nights, it made a huge difference. I started using it regularly to get home. If I was in a good mood and it felt nice out, I might take the normal route, but most of the time I cut through the alley.

When I first started taking it, I would hesitate at the entrance, looking around and thinking, maybe I shouldn't walk down the dark alley alone at 11pm. But I also felt like I was the person others would avoid based on my size. So I continued to take it, and nothing ever happened. I would occasionally hear a mouse or a stray cat running around, but that was it. After a few weeks, it became a routine, and I'd barely even think about it as, I rounded the corner to enter the alley. Then came one late night in mid-November.

I remember the time because I'd been texting my sister about plans for my birthday that was coming up, that following weekend, as I walked home from the station. I turned into the alley like I always did, still looking down at my phone and barely paying attention. But as I walked, something started feeling different, like the air felt head. if that makes any sense. I can't really explain it. I looked up from my phone, but all I saw was the long alley with dark shadows along the sides. Exactly what I was expecting to see. I told myself that I was just getting myself worked up and ignored it,

and then went back to finishing my text. As I finished it, I dropped my phone to my side. Still in my hand, and for a second, and the alley felt like it was going on longer than usual. I know that sounds stupid, too. Allies don't just get longer, but I was walking and felt like I wasn't getting anywhere. I saw the one streetlight peeking out from around the corner, but I felt like I had been walking forever towards it.

I just told myself that I was tired, a little anxious, maybe even a bit paranoid, because I'd had too much coffee and not enough sleep. But that's when one of the shadows moved, causing me to stop in my tracks. At least part of me wasn't going crazy. Like I mentioned earlier, I just spotted the shadows in a quick glance and didn't think about what they were from. But now, seeing one move, I realized there's no way there could be shadows here. What I thought were shadows were actually people.

I stopped walking and counted. There were at least six people, three on each side of the wall standing against it completely motionless. But because of how dark it was, all I could tell was that their shadows were all the same, except for height. Their bodies were straight all the way up. The shoulders came to a point, curved around the head, which was also rounded. Basically, it looked like they were all wearing something that covered themselves entirely, like a hooded robe or a cloak of some sort. I couldn't make out any facial features.

I just remember being frozen in place, not knowing what to do. Did I just walk into something? I'd walk down the alley on every day of the week and have never run into this before. I tried to ease the tension by laughing a bit and said, Hell, you all scared me. But none of them moved or said a word. It didn't even look like they were looking at me. It was like they were looking straight ahead, as if they were looking at each other.

That's when the hair on the back of my neck started to stand. Something wasn't right about this whole thing. Then I heard this weird gurgling sound coming from the opposite end of the alley, like someone with a mouth full of liquid, like they were struggling. Then as if on cue all six people moved their heads to look directly at me. And that's when my fighter flight response finally kicked in, and it definitely chose flight. There was no way in hell I was walking past them and towards that gurgling sound. I turned around and just sprinted back towards the entrance that I came from.

As I reached the entrance again, I looked back to see if they were following me, and I saw all six of them, now standing in the middle of the alley, facing me and still not moving. I didn't stop running. I burst out of the alley and back onto the street and kept going. When I got to my apartment building, I slowed down, catching my breath and looking around to see if I was being followed. When I didn't see anyone around, I entered the building, got into my apartment and immediately locked the door. I thought about calling the police, but admittedly, I didn't. I didn't even know what I was supposed to tell them.

Hey, there's some weird people standing in an alley. Sorry, that's a lot of places in Chicago. Granted, I didn't know what the gurgling sound was, but I also didn't feel safe walking past six people to find out. I was a big guy, but six people is a bit much for me to take on after a long shift. I even tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was some kind of art, installation, or experiment. But with them not responding to me or even blocking off the alley or leaving a warning at the entrance, It was all very strange to me.

I checked local posts online to see if anyone else mentioned running into something similar and still came up empty-handed. The next day, I did not take the alley to work or home. But the day after, I took it during the day and it looked just as it always had. Nothing out of the ordinary. I took it that night, keeping my flashlight on the entire time, and there were no weird people or strange stuff. sounds, just as I expected. And I never experienced that again. At night, I always looked down the alley before I took it, and most of the time I did.

But if I spotted one thing that looked off, even if the dumpster back there was open, I didn't take it. Risking my life for safety definitely isn't worth saving those five minutes. Hello, Raven. I want to take a minute to thank you for all that you do. you're my favorite YouTuber and I listen to your podcast all day at work and helps me get through my days. I work in an animal shelter so it can be hard, but your stories make things easier, so again, thank you. Thank you for the work that you do, and it's an absolute honor to help you through your days.

Anyway, the situation took place about six years ago. I'm a woman, and at the time of the story, I was 17, and had just moved into my own apartment due to my parents not being the best people to live with, and having graduated high school at the age of 16. I worked at a local Mexican food chain and was just trying to get my life together before going into community college the next year. It was winter break and my best friend and I wanted to throw a party, a last hurrah of sorts before I was going off to college in the spring term. I lived in a four-bedroom apartment with one roommate. It was a student housing, so I was paired with the random guy who I did not get along with, but that's an entirely different story.

My best friend and I, let's call her Lauren, began inviting anyone and everyone we could think of. I posted on Facebook asking who all wanted to come, and had a couple of friends respond, and one random guy who I had gone to high school with but hadn't actually had a direct conversation with in person up to this point. His name was Sam. He sent me a message asking for details, and I thought this guy was okay, a little weird, but a nice enough guy. Maybe he could be a good addition to the party, and, well, at this rate, I valued quantity over quality in terms of guests. I sent him the details, and Lauren and I began preparing for the party, ordering pizza, buying snacks and drinks, and making sure the apartment was ready for our shenanigans. The evening of the party arrived and guests began pouring in.

We laughed, played games, ate some junk food, and drank. Sam arrived and brought a case of beer. Nice and thoughtful, I thought, hoping that he would have fun at the party, despite not knowing anyone here. He joined in our game of cards against humanity and it was pretty fun. Though he laughed a little too hard at the dark humor and disturbing jokes, but honestly that made me feel more comfortable with him. thinking that he would fit in well with myself and my weird friends. As the night goes on, people start to leave until it's just me, Lauren, our friend Adam, and then Sam. We decide to head out to the apartment complex's hot tub.

I wear a t-shirt and leggings as I was insecure about my body at this time and didn't actually own a swimsuit. The boys stripped down to their underwear and Lauren had actually brought a swimsuit just in case, so she changed it. into that. While we all soaked and chatted, I noticed that Sam was staring intensely at Lauren's bikini top. She didn't seem to notice, but I tried to loop Sam into the conversation so that maybe he would stop staring, and part of me hoped that he was just staring into space and didn't notice that he was being a creep.

At one point, we all began playing truth or dare. Sam dared me to take off more clothes and reluctantly, I'm not. I did take off my top, revealing a sports bra. Still, not terribly out of my comfort zone, until Sam's eyes flew down to stare at my chest. Come on, man, don't be weird, I said, giggling and trying to keep the vibes positive, while hoping he would catch on that he was making me uncomfortable. He responded with,

Nah, this is the whole reason I came tonight. I didn't know how to respond to that, and just went back to the game, daring Sam to lay on the frozen ground next to the hot tub. He got out of the hot tub and did so, steam rolling off of his body as he laid down, but glancing down we could all see that he was, well, excited. All of us uttered groans of gross and ee, when we noticed,

and he just laughed and said, you're all just jealous you can't have this, which resulted in more groans from the three of us. He got back into the tub and we chattered and played more truth or dare until we'd had enough of the hot tub and all ran back to my apartment, our warm bodies chilling rapidly in the winter air. I got into the apartment and let my friends back in as they all ran behind me. I went to grab some clean and dry clothes and change while Lauren used my roommate's bathroom to change. I locked the bathroom door behind me as I started peeling the wet clothes off and drying my cold pants. body.

All of a sudden, I hear the doorknob rattle. I had it locked behind me. Um, I'm still in here, I said, annoyed and confused as they all knew I went in here to change. Oh, I know. Sam replied in an excited voice. I'm freaking out at this point, and I start trying to pull on my clothes, but putting leggings on while having wet skin is much more difficult than one would think. I hear I'm playing with the doorknob while I'm still struggling to throw on my clothes.

What are you doing, man? I shout, but he doesn't answer. I yell out for Adam. Adam, help me out, bro. But then he responds with, Hey, this is between you two. What the hell? I thought Adam was a good friend,

but now I'm angry and just thinking he's a coward. I hear Lauren coming out of the other bathroom and she begins to yell at him when Sam actually manages to pick the lock. The bathroom doors at this apartment were extremely cheap and easy to pick, so it wasn't that surprising, but I was still surprised, and angry. I threw my half-naked body against the door,

trying to keep him out while still pulling the rest of my clothes on. I managed to get the door shut again and locked while I managed to get the clothes the rest the way on before he picks the lock again. The door opens, and I shove past him. I ask him what the hell he was doing, and he responds with, I'm just kidding, I got you so good.

I don't respond, but angrily sit on the couch and Lauren sits next to me. The awkward vibes hang in the air before I break the silence by suggesting that we all play a game, not knowing how to get past the awkwardness and mentally gaslighting myself thinking Sam was just joking and that I was overreacting. But also being scared that if I asked him to leave, it might ruin the night. We all settle down and do another round of cards against humanity before Sam stands up and goes into my bedroom with a lot. saying anything. We all look around to each other, confused, and ask what he's doing. We get up and follow him in and see that, under my blankets, he's moving his hand up and down in his crotch area.

We all exclaim and get grossed out before leaving and shutting the door. We all fall asleep in the living room after hanging out a bit longer. In the morning, we awake to Adam cooking eggs and realized that Sam was already gone. I asked them what the hell that was all about, and we laugh about it while I throw my bedding in the washer. Sam sends me a text later that week saying that the party was fun, and that he's sorry things got out of hand. So I think that's all over, until a week later and he shows up in my workplace to eat tacos and watch me work. I don't even know how he knew where I worked, as the restaurant has about ten locations in that city, and I only worked at that one occasionally.

After that, I blocked him, and he moved out of state shortly after. He did make a new Facebook account and then sent me shirtless pictures of himself a couple of years later, but I blocked him again. He tried to date another friend of mine at one point, and when I told her about the whole bathroom incident,

she confronted him and he denied it, saying that I had come on to him that he rejected me. Anyways, that's the whole story. Not terribly scary, but definitely disturbing. For those listening, know that it's okay to stand up for yourself, and if you think someone is acting weird, listen to your instincts. When I was in my early 20s, me and my girlfriend were visiting her mom at her double-wide, out in the middle of nowhere in Algrass, Michigan.

The year was 2008. Her house was at the end of a long time. long-ass-dirt road called Manor Road, which then curved to the right and became Green Drive. This road was really close to the Saginaw Bay. There were houses all on the right side of the road with old canals that had quite a bit of water at one point in the past. Anyway, me, my girl, my niece, and her boyfriend went to Taos to Barhop. The night felt negative. None of us were getting along.

We were arguing and fighting all the way back to her moms in Algris. My grandma had died recently, and I was fairly upset about that as well. When we got back to her moms, everybody went in the house. I stayed in the car, which was parked in the road. I had my head on the steering wheel, and I was crying. I was just in a bad place. It was twilight and had just been. begun sprinkling rain.

I looked up, and on my beautiful sun, Wyatt's life, there was a tall, blacker than the twilight around its shadow figure roughly seven foot tall, with little white pin dots for eyes, long arms and long fingers, freaking staring a hole right through me from the goddamn roof of the double wide. The image is burned into my memory, and will be able to be able to. and will be until the day that I die. But not the end of story. Yeah, it gets freaking crazy.

So when I look up, we stare at each other for, I could honestly not say how long, could have been more than five to ten seconds. I see the porch light come on from the other side of this thing, and then the shadow of the front door swings past this thing. And it disappeared when the door shone. shadow swung on back. I freaking bolt out of the car, up the ramp to the front door, and burst through the door.

I see everybody drunkenly brawling and arguing with each other. I yell through, excited, maniacly labored breathing. There's a freaking shadow! And then it happened. Whatever the hell was on the roof slammed down on the spot that I saw it standing, so damn hard. that the whole double-eyed shook. It was insane.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and froze. They all looked at me, and I said, yeah, that's what I was going to tell you. Something is on the roof. Everyone remembers that night like it was yesterday, and I'll never, ever forget it. It's one of those things that's changed how I looked at the world. This actually happened.

Believe me, don't believe me, it makes no difference. My ex's mom has since passed, and I'm 44 years old now. The trailer isn't there anymore, but the memory is. Hey, everyone. I'm at my wits end, and frankly, starting to scare myself. I've been lurking here for a while, mostly reading other people's stories, but now I'm living something that I can't explain, and I need to know if anyone, anyone, has ever felt anything like this.

Somewhere around three months ago, I was caught in a pretty chaotic situation downtown. Nothing super dramatic, but definitely jarring. I was waiting for the light to change at a really busy intersection when out of nowhere, there was this unbelievably loud, high-pitched screech. Not like tires or metal, more like a pure vibrating frequency

that seemed to vibrate through my butt. bones. It lasted maybe a few seconds tops, but it was so disorienting that people actually stumbled and covered their ears. Everyone was looking around confused, but it just stopped. No crash, no explosion, no source. It was just a sudden, violent sound that vanished. No one knew what it was, and no one was able to explain it. we all just kind of laughed and said, Wow, that was really weird and then moved on with our lives. As I was trying to get my bearings, still a little dizzy,

I made eye contact with this guy across the street. He was standing near a lamppost, looking just as bewildered and a little pale as I felt. Our eyes locked for a long moment. It wasn't a romantic thing, just this shared, intense, what the hell? Hell was that moment. We both just kind of nodded at each other, and then the crowd started moving again, and we went our separate ways.

I thought nothing of it, just a weird blip in a mundane day. But then, about a week later, things started to get weird. I would be at home completely fine, and then I would randomly think of that guy, and I would get hit with this really intense wave of anxiety. It was like a cold dread washing over me completely unprovoked. Or I would get this weird metallic taste in my mouth and would start to feel like I was going to get sick. Like spinning room, I'm about to lose my lunch, levels of sick.

This happened a few times, enough that I made an appointment with my doctor, who was booked up for like three weeks, so it was three weeks out. Of course, as soon as I booked the appointment, it pretty much stopped. But then, other weird things would happen. I would be doing laundry, and again, I would suddenly think of that guy and just get angry. Like filled with rage, angry. I would get this jarring flash of sensory input, some shock to my system,

and I would literally want to scream. I felt like I was a child having a tantrum. just wanting to throw myself to the floor and scream, kick, and cry. I'm a fairly stable person, at least I like to believe that I am, and I have never had emotional issues like this. I kind of just dealt with this until my doctor's appointment. It did my best to explain what was going on without sounding like a crazy person. From what she could tell, I was fine.

Not pregnant, no major issues on any of the tests or blood work. She had a specialist that she wants me to see, but that's a near-future thing, as they are also booked up. But from what she could tell, I was perfectly healthy, and it was probably just a passing thing. Maybe it was just anxiety. It mostly subsided, but I would still randomly get hit with the emotional bursts, and it got so unsettling that I started trying to find that guy. I remembered his face pretty clearly, and the intersection. I spent way too much time scrolling through local news pages,

looking at photos from nearby businesses on social media, just anything. It felt obsessive, but I had this gut feeling that he was connected. And then about a month ago I found him. It was a photo from a local community event posted online, same guy. I knew it instantly. I won't share his information, obviously,

but confirming that he existed only made things worse. Since then, the connection or whatever it is has seemingly intensified. I feel constantly drained, like my own energy is being siphoned off. What I think are his emotions, which now often seem to be agitation or deep sadness or simmering resentment, hit me hard and often. Sometimes I hear what sounds like snippets of his thoughts,

not words that I understand, but that faint mental static or the emotional tone of a frustrated internal monologue. The worst part is that feeling of being watched. Not physically, but like a constant unseen awareness is directed at me. I'll be in my apartment alone and suddenly get this overwhelming sensation that he's, I don't know, feeling me, knowing what I'm doing.

It makes my skin crawl. I have literally no idea what to do. I've tried meditating, tried to ignore it, and I even yelled for it to stop, but nothing is doing it. In fact, sometimes it feels like when I try to push it away, it gets worse. almost like a frustrated pushback. I know that I sound insane. I accept that. My friends would just tell me that I'm having a mental breakdown,

which maybe I am, but I feel like I'm experiencing some sort of psychic link to someone that I've never met, and will likely never meet again. So I have to ask, what the hell do I do? Is this a soulmate thing? Or is this some kind of weird?

universal joke in my life as the punchline. How do you even begin to cope with someone else's entire emotional landscape bleeding into your life like this? And you just can't escape it. I'm seriously getting scared for my mental health, and possibly my physical health, and I'm pretty sure the specialist is just going to tell me that I'm fine physically, that this is all mental. Well, let me tell you.

I'm definitely feeling mental. I used to work overnights in a small medical billing office about three years ago. My schedule was usually around 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. and sometimes shifting a little earlier or later depending on need. The job itself was mind-numbingly boring. I spent most nights scanning medical documents and entering the data into our system. very entry-level, but it got me to a better position for decent money, especially with that bonus since I worked overnight.

I didn't have much of a social life and found myself up late anyways, so I figured doing something useful with my time would be better, and it gave me time during the day to do my normal errands. During the day, there were about 15 employees, but at night, the only other person that worked that late was a guy who put up. processed insurance claims that left around 10 p.m. And then the janitor that came through to clean and sanitize everything. The building itself was an old house that the owner had bought and converted into office space.

It really was a nice little two-story building, and everyone worked pretty close together. But there was one night that had me pretty spooked, and I still can't make hands or tails of it. I came in at my usual time and noticed, that the other late night guy, I'll call him Steve, was not in. I expected this, however, as he had recently mentioned, taking some time off, so I was alone. It was around midnight. I had my headphones in and was mindlessly entering data when I heard what sounded like footsteps in the hallway. Like I said, it wasn't entirely unusual as we had our maintenance guy slash janitor that also worked overnight.

I'll call him Mike. I had my own office, so he usually fixed up what he needed and sanitized, and I let him be. Sometimes we would have a short conversation in passing if I ran to the restroom or got something to drink, but that was about it. Now, one thing about Mike, he was an older gentleman and was very much the type that had a pattern. When he worked, he came in, hung his coat in the closet, grabbed his cart with his supplies, and whistled the same song. I still don't know what the song was, but I think it was some kind of gospel song, based on the very few lyrics that he sang. He always came in early because he would wheel his cart right outside the break room,

make a pot of coffee and read the newspaper before getting to work. I could smell the coffee when he made it and would occasionally make myself a cup. Sometimes he would even stop by and tell me he made some, which got me up to stretch anyways. So, back to that night. I heard the footsteps and assumed that it was Mike, and thought nothing else of it. But after about half an hour, I didn't hear his whistling and nor could I smell the coffee. I remember pausing my music and looking at my door to see if I could see him, but I didn't.

However, I could still hear footsteps. I stayed in my office for a while longer, when I still had no sign of Mike, I thought I would go check the break room myself. I walked in, and it was empty. The coffee maker was cold. Strange, but maybe something was going on, so I just went back to work. Shortly after I returned, I started hearing footsteps again,

but it wasn't just the footsteps. Now I was hearing what sounded like something being dragged across the floor. It was a pretty frequent, stomp, stomp, drag, over and over. Like someone was dragging something around that was pretty heavy.

So I leaned over my desk and this time called out. Mike? Is that you? And all the sounds stopped. That is when it started getting creepy. The only person that would be there so late would be Mike, but his whole routine was missing

and he wasn't responding to me. Then, I did the thing that you never do in scary movies. I went to check it out once more. I was worried that maybe it really was Mike and that something was wrong, or worse, it was someone who shouldn't have been there. I walked out of my office and around the corner to the hallway. At the other end of the short hallway was a more open area with a few cubes where the front door was. I followed the sound down the hall and turned the corner,

and was certain that I was not looking at Mike. In front of me was a very tall and lanky person. They were facing away from me, but yet their knees were facing outward to the side, like they were bow-legged. But the movement seemed so unnatural. It was janky or twitchy. It was like watching a buffering video,

but it was happening right in front of me. To make it all worse, they were dragging something behind them, but it was more like a pile. There was no defined shape, really, but it was covered by a blanket and then tied multiple times with some kind of rope, which was then being held by this, I guess, person, over their shoulder.

This explained the footsteps followed by the sound of dragging. I don't know why I did this, but part of me felt responsible. The building had normal locks on the door. No key cards or anything like that, so we just made sure the door was locked. especially at night. I was worried that maybe I left the door unlocked, and that was how they got in.

I called out, Who are you? The person stopped walking, slowly turned around, held a long crooked finger to his mouth and made a shushing sound. Something in that moment kicked in my fight or flight, and even being a full-grown man,

that man towered over me. I ran back the way I came and left through the back emergency door. I knew when to pick my battles, and that was not one. I didn't have anything on me except my phone, so I couldn't even get into my car. I stood in the back parking lot and called 911. When they arrived, they searched the building, came out, and told me it was clear. I went in and explained what I saw again, and they took a statement.

While I waited for them to clear the area, I had called my boss to report it as well. He showed up while we were inside giving my statements. Following the hallway, we found a pack of popcorn on the floor. It was strange because it was still wrapped up and unpopped. It was like it was dropped. We didn't have cash there, but the most valuable items were probably the paperwork containing sensitive data or the computers themselves. But none of them had even been touched. So what were they doing and what were they doing?

Were they dragging behind them? After finding the popcorn, another officer checked the break rooms, and we were surprised and confused about what we found. They had cleaned out. Everything that was in there, snacks, drinks, coffee pods, even the random food containers in the fridge were gone. The only thing that remained was a circle drawn on the counter with a dark sticky substance, like a barbecue sauce. with a small bird skull in the center. According to the officer, it was a fake skull. Still, it looked pretty creepy, and we had no idea what it meant or why it was there.

I had even walked in the break room on the bottom floor, where I was, and it wasn't there at the time. The cops wondered if maybe the person we saw had stolen the food, and maybe they were under the influence of something, which would explain the way they were acting. My boss did file a report since we deal with sensitive information, and he contacted Mike to make sure he was okay. He was. He said that he was actually feeling ill and wasn't going to be at work that night. Part of me was relieved because him being older, I was worried what could have happened if he ran into that strange man. As far as I know, they still have no idea who that guy was and what the circle and skull meant.

They never found or caught that guy. and I stopped working there about a year later. I was pretty creeped out that night, especially when I heard the door open, but you can bet your ass I never forgot to check the door either. I just wish if they were looking for food, they would have asked for it, or at least taken it in a much less creepy way.

Hey, first time posting here. Hopeful that someone's had a similar experience or can help provide any answers or insight. So, I'm located in Akron, Ohio, in the USA. This happened in maybe 2022 or 2023. I can't exactly remember the year. I had just gotten home from working late one night. I used to test gas stations and would work late into the night most times.

I got home around 2.45 to 3 a.m. and let my dogs out to go to the restroom, and when I was standing there, I got the overwhelming sensation to peek around the corner on my house toward my neighbors. And so I just barely peeked around the side of my house and looked into their backyard and saw something that truly freaked me out. Like the worst feeling I've ever experienced to date. So for context, it was laid into the night and it was a dark night.

Maybe a crescent moon or even a new moon, either way very dark outside. So I had stepped back out with my dogs to get my stuff out of my work truck, and while they did their business, I set my stuff inside the side door of my house and walked back outside to them. After they finished up, I let them back inside, but before I could follow them, I got such an overwhelming feeling that I had to look around the corner of my house to my neighbors. I didn't know why, but I felt compelled to do it, so I just barely peeked my head around and saw this creature, standing inside my neighbor's fenced-in backyard. It was standing at the back of the yard facing towards the woods, behind our houses. So it had its back toward my neighbor's house, and I was looking at its side profile. It stood maybe six to seven feet tall, pale white skin, but was like bright, like a light

was shining on it. But again, it was pitch black outside. I could see it perfectly like I had shined a flashlight on it. It was very human-like, except that it had no clothes on and was muscular but smooth. Sorry if it's inappropriate, but it's necessary for the description. I could see it from head to toe, and it had no genitalia. Just a smooth body, bright, pale skin, and was just standing there staring into the woods. As I was staring at this, just an absolute disbelief and shock at what I was,

I was seeing, while still hiding behind my house, essentially, it snapped its head toward me and stared directly at me. I didn't get any thoughts in my head besides, run. In a full panic, I ran inside my house, slammed the door behind me, and locked it just waiting for whatever this creature was to come and get me. I've never felt fear like I did in that moment. I truly thought that it would come and get me and take me, or, kill me. I've never seen anything like that before or since. So, in summary, it was a six to seven

foot tall, bright, pale, white skin, muscular but smooth body, completely naked, but no clear genitalia. It stood staring into the woods inside the fenced-in backyard at the edge of the yard-slash-fence. It didn't make any movements beside to snap its face toward me, and the closest thing I could find online to what it reminds me of, is the creature from Prometheus, but it's still not the same at all. If anyone has any ideas or thoughts, I am all ears. I would love to know what this was. Thanks. I've been a bartender for a very long time. Before I owned my own bar, I worked at various smaller ones while I went through more training and getting the necessary licenses needed to open my own. One of the places I worked at included this tiny music venue that held maybe 150 people max,

with a stage that was basically just a raised platform in the back corner. The bar ran along one wall, and from my position I could pretty much see everything that happened in the place. That one was probably one of my favorites, because there was always some kind of event happening. I got paid to listen to some great music while mixing drinks and meeting men. many people. But then I've also been trapped there when the bands were pretty terrible and would have clenched my teeth as I listened to off-key vocals and guitars that needed better tuning. But the customers typically kept me busy between making their drinks and corralling those who had too much to drink. Most nights were pretty standard. Local bands, regular crowd, typical bar drama,

but there was one night that I would never forget. It was some kind of of discount fall concert. There was a large one happening the week prior, with some bigger and popular bands in the venue I worked at, was wanting to do something similar, but smaller, for those of us that couldn't dish out that kind of money, but still wanted to party. They got two local bands into popular cover band, so they did decently with the lineup, too. The concert started out pretty normal, people getting drinks as they came in. I noticed this guy pretty quickly that was on a mission to get wasted and hit on every woman in the place.

I was familiar with the type, probably mid-30s, wearing a shirt that was too tight, sunglasses and doors and a backwards cap. He was buying drinks for himself, and then offering to buy drinks for literally any woman who approached the bar. Like I said, I've seen his type before. The guy that thinks if he buys enough drinks, someone will be able to. be impressed by his generosity. What actually happens, more often than not, is he spends $200 plus dollars getting rejected all night while I collect his money and try not to laugh. This dude was particularly persistent, though.

Every single woman who came to the bar got the same offer from him. A pretty smile, some kind of pickup line and motions for me to get them another drink. The success rate was about what you'd expect. Zero. But hey, his money was good. He was paying for everything up front, no tabs, so I kept serving him. My boss, the owner, had a pretty clear policy about when we could cut people off. Either at closing time, or if they were clearly too drunk to function.

Stumbling around, causing problems, that kind of stuff. As long as someone could walk and wasn't being aggressive, the drinks could keep going. He also wasn't being aggressive to the way. women that he approached. If they said no or walked away, he let them go, not even trying to stop them. So, I guess he had some dignity. If he had done any of that, I would have been inclined to kick him out. I was the youngest kid with three sisters, a wife, and a young daughter, and I was raised

to be pretty protective. This guy made it through the first band just fine. A little buzzed, but was handling himself okay. By the second band, he was definitely feeling. it more, getting louder and more animated with his pickup attempts. The rejections were piling up, but he seemed to be taking them in stride, just moving on to the next woman with the same tired lines. Then came the break between the second and third bands.

That's when things started to pick up a bit. He came up to the bar and started making these weird requests. He wanted some kind of shot that you basically served on fire. I looked at him like he was crazy. I remember telling him, Bro, this is a dive bar in a basement. We've got beer, shots, and basic mixed drinks. We don't deal with fire here.

But he was just as persistent with me. He was begging me to just light one on fire for me, please. Just one, the girls will love it. I'll tip big. I stayed polite but firm and told him that it wasn't going to happen. We didn't have a setup for that kind of thing, and it wasn't. safe. Finally, he gave up, ordered another beer and wandered back toward the crowd. Not even ten minutes later he came back, empty-handed, asking for one more shot. Either

he'd left his beer somewhere or he had chugged it that fast. Either way, he was drinking too much. I didn't want to, but I knew I was going to have to cut him off. I gave him one more hoping the band would start soon and distract him, but I told him that it was his last for the night. He nodded, telling me he understood, and slid to the end of the bar where two women had been sitting and talking. That's when things went downhill. He held up the shot, showing the woman, and I heard him say, hey, check this out. I was just beginning to help someone else when I heard him say it, so I turned to check. He had pulled out a lighter and was holding it toward the ground. He had pulled out a lighter and was holding it toward the glass. I yelled at him to stop, already walking toward him, and he noticed. It was too late, though.

He had lit the glass on fire, and clearly, having never done that before, he went to pour it in his mouth. And then he completely missed. In case you haven't before, there's a technique to drinking those. Immediately trying to toss it back is not the way to do it. This guy, however, was too intoxicated for anything that required technique. I wasn't fast enough, and as he poured it, missing his mouth, the whiskey and flames went across the lower half of his face and chest. The screaming was immediate and terrifying.

It was the kind of screams you hear in movies and shows. This was raw, primal terror and pain coming straight from this man. He started running around the bar area batting at his face and chest, which only made it worse, spreading the flames around as you could imagine. You think someone would remember the old stop, drop, and roll from elementary school, but not quite when you're drunk and panicking. This guy was just running in circles, and I was trying to find the best way to jump in and put him out.

The crowd really wasn't much help either. Most of them were just trying to stay away from him while a handful of people holding water bottles shook it out towards him, not doing much but making the floor wet. Finally, I was able to find a good opening, and as he ran past me, I tackled him to the ground, patting him with my damp towel that I had. Once he was down, a few others jumped in, dousing him with water, too, and asking what they should do. I told one of them to call 911, and I tried to get the guy's attention. He was groaning, in a lot of pain, but he was giving some answers and very short ones.

I wasn't a doctor or anything of the sorts, but the main thing I could think to ask him was if he could breathe, and he responded yes. So we were making progress, I guess. But the damage had already been done, a couple of times over, too. His face was red and blistered. His shirt was mostly burned away.

Whatever it was made of burned really fast. His hair was also singed along his face. The smell was god-awful. the burning flesh and hair, not to mention body odors and beer all around. I wanted to gag and felt bad, but it was bad. It wouldn't have been so bad, but his eyes were wide open. His face was red and blistered, so I know that he saw me do it too, but after all of that, even with the amount of pain and fear that he was in, he reached his arm out,

grabbed my arm and said, Hey, thank you. Finally, the paramedics arrived, and they immediately went to work on him. They loaded him up and whisked him away. Clearly, there were some problems with us continuing the show, so we sadly had to cut it, but the third band was pretty cool and apparently played a little acoustic set out in the parking lot while the rest of us cleaned the place up, checking for any residual fire hazards. That was probably one of the craziest things I'd witnessed during my time bartending there,

The smell stuck with me, and the terrified look in his eyes really stuck with me. I had another crazy story from a different bar I worked at where two guys got into a fight, pulled out knives, and it became a literal bloody mess. And to add to the craziness of that whole situation, the two guys were friends. But maybe if I have time, I'll write that one up for you as well. Moral of the story, if you're going to drink, just leave the fire out of it. Please. My grandpa and I shared the same birthday.

When I was born, he told my mom that I was the best gift that she could have given him. We had this special bond, one that I can't explain. Unfortunately for me, he died when I was 11. I'm 34 now, and I never got to know him as an adult. But amongst the many memories I have with him, I will never forget this one. My grandpa somehow knew his death was near. At the end few years of his life, he lived in a nursing home in our small town. His room had a large bay window that looked right out into the front courtyard.

He so very much enjoyed this window. He would admire squirrels, bunnies, even passing by traffic on the street and sidewalk. He loved this bay window so much. I'm given the backstory and sentiment of this bay. window, also a brief description of his living situation, because it bears significant later on. About every other day, my grandma, his wife, and I would go to the local dollar store and buy his favorite snacks and visit him. Lemonhead's candies were his favorite, and I picked them up every time for him. Another thing Grandma and I did for him was decorate his space for holidays. The year he

past, I remember so vividly around Christmas and for New Year's, we put up some decorative window clings on his beloved bay window. They were angels playing horns, stars, just saying things like, Happy New Year, Merry Christmas. Random holiday-themed things like Christmas trees, presents, etc. A few days after New Year's was over, Grandma and I visited to redecorate his space for the next upcoming holiday. We were taking off the window clings, and my grandpa says, Leave the angels. I'm going to need them soon.

They'll help me home. At the time, being 11, I remember hardly understanding the mystic and stoic sentiment of his statement. But my grandma was shocked. She said, no, no, I'm taking it all down. That's not true. He pleaded with her. No, please, keep the angels up. I'm going to need them.

My grandma sighed in disbelief, but we did leave the angel clings on his bay window. My grandpa passed away in that very room six days later. After his passing, we were collecting his things from his room. We get to the window side of the room, and my grandma and I are shocked, as the memory of him asking to keep them up hit both of us. I'll never understand how we could have possibly known that this time was coming. Now as an adult and having experienced my own premonitions, etc. I wonder how all this came to him.

Did he see it happen in a dream? Did he have a deja vu of the moment? Was it a vision or just simply a thought he couldn't shake? I'll never know, and I still ponder the whole situation sometimes. I still have those same angel window clings in my memory box as a keepsake. holding on to them not only reminds me of him, but also of the innate power of the universe that we cannot explain. The one thing I do know for certain is that I can only hope someday I'm at peace with leaving this earth like he was. Before I start this, I just want to say that what happened to my family was pretty messed up, but I won't be going into too much detail.

I'm sure you all will be able to understand as I go along and maybe even, and figure it out. It's something I absolutely hate about my family, especially with the way that everyone handled it, but I also wanted to share how brave of a person my aunt is as well. Growing up, I thought we had a pretty happy and healthy extended family. Not only did I love being with my siblings and parents, but my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were also wonderful people too.

I loved how we may not see each other for a few months, but then we would all get together and continue right where we left off. We had your typical family holidays where everyone would get together at someone's house, or maybe even a rec center or park, and everyone just seemed very close. But, as kids do, I noticed that my Aunt Becca's family was a little different than others. Aunt Becca had four kids, yet she never had their father around.

I had other aunts with uncles and vice versa, so it stood out to me. And as kids often do, we say or ask things that might make others uncomfortable, which is where I came in. At one time, I remember asking my aunt where my cousin's dad was. She was always so very nice to me about it, though. She would smile and without skipping a beat, would tell me that sometimes couples don't get along like they used to, so they have to live separately.

I tried asking where he lived then, and, again, she would say that she wasn't sure, but that was okay, and change the subject. I certainly didn't understand or know better, so I just remember feeling sorry for my cousins, because I loved my dad. He helped me with a lot of stuff as a kid. Then, when we were on our way to another family party, I asked my mom about it, and she very quickly dismissed me.

She told me that I should never ask about that, and I should never bring it up to my aunt because it wasn't something for a kid to talk about. My mom was typically very nice, but the way she said that made it seem like I was in trouble, and I felt bad for even bringing it up. So I pretty much dropped it then. I thought maybe I'll learn more as I got older, or maybe it really wasn't a big deal and I needed to let it go. But the older I got, the more I watched, and the more my curiosity would get the best of me. Aunt Becca was rarely around when my grandparents visited.

My maternal grandparents, which would also be my aunt's parents. Clearly, this stood out, because why would you not want to see your own parents? I, again, couldn't imagine that because I loved my parents. But yet she typically wasn't involved. If she was there and they showed up, she would keep her distance and would typically leave shortly after. At the two family reunions that I went to, she hovered near the back and didn't really go elsewhere. And when she did show up to a party after my grandparents were there, it would just be her and she rarely ever got out of the car.

But that wasn't the only thing I would notice. It was the tension in the air. I would catch some people getting quiet. I remember my Aunt Lisa scoffed and walked out back, never engaging with Aunt Becca. But then my grandpa would always try to speak up, joke around, and just all in all be the life of the party when she would show up. I know Becca could sense it too, if I could at least. which would make sense when she would just abruptly leave, but still I couldn't figure out why it was all happening.

My grandpa died when I was 14, and I remember my mom talking about the service and everyone being there. However, I noticed that Aunt Becca and her kids were not there. I remember asking about her because I was really close to her youngest who was close to my age. hoping to connect with them and grieve together as kids. My mom once again told me that they couldn't make it and to not ask about them at the service. She had the same serious talk kind of tone,

so once again I just left it alone. The older I got, the more the lack of information bothered me. Normally I would think she was divorced. They broke up. Hell, maybe they even all had different dads, and that would have been fine. But the problem for me was how much my mom didn't want to talk about it. Not even my dad would.

He would just tell me something about that's mom's family, and it was up to her to share. But what else could I do other than just drop it? Fast forward to when I was 22. I stayed close to my youngest cousin, Terry, and found myself hanging out with him at his place, one night. We got on the topic of family, and when I shared a story about my dad, he shared one similarly and talked about how his mom, my aunt Becca, did something similar for him.

We had a good laugh and were reminiscing, but I found that mystery of his dad creeping back up. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Either way, it got me to ask. I remember Terry laughing, but it was a subtle laugh. He got quiet, and he said that there was a reason no one ever talked about their dad. Then he also included that it was the same reason everyone treated them like freaks. That made me remember how people would alienate them and keep their distance, but I wasn't expecting the bombshell that he dropped on me. He explained that his older three siblings all had the same dad, and that he had a different

dad. Then said that his sibling's father had always been at the family gatherings, but he paraded around as the fun-loving and kind guy that I called Grandpa. Shocked, didn't even begin to describe how I felt. At first, I was pissed at him. It wasn't a funny joke. But after punching him in the arm and telling him such, his face alone told me that he was dead serious about this. He said, he said, he was dead serious about this. He said he didn't know all the details, but he explained that his mom was 15 when she became pregnant with his oldest brother, then the second oldest when she was 17, and then 19 with her third kid. The math there at least made sense. Then he explained that she ran away at that point, leaving the two oldest with her parents,

but she kept Ginger with her, the youngest. Terry explained that she ran away with the family. friend trying to escape the abuse. She had a difficult time caring for the kids knowing what they were a product of, but couldn't bring herself to leave the baby. The problem with all of that was the family friend was actually a friend of my grandfather, her dad. Sadly, he also took advantage of her, which is how she ended up pregnant with Terry.

At that point, the family started casting her out, calling her all kinds of names, as you could imagine. They shamed her for sleeping with Ken, the family friend, but no one seemed to believe her when she accused Grandpa of fathering the other three kids. Because of that, they kicked her out. My aunt was left homeless at the age of 20, with three kids, pregnant with another, and no one was willing to help her. My mother was four years younger than her,

still living in the same house. Eventually, Aunt Becca found a home for women where they helped her find temporary housing until she got a job and back up on her feet. At such a young age, and dropping out of school after her second child, she did it all on her own. She found work, raised my cousins,

even through all the trauma and depression. She attempted to take her own life but was able to come back from it in the end. and thanks to the people at the shelter where she went. It's no wonder that she didn't like to be at family parties. After learning that, I didn't want to be either. How could my family shun a child as she was a child at the time? Those are serious accusations for a child,

and everyone looked the other way. I actually confronted my mom about it. I know she was younger and there wasn't much. much she could do, but at the same time, her reasoning did not help me. She claims that my grandfather never did anything to her, which is why she felt it was hard to believe. She was very uncomfortable talking about it with me, and asked me not to say anything to Becca either.

I didn't plan on it. I didn't need to tell her that I knew. I just wanted to show her how much she was loved and how strong I thought she was. I found myself spending more time with Aunt Becca, and all four of my cousins. I was already close to Terry, so it wasn't weird or anything, but I think she appreciated having more family around. I included her and more things in my life, too. I've never brought it up with her either, and I think I would rather leave it like that. I'm not sure if my other cousins knew, but I assumed they did.

and I'll just leave it as that. I've learned how horrible of a person my grandfather really was, and how awful the rest of the family was for not helping such a young girl, but I can at least show my aunt Becca that she does matter. I wanted to share my story with you in the hopes of finding some like-minded people, those that may understand what I experienced more than I do. I'm not someone who believes in the paranormal stuff, nor am I religious. I'm a software developer, so I tend to approach things logically,

and I generally look for rational explanations for just about everything. But there was something that happened to me as a child that I've never been able to fully explain, and being the person that I am, it's one of those itches I can't scratch. so it tends to live rent-free in my mind. I'm showing itself at odd times for me to think on it more, and part of me wonders if there is something more to it. From as early as I can remember, until about the age of 12,

I had the same recurring nightmare, at least twice a week. It was always the exact same, too. I would find myself in an extremely cramped, enclosed, space. Like being inside of a metal box, barely big enough for my body. I could see out through what seemed like a very small and thick window, but everything outside was dark, like it was always nighttime.

But the area around me, wherever I was, seemed very advanced and technological somehow. There were a lot of switches and panels around me, but I remember reaching for them and exactly what they were and what they did. While the panels weren't daunting to me, it was the claustrophobic feeling that I always paid too much attention to. I would see the panels and be fine, but then I almost felt like I couldn't breathe when I realized how small of an area I was actually in.

Then, the nightmare would always end the same way. There would be this sudden flash of orange light outside the window, followed immediately by this intense heat that seemed to come from everywhere at once. I remember feeling like I was being burned alive. It was that bad. Then I would wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. I remember having these dreams before I even really talked, so it was so hard to explain how I felt to my parents.

I just let them hold and comfort me and tell me that I must have had a bad dream. and that's what I led myself to believe as well. But this nightmare was always so incredibly vivid and terrifying that waking up screaming became a normal routine. And I even had accidents in my bed sometimes. My parents even took me to a child psychologist. I was their first kids, so I think they took everything that could possibly be wrong with me very seriously.

Unfortunately, they weren't my child. help. They told my parents to restrict what I ate or drank a few hours before bed. They gave me a Benadryl, which, yes, helped me fall asleep faster, but the nightmares were always there. They happened so often, and were so consistent that I could describe every detail of the cramped space, down to the texture of the wall and the feeling of being strapped in somehow. When I was able to talk a bit more fluently, I tried explaining to my parents what it was about. I know they were expecting me to say that I saw a monster or I was falling or something you would expect a kid to have nightmares about, but by the look on their face, I could tell that they didn't know what to think of my description. The nightmares continued throughout elementary school, but I learned to cope with them to some extent.

I rarely woke up screaming and crying like I used to, but I was still jolted awake and drenched in sweat. I would have to look around and remind myself that it was just a dream. However, it didn't make them less intense or frequent. I just remember being so frustrated because I was too embarrassed to stay at any friend's houses, afraid that I may wake up from a nightmare and be made fun of. Then, in sixth grade, our science team, teacher was doing a unit on the history of space exploration. I was looking forward to this, because I had a weird love-hate thing for space and space travel

and astronomy. It fascinated me. I loved using the cheap little telescope that I had bought with my birthday money to look at the stars. I even had a little book that helped locate and identify the larger stars. But at the same time, if I spent too much time Stargay, I would get this existential dread creeping up on me, and I would have to do something else to distract my brain. And I had no idea why it was happening.

Anyway, for our space unit, the focus was mainly on successful missions. Mercury, Gemini, the moon landings, and we even watched a documentary on it. But she also covered some of the setbacks and disasters, explaining how they shaped and changed. changed what we know, and to put it basically, how we learned from our mistakes. One of the tragedies that she brought up was Apollo 1.

Something immediately felt different when she showed the pictures of the craft and those three astronauts, Grissom, White, and Shaffy. She explained how, while they were doing routine tests in their command module, a fire broke out in the cabin. The spacecraft was filled with pure oxygen, which caused the, the fire to spread incredibly quick. The tragic part of this was that they couldn't escape. The hatch design made it impossible for them to open it quickly from the inside. Sadly, they all perished there.

She went over this and how this taught them that the hatch was not safe and caused them to redesign it so that it opened outwards. I remember the mix of emotions I felt as we discussed this. I felt incredibly sad for those. astronauts and overwhelmed with this feeling of guilt and remorse, and I didn't understand why. That night, I went home and asked my parents to go to the library over the weekend. There was no assignment for us surrounding it, but something just pulled me to it, telling me to look into it myself.

This was the early 2000s, so we didn't have a computer with Internet to just look it up freely like today. So, that's Saturday, we went to the library and I tried to get some books and an encyclopedia to read as much information about it as I could. And somewhere in all the information I read, I saw something that triggered something in my mind. I read the final transmissions, as one of them said, were burning up. I didn't mention this earlier, but in my dreams, I kept hearing that. Right toward the end, right before I would wake up, I could hear it, like I was thinking it. We're burning up. What the hell did any of this mean to me?

I started getting that same feeling when I watched the stars too long and had to put everything back. I remember telling my dad I wanted to leave and he asked me if I was okay, saying I looked like I was about to be sick. I told him that was why I wanted to leave, but didn't explain what I had found. We went home, and I went to play with my younger brother, and tried to completely forget about what I read, not wanting to think about it. But then, that night, I slept peacefully, not waking up once. It was fine.

I didn't have the nightmare every night, but then the next night, and the next, and the next two weeks, and then a month passed by, and not a single nightmare. I was sleeping through the nights, and if I dreamt at all, they were just normal dreams that I would expect a kid to dream about. It is now 2025, and I have not had that nightmare since. Now, I had something new to think about. Was it related? Did I see or read something that caused the nightmares to stop? I thought it was just some irrational fear of small spaces, the dark, and maybe even fire, but,

Is there more to it? Like I mentioned in the beginning, I'm not a religious person. My family never has been, and I certainly didn't know anything about past lives as a kid, but, and I even feel silly for asking this, but could that be what I experienced? Was I having flashbacks of a life previously lived? Was I experiencing their final moments, and did researching it give me or them some kind of closure as to what happened. I don't want to claim that I was one of those astronauts, because part of me feels like

that might be insulting to their memory. Those guys were real people with families, and documented lives that had nothing to do with me or my family line. I did my best to look into that, too. But the idea that consciousness somehow transfers from one person to another is the only thing that is making any sense to me. Since then, I've told my therapist, my now fiancé, and you about my experience, which is why I'll keep my real name out of this. But I felt the need to share it.

I'm not looking to be convinced of reincarnation or anything like that. I'm just trying to understand this experience that has puzzled me for decades. I'm more open to hearing about people's experiences like this, because I'm more open to hearing about people's experiences like this, because, it makes me feel less alone, but part of me is still torn. Was it really related? Or was it just a coincidence that they stopped? I don't think I'll ever find out. At least, not in this lifetime. Okay, this is something that happened to me just last week, and I'm still freaking out. I need to know if anyone else has experienced something similar. I work for a local tech company and Colorado. Nothing exciting for you or me. I work at the corporate level of stuff, so it's actually

pretty boring. My day-to-day work is pretty normal, and I rarely stray from my normal schedule. I even take the same route home because it's typically a straight shot on the highway. So, last Friday, I left the office around 6 p.m., same as always. I got on the entrance ramp for the highway and started my 40-minute drive home. I do tend to run into some slowdown on the highway, typically near other entry ramps, but nothing too crazy. But on this day, there seemed to be more of a backup than normal. We were now at a crawl.

I remember being annoyed and confused, as there were no signs for construction, so either people were having trouble understanding how to merge and speed up when entering a highway, or there was an accident. I couldn't do anything about it, so I just turned up my music a bit and tried to relax, knowing that I was heading into a weekend. But then I started smelling something awful,

like burning rubber mixed with something chemical. My first thought was that it just confirmed that there was probably an accident. As we inched forward slowly, barely moving 10 miles per hour, I finally saw the cause of the holdup. There was definitely an accident, but it was what I saw that. that was bizarre to me.

The car was a dark gray, 2018-ish Honda Civic, which was the same make and model and color of my own car. There was even a small dent in the rear bumper and a Colorado avalanche sticker on the back window just like mine. But the front end was completely destroyed,

like it had plowed directly into something at high speeds. The hood was crumpled up, windshield shattered, and airbags deployed. This was a pretty bad accident, but there were no other cars on the side. The car looking identical to mine was crazy enough, but what really made me do a double-take was the guy leaning against it. He looked just like me. Maybe not identical, but close enough that it was deeply unsettling.

Same build, same haircut, short on sides, longer on top, wearing what looked like the exact outfit that I had on, a navy blue button down with black slacks, a company uniform, or at least business casual. I was clearly doing what people normally do when they see an accident and slow down even more to gawk at it, but my reason was completely different. It was like I was looking at myself in another dimension, and as I got closer, the guy made eye contact with me. He waved kind of casually at first, but then more urgently like he needed to get my attention. I don't know why I did this, but I pulled over.

This is not something I would normally do. I'm not the type to stop for strangers in the highway or side of the road. I always think about those horror stories of people who get carjacked that way, or even worse. But something told me that I needed to be there at that moment. He jogged up to my car, and I rolled down the window. I asked him if he was okay, and he nodded saying that he was. his voice even sounded familiar. It didn't sound like mine, but like someone I've known forever.

It's hard to explain. Then I asked if he needed a ride out of there. Again, I don't know why the hell I would have offered that. I don't ever offer rides to people. It was strange knowing that I just asked that, feeling compelled to, but also knowing that I shouldn't have. But the man's response was just as strange to. me. He had this weird, subtle laugh and said,

From you? No man, I'm good. What did he mean by, from you? I didn't know this guy. But maybe that's also why he didn't want to ride. So I asked him if he needed to call someone else, or if there was something I could do to help him out. I'll never forget his face when he looked at me with a pitiful smile and said, I just need you to stay awake, Kevin. That hit me like a bucket of ice water. My name is Kevin.

I hadn't told him that. It's not like I was wearing a name tag or something, so how did he know? I thought about this conversation and drove away, and as I thought about it more, I noticed just how tired I was feeling. Like, I was struggling to keep my eyes open, kind of tired. I started to not feel safe being on the highway that was now clear and told myself I needed to pull over,

and then I woke up in my driveway. It was dark. I looked at my phone and it was 10 p.m. I have absolutely zero memory of driving home. None. I don't remember exiting the highway, stopping at the red light or swerving to get around the giant pothole at the intersection. It's all just a complete blank.

I sat there trying to process what had happened. Did I fall asleep at the wheel? If so, how did I get home safely? I've been on autopilot before, you know, when you take the same path and have to stop to think if you stopped at that stop sign, or not remember just part of your drive. I have experienced that, but I typically remember getting to my destination or some part of the drive, but I can't remember anything other than that accident. Then my heart dropped thinking maybe I did fall asleep.

Maybe that was my accident, and I was experiencing some. some kind of out-of-body thing. I jumped out of my car and looked around for damage, but the car was fine. It's still a little bump in the back, but otherwise it was in perfect shape. I immediately grabbed my phone to check for accidents and found nothing. After seeing my car and myself were physically fine, I went inside still feeling exhausted and decided to go to bed. The next day I checked the police reports and news again for accidents.

and found nothing along the highway that I took. Did the accidents not happen either? And how? I remember stopping, talking to the guy, smelling the fluids from the accident. Then there was what the guy told me, to stay awake. Was that a dream? A hallucination of some sort?

Or the universe's way of telling me to stay awake? I still have no idea. I've told a few friends and my sister about what I experienced, and they all think it's just as bizarre. Some have joked about me being lucky and driving home half asleep, while others, like my sister, think I should go to the doctor to make sure there's nothing wrong with me. I'm still debating on that one, but nothing else like that has happened since. I've driven home all week, and there were no issues.

I didn't wake up in my driveway, there were no other accidents, and I never felt that tired again. So what did I experience that day? Was this just a dream? Was that guy from some other timeline stopping me from being in the same fate or worse? I still have no answers, but I hope that it never happens again because not knowing what happened, having half an hour completely missing, is one of the most terrifying things I have ever experienced. This story takes place in my university economics class. I was taking this class while studying in law school, and this included many late nights,

lots of revisions, and plenty of hours that were taxing on the mind and the body. My mind was often focusing so deeply on school and how busy my life was at the time that I may have made a bad judgment call. One afternoon I was studying in the library when I saw a boy who I recognized from my economics class. We happened to be in there studying for a huge exam we had coming up soon, and it was an insanely hard exam that had us both stressed out. He recognized me and said hi. I asked how his studying was going, and he told me that he was struggling as well.

When he suggested studying together, I agreed, despite my initial reservations. I think I let my guard down because we were both in the same boat, and I figured that it would be a good opportunity to study with someone. He then invited me to his dorm room to study, and for some reason, I agreed. As soon as I stepped into his room, I felt uneasy. The place was a mess, and it didn't exactly scream law student. There was very little inside, just a lot of clutter. My instincts were screaming at me to leave, but I tried to remain calm.

and that's when I saw it. A massive stack of bank cards on his desk. I asked him about it and he brushed it off telling me not to worry. But I was worried. He then told me that he had a secret and I should know that it was something serious. He claimed that he was committing fraud and only studying economics and law to learn how to get away with it. That this was how we made a living. and that his enrollment in university was only to appear normal to the outside world.

I was frozen in fear and wondering why he was telling me this. My fear turned to panic and my suspicions were confirmed when he said that I now knew too much and that I had to help him with some money withdraws to ensure my silence. I knew that I was in trouble, but I used my female instincts for protection and pretended to play along, trying not to arouse his suspicion. I gave him a fake email address and told him that I had to leave

because I had to go home to prepare for the exam. I mentioned that I could use some extra cash and that we would talk later. He seemed skeptical, but I think he bought it. As soon as I left his room, I sprinted home terrified. I didn't sleep for weeks fearing for my safety. I informed my employer, the United States. and my close friend about the incident hoping to cover my bases. I never saw him again, and I have no idea what happened to him,

but that experience taught me a valuable lesson. Never trust strangers, no matter how friendly they may seem. My scattered student mind may have contributed to my poor judgment, but it was a hard learned lesson that I will never forget. Hello, Raven. I hope you're doing well. I'm doing pretty well. I have and always have been appreciative of your narrations.

You've always kept me from boredom of menial daily life. Thank you. I'm happy to help. I've submitted a few stories to you before, and recently when listening to one of the stories you narrated about a guy helping a woman on the train, it reminded me of the time when I was in my early 20s. For backgrounds, I'm from Vietnam.

and after I graduated high school, I decided to take a few years off working and trying to figure out what I wanted to do in life. I lived in Hanwai, and this decision was definitely uncommon. At the time, I was working at a bar, so they usually finish very late, around two or three in the morning. And, of course, Vietnam is a country with rich culture about ghosts in the afterlife. They consider around 2 to 3 a.m. to be the ghost hour. When the gates of hell opened and the ghosts can roam free. We also have a saying, and I'm so sorry if I butcher this,

which loosely translates to going out at night frequently, you will eventually meet a ghost. This idiom could also mean that if you do something bad for a long time, you'll eventually get caught. So, anyway, one day I finished off my work as usual at 3 a.m. I was heading home on my motorbike, usually I'll take a straight route back home, but on that day I decided to go the long way, which passes through a temple in an area with history where the war happened there a long time ago.

The street was dimmed on that day, for some unknown reason. As I approached the temple, I saw a woman figure wearing a long white dress sitting on the pavement, her black thick hair was covering her face and she seemed to be crying. I heard that ghosts usually linger outside of the temple as they're looking for salvation from Buddha. So, 20-year-old me was freaking out and thought that I was seeing a real ghost with my own eyes. I was shaking but trying to keep it cool. I decided to just drive past her real fast. After a while, part of me was thinking that, what if that was a real person and she needed help?

Maybe I should help. But could it also be a trick of someone trying to rob me? A few seconds of thinking it through had gone by, and I decided to turn back and see if the person did need any help. I didn't have any money on me. The only valuable thing on me at the time was my dad's old motorbike and my phone, so not much to lose. I drove slowly trying to look around to see if there could be anyone hiding around that spot. After making sure there was no one else, I slowly approached her with my adrenaline rising to the moon. And it turns out that she'd actually been beaten by her boyfriend, who left her there on the side of the street in the middle of the night.

She was very frantic and asking me to help her. I was still skeptic about this being a scam or not, but I decided to take her on my motorbike. I asked her if she wanted to go home and that I could take her maybe to the police station, but she was crying and begging me to take her somewhere else, since she was worried her boyfriend could be going back looking for her at her house, so he could beat her again. She was also afraid to make trouble for her boyfriend if she went to the police. I couldn't take her to a hotel,

since it could create some misunderstandings, and with nowhere to go, I decided to find a 24-7 convenience store. Luckily, there was one nearby. When I got there, the staff were looking at me with worried eyes. I heard some of them calling me a pervert for some reason. After we sat down on the corner, I bought her some water, and she started telling me her story. Her boyfriend was the jealous, abusive type of guy. They were on their way back after a night of celebrating her birthday, and during that time she received some birthday wishes on her phone from one of her male co-workers.

Her boyfriend got jealous, and he started making a fuss and wanting to go home. On the way back, they got into a fight, and that is when she got kicked off onto the street. She was a bit drunk, too. I could smell a very strong alcohol smell on her. I did ask her about her family or if she lived with anyone. It turned out that she had moved to Hanway a few years ago by herself, so she was living alone. After a bit of exchange, I told her that I would sit with her until she sobered up to make sure she was safe.

She then started to nut off with her head on the table. Around 6 a.m., the street outside started to get more and more people on it. She said that she felt better and would be fine. She told me that she could go home by herself since her house wasn't too far away. I was still worried about her, but my fatigue after a long day finally caught up to me. We did exchange contact information, and I went home right after that to rest. I texted her once after a few days to make sure she was all right, but after that, I never saw her again. I do hope that she is still doing okay today.

Hey there, I saw you mentioning some story topics, and for once, I think I have a story you can use. I want to start by saying this is a pretty serious topic, so just a warning to anyone listening. But I also want to say that I'm okay and so are my siblings. We're all happy and healthy now, but as young children, things were very, very different at home. My dad was out of the picture right after my little brother was born. I was six at the time. A few years later, my mom got pregnant again and had my baby sister,

and I have no idea who her father is. I'm not even sure if my brother and I share a father. But either way, there was no father figure in our life, since I was six, and my brother and sister never even met one. It was just our mother. At the time of the events, I'm going to share with you. I was 12.

My brother was six, and our sister was barely two. My mom had always been a little off. Paranoid may have been putting it nicely. She hated our neighbors, claiming they were always spying on us, so she always kept the curtain. closed. She used to greet my brother and I at the door when we got home from school because she would quickly usher us inside and then close and lock the doors like someone was going to try to

barge in. But then she just slowly got worse. Now, it wasn't just the neighbors. It was the government, my dad, or sometimes even the mailman if they lingered just a bit too long at the mailbox that was out to get her. She would make comments about how they all thought they were better than her. It got so bad that she barely worked. I don't know what she did during the day while we were in school

because she was typically home by the time we got there, but somehow she had some money. It was never a lot. I would bet that she didn't have a conventional job, that's for sure. I don't know who would even be hiring her in the condition she was usually in. There was barely any food in the house. The one thing she did do right was whatever paperwork she needed in order for my brother and I to get free lunch and breakfast from school. It was always done.

If we didn't eat there, we may not eat all day. I brought home what I didn't eat, or sometimes my two friends would give me what they didn't want. They didn't know about my home life because I was too embarrassed and scared. to tell them. I did, however, tell them that I didn't waste food because that's what my mom taught me, which I guess wasn't a lie. With what little we had, I tried to stretch it, and yes, I mean me. My mom didn't cook.

When she did have money, I would have to beg or complain to her that we needed food, especially for my little sister, who couldn't exactly eat all solid foods I had. so she would buy ramen or anything we could make in the microwave. I remember one time she asked me to make spaghetti for her birthday, one of the few times that she was kind of normal. I barely knew how to cook myself, but I did my best with what we had, which was ramen with ketchup and salt. She seemed to like it.

I hated it. After my sister choked on a nugget, I brought home from school, I stuck to giving her soft foods like noodles, mashed potatoes, or bottles of milk that I once again brought home from school. She had a bottle wherever she went, even if it just had water in it. So that was my life. I was the parent more than my mother,

and I made sure we were all fed the best I could, bathed, and sometimes I hand-washed our clothes with dish soap or shampoo. Whatever we had, because the washer stopped. working. I only felt bad that my baby sister, Maya, had to stay home with my mom because I had nowhere I could take her. While it was a struggle, it was the only life I knew, so I just lived with it. My mother, however, slowly deteriorated more and more. She ended up covering the windows with whatever she had. I watched her steal the neighbor's paper next door once. She would use newspapers, random paper, or bills we got in the mail.

She even nailed the curtains across the kitchen window, so that it couldn't be opened or any chance of looking through it. She muttered about how they don't care about any of us, and they would rather watch us suffer than help. She would get angry and yell about how it was all their fault. I did what I could to ignore it, and keep Maya and my brother Jeff occupied, because otherwise she would go berserk on them if they stared at her too long.

Jeff learned it would no longer watch her, but Maya, still a baby wanting that affection and connection from her mother, wouldn't. It only made it harder when she would scream at Maya for staring at her, making her cry. But let's speed this up and get to why I'm actually writing this. We came home from school one day and after putting all of my weight on the door to get it open, I saw that there was a pile of stuff in front of the door. All debris and broken furniture pieces. My mom had broken apart the chairs for our kitchen table and the rocking chair. I later saw that she had ripped out boards off the back porch as well

and used them to board up all the windows and the back door, leaving us literally one way in and out of the house, which was just the front door. The house was dark with just a few candles, lit on the coffee table. I assume that we didn't have power again. Maya was sitting on the couch, picking at the pattern that was fraying. I picked her up to change her as it appeared she hadn't been changed all day. All the while, my mom continued to mumble about everything going to hell.

There was nothing left for us. Everything was infected with madness. I just gave Jeff a look of please ignore her, thankful that we understood each other through our face. facial expressions alone. Jeff took Maya to his room to play while I did whatever I could for dinner. And that's where we stayed afterward. The three of us in his room.

My mom had started staying in my room because she had filled her room with garbage and God knows what else, claiming that my dad was still in there spying from under the bed so she didn't like being there. The next morning is when everything went to hell. I woke up a few times to hear her in the kitchen. I kept hearing glass and silverware clinking, like she was mixing something. I figured that she was doing what she normally did,

so I just went back to bed. But as we got ready for school, she refused to let us leave. She looked absolutely insane. She had this wild look in her eyes that I had never seen before. She kept saying that we couldn't go out side because it was too dangerous now, that they were coming to get us today, and that she had a

plan to keep us safe. That is when she brought out this two-liter Coke bottle that was filled with a cloudy green liquid. I assumed this was possibly what I heard her mixing that night. She placed three glasses on the table and a bottle. Maya was in her high chair while the rest of us stood, not having any chairs at the point. She poured the liquid into the glasses and bottles and told us in the calmest voice I had ever heard from her that we all needed to drink it at the same time, and then we could all

go somewhere better together. I immediately did not feel good about this. I could smell the chemical smell immediately as she poured it. I was only 12, but I knew this wasn't right. I asked her what it was and she called it medicine. I asked her what the medicine was for, saying that none of us were sick, but she got defensive. She told me not to question her and that it was going to save us from what was coming. I was terrified, but I had to think fast. I didn't know what this could do to us, but something told me not to drink it. She took a big gulp of her glass and made a pained face as she swallowed.

She then motioned for Jeff to drink it. I told him not to, and I could see the anger growing on her face. I told her that we should go from youngest to oldest, since Maya and Jeff wouldn't be able to help themselves, and that I should be around to help. She stared at me for a while, and I thought she was going to call my bluff, but then she agreed. She told me to help them get settled as she went to the living room,

talking about writing her notes for them to find. Again, Jeff and I locked eyes and I told him no way are we drinking that. I poured his glass down the sink as my mom shouted about us all drinking it together in the living room. I was trying to figure out how to mask this weird-looking liquid and make her believe it. I poured out Maya's bottle entirely and just put a smidge on her chin and shirt to make it look like it spilled and explained to Jeff to just let the remnants touch his lips when he went in there, to show that he was or had drank it. That only left me.

I poured some of it out as well and then we all walked into the living room. As I suspected, she was suspicious of us since there was no bottle and Jeff was carrying an empty glass. She wanted us to drink it together. Looking at her glass on the table, it was already empty. She took Maya from me and looked over her mouth and then demanded to smell. Jeff's breath. She must have been satisfied because she allowed Jeff to sit on the floor as she continued to squeeze Maya. I still had a glass half full that she was expecting me to drink.

I took a small sip and it was as awful as it's smell. There were curdled bits of what I assume was milk. It was fruity like Kool-Aid, but there was something else in there. Something that was definitely chemical. Something that immediately was. made my insides feel like they were on fire. And my mom watched me swallow it. I was terrified that if I drank that entire glass,

I was going to die or at least be in serious trouble. I tried to distract her to get her to look away, and thankfully that came when Maya started crying. My mom looked down at her, and then Jeff tried talking to both of them to distract them. As they did this, I quickly poured most of my glass into my lap. I was already sitting by a pile of blankets on the floor,

so I just grabbed one to cover my pants up, and then brought the cup back up to my mouth as if I was downing the rest. When I finished, my mom and Jeff looked back at me, and my mom seemed to be satisfied that I had drank the last of it. Maya, however, would not stop crying, probably sensing that something wasn't right, or maybe because she was uncomfortable. I could tell that my mom was squeezing her really tight, and I feared that she was going to suffocate her.

I assumed she was doing this because she also looked pained. My mom was sweating and turning pale, and it made me cry, thinking we all could be sitting here like that if we had drank that stuff with her. With nothing else to do, Jeff and I sat on the floor as we watched my mom squeeze Maya. Maya screamed and cried, and so did we. Then my mom seemed to loosen her grip. She looked at me and said that we were going to be safe now, and then shortly after she began convulsing. Maya fell off the couch and I quickly got up to grab her.

I told Jeff that he needed to go get help, and we started to move stuff from the door as I held Maya. We moved enough stuff for him to squeeze through the door, and I put Maya down so I could clear. clear the way more. It felt like forever watching that door, looking back at my mom to see if her chest was still moving and trying to keep my sister calm, but finally my brother came back with our next-door neighbor.

The look on his face as he entered the living room immediately made me feel embarrassed, like the state of our home was my fault. But after he put his fingers to my mom's neck, he asked me what we drank. I told him that I didn't know, but I showed him the glass and the bottle that she poured out of. I'll never forget his face when he sniffed it and immediately pulled his head back with his eyes wide. The rest happened so fast that it all just kind of blends together at this point. The neighbor told us an ambulance was on the way and I remember pleading with him to save us. We all went to the hospital and got checked out.

I had some other medicine I had to take. I had an IV in and was asked a lot of questions. I remember how scared I was in the hospital, not having my brother and sister near me, asking where they were. After speaking to a nurse or doctor, a couple came in that I had met a few times before a long time ago. It was my aunt and uncle.

My uncle was my dad's brother. They asked me about living with them, and I asked about my siblings, and they said that they would be joining us. I didn't care as long as those two were with me. That same day, another lady showed up that I didn't know when she began asking me a lot of questions about my mom and our life with her. She asked me how we got to school, how we ate, did our homework, what we did about needing new clothes or shoes, and the entire time she looked so sad as I told her. I didn't know who she was at the time, but I know that she wrote a lot of stuff down

and talked to my aunt and uncle when I wasn't around. That night, at home, was the last time we ever saw our mom. To be honest, I was relieved to hear that she wasn't dead, but I didn't want to see her. From what I understood, what I witnessed, and what she put us through, I was afraid of her. She really tried to kill all of us, and when I was older, I learned that it may have been because of a CPS complaint.

They were going to be coming to our house for a welfare check on us, and she thought that was the best ending for us. The lady that was at the hospital was our caseworker. My dad left, probably seeing how bad she was and not wanting to be a part of it, but he left us with her and never brought. bothered to come back. But apparently the school could tell something wasn't right, and never being able to get a hold of my parents, they reported it.

Thankfully, my aunt picked me up from school one time when I got sick and had a fever. My mom, of course, wasn't going to be able to come pick me up, and my aunt was listed as an emergency contact. I still have no idea why he would have done that because I only met him a few times, when my dad was still around. If she hadn't been listed, we may have been separated and put into foster homes if they didn't find a relative for us. And thankfully, they were willing to take in three kids as well.

They already had two. My mom was committed to a state psychiatric facility, and she never asked about us, and we never asked to see her. My aunts and uncle turned out to be amazing guardians, and my cousins were very patient with, us as we took up some of their space too. I'm 34 now, and as I said in the beginning, I'm doing much better. My sister doesn't really remember much, thankfully, and she calls our aunt and uncle, Mom, and Dad.

I saw my dad once or twice on Christmas, but it was really awkward. He didn't treat us like we were his kids, my brother and I, but more so like we were his nephews. I didn't even call him dad, just Stuart, his name. And no, Maya was not his daughter, so we don't have a clue who her biological father could be. But there's the whole story of how my mom tried to poison and kill her three kids. We made it out, and the bond we have is even stronger.

We're always looking out for each other. I'm just happy that while it was not a good place for any of us in the beginning, that we all came out with a better ending. Even my mom. Hi there. I'm new to your channel, but after hearing some of your more unexplained and glitch stories, I wanted to share something that happened to my grandmother and myself when I was younger. It's something I still try to make sense of as an adult, and it makes it even harder that

not many people believe me. This happened back in the early 2000s. I was nine years old and was sitting in the back seat, in my booster seat, buckled in. I was spending the summer with my grandparents, like I usually did, and it was always a blast for me. They turned my mom's old room into my room, and slowly my toys and clothing collections spread to their place as well. It was my second home, and I loved it. On Fridays, my grandma met up with some of her friends to play a game called Brid. I remember that as a kid it was very confusing.

She always let me pack a backpack full of toys, coloring stuff, whatever I wanted to help keep myself entertained, as we were typically there for several hours. My parents lived in the mountains on the east coast. It was a smaller town. I remember there were a lot of older people that lived there, and I even remember asking my parents if that's where people had to move when they got old. I remember this because my parents still tease me about that question.

Anyway, it was a small town that was connected to the outside world by a winding mountain road and that snaked up and down the ridge line for what felt like, as a kid, forever. Most of the time, I enjoyed it. I would watch out the window as we curved around and went up and down. But on a bad day, like when you weren't feeling too good, you had to roll down the window, close your eyes, and pray that you didn't get sick. I've taken that road countless times with my grandparents, and my parents. We had to take it to go to the grocery store in town for errands to visit neighbors,

or go to her bridge games. But Grandma was an excellent driver. She'd been driving that road for decades, as she put it. She knew how to handle it. She knew where to take it slower, even if it was slower than the posted limit. She knew where to look out for the curves, especially if it had been raining or snowing. Hell, there was a hailstorm, and she refused to even let my parents leave, and we ended up staying there that night.

She knew every bend, every steep grade and every spot where the guardrails were weak or missing entirely. When I was learning to drive, she always told me, If you drive too fast, up around here, these mountains and their curves will humble you real quick. This event happened one Friday during the summer. We were leaving my grandma's friend's place and heading back home from her bridge game. We were just about to enter the mountain when this little blue sedan came flying by us. The road that we were on was a two lane, with passing sections.

We were just about to hit the mountain, and down at the beginning, it's a no one. passing zone since there was a steep hill. This driver clearly didn't care about that and gunned it passed my grandma to get ahead. I remember this because the car was pretty loud, and it had one of those large black spoilers on the back. I also remember it because there was a large tractor trailer exiting the mountain and they just barely missed each other. My grandma just shook her head. I can still hear her thick southern accent as she said out loud something along the lines of. If they don't slow down before they hit those bends, they're going to find themselves staring at the bottom again. We continued our drive as I talked about whatever kids talk about.

When maybe ten minutes later, we heard a car revving up again. Around another curve, we spotted that same blue sedan, now swerving past a small silver car. I remember commenting that we had caught up to them. I remember that my grandma said that speeding wasn't going to do them any good around here. Then we rounded the mountain to one of the most dangerous sections of the road. It was a series of sharp switchbacks that descend about 500 feet down the mountainside. The curves were so tight that you could barely see 15 feet ahead of you. And there was nothing but a thin guardrail between the road,

and the sheer drop into the valley below. There were signs posted about the curve, speed, tons of safety warnings, and my grandmother always took the road slow. She didn't mess around with that kind of stuff, always telling me how you're behind the wheel of a very large and potentially killing machine, and that it's your responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen. As we began the descent with the silver car in front of us and the blue one in the lead, I watched the blue car take that curve way too fast.

I watched their brake lights kick on, and I remember hearing the screech of tires. It was long and seemed to go on forever. I heard my grandma softly say, Oh, my goodness. And then we both watched as we heard metal on metal, as the blue car crashed into the guardrail and flew off the side of the mountain.

My grandma let out a sort of yelp or scream, which then made me scream and I started crying. My grandma came down to a complete stop and the silver car seemed to slow down, but ultimately just kept going. Grandma put her car in park next to where the guardrail broke, and I think she tried to peer off the side, but she didn't get out. Her voice was shaky, and she bowed her head and said a prayer for the car. I don't know why she didn't get out, but I really don't blame her. Now, as an adult, I don't think I would have been able to look either. Hearing her shaky voice, though, it only made me cry harder. I was terrified.

I had just witnessed somebody's death. The drop had to be at least 300 feet straight down into a dense forest. My grandma didn't have a cell phone at the time. They weren't really huge around then. and my dad only had one because it was paid for by his work. So after my grandma said her prayer, she reached back to calm me down and we drove away. However, we didn't drive straight home. She instead drove to a police station.

I remember walking in with her and she explained to an officer that she needed to report an accident and that they should hurry in case the person was still alive. She explained to them what had happened. and gave them directions, and then they asked her to take them to the location. We drove back to the location where we saw the car jump with two cop cars following behind us. Once we got there, one of the cops had already started blocking the road, while the other got out with my grandma. She had the windows cracked, but I was told to stay in the car.

I watched as they looked over the edge of the mountain. I then watched as the cop looked concerned, and my grandma would shrug and talk with her hands a bunch. After about ten minutes or so, she got back in the car and we went home. I asked her if the people in that car were going to be okay, and she took a while to finally answer, and all she said was, I don't know. But here is where it gets bizarre.

The next day, a detective came to my grandparents' home and asked to speak with her, her alone. Then he asked to speak with me. Because I was a kid, he had to wait for my grandfather to get home so that an adult was with me. They didn't want my grandma to do it. I guess conflict of interest or something. So when he got home, they asked me what I saw, what I remembered.

I told them everything. I probably gave them more than they needed, but I gave them our whole itinerary for that day. I explained how we went to the bridge game. I explained our drive two and the terrifying drive back. I explained seeing the blue car pass us as we entered and how we commented on them going too fast. I explained that I saw them pass the silver car and then I saw them fly off the edge.

I even asked the detective why the silver car didn't stop like we did. He asked me more questions about specifics, like details on the car if I saw who was in the car and even if my grandma had had anything to drink at her friend's house my grandma drank tea like nothing and that's all she ever drank

and then he left after that my grandma didn't seem all there as a kid I assumed that she was just shaken up about the whole situation maybe the cops told her that they didn't survive I wasn't sure. But then my parents asked me about what happened. And as I explained it all, they would constantly ask me,

Are you sure this happened? Are you sure you saw that? Are you sure grandma didn't tell you that? I thought the questions were odd, but again, I just answered them honestly and didn't understand. Little did I know that this would become quite a point of contention in my family. I wouldn't learn until I was a teenager that, Nobody believed us.

When my grandma talked to the cop at the location, they couldn't see the car down there, yet the guardrail was broken. They later had a rescue team go down the side to try and find them or recover anything, or I guess any one, but they were nowhere to be found. The car was gone, and there were no signs of people. There were even indentions between the trees and other plants

like something hit it, but nothing was down there. There was no other sign that an accident had occurred. With how high up we were and all the rocks and trees down the side, there was no way that someone would have been able to pull that car out of there in the time it took us to drive to the station and bring them back to the site. Even if we include the time it took for the rescue team to get down there, which was the same day, without anyone knowing. noticing. Not to mention it was highly unlikely that someone would have survived that fall,

and if they had, they would have been in no shape to just pluck their car off of a mountain. So what the hell happened to that car? Over the years, Grandma would sometimes bring it up. She always maintained that we both saw that car go over the cliff. We both heard the tires squealing in the clash of metal. She would even motion to me. to confirm and I always did. I remembered all of it in detail. I would even finish her story, especially as I got older, which matched hers. But slowly, people became more and more agitated by my grandmother. My mom would often argue with her and tell her that she was just mistaken, and clearly she had scared me enough to repeat the same thing as her. Someone even claimed that

She had hit the guardrail and made up this elaborate story to cover up her accident. But the problem with that theory was that the front bumper only had a small dentinet from a small bump that occurred at her grocery store. There was no new damage. And with how destroyed that guardrail was, she definitely would have had more damage to it. More damages to the side, too. As time passed, we both learned to just stop bringing it up. No matter what, my parents seem to never show any interest in our experience. My grandma passed away almost eight years ago, without anyone still believing us.

I still try, and sometimes my mom seems to consider my version of events, but then quickly shuts it down and the conversation is over. I fear that I'm never going to be believed either. I may have been young, but I know what I saw. I know what I heard And I remember my grandma's reaction Being filled with fear I looked at her for comfort after witnessing the crash But when I saw the fear in her face

I couldn't help but be even more terrified And I remember that I cried harder I have no explanation as to where the car could have gone There was no cave No water below for it to just float away Just more mountain, rocks and trees but the police all claimed that there were no signs of a car. The guardrail has since been repaired,

and there's no sign that anything actually ever happened. Sometimes I want to find a way to explore the place on my own, and figure out how to climb down the mountain myself, but I also have a slight fear of heights, and I really don't think I could do it alone. I want answers, though, and I think overall, for my grandma's sake, and reputation, I will explore more options.

If I do, I'll definitely update you as well. Until then, I hope that you enjoyed my bizarre and truly unexplained story. Hopefully, someone out there believes us. My friend Isaac and I loved to explore run-down, abandoned, and forgotten places. Most of the time we're talking buildings, but sometimes that also included open acres where buildings once stood, and were now taken back over by nature. Those are some of my favorites. But there's one building that I'll never forget about.

It was an old hospital that had been closed for decades. It was shut down by authorities once everyone started realizing some of the unethical experiments and tests that they ran on patients. welcome to the American medical system. There were talks about it being sold to someone who wanted to reopen it as some kind of spooky pedant breakfast. It certainly wasn't even close to getting to that point, but even so we wanted to check it out before that happened. Lots of people liked to make comments about it being haunted and for good reason. So we made some plans to check it out one evening, just the two of us. We parked at a store on the back side of the building and hiked through the woods to avoid anyone seeing our car at the hospital.

It did have a few no trespassing signs along the fence, so yes, what we did was not legal, and I would not recommend it. Something about doing as I say, or whatever. Just approaching the building was pretty eerie. Multiple windows were broken and covered by boards or plastic. The lawn was not being cared for either, so it was overgrown with vines crawling over the outside and nearby trees. We agreed that our best way would be through one of the boarded windows, and that way we could put it back up while we explored, and no one would know that we were in there. We pushed out one of the boards quite easily. Clearly, no one had been keeping up on the security and structure of the place either.

The smell hit us immediately. It's not something a person might think about, but a building or structure that sits stagnant like that ends up getting its own smell. And when you do this frequently, like we do, you kind of anticipate what smell you might get. At first entering the hospital, there was this sickly sweet odor mixed with some kind of chemical,

and it actually made my head hurt. It was a hospital, so chemicals and cleaners, did make sense. But the smell of something potentially rotting away always puts me on edge. It could very easily be an animal, but it could also be something worse. Turning on our flashlight, we scanned the immediate area, and it was looking like your normal abandoned place. Graffiti on the walls, debris, wreckage.

There was even a spot that looked like someone was once sleeping in there, but they were now long gone. We passed what looked like the reception area and went into a long corridor lined with doors, patient rooms. Most were either locked or jammed. Unfortunately, doors and windows seized a lot when not in use. But then we walked further down and around a corner

where a sign that once hung from the ceiling was now on the floor. The chain that had hung from looked like rust had eaten away at it. The signs said, overnight stay. So, more patient rooms, we assumed. But these probably had better beds than the ones that we had already checked out with those paper runners on them. That's when the whole vibe of the place started falling apart. We entered the first room that was pretty empty, and a few others that had stuff here or there scattered around.

But then we entered one room that had one room that had... had us pretty puzzled. The bed was still in the room, but was now on its side, and one of the side barriers had a pair of handcuffs attached to it. Pretty crazy with that alone, right? Well, then there was the wall behind the bed that had decent-sized dents in it, with dark, streaky stains running down them. The dents were at head-level.

It looked like the streaks were attempted to be wiped up too, but that clearly made it worse. I remember us both looking at each other with a sense of what the hell happened in there. It felt really weird being in that room, like we weren't supposed to see it. We left the room and moved through the other ones. There was another room that was pretty much empty except for some kind of mat, like a yoga mat in the corner.

and there were scuffs on the floor in a circular pattern. It was as if it was worn that way from something going in a circle around the room. Someone was walking in a circle, or being dragged in a circle, maybe. Like the pattern on the floor was worn off or scuffed, if that makes sense. It's still weird, but we went on. Once we finished looking through the patient rooms, We found the hall leading to what we assumed were the offices of the doctors, and some sort of nurse station.

The nurse station looked pretty empty, besides a few post-its that had fallen to the back of the desk wall. One of the notes had a medication request on it, and I remember the feeling that everything just seemed to abruptly stop existing in that place. Like everyone left in a rush, and questions were never answered. Then we explored the offices, expecting to find something cool. Maybe old papers. Research, maybe even different diagrams to take as a reminder.

But I didn't want anything from the room that we looked through. There was a filing cabinet that had a broken lock. It appeared that someone had yanked on the handle and dented up the part where the lock mechanism would be. possibly using a crowbar or something to the likes. There were a few loose papers in there, not much information on them. It appeared they must have taken the confidential papers at least, or I hoped they did. All the drawers and cabinets in the room were unlocked and didn't really have much in them. But the bottom drawer of the desk did.

It looked like another one of those mats from the room that we saw earlier, but this one was rolled up and duct tape closed. At first glance, I'd say they did it just to keep it closed, but when Isaac pulled it out, we noticed two things. First was the weight. There was no way that this mat could weigh as much as it did. It was pretty heavy. And second, it wasn't uneven roll.

It was bulging out in some places, and you could even see the gaps. in the role. Something was rolled up in this thing. Curiosity got the best of us, too, because Isaac set it on top of the desk, and we cut through the tape. As we unrolled it,

there were random items within each part. A doll arm, a birthday card directed to a daughter, a few thumbtacks, a clump of hair, a piece of cloth with another one of those, dark stains on it, a picture torn showing just a woman, clearly removing someone from the photo,

and then a small switchblade that was open. Isaac went to pick it up, and I stopped him. I was getting some really sinister, souvenir vibes from these items. With the items there, the what I assumed to be a bloody rag, the picture and the knife, this looked like it could have been evidence. This was definitely important. I don't think the other things we found were related, but they definitely helped with the creepy setting of the place.

We talked for a second about what we should do. We had been there over an hour at this point looking through everything, and I was no longer feeling safe. It wasn't the fear of getting caught, but more so the fear of whomever left these items, coming back for them. And what if they caught us in the act? Thankfully, Isaac was right there with me,

so we left the mat unrolled where it was, sitting on the desk. We picked up our pace and started walking back toward the window. Standing by the board, I started picking it up when, from behind us, we both heard a deep, angry voice say, Who the hell are you? We didn't even turn around.

I chucked the cheap board to the side, jumped out the window and looked over my shoulder just enough to make sure that Isaac was right behind me. Once confirmed, I took off running, no longer caring who saw us. We ran around the building, through those woods again into the parking lot. We both looked around to make sure that no one had followed us before we got in the car. Once clear, we got in and drove off driving around different streets, stopping at different stores just to prevent being followed. After we had calmed down, I drove back to Isaacs and we both went in.

We went over everything we saw and that we heard, confirming that I wasn't the only one who heard the talking. I explained my theory on the rolled mat and he also agreed that they seemed like they were souvenirs. Then we had to figure out how to report it. We weren't supposed to be there, and we could get in trouble if we admit it, but what if those items were part of a crime?

I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell somebody. So I looked up the anonymous crime-solver number for our area and reported that a friend gave me the info about the items, and that they had just recently found it, and that was that. I kept it anonymous, of course, so I never had any follow-up with anyone. I also never saw or heard any news about that hospital or evidence being found, so I don't know if anything happened.

I want to believe that it wasn't anything like that, that it was just someone keeping some weird items, maybe someone that's not all there. Or maybe even that it's someone messing around, but the choice of items, Just put me off. We never went back there, but it was never reopened or remodeled. In fact, it was demolished, and now it's just an empty field.

Taking with it so many unanswered questions. Hello. First, I wanted to say thank you for reading my story if you do, because I've been listening to you for quite some time now. But also, I know that my story isn't the normal kind that you get. You typically tell stories from the people who experience it, or, unfortunately, deal with the creeps and jerks out there, but this time, I was the jerk, to put it lightly. I was the person that changed the lives of at least four people, and believe me, I did not take it lightly. I take full responsibility for everything that happened, and I know there are no excuses for my behavior either.

I'm a much different person now, so everyone understands, but when I was in my 20s, I was not the same person I am today. And I take this lesson very seriously, because it could have turned out a lot worse. Back then, I was a complete mess. I thought I was just a confident driver, which was really code for reckless and dangerous, but I didn't care. I rarely wore my seatbelt unless I saw a cop. nearby. I regularly looked at speed limits as suggestions rather than law. I even tell gated people who I thought were going too slow until they got out of my way. I was the guy that everyone hated on the roads, and at the time, I didn't care. I was young, I thought I was invincible, and in the nice flashy car that I got with the money I saved up by myself, I thought it was earned.

I did get a few speeding tickets before this, which I did dutifully pay off, but not without being an ass to everyone at the courthouse, which I'm also embarrassed by. I was definitely living carelessly, and I regret it. The day everything changed started out as a normal crappy day. My girlfriend and I had been fighting lately about everything and nothing. money, my attitude, my priorities, you name it. That morning I left in a bad mood, so I knew when I got home we would probably pick up where we left off. My parents had been on my case lately, too, about me getting my own insurance plan. I had just been giving them money for my part of it, but after three speeding tickets,

they didn't want me on their plan, understandably so. and then my job always seemed to find a way to piss me off. My boss decided that he wanted to act like he knew what was going on in the team, now that corporate was coming down, so he had been micromanaging everyone, so pretty much all of us were in bad moods. Needless to say, I was already in a foul mood when I left work that Tuesday evening at around 6 p.m. It was that time of year where the sun was just starting to set,

so we had the nice orange skies going on, probably about the only nice thing that evening. I just wanted to get home to play some stupid game, drink a beer, and forget about the world for a few hours. I was driving down a made road surrounded by commercial buildings, trying to get to the highway. The road was a single lane with a 30-mile-per-hour speed limit. I stopped at a red light,

and after my light turned green, there was a car on my left that also turned, cutting me off. His left turn light would have been red because my straight light had turned green. I immediately honked my horn, clearly annoyed by this, and then went straight. Now I was behind this jerk,

and not only did he cut me off, but he was also going under the speed limit. Again, I'm going to try to explain this in my mindset for that time in my life, so, Before anyone jumps at me in the comments here. He was going about 27 miles per hour and a 30, when I normally go 5 to 10 over that.

It made it feel like a crawl. I was pretty heated by this. If he wouldn't have cut me off, this wouldn't have been a problem. But since he did, I was already mad at him and growing more and more angry. So I did what I normally did. I started tailgating immediately. getting maybe three feet behind them. They didn't even look up,

so I flashed my bright at them a few times and then eventually left them on. The sun was starting to set, so I knew that he had to have seen my lights. But again, he did nothing, not even adjusting his mirror. As my anger increased, I became more and more aggressive.

We passed two speed limit signs, and as we did, I would honk and point at the sign. yelling at him that it's 30. I know that I would have looked insane to anyone on the outside, but to him, it was like I wasn't even there. He continued on at his speed, didn't glance up at me, didn't even flip me off. I had finally run out of any bit of patience I had left. I needed to pass this guy.

I veered over a little to see if anyone was coming, and when I saw the opposite lane was empty, I took the chance. I swerved into the other lane, sped up to pass this guy, expecting to see some older person or maybe someone just not paying any attention to what they were doing. But instead, I saw a guy in his 30s, maybe 40s at the latest, who was wearing sunglasses and some kind of chunky Bluetooth earpiece. He was just driving normally, arm resting on the window, looking completely calm, his mouth moving like he was talking to someone or maybe singing.

Either way, the guy pissed me off, so I flipped him off. He looked over at me, and at that moment, he looked confused, and his smile was gone. This irritated me even more, because how could he not understand why I was so annoyed with him? Either way, I was determined to cut him off, so I sped up to get ahead. The problem with this is that what I was doing is very illegal and very dangerous. I was in the oncoming traffic lane and was so caught up in the rage that I didn't see the car coming toward me. I reacted quickly and hard swerved back over to the correct lane. I assume I barely gave the guy behind me enough space because he started honking,

and he seemed to slowly put more and more space between us. The car in the other lane passed as normal. I made comments to the driver now behind me as I left him behind, and, once again, was not paying attention to the road in front of me. Coming up faster than I could react was an intersection with a stoplight. My light was red, and there was no way that I could slow down in time. Now, running the red light was not good. It's not something I usually did, but I would deal with it.

What I couldn't avoid was the sedan on the intersecting lane to my right trying to turn left. They had a green light, had every right to turn. And that here I was about to stop them, about to do the exact thing the guy behind me had done to me. Everything went in slow motion. I hit the brakes as hard as I could, but I knew it wasn't going to be enough. I was going to blow right through that red light at probably 45 miles per hour. I just remember thinking with perfect clarity, I'm going to kill them. The impact was devastating.

I teabone their car right in the driver's side door. The sound was stomach turning, a horrible combination of metal crushing, glass exploding, and then suddenly an awful silence. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, of course, and I felt myself being lifted up. But I stiffened at that moment, and my head smashed into the windshield and then everything went dark. The next thing I remember is someone pulling me out of my car. There were voices all around me asking my name, asking if I could hear them.

my head was pounding and I could taste blood. But the worst part, even through the pain, was hearing a child crying somewhere in the background. It was heartbreaking, terrifying sobs, and it cut right through my confusion. When they loaded me into the ambulance, one of the EMTs asked if I knew what happened. The only thing I could manage to say,

and the only thing that came out of me was, I heft up. Because even in my concussed shocked state, I knew this was entirely my fault. I was in the hospital for three days with a severe concussion, whiplash, cuts all over the top of my head, my face and arms from the broken glass. Somehow my head broke the windshield,

but I didn't fly out, which is probably the only reason I was still alive. But those physical physical, injuries were nothing compared to learning about all the damage I had caused. I learned that the car I hit was a dad, a mom, and their four-year-old

daughter. The dad who was driving ended up with some broken ribs and a fractured wrist. Mom had a concussion and bruises. Thank God their daughter was in a car seat, which probably saved her life. She got banged up and pretty badly traumatized, I'm sure,

but was okay otherwise. My car was totaled and completely unsalvageable. Their car was totaled too. My insurance covered some of it, but since I was at fault, and it wasn't something unavoidable like my car malfunctioning, I ended up having to pay nearly $30,000 out of pocket for their medical bills, car replacements, and other expenses. It took me a very long time to pay it off. The financial burden wasn't even the worst part. My parents were very disappointed in me.

My dad tore me a new one about how irresponsible and stupid I was, and he was right. My mom didn't say much, but she cried a lot, which hurt me to see. Then my girlfriend came to the hospital to check on me. She said that she was happy to know I was okay, but after she helped me back home from her, from the hospital, she broke up with me. She explained that we clearly weren't working out and that I needed to work on myself first. Again, I knew she was right.

I knew that I was the problem. The only thing I had left was my job, and I barely had that. My boss had no sympathy for me and still demanded the same amount of work. And since that was the only thing I had left, I dove right into it. I worked overtime, didn't have a social life, I didn't even have a car.

I tried doing one of the taxis, but I was just burning money that I no longer had, so I started taking the bus. I could at least get bus passes that were cheaper. For months following, I had to go to court and plead guilty to reckless driving, running the red light. The judge said that I was lucky because if any of them had died, I'd have been looking at vehicular manslaughter charges. I became a complete wreck. The guilt and shame was worse than the pain and physical healing ever was. I kept hearing that poor girls cries and there were a few times where I couldn't sleep at all,

knowing how close I came to almost ending three lives because I was selfish and impatient. But, as horrible as this experience was, it absolutely changed me as a person. Gradually, I started to understand myself and my life. I couldn't afford a therapist, but I read books and watched videos. I focused on my attitude and how to express my anger. I realized that I was channeling all of it when I drove. That was my escape, my way of letting it all out, but that wasn't healthy. I wasn't just going for a drive to clear my head.

I was using the road as my punching bag. The changes that I made were gradual in the road was long, but I got there. I had to earn my parents' trust back, and I still don't think they fully trust me nearly two decades later. But I can tell they are proud of me. I never did get back with my ex, but I think that's for the best. We truly were just creating a toxic environment for each other. I paid off the lawsuits. I have a used car, but it's also paid off.

and my insurance is a little higher, as expected, but I'm a completely different person now. I wear my seatbelt, I go the speed limit, and I certainly don't lose my cool like I used to. I still do get peeved at people running red lights and things like that, but I handle it a lot better. So, there's my story. I nearly killed a family because I was mad at another stranger,

a person that I never saw again. Our lives could have been completely different, and for some reason I was given a second chance, and I certainly didn't take it for granted. So if anyone learns anything from this, just please slow down, put on your seatbelt, and just let it go.

Let the feeling pass and live your life. Because the few minutes you think that you'll save or the revenge you think you're getting, will never be worth spending the rest of your life knowing that you destroyed someone else's. This happened to me when I was 21 years old. I'm 24 now, so it's still pretty fresh in my mind. I went to a friend's bachelorette party and had been there late.

By the time I left, it was probably close to one or two in the morning. I drove myself there alone and the drive home was about 40 minutes. from my friend's place, so I knew better than to drink. I had one beer early into the party and had water and coke the rest of the night, on top of a ton of chips. So I know still not really okay, but I wasn't impaired by a long shot. I left the party, getting onto the highway ready for a nice drive, so I had the windows down to enjoy the moment.

It was early June in Nebraska, so it was early June, Nebraska, so it was. was still relatively cooler in the evenings, which was perfect. I was on the highway with only about half the drive left, when I saw headlights in my rearview mirror approaching my car. They were higher up. I had a small two-door car, and this was clearly some kind of SUV. If you drive a smaller car, you'll probably relate to this, because when an SUV comes up behind me, they easily blind me,

and I have to adjust my mirror. No big deal, though. I'm used to it, so I just flipped my mirror a bit and kept going. But I noticed this SUV got pretty close to my car and then would back up. That is when I got a little annoyed. I was in the right lane, so if I wasn't going fast enough, they easily could have passed me. But instead, they were doing whatever it was they were doing.

That was until they finally got over. to my left, but instead of speeding up to get past me, they met with my speed. I looked over whenever I heard someone shout. The man in the truck was now trying to get my attention for some reason. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying with the wind and the music, but I heard the words wrong and pull over as he pointed to the back of my car. The man looked genuinely concerned, and not angry or aggressive, so something made me think that maybe there was something wrong with my car. I slowed down and stopped on the grassy shoulder. I watched the SUV pull off behind me as I put my car in park and was just about to turn my car off

when something suddenly screamed at me to not get out of the car. Something made me stop and think, what the hell are you doing? I've watched too many true crime shows and new. that I was probably overreacting. Those shows probably have me a little more paranoid than I need to be, but I kept the car running, and my window rolled up three quarters of the way. I watched the man get out of the driver's seat and jog over to my window. He looked like he was in his 40s, wearing jeans and a red t-shirt with the logo on the pocket.

Maybe a work shirt, but I couldn't make out the name of the company. He went to my window and stomped with his hands on his knees. as he looked into my car. He greeted me and then pointed to the back of my car, saying that my bumper was hanging off on one side. It's bouncing around pretty bad. It might be hitting your tire. You'll damage your rim if you keep driving with it like that.

I twisted around in my seat to look out the back window. I don't know why I did this, because, of course, I couldn't see it from where I was. I was confused. I hadn't hit anything. I certainly did. didn't remember backing in to something. No one said they had hit my car at the party, and I knew everyone there, so I couldn't believe

that no one would have told me. I also didn't have anyone hit me while I was driving. So when could that have happened? While this was circling in my head, the guy said that he could at least tie it up real quick for me, so that it wasn't dragging until I could get it in somewhere to actually reattach it. He asked if I could hold it in place for him while he did so. I was confused, but I unbuckled my seatbelt and was just about to get out when, once again,

my gut told me to think this through. That's when it finally dawned on me. If it was dragging and even hitting my tire like he claimed, wouldn't I be able to see it sparking or hear it grinding or thumping when it hit something? I did have my window down after all. So, I told him this. I said that I hadn't heard the grinding at all. He gave me a friendly smile and said,

well, not always, claiming that it would depend on how it was hanging. I may not even notice it. The gut feeling was at full force at this point. I was not feeling good about this situation, and I really wasn't comfortable with getting out of my car. I wasn't far from home, and I still lived with my parents. Well, my dad helped me with everything related to my vehicle. I stayed calm, and I thanked the guy for pointing it out,

but said that I would wait until I got home to have my dad help me with it. I watched his expression change, like he was offended by my comment. He pushed that it wouldn't take long and that he just needed some help holding it up since it was dark out. I was firm and again said that I understood, but that I needed to get home. That's when he put his hands on top of my partially open window, window, gripping the top of the glass.

It once again could have just been innocent, but getting that much closer to me made me even more uncomfortable. Clearly annoyed, he said, I'm trying to be a good Samaritan here and help you out. You're just going to blow me off? Why would someone take the situation so seriously? You offered to help, and the person declined. You still tried to help, but why get so upset about it? Being the people-pleaser that I am, I apologized and made some excuse about how my parents helped me purchase the car, so I have to go through them for any types of repairs.

And again, thanked him for letting me know. That's when he started in on the insults, if you can call them that. This is exactly what's wrong with your generation. Someone tries to help you when you act all stuck up and ungrateful? What do you think? I'm some kind of creep or something? Because I'm not. and he even threw some kind of comment in about how he had a lot of female friends.

I didn't know how to respond to this. I was already nervous and confused, and his anger out of nowhere froze me in place even more. I thought I would just slowly put my car in drive and leave. He was still at my side, so it's not like I would have hit him or anything, but he must have also realized what I was doing because he pulled on my window, breaking it instantly. I gunned it out of there as he tried to reach into my car, but I was able to drive away before he could do anything. I watched as he ran back to his car and I could hear him burning out too.

I was terrified that he was going to follow me home. I wasn't thinking straight. I know it because my first thought was to call my dad. He would be at home waiting for me, so that's what I did. I know he could tell that something was wrong the moment I asked if he was home. his voice got deeper with a serious undertone to it I explained to him what was happening and I heard him tell my mom to call the cops

he told me to keep him on the phone but to come home immediately and explain everything he did or tried to do I was terrified thinking this guy was going to ram the back of my car but he never did he caught up to me but kept a distance away now I was concerned about him following me home and knowing where we lived, putting not only me in danger, but also my

parents. I pulled into the driveway where my dad was standing right on the edge, watching and waiting. As soon as I put my car in park, my dad walked towards my car before running to the edge of the driveway. That guy had, in fact, followed me all the way home, and my dad was now yelling at the guy to stop. Thankfully, for everyone involved, he burned out and didn't stop. By my dad's voice, I have this feeling that he would have probably dragged him out of his vehicle if he had slowed down enough. However, because of what my mom had told the police, he was already waiting at the end of the block and flipped his lights on real quick, and had followed the SUV that had just burned out in a residential area.

The neighborhood we lived in was very strict about that kind of stuff anyway. I got out of my car in tears at this point, and my dad hugged me to calm me down. I explained to him what exactly happened when another cop showed up, and I had to start over for him. Afterwards, we walked around my car, and I felt sick. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with my bumper. It was still attached, and not a single thing. single piece was dragging or dangling. That explained why I didn't see or hear anything.

The guy lied about the whole thing, of course. So what were his intentions in getting me out of my car? They had me go inside with my mom to calm down while my dad finished up with the police. They had given no indication on whether or not they had caught up with the guy yet. My dad didn't say much afterwards until the next morning when we had all calmed our nerves. We scheduled an appointment to get the window fixed with the help of our insurance company. That's when my dad shared what he and the cop had been talking about. The cop told him that they had received very similar reports over the summer

about a guy in an SUV stopping people to help fix something that was wrong with the back of their car. There had been three reports already. One woman got out and he actually tried dragging her to his car, but she had managed to pepper spray him, and the other two wouldn't get out of their car. I was lucky to not get out of my own car. I was a smaller girl, and there was no way that I would have been able to fight him on.

I didn't have anything to protect myself at the moment, and he broke my window by just pulling it out. My dad kept in contact with the cop, as in he would call in to see if they ever caught the guy because they didn't that night. So far, he's still out there somewhere, probably trying to do it again. I'm now paranoid when someone drives a little too close to my car, and I carry a couple of self-defense items with me, but thankfully, I haven't run into him again. Nor have I been stopped.

I just sincerely hope that nobody else falls for his tricks. In August of 1914, my home country of Ireland, still part of Britain at the time, joined World War I. From what I've heard, we didn't do much, but it was better to have us and not need us than to need us and not have us. I bring this up because this story comes from my great granduncles. From here, referred to as granduncles, friends as told to me by my grandfather. I got permission from their families, not them specifically, because it's been over a hundred years now. They're all dead to tell this story. The only thing I must say is that all the names have been changed for privacy, and that the story is a second-hand account of three different people's memories on something, so forgive me if the story seems rather odd in how it's framed.

My grand-uncle was stationed somewhere at sea. I don't have the exact location, but it's important to know that they were at sea for the entirety of their time at war. Unlike my great-grandfather, who was considered a war hero and got a letter of recognition from King George V for his service, my grand-uncle got no recognition like that. Him and his three friends that I'll just call Shorty, Brick, and Joe. Shorty was a small, aggressive man, Brick was a large and powerful man, and Joe was average. Proper names then. average build, average intelligence, the works.

Anyway, the three of them were on the same vessel at sea when it sunk. I don't have the exact details of what happened as they've changed from who was telling the story. Joe said they were all immediately ordered to abandon ship. Brick says they were ordered to stay and fight until the damage was too bad that they had to go, and Shorty never gave much detail. But either way, the ship was going down and they had to run. They hopped into a lifeboat and managed to escape out into open water. While they were safe mostly from enemy fire, they had other issues, food, and water.

They had on them a flask of rum, and being Irish men, they took to using that as hydration. I'm not saying it didn't work, but it was like putting a dirty band-aid on a gash in the belly. It's so little help short-term, and so dangerous long-term. It took two days before they got any food in the form of a fish that one of them had grabbed from the water. They were so hungry they picked it clean, but it was still so little food. That was one of them asked the most difficult and dangerous questions you ask when lost at sea. Shorty says it was Joe, Joe says it was Shorty, and Brick says it was either Joe or my grand-uncle. But one of the men said,

should we draw straws to see who gets eaten? They used the ribs from the fish as makeshift straws, four pencil-thin ribs to see who was going to make it or not. Shorty drew the longest, brick drew the second longest, Joe drew the second shortest, and my grand-uncle the shortest. I'll spare many, many of the details,

but he was killed and eaten by the men. Five days after they were first stranded, they were rescued and brought back to Dublin, where the local community hailed them as heroes. Nothing amazing or fancy. I don't even think it ended up in the paper, but people all through the neighborhood loved them, all except for my grand-uncle's wife and kids. They insisted that there was no drawing of straws, that my grand-uncle would never agree to such a thing. The story would have ended here, but this last part coming. from my grandfather. Joe didn't have a family. He didn't have a wife or kids or even siblings,

so, on his deathbed in the 1980s, my grandfather visited him. Joe told my grandfather this part of the story. Apparently, my grand-uncle, according to Joe, didn't draw the short straw. It was Brick. Joe said Brick, angry and afraid, then killed my grand-uncle.

They weren't going to kill two people. people, were they? Let alone the biggest and strongest. Brick threatened the other two men and made them swear to never tell anyone. Joe was the last one alive at this point. Shorty was just another casualty in World War II, and Brick was killed by an infected dog bite. Joe, then, at his end, just wanted somebody to know. This happened back when I was very young, so some of this is what I remember, but there's a lot of info in this that I got from my parents when I was older. So, I apologize in advance if I'm missing some details in between. Back in the early 90s, my sister and I had a babysitter

that watched us for several years. I'll call her Sadie, and I remember her as being a very sweet and fun girl. She was 18 or close to that age the last time that I saw her. I don't even remember how my parents found her. Both of my parents worked. My dad owned an auto shop and my mom was a nurse. I didn't remember this, but my parents told me that Sadie used to watch me when I was younger. Then she would be there when I got home from preschool. When my mom had my sister Isabel, she of course was home for a while and got me off to school and greeted me at home. Sadie still watched us during the holiday breaks or on those random nights. that my parents went out.

Once my sister was old enough to be left with a babysitter and mom's maternity leave ran out, Sadie would then start watching us again when I got home from school. I didn't mind either. Like I said, she was a great person, and it was almost like having an older sister around. She always played with us and was just a genuinely good person to spend time with. And of course, my parents loved her too. Her parents had come over before. Sometimes they dropped her off and picked her up, but for the most part, she drove herself.

That was until her car broke down. But without hesitation, my parents offered to let her borrow our family van so that she could still watch us. That's how much they trusted her. They basically handed over a $20,000 vehicle at the time to a teenager because they knew she needed it. And, to be honest, if she didn't have a reliable way to get to our place, one of our parents would have to stay home with us, which wasn't really an option. She had it when she was watching us, that way she had a vehicle in case of emergencies, which did come in handy when she watched us that summer,

which meant that Sadie was at our house more often. Now, Sadie also had a boyfriend that all called Sam. Sam seemed like a good guy. He was, I think, a year or two older than Sadie, because I remember someone saying how he wasn't in school anymore. He was always nice to us, too, and played with us when he came over, and my parents knew he was there, too. Sadie was a very responsible girl, and she never did anything questionable when he was over. I think I saw them holding hands once or twice, but that was about it. He would swing by sometimes and hang out for a while and then leave.

One time he even brought us some ice cream for McDonald's. Sometimes he would be there the entire time, and my mom would come home first, typically, and then talk to both of them, treating them the same, so I knew that he was just as welcome in our home. But things started to go wrong. It was one day that she was watching us when she had my mom's van. She'd had it for about a week or two at that point, and she was telling my mom that Sam was going to help her get the part that weekend to fix it. My mom even told me how she offered to have my dad look at it since he did have a shop, but Sadie declined, not wanting to be a burden on them. I know my mom hates herself for that too, for not pushing the matter or insisting,

but she assumed that it was just because she was becoming an adult and she wanted to take care of things on her own, to prove herself and to others that she was independent. Once Mom left, the day went as normal. We played, watched TV, and did whatever we did at that time. While we were having lunch, Sadie went into the living room and was talking on our phone. The conversation started to sound a bit heated. I remember her saying something along the lines of, You're supposed to have it fixed by now.

and how she had to give the van back. When she returned to the kitchen, I asked her if something was wrong and she was back to her normal, happy self saying that everything was fine. We finished up our day without me thinking about it any further. When my mom got home that evening, I was in the room when Sadie explained

that her car should be fixed that night, so she would bring the van back tomorrow. And my mom was okay with this and they continued talking. My dad had been taking her to work while Sadie had the van, but my mom had a later shift that next day due to some kind of training things, so she was going to have to drive herself. The next morning is where things went wrong. I got up when I normally do, had my breakfast, and when I went to the living room to watch cartoons, that's when I noticed Sadie wasn't there yet. Usually she was there when I finished breakfast. I asked my mom if she was coming, and I remember my mom sounding a little stressed.

She confirmed yes, but said that it appeared that she was running late. I thought nothing else and just continued watching TV. Shortly after, my mom sat Isabel next to me, asking me to keep an eye on her as she finished getting ready for work. Again, Sadie was usually around. sitting with us when my mom did that, so it was odd. By 9 a.m., an hour after Sadie should have been there, and no word from her mom, my mom began to get worried. I remember her calling someone, it was Sadie's parents, and asking about her.

Then my mom also called my dad. I remember her saying his name and talking about what to do, because if she didn't show up, she would have to miss work. Then, a little after 9 a.m., there was a knock at the door. My mom quickly opened it, all of us expecting Sadie, but instead it was Sam. He smiled, but he looked a little nervous, and my mom asked him what he was doing there. He said that Sadie and him had made plans to meet at our place that morning so he could drive her home since she was returning the van. His explanation made sense, but then he was also confused as to why she wasn't.

there. My mom asked if he knew where she was, and he said that he last saw her the night prior to and had no idea. My mom went to her bedroom, taking the cordless phone while Sam stayed in the living room with us. He was playing with Isabel and one of her dolls, and then would talk to me about what I was watching and doing, just like he would any other day. Other than Sadie, seemingly missing in action, everything else seemed pretty normal to me. An hour had almost passed when my mom told Sam that he should probably head home and that she would let him know or tell Sadie to contact him if they got a hold of her or heard from her. He agreed, gave us both a high five and left.

When he talked to my mom, he did have a look of concern too. Like, he felt that something was wrong. My mom ended up staying home with us that day, but there were a lot of calls coming in and going out as well, something I didn't really understand at the time. It only added to my confusion and my concern when my dad came home, and my parents continued talking in hushed tones, not really saying much in front of us. The next few days became pretty chaotic, and not our normal schedule. There were several more calls, and we had a few. visitors. There was a man and a woman that came by the next day. They kind of looked like cops. They had on similar uniforms, but not exactly. Later that night, there was a couple that

came over, and I remember the woman had been crying, and she hugged my mom, and then my mom started crying, too. They asked me to go play in my room as they all sat in the living room talking. The day after, my dad stayed home with us, and my mom was gone most of the day, but she wasn't dressed like she was going to work. My mom then stayed home with us for two more days, again, taking a lot of calls, and then after that my aunt was watching us pretty regularly. I like my aunt. She was never mean to us or anything, but as a young child, I was still curious as to what happened to Sadie. Where was she? and why was she not watching us anymore? My little self honestly thought it had something to do with the van since we still didn't have it back.

Eventually, we did get the van back, but I think it was about a week later. But it was strange because after needing it back so badly, they got rid of it and got a new one. My aunt continued to watch us throughout the rest of that summer, and after I went back to school, we got a new babysitter. She was nice too. She played with us, but she never got as goofy as Sadie would. Really, I just wanted Sadie back. But when I brought it up to my mom, I remember the sadness in her face,

making me immediately think that I said something wrong. But she smiled and just said that Sadie was grown up now and had to do a better job. I left it at that and just never really brought it up again. until I got older, that is. When I was in high school, the four of us were having dinner, and I was asked to watch my sister because they were going to be home late. I'd been watching my sister for some time now, no more need for a babysitter, but I made a joke about getting paid for it.

Then I kind of randomly just decided to ask about Sadie. I made a comment about her age and wondered if she still lived nearby and my parents got quiet. Now that I was older, I understood that look. They were hiding something. I asked what exactly happened with her, and I would have never guessed the truth. The day that Sadie watched us and had been arguing on the phone, she'd been arguing with her boyfriend at the time, Sam.

Sam was supposed to be working and fixing her car, but had supposedly kept putting it off, and she was getting rightfully frustrated. After she left that night, she apparently had an argument with Sam in person, and that's where things went bad. Sam went berserk and attacked her. He had hit her in the head so many times that she was knocked unconscious. Fearing that he had just killed her,

he threw her in the back of the van, our van, and dumped her in the woods off the highway. He cleaned up the blood in the van, dropped it off at Sadie's place, and then walked back to his place. He lived about two blocks away. The next day, knowing that she was supposed to show up at our place, he came over and pretended that he had no idea what was going on. He held my sister, he played with me, the guy who had just brutally attacked one of the sweetest girls I've ever known. It apparently aided him too because the next day he confessed. His parents brought him in, he told them everything, and led to them where he had dumped Sadie.

By some crazy miracle, Sadie was still alive, but barely. Her skull was fractured and she had lost a lot of blood. This is why Sadie's parents had showed up at our place, and the other cop-looking people that were there were detectives. They were already suspicious of Sam because he parked the van on the street instead of in the driveway like Sadie always did.

Not to mention, they never saw her actually come home. Her bed was never touched as she always made her bed, but Sam claimed that she hadn't stayed the night with him that night either. They didn't feel like his story was adding up, so they had all showed up at our place to tell my parents that she'd been found, but they had to keep our van as evidence. Once it was all done, my parents clearly didn't want to keep that thing, so they traded it in for a new one. Sam was arrested and charged, and Sadie had a long road to recovery, which is why she never came back.

She actually had to learn to walk again, but she did it. She also has problems with her eyesight and her left eye now. But even through all of that, she healed. She went to college and was actually working at a hospital out of state. She became a nurse, like my mother. I was stunned. It was in our local news, but I never saw any of it, thanks to my parents not wanting us to know when we were still so young.

I was horrified, though. All I knew was Sadie was gone and so was Sam. who I thought was pretty cool too. My parents did say that they saw Sadie when she was in recovery and she was happy to see them. After all she went through, her worry was not being there that next morning, making my mom call in. That's the kind of person she was. I still haven't reached out to Sadie after all these years. My sister doesn't remember her as much as I do, but I do want to just ask how she is.

I know my parents have said there were no hard feelings toward us, but part of me still feels weird about it. Anyway, I just wanted to share how my babysitter was almost killed, and how her attacker spent a lot of time around us too. Thankfully, the story does have a fairly happy ending, and Sam is still incarcerated. I never thought that wearing a sports jersey would lead to what I am about to share. But here we are. We moved to this suburban Boston neighborhood a decade ago at this point. My wife got a promotion at work, but it involved us moving to a different state. After weighing everything out, we agreed that it was a good idea in the long run, so she accepted the position, and we moved.

The area was great. The school district was perfect for our kids, too, 8 and 10 at the time. Moving was a little rough as we were in between homes, waiting for our house to close, but we made it. The house was great, and in the first few weeks we settled in, learned the local routines, and even met some of our neighbors, including a man that all called Dave. Dave seemed friendly enough at first. He introduced himself, talked about how he lived alone, and he and his wife were divorced, and their daughter lives with his ex-wife,

and he gets her on the weekends. We chatted about where we were from, what brought us to Boston, and even about house stuff, offering to help out with anything we needed. It seemed like your typical suburban guy. Then, one Saturday, I was wearing my Yankees jersey while cleaning out my car. Dave stopped by and started talking to me, but I noticed his whole demeanor changed when he pointed out my jersey. He asked me if I was a Yankees fan, and I confirmed, explaining that I grew up in New York and had been a fan since childhood. It was something that my dad and I had bonded over.

That's when he started ranting about several baseball moments that I barely remembered. He clearly was not a fan of Aaron Judge, calling him overrated and overpaid. To be honest, I've always been just a casual fan at best. So I just nodded along trying to be polite. I watched it on TV, went to a few games with my dad, but really that was about it. So his reaction and becoming so animated about it, I knew it was part of his personality. To each their own, though. like what you like.

But from there, that's when things started getting weird. At first it was just me getting the cold shoulder or dirty looks. I would see him outside when I grabbed the mail or took out the trash bins and tried waving, but he would just ignore me. It was a stretch, but I figured maybe he didn't see me. Maybe he had his mind on something else and didn't realize I was waving at him. I just let it go. But then he started complaining.

While my kids were outside playing in the yard, I would hear yelling from a grown man. I would pop outside and saw Dave yelling at the kids that they were being too loud. But yet, I didn't even hear the kids whatsoever. I had been in the kitchen right by a window pointing out into the yard that they were in, and all I could hear was him yelling. He was clearly much less. louder than the kids. He even got mad at them when they were kicking around a ball, claimed that it was going to hit his car.

His car was in his driveway on the other side of his house. If my 10-year-old would have been able to kick a ball up that high and that far, I would have put him in football or something. But there was no way that they would have hit his car. One time he even called the police because my son and his friend kept suspiciously riding their bikes past his house. They were both on the sidewalk, riding with traffic and going around the blocks, so yeah, they rode past his house, and everyone else is on the block several times. Thankfully, the cops didn't take it seriously, agreeing that they hadn't done anything wrong.

I know that really seemed to piss Dave off with how the cops left with both of us smiling and waving. Now, these were all on different days, so the first first first thing, so the first one, you know, we're not. few times, I assumed he was just in a bad mood. But it just continued, and I started to believe that he was just a bitter person or just didn't like kids. Calling the cops, though, even though nothing came of it, it really bothered me. It scared my son, and it was embarrassing having to explain to his friend's parent why the cops were at our house. In the end, I just told the kids to try to avoid him as much as possible.

Then, we had a new strange thing happening that didn't involve the kids. Our trash bins started mysteriously filling up between collection days. We'd put out a normal amount on Thursday night, but by Friday morning, it would be overflowing with bags that were clearly not ours. We even started getting warnings from the HOA about excessive trash. We knew not to overfill it. The trash people would often not take trash. if the lid wouldn't close anyway.

But even with the family of four, we recycled as much as we could, so our trash bin was never overflowing. When we first moved in, we had some excess trash, but I even made sure to separate organic garbage from everything else so we could throw the food waste away first.

If the bin was full, I just kept the extra in the garage and put them in the bin after it was emptied. I know that I may do things odd, but it helps, especially with kids. But we also haven't had to do that since we moved in. The bottom line is, our bins were never full, so someone was clearly putting their bags in our bins. The easiest solution for me was to just keep our bins in the garage until right before the trucks came by. Yes, we had some cameras, but we didn't have one that showed the end of our driveway.

We never really had a need for one. I just started working from home for part of the day on Friday so I could take the bins to the curb. The extra bags seemed to stop then. Then, our mailbox was starting to be tampered with. Sometimes it was bent. One time it was completely knocked over. Twice I had important mail go missing. My parents sent my daughter a birthday card with money in it, and it was not in my box.

even though informed delivery showed it was being delivered. I tried asking the post office about it, and they couldn't tell me anything helpful other than to install a camera. So I did what I could. I put in a better post, even cemented the bottom into the ground, and got a new hefty mailbox that couldn't easily be moved or pulled off. Then, I finally decided to install a camera that pointed to our driveway and mailbox, since mail theft is a little more of a big deal than using someone else's trash can. That is when I finally caught something. I came home one afternoon and collected the mail,

and there were a few brochures for places in New York. I don't mean like some kind of advertisement either. I mean, these are brochures that you would find in a hotel in that state, that you can take. How did they end up in my mailbox? So I went and checked the cameras. To my surprise, Dave walked up to my mailbox, shook it a few times, and then seemed to put his weight on it, to push it to the side. It didn't budge.

I did a good job. Then he opened the box, pulled something from his pocket, shoved it in the box, and slammed the door closed. So Dave tried to knock over our box and put it. the brochures in the box, but... Why? It didn't make any sense. Why had he done any of these things? And now, that I see that he may have been behind the mailbox issues,

was he also the one that was filling our trash bins, too? So, while he didn't really cause any damage to the mailbox, I didn't report it. I just discussed it with my wife and started taking notes on his actions. I guess Dave didn't realize I had the new cameras installed, and I finally caught him in the act. I turned on alerts to tell me when a person was detected, and when I woke up one morning I had a notification from the camera. It was Dave, walking down our driveway. He stopped by my car, looked around, and then pulled something out of his pocket, and started rubbing it against my car.

He was there doing that for a good 15 minutes. Then he stepped back, looked at my car once more, and walked away. I went out and looked at my car and was shocked to see a huge spot on my hood that looked like it had been sanded down, in the shape of the letter B. What the hell did the B even mean? Since I clearly had this on camera at this point, I reported it to the cops. They came over, I made a report and showed them the video evidence. I had no idea why he would do this and still didn't understand the beast,

so my wife and I both agreed to press charges. After they finished at our place, I walked from the porch as the cops went to his home, and they talked calmly for a moment. Then Dave quickly became agitated. He started yelling something, and the only thing I heard was, that's BS. He was slowly walking away from his porch and then sped up,

pointing at our place and started to storm toward us. The cop stopped him before he even got out of his yard, cuffed him and got him into their car. Clearly, he knew what just happened, and that he was caught on camera. And I didn't feel bad. I didn't know what the hell I had done to warrant this kind of aggression from him. He was fine when we first moved in, but it slowly escalated. But because this wasn't a severe... crime, he was back home the same day, later that night.

There was an older woman that drove and got out of the car with him and they both went inside. I just reminded my wife and kids to avoid him at all costs, and told the kids that if he was outside when they were, to not initiate, don't talk to him and just go back inside. I hated it. I hated that my kids could only play outside when the neighbor wasn't around. It wasn't fair to them, but I didn't trust him anymore. The breaking point finally came about a week later. My kids had just gone to bed and my wife and I were still up and watching a movie in the living room.

I got another camera notification on my phone and when I pulled it up, I saw a man walking around our driveway again. My wife and I started watching, trying to wait for a clear picture of their face, assuming that it was Dave again. We got more than just a good view of his face. He walked toward the window where the camera was. It was an indoor camera pointing out the window. He looked at the camera, giving us a clear view of his face and his hoodie before taping a piece of paper to the window.

The hoodie he was wearing was a dark color with a big red bee on the center. I recognized it. It was the Boston Red Sox logo. That's when it finally clicked for me. Was this really all about me being a Yankees fan? Is that what the B was for on my car? There's no way someone would go this far over some stupid non-existent team rivalry, right? Clearly, I was irritated by this point, so I wanted to confront him.

I stormed outside, empty-handed, and yelled at him. I made him jump, but as I began yelling at him, he quickly got defensive. I asked him if this was really about the Yankees thing and he actually confirmed it. He said that I had some nerve coming to Boston and wearing Yankees crap, saying that my kids were corrupting the neighborhood with their New York attitudes, and that we all needed to leave. I told him that he was insane and needed to get a life, and then he ran at me with a baseball bat.

I'll remind you that I didn't have anything on me, so I ran back to the house. I got inside just in time as he started to swing the bat at anything he could. He smashed the pillar on our porch, the steps. He went back and started smashing my car. Thankfully, my wife had a bad feeling from the start and she called the cops and then shifted the camera so that it was pointing at part of the window that wasn't covered. So it caught him running at me with the bat. Not that it mattered too much, because our ring camera caught most of the camera caught most of

him trying to destroy our porch. The cop showed up quickly and managed to get him on the ground and once again cuffed. We pressed charges for all the damage, the threats to me, and then filed a restraining order so that he could not be on any part of our property. I was pissed. Like I said, I was a casual fan. I didn't dislike the Red Sox either, so I may have even watched a game with him if it ever came up, but instead he chose violence over a shirt.

He could have put my kids in danger, because of his problems with me. I wanted us to just leave for my kid's safety, but this all happened in less than a year of us being in our new home, and we really didn't know what to do. Apparently, he took the restraining order and more recent charges seriously, because we didn't see him after that. I saw him angrily watching us from a window once, but that was it. Then, one day, I saw that same older woman and another man show up there. The three of them then carried several boxes and bags from his home, put them in the man's truck, and left.

I think he moved. I didn't see him after that, but I did see that other couple several times, bringing out more boxes and furniture. I later learned from another neighbor, one that was actually quite kind, that the people I saw were his sister and brother-in-law, and they told her that he was moving in with them. Dave had a bad temper before us, but we were just enough to send him off the deep end, I guess. All I know is that I'm glad he's gone because if a jersey was enough to set him off, then there's something deeper going on, and he needs help. help. But at least now my kids could continue playing outside without worrying that a maniac with a bat might chase them down too. Hi there. I've been listening to your podcast and lurking on your live streams for a few years now. I don't talk a lot, but I finally had the time to sit down and write up this story about my family.

It may not seem too scary to some people, but as an attention, now and thinking back on how this happened to me as a child, it's pretty terrifying. Especially knowing the details. I do want to add here that this did not take place in the U.S., and it was also the early 2000s. I won't say anything more than that with the location because it is a pretty big deal for my family, but also so that no one gets this notion that someone should have done something different. What happened is what it is. My family members handled this the best way they thought they knew,

and I will stand by them for that. Growing up, after a certain age specifically, I had these fragmented memories that never quite made sense. I was born a twin. I'm a male, and my twin was female. Seeing so many other people online with siblings and twins especially, I feel like I missed out on some great bonding there. Unlike others, where twins were dressed to match, had fun photos taken together in the sorts,

we were treated very differently. I recalled having very fun and loving parents. They doted on me, gave me everything I could ask for, and I genuinely thought that we had a great, happy family in childhood. But as for my sister, I'll call her Lily, She was constantly in trouble. I say, in trouble, because my parents were always scolding her. We would ask for extra meat during dinner, and when my parents would add more to my plate,

they would tell my sister it wasn't ladylike for her to eat so much. I remember when I broke a cup once, and they kept me calm telling me it was okay and helped clean it up. But then Lily would spill her glass of water. I remember her being spanked, smacked on the hand and told to be more careful and forced to clean it up. She would be told that she couldn't do a lot of the things that I did, claiming it was my stuff, my toys, etc. But I was always willing to share and play with her. She was my only sibling, and she was the same age as me. We like, the same things, and I wanted someone to play with. When my parents were preoccupied, we would play together, but when they would see her in my room,

they would then yell at her, tell me it's not for her to play with, and kick her out of my room. I remember begging at one point to let her play with me, and they told me that she couldn't because she was being bad. I didn't know what she did, but it was my parents, so I had no reason to not believe them. So along she went, spending most of her time in her room. Both of us had separate activities and things that we would do. Sometimes they overlapped, but it was very rare. One of those things we were occasionally allowed to do together was swim.

We had an above-ground pool in our backyard, and during the summer, we swam probably once or twice a week. I hated being hot, especially since we didn't have much in ways of keeping the house cool, just fans in every room, but it also meant that I got to spend time with Lily. However, one of the things I got to do was take a swimming class. I knew the basics on how to swim, how to keep afloat, really, but Lily did not. She struggled at times, but that's why she used the floating wings on her arms. I could tell that even though she was a bit nervous in the water,

she still enjoyed it because we were together. I tried to show her some techniques to swim, such as the small paddling, and she seemed to catch on a bit and she loved it. We were, of course, younger, so if we wanted to swim, someone would have to be out there with us, typically our mom. However, if we got a little too loud in our play, She would tell us it was time to get out, so we always made sure to keep our voices low while we played to give us more time.

The event that really changed my life and shattered what I once remembered of my childhood happened on one of those summer days. We were eight at the time. It was hotter than it normally was, or what I was used to at least. Lily and I had been sitting on the floor in the living room with a fan blasting on our faces. watching something on TV. Lily asked about going swimming, and my mom very promptly told her no. She wasn't working at the time,

just my father, so she was typically home with us. I waited for the next commercial break and asked my mom, knowing Lily probably got a different answer because it was her asking. As expected, my mom said calmly that we could swim after lunch. My mom would be making lunch soon after, as she typically did after checking on the goats, so I knew we didn't have long to wait. Shortly after, Mom called us for lunch, so we both calmly went to the table, but tried to eat quickly. While we were eating, Mom called for Lily, but her voice was surprisingly more calm than it normally was when she calls for her. I knew we were both thinking this because we looked at each other with a bit of curiosity.

She slowly gone up and made her way towards the back of our house, where she was calling from. Time is a weird concept as a kid. I had finished eating while Lily still had about half of her sandwich, so I went back to the living room to watch TV. I don't know how long I had been there, but I think I had watched three full episodes of whatever cartoon it was, before I noticed that Lily hadn't come back. I assumed my sister must have gotten in trouble, and that's why she was taking so long. That's how I had it in my head.

If she was taking too long to do something, I would assume it was because she was getting in trouble. Anyway, after sitting there for a while, I found my mom in the laundry room and asked her if we could go swimming now, and she agreed. I ran off to put my trunks on, knowing my mom, My mom would be following behind shortly. I ran to the back door, opened it, and as I climbed the pool ladder to wait, I saw her.

My sister was face down in the pool, motionless. I was confused at first because she was still in her clothes, not her swimsuit. Then it finally connected. This wasn't right. This wasn't Lily trying to play a game. She was in danger. I shouted for my mom several times, shouting that Lily needed help, but she didn't respond. I then jumped in the pool by myself to try and save her.

I remember it being really hard for me to get her flipped over, but I did it. Then I pulled her toward the ladder. But that's when it stopped being easy. We were both eight. I couldn't lift her out of the pool on my own. She was soaked and still wearing pants. and a shirt which also weighed her down. I remember my little arms wrapped around her,

staring at her purple lips and screaming for my mom, but she never came, and I couldn't understand why. I left the door open, so there was no way she couldn't hear me. Thankfully, there was a man walking down the street as I was screaming for my mom, and he stopped immediately. He then jumped the fence and ran over to us. He grabbed Lily and pulled her out and walked her out, one swoop, and I climbed down the ladder to be with her. I watched as he lied her on the

ground and started doing chest compressions. His voice was still very calm as he asked me if I was alone. I told him my mom was home, and he told me to go get her. I ran in the house, expecting her to be in the back, on the phone or something, giving me some explanation as to why she wasn't coming, but instead, I found her smoking in the kitchen. There was no way that she didn't hear us outside. I told her what happened, and without a word or without a sense of urgency, she followed me outside.

I watched as the man continued compressions and just prayed quietly that my sister would be okay. And finally, she coughed. He helped her to her side as she spit up more water. I was jumping and was excited that she'd woken up and watched the color return to her face. Then I looked up at my mom thinking she would be excited too, but the look on her face was not what I expected. It was not one of relief or concern, but of pure rage.

Her expression was similar to what I saw when she was angry with Lily. The man offered to take us to the hospital, but my mother refused. She said that she would call our dad and have him take us. We only had one car at the time. The man then said a few things to my mom and left. Once he was gone, my mom sighed and said that she would call dad and then walked back inside. I helped Lily inside her room so she could change, and afterwards we both sat on her bed, me holding her with the blanket around her.

She was shaking. I told her that she was okay now, but I very clearly remember her looking up at me with tears in her eyes, and she said she was scared. I was trying to be a brave brother, but only older by two minutes, and I told her again that the man saved her so she'd be fine, but she just stayed silent after that. The rest of that night was a blur. We watched TV together again, and our parents talked a lot in the kitchen. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I knew it wasn't a normal conversation. They both sounded angry as they spoke.

We went to bed, but I wanted to stay with Lily, but my dad refused, saying it wasn't proper to sleep in the same room as a girl, and my sister at that. I thought it was weird because we had shared a room when we were much younger, but I didn't argue with it and I just went to bed. The next day, I woke up, got dressed, and went to the kitchen for breakfast. I noticed my sister wasn't there yet, and I assumed that after yesterday maybe she was just sleeping in a bit. But after I finished my cereal, and she still wasn't there, I went to check on her.

To my surprise and confusion, her room was empty. Her bed was still there, but her toys and clothes were all gone. Nothing but a few items remained. I ran to my mom and asked her where Lily had gone, and she knelt down, and told me that Lily had to go live with someone else because she was too much of a troubled child. I didn't understand this at the time, and I remember telling my mom that whatever happened with the pool was an accident and that she didn't mean it.

But she quickly stood back up and explained that she had disobeyed and was too naughty to keep around, so she had to go. Now, as an adult, I realize how stupid that sounds. It wasn't like she was an adult or even a teenager being rebellious. We were eight years old. gold. How bad could she really be? I was very sad for the longest time, knowing that I was alone now with no one to spend time with. Here's where it kept getting worse. I remember as a kid asking about Lily. I would ask if I could go see her, if I could call her, and every time they would say

no. They would tell me that I should just forget about her and that she wasn't part of the family anymore. Over the years, I would still ask about her, but it would become less and less, asking on our birthday, on holidays, and every time I brought her up, they would both scold me, saying that I was an only child, and that I needed to drop this whole sister thing. Eventually, I started to believe it. She was in my life for eight years, but as another eight-plus years past, but as another eight-plus years passed, she wasn't.

So while I was in my head, I would gaslight myself that I must have these crazy memories. And maybe someone else's about a sister, because I clearly didn't have one. When I was 18, my dad died of a heart attack. I was just finishing my school year when my mom came to pick me up and take us to the hospital where he had died. Now it was just the two of us, and while I tried to cling to her more, to be as close to her as I could, she felt the opposite. She distanced herself, would tell me to man up, and then went about life as normal.

So I did my best to do the same. But, apparently, my mom was also faking it. Three years later, my mom also passed from terminal cancer that she had told nobody about. I learned about it after she passed, when the doctor talked to me about it with pity in her eyes. I couldn't understand it, any of it. I don't know why she wouldn't tell anyone. I was still young.

I had just started my life, and now I had no one. My grandparents were gone, not that I was ever close to them either. My aunts and uncles were all distant, and now my parents were gone. But I felt like I couldn't even grieve, feeling my mom close to me and, mocking me for not being a man. My mom didn't have much of a funeral. I used what little money they had saved up for her burial, and it was just myself, her doctor and a priest there.

But as I left the church, a woman pulled up in a car and called out for me. I recognized her too, but I didn't know from where. She got out and she hugged me tightly, something I hadn't experienced since I had. experienced since I was a child. She told me that she was my aunt, my mother's sister. At first I was confused.

Why did she not attend her own sister's funeral? I tried asking where she had been, partially angry with her, that I had to do this all alone, apparently 21. I could tell that she was upset and apologetic and meant it. She told me that it was actually my mom's wishes, that she didn't worry. want her anywhere near us. But then she explained that since she was gone, she felt that rule no longer applied. She said that she wanted to reconnect with me and asked if I wanted to come over to her place for dinner and to talk for a while.

I was conflicted at first. There must have been a reason my mom didn't want her around, right? But in that moment, as I felt so alone, I agreed. I figured it was the least I could do in worst-case scenario I could leave and just never talk to her ever again. I was not expecting everything I knew to blow up in my face at this dinner. There, in the kitchen, was my sister, that for many years I was told did not exist.

I was shocked, confused, but also incredibly happy to see her. After some crying, my aunt and sister finally gave me some news I had been looking for. Lily explained how she was treated differently between us, and my aunt confirmed this. She even told me that when we were born, both of my parents were very upset that they were having a girl. They wanted a boy, and that was it. So she unfortunately started out wrong for them. But she shared with me more about the pool incident. My mom had called her to the laundry room, as I remembered.

She walked her to the backyard by going out the front door and around the back. This is why I didn't see them. And that's when my mom threw my sister in the pool. She said that she was talking to her about learning how to swim, but was confused because she still had her clothes on. At first, Lily said that she thought she dropped her in, but when she called for her because she couldn't swim, She just watched her flail, until she finally turned back around and left her there to drown.

I couldn't hear anything from where I was, because our walls were rather thick. You really couldn't hear people talking outside, which is why my dad always went outside to talk to his friends. I had no idea that while I was finishing my lunch and watching cartoons on TV, my sister was drowning in our backyard. To make it worse, my mother knew this and then told me I could go swimming. She let me go out there to find her like that. That's when everything started to make sense. The way they treated her, the way my mom looked furious when that man helped me save her, the fact that she was gone after that, it all added up.

She claimed my sister climbed in there herself, and that's why they wanted to be. to get rid of her, because she was such a problem child. But my aunt knew they didn't want a daughter, and she had witnessed how they treated us. So when she heard about the pool incident, she knew something was wrong and begged my mom to let her have her. My mom refused at first, but when my aunt accused her of trying to kill her own daughter, she finally let her take her in, but disowned my aunt in the process. This is why I never saw either of them again. I was so angry with my parents.

I remember how they treated her. I remembered the whole event in the pool, and I remember them denying every claim I had about having a sibling. Now, they're both dead, and I regret never being able to confront them about this, nor can I ever forgive them or see them in the same light. My sister doesn't harbor any ill will toward me, knowing I was just a child. She has no love for my parents, partially because she hardly knows them, but also because she didn't know how to feel love with them.

But thankfully, my aunt did. She took her in, and she treated her like her own child. And for that, I am incredibly thankful. Because of her, I was able to reunite. with my sister, with people that do truly care for both of us. And while I will always live with this anger and hatred towards my parents for all of this, and this guilt for how my sister was treated, my shoulders also feel a bit lighter now, now that I know that she's happy, healthy, and has always truly existed.

So there's my family story. My mom tried to kill my sister, my dad was also aware of it, and both of them took this heinous act to their grave. Back in 2017, my friend Matt was throwing a Halloween party at his childhood home. His parents decided they wanted to retire somewhere warmer and instead of selling it to a stranger, he convinced them to let him buy it. I thought it was pretty dope because his dad had renovated the entire basement a few years back to make it into a pretty chill spot. I wouldn't call it a man cave because they both enjoyed time down there.

He put in a projector, had a small bar and fridge down there, and a fully redone basement. There were some places around the entire home that could use some fixing up, but most of it was cosmetics. It was a pretty solid house. So to celebrate his first holiday in his place, he threw this party. We were both in university still, but he had also been working full-time at the same place he interned at. This guy had it made, and I was proud of him for that, but I also knew that it was a lot of work. And he lost a lot of sleep, but he was doing better overall. So, with any good holiday,

Halloween party, he suggested costumes, because he wanted to have a contest. I believe he had a couple different categories. Creepiest, most clever, and one for best duo costume. My girlfriend and I went as Shaggy and Scooby-Doo. Nothing too crazy, but we thought we would have some fun with it. She was Shaggy, by the way. Her voice impressions pretty spot on. I helped Matt set up some of the decorations,

and supplies, so we got there a little earlier. He had a whole row of card tables lining the wall in the kitchen. Everyone was told to bring something, so it would be filled out pretty quickly. He had a cool setup out front with some simple decorations. He even had a candy bowl at the edge of the driveway with the skeleton sitting in a chair next to it for trick-or-treaters. That way he didn't have to worry about kids coming into the yard, and possibly getting trampled by a drunk person. It was a pretty good-looking party that he had set up, and it was about to be a good time. The house filled up pretty quickly, with people from our school, some from his work,

a few longtime friends, and so forth. People were having a good time, some were making up some yard games as they went along, and it was all entertaining. Then I spotted a couple that entered through the back door, and were simply looking over all the food and drinks. They were dressed as Joker and Harlequin, and not even the good kind. They were dressed like the ones from that one suicide squad movie.

She even had a bat on her that I thought was a prop or something at first, like maybe one of those foam ones or something. But then I noticed the way she tapped it against her shoe and when she put it on her shoulder. It clearly had some heft to it. Like, it was real. Odd choice, but hey, I thought they were just really getting into the character. I didn't recognize Joker, but Harley I did recognize.

I'd seen her in the halls at our university. I was able to recognize her by her gauged ears. We didn't have any classes together, so I assumed that she was just in a different field than me. No big deal. My girlfriend didn't recognize her either, but she also did. didn't go to the same school as us. I met her through a mutual friend at work. I don't remember her name, though, so I'm just going to continue referring to her as Harley.

When I did see her around campus, she seemed pretty quiet. She kept her hair pulled back, glasses that I only saw her wearing when she was in class. She did her work and then left. Sometimes I would see her chatting in between, around the halls or something to other people, but really that was about it. She just seemed like a normal person. Other than seeing the stark difference in the way she would normally dress, I paid no attention to her and went about my time.

Clearly, she knew Matt or maybe someone else there. So when I ran into Matt, I asked him about Joker and where he knew him from, and he shrugged. He did say that he knew Harley, however, and that she was his old roommate's girlfriend. Apparently, they had broken up amicably. Now, while I don't know them personally, Matt's, or his old roommate at least, knew Harley's, so I did assume what he was saying was the truth. But Matt also explained that the party was pretty open for anyone, so long as no one started anything. That went for Harley, Joker, the roommate Sean, or really anyone for that matter. Then they were all welcome.

Again, I had no reason to be concerned with any of it, so that was the end of the conversation. But that's obviously not where the story ends with them. I spotted his old roommate, Sean, once in the same room, and when he spotted her, he smiled and waved. It was neutral, not like he was happy to see her or nervous that she was there either, so I felt it wasn't going to be a problem. For the first hour or so after that, everything seemed fine. People were drinking, dancing, talking. I passed Joker and Harley when I went to get my girlfriend and I another drink, and I realized that from that angle, they would look at Sean and then laugh really loud.

It wasn't a normal laugh either. Both of them would be laughing in character. Joker kept doing this high-pitched cackling, and that would just cut through all the sound in the room. I get doing it once in a while if maybe you're showing off. My girlfriend and I did the same with our characters, but damn, at least it wasn't a screeching laugh like that. They had made their way to the back of the room where we were,

and I could tell because they were very loud, so I spotted them pretty quickly. Sean was also back there and had been playing some kind of beer pong. I was watching, and laughing with other people, when I couldn't help but notice that Harley and Joker were now being a little extra. They would dance a little, knock something down, and then laugh and start making out. Not once did Sean pay them any attention.

He never even turned around. I know that once drinks start pouring, people can get pretty crazy and unpredictable. But Matt did his best to put away most things that he didn't want broken or possibly moved, or stolen. He just had some pictures hanging up still, or like his shelf in the living room that had all of his movies and games on it. But sure enough, Joker started getting everyone's attention as he attempted to juggle beer bottles.

He didn't know how to juggle in the slightest. He threw them up in the air, caught one of them barely, while the other two smashed to the ground. This caused people to look over at what the sound was, and those students. two started laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd seen. I stared at them, waiting to see if they were going to pick it up, and they both leaned over as if they were picking things up, so I just went back to what I was doing.

But things like that continued to happen. Joker accidentally seemed to knock over someone's drink. Harley ran her hand across the wall and knocked off some of the photos Matt had hanging up. Again, they would both just laugh about it. It wasn't a drunk laugh either. It was the same characteristic laugh for both of them, and the laughs and their little antics were, well, starting to bother me. If it was the alcohol, then you should know your limits.

If it wasn't, then you were just purposely being disrespectful to other people's stuff, and I had a problem with that. When something else was knocked down, Matt also had enough, and finally went to confront them. We'd been in a different room talking at that time, but I could hear him and all he said was to pay more attention because they were breaking his stuff. He didn't even accuse them of doing it on purpose,

which is how I was feeling about it, but instead of responding like a normal person and apologizing or something, they doubled down on staying in character. Joker started in on his slow giggle while Harley tried defending him. Matt warned them that if they didn't watch, it, he would kick them out at the party. When I heard another crash and Matt yell out, I went to back him up. On the ground was a lamp that Matt had in the corner of the room that one of them must have knocked down.

I started picking it up when Matt yelled at them to leave, saying they were being obnoxious. It wasn't funny, and no one could stand their stupid laughter. I could feel the tension in the room at this moment. and something told me that this was not going to end well. Matt was already in Joker's face, so I got between them to break it up when, from the side, Harley had swung her bat at the wall, smashing a hole in it. This caused multiple people in the room to get up and leave. I know they could sense it all, too.

Then, Sean walked in the room. I was hoping that maybe he could talk some sense into his ex, but I quickly realized he just made the situation worse. He called her out by name, I think it was Liz or something like that, and he asked her what the hell she was thinking. That is when everything seemed to happen all at once. Joker began laughing maniacly.

Sean asked her to leave, and she turned slightly and then swung back around with the bat, hitting Sean right in the skull. The crack as it made connection was sickening. The room fell silent as he dropped the floor. Matt began yelling at them, tackled Harley and ripped the bat away from her. Joker tried piling on top of Matt,

so I had to pull him off and restrain him. Another guy jumped in to help me, and it just became this whole brawl, trying to get them out of the house. Matt had managed to grab both of Harley's arms and practically dragged her out the front door. Me and the two other guys had to do the same with the Joker. There was screaming and talking back inside,

but we hadn't paid attention to it until we got those two out. When we went back in, there was a girl on her knees next to Sean holding his head as he was seizing. She'd hit him hard enough to cause him to have a seizure. The girl was on the phone, and based on what she was saying, I'm pretty sure it was with 911. I didn't know what to do. Guess what field I didn't go into.

Thank God there were a few nurses to be there, and they were helping keep him stationary and controlled as best they could. I was freaked out that she may have done some permanent damage to him, and we could have stopped it. We should have taken the bat away from her the first thing, but I honestly thought that if they were confronted, that they would just knock it off. I'm sure they didn't take as long as it felt, but waiting for the paramedics was grueling.

I felt worthless in that moment, not being able to help him. The seizing didn't last much longer after that, but he wasn't responding much other than a few groans. They got him secured and rushed him to the hospital, and the rest of us were left there standing around in the silence, the living room now at wreck. The police took statements from a lot of us, and then everyone's slowly began to disperse and go home. Two of the cops actually offered rides home with several of us being under the influence. My girlfriend took some friends home and I stayed behind as well as two others to help clean the place up for Matt. He was not in a good headspace, I could tell.

He was trying to throw this huge party to just kick back and relax and, in a matter of minutes, it was ruined by two people. We learned the next day that Sean would be okay. He had a severe concussion and part of his skull was actually fractured. She hit him with enough force to fracture his skull, so tell me that wasn't personal. From what I heard from Matt, the police did end up catching Harley, but she would not give away who Joker was. She wouldn't give up his identity. She tried to claim for a while that he didn't even exist, but the dozen people that he didn't

gave statements that they were both there, told the police that she was lying. Ultimately, she was charged with aggravated assault, and a few other things, and I never saw her on campus again. Sean did end up okay, and I saw him around a few times after that. Him and Matt stayed close friends,

so I got updates on him. It just made me realize that this was the very reason why weapons are never allowed at Halloween parties. And if I ever decide to host my own, I will always make sure they are left behind. I had a pretty weird cousin growing up, actually calling him weird as an incredible understatement, and this story will explain why. I will refer to him as Andy. Andy is five years older than me and was my aunt and uncle's only kid. There were a lot of cousins, all of us pretty close. in age, but he was one of the oldest ones.

With our difference in age and him being a guy, me a girl, there wasn't really a time that we played together, at least not that I could remember. Maybe when I was a lot younger. Andy always gave me this weird vibe, one that I couldn't quite articulate as a kid. It was just this instinctive sense that I didn't want to be alone with him, Nothing ever really happened, but the feeling was always there.

And maybe that's why. As we grew up, he would bully me a bit, making comments mostly about my body. Things like how I looked like a boy, or that I was flat-chested. Being younger, I didn't quite understand some of the things that he was saying, but I know that I hated being called a boy, and he knew it. But the older we got, the creepier he would get. When I was 12, he could say that puberty hit me pretty hard. Andy noticed, too.

He made comments about my body, would make weird hand gestures at me, that I always yelled at him for. He even told me that I was going to be hot when I grew up. It always made me incredibly uncomfortable because he would only make these comments and gestures if we were alone or when my younger sister was around. because she didn't understand what was going on. I would walk away every time.

I would mention it to my parents, and every time I would get the same response. My mom would tell me to just ignore him because he's expecting my reaction. And my dad would tease and say something along the lines of, well, boys will be boys. I was frustrated that he was never confronted about it, but all I could do was stand my ground and avoid him

whenever possible. It was 2002 and I was 14, and my family had moved into a bigger and nicer house. My mom was pregnant, and we lived in a two-bedroom prior. I certainly wanted my own room, and my sister, now being seven, was going to need her own room as well, plus a nursery for the new baby. The house was amazing, and I loved my room.

I could have had a larger room, but I chose the smaller one, because it had a bay window. And to me, it was the perfect place for me to store my favorite dolls and books. And because we had a bigger house, my family was going to be hosting Thanksgiving that year, too. Which meant that Andy would be there as well. I had already prepared for this. I asked my sister Katie if she wanted to have a sleepover in my room and she excitedly said yes.

I wanted to protect her from Andy as much as myself. worried that he might start picking on her too. That day, I helped her bring her pillow and favorite blanket into my room, as well as some of her toys and colors. People started coming over. Some of them had been there before, such as my aunt and uncle and Andy. They had actually helped us move because my uncle owned his business and had a big truck that he let us use.

That meant that Andy was around during that summer, unfortunately. He was just as bad, making comments about me, as well as our new neighbor, surprisingly. And it wasn't like she was the neighbor's kid or something close to his age. No, this was an adult woman. She looked a little younger than my mom, but as far as I could tell, she lived alone. I never saw anyone else coming and going, but Andy would always make gross comments about her. I would tell him to stop or something to the light. and he would tease that I was just jealous that I wasn't getting the attention from him.

Just a reminder that he was at this point 19 years old and making these comments about an adult and his 14-year-old cousin. So, when he showed up that Thanksgiving, after he made a gesture towards my chest, he then asked about the neighbor, as if I knew her whereabouts. When he started making his gross comments, I walked away, calling for Katie so we could lock ourselves in my room. We stayed there for most of the day.

We snuck snacks into my room and only came out for dinner or to use the bathroom. There was also the rare occasion that someone might come in to see us, but that was it. Andy was not allowed in there. It was the one thing that my parents actually agreed on, that no one was allowed in my room, except them, unless I allowed access. which is why it was a safe zone. Anyway, we were in there doing whatever until we exhausted all of our forms of entertainment. It had been several hours, so we decided to come out to see who all was still there.

Unfortunately, Andy's parents were still there, which meant that he was too, but we decided to risk it and went to the side den and watched TV. We could hear the adults talking in the kitchen. and could even hear some of the other kids playing out back. I had a few other cousins around my age and younger, and assumed the rest of them that were still there were outside. As long as it meant that Andy wasn't around us, I didn't care. But as we sat there, we could hear sirens in the distance. It really wasn't a big deal.

Living in the suburbs, you hear sirens sometimes, but then there were more sirens, and they got louder, and louder. Then they stopped abruptly, and I could actually see the red and blue flashing lights through the window. I was curious what was going on and went to look out the window. I could see that the lights had stopped in front of our neighbor's place, and I wanted to know what was happening.

I left the den and saw the kitchen was also empty, and went out the front door where the adults were, now standing in the yard looking over at our neighbor's. home. I approached the adults, and with our neighbor's home being at a slightly higher elevation, I could see her standing by the ambulance, wrapped in something and clearly shaking and sobbing. I was scared that something happened to her. She was a very nice lady. She waved at us when we got off the bus, and she let us pet her rabbits that she kept on the back patio. The adults all talked, and I don't even know what they were saying at the time.

I just remember watching and waiting for answers. Finally, that would happen. When, to my horror, two cops walked out of her house with my cousin Andy between them, handcuffed. He was smiling, laughing, even, and making these weird sounds that I really can't explain. It was like this weird gurgling and growling, or howling sound?

He looked terrifying. My aunt, his mom, also noticed him and started screaming out for him and ran toward the gate, ready to run up to our neighbor's home. I stayed behind watching as my uncle followed, as well as another aunt and my mom. They all talked. My uncle yelled, what did you do? And my aunt cried. Andy was put in the back of the cruiser, and they left.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The adults told us kids to go back inside, and my grandma kept us in the living room watching a movie. The other adults stayed out front for a while, and then came in with a cop and continued talking. Eventually, people slowly left, and my mom told us to go to my room and get ready for bed. She later came in to tell us goodnight, and I asked her what happened.

I just remember her looking very sad as she told me that Andy did a very bad thing. I tried to push for more information, and all that she said was that he had hurt someone. That was the last Thanksgiving that Andy attended. In fact, I hadn't seen him for many years. Because that night, Andy had been arrested. and charged for breaking into our neighbor's home and assaulting her. She had managed to distract him at some point, locked herself in her bathroom,

and climbed through her small bathroom window to escape. She went to the neighbor's house on the opposite side, asking them to call for help. I don't know why he stayed in there. Maybe he thought that she would come back out. Who knows? That was never mentioned by him, I guess. I learned this when I got a little older, too.

I got pieces of it as I grew up, until my grandma finally filled in all the blanks. There was definitely a divide in the family after that. My aunt still felt like there was nothing wrong with her son, and that there had to be some kind of misunderstanding, where most of the family said she was crazy if she didn't see what was happening right in front of her. My parents would talk about it,

and mentioned how there was clearly something wrong with him. And it just made me so angry. He had made so many gross comments about me, his 14-year-old cousin, and I told them about these situations, and they always just brushed it off. It could very easily have happened to me, and I am thankful that it didn't, but that doesn't mean that I feel better about it,

because our neighbor became a victim instead. I actually never saw him until I was in my 20s at my grandfather's funeral, and I still avoided him until we had the celebration of life. I spotted him talking to my sister, Katie, and he had that creepy grin on his face again. I immediately approached and snatched my sister away before he made a comment about me looking good. Now that I was older, I wasn't afraid to kick him where it counted if he tried anything. Thankfully, he avoided us after that, and I never saw him again. I don't know where he is, and every once in a while I search the county records, expecting to see him locked up again.

So far, nothing. And I don't even know if that's good or not. All I know is that he needs some serious help, and I'm not confident that he's going to change without it. This was something that happened to my friends and I back when we were teenagers. Most of us were around 16 at the time, as we were all just getting our licenses. I had mine. My friend Tori had hers for a few months as well as Mallory, and Elondra was still 15, so she hadn't gotten hers yet, but she did have a driver's permit.

Getting our license was another step for us into adulthood. We felt mature and probably, even a bit invincible. I didn't have my own car, but my parents did have two, and would occasionally let me take one to school or my friend's place. But Mallory was our lucky friend who got a car for her 17th birthday. It wasn't anything fancy. An older used Dodge something, but we still felt cool riding around in it with her.

It was actually one of our favorite things to do. We would drive a bit after school or when we stayed over at each other's place. We would always offer to run errands, just to get out. Now, none of us were stupid about it, however. We didn't speed and swerve around or anything crazy like that. In fact, Mallory wouldn't even move until we were buckled in. The craziest thing we probably did was when we drove by a group of guys, we hollered out the window at them.

They were from our school, so it's not like we shouted at strange men either. But there was one time on one of our drives that we had a pretty unsettling experience that we still don't have true answers for. It was the end of the school year, and we were all having a sleepover at Mallory's to celebrate the beginning of summer. It was pretty late, I think like two in the morning. We were all wide awake and bored because we didn't want to sleep. We actually wanted to try and stay up all night for no reason other than we wanted to. So, with nothing else that we could think of doing, we decided to go for another joyride.

We all quietly left the house, her parents clearly in their room asleep, and piled into her car. Mallory was driving, of course, a laundry called Shotgun and Tori and I were in the house. back. Tori on the driver's side, me on the passenger. Also, this was quite some time ago, so I had one of those prepaid Nokia's, and Mallory had a similar phone. So no cameras with us, and I had even left my phone at her place. I don't remember if Mallory brought hers or not. Anyway, we started by just driving around the block, and then we started giving suggestions on places to drive by. We stopped by my old house, as well as Tories.

We drove by our old school that had been demolished and rebuilt as a community center, and then we drove by this old abandoned house that was supposedly haunted. It wasn't open to the public, and none of us were brave enough to even consider trespassing, so we just stopped in front of it and shared a few stories that we knew about it. Supposedly, every family that ever lived there was met with some kind of trespassing, tragedy. Anyway, after that, we finally stopped at a gas station near the house. We bought some snacks, and with nowhere else in mind to go, made our way back to Mallory's house. But it's what we saw on our way back that kind of creeped us out. Walking down the sidewalk on the side of the road was a guy,

dragging behind him a large trash bag. And yes, it looked just about what you're probably thinking. Now, this would be where most people would probably nope out of the situation and burn out to get as far away as possible from them, but not us. We wouldn't break into the house, but we had enough bravery to stop and talk to this stranger. I guess we felt more safe in the car, which probably wasn't too far off. We slowly rolled up next to him, now at a crawl and then rolled down the passenger window and greeted him. That's when I got a better look at him. his trash bag. It was long, like multiple trash bags tied or taped together,

with what looked like some kind of string or rope wrapped around it. The guy looked pretty normal, however. He was wearing jeans, a thin green jacket, and a ball cap. He was older based on his graying beard and the wrinkles on his face and hands, but the man himself didn't look scary at all. To be honest, he was. reminded me in my own grandpa, except my grandpa hated wearing hats. Once we greeted the man, he stopped walking, looked around, almost like he was looking

for someone, and then, while still dragging the bag behind him, he turned toward us and approached the car. He gave a slight smile, and with a southern drawl, he greeted us back and asked, y'all out for late-night cruise. We confirmed, said that we were bored and told him where all we'd been. Mallory then asked if he needed any help. I don't know why she asked because I don't know what we could have done to help him in the situation. He thanked us for asking, but declined, saying that he was just taking care of some business. Then Mallory seemed to push it and ask why he was doing it at two in the morning.

He shrugged and looked down at his watch and went, Huh. And then said that it was the best time to do it, because there was less traffic and less heat. None of us could really argue with that reasoning, so we didn't. He asked us if we lived around the area and we said not really, which wasn't a lie. We were technically in the town over from where we lived. There was a little small talk talking about why we were out at two in the morning,

what grade we were in, our plans for summer break, everything very casual feeling, to be honest. He didn't ask where we lived. He didn't ask our names or even our ages, even though he could at least figure that out by our grade. It just kind of seemed like a normal conversation. Until Tori decided to open her mouth and ask, So what's in the bag?

He leaned over to look past me at Tori, then looked down at the bags that he was dragging behind. He seemed to stare at the bags forever and then finally sighed, and looked back at us. And with a smile, he said, It's a body. We all fell silent. Tori smacked my leg, and then we all looked at each other.

He let that moment linger on for way too long before he finally broke into laughter. He said, oh, jeez, y'all should have seen the look on your faces. I remember this huge weight being lifted off my chest as I looked at the other three, and we all had an awkward smile on our faces. After he caught his breath and calmed down,

he then leaned towards Alandra's window and excitedly asked us if we wanted to see what it was. None of us spoke, thankfully. I remember looking at the others and trying to make them agree with no, with my mind. Finally, we shook our heads and then he said, Good, because I don't want to have to kill y'all. That time, we all gave. giggled first. Ha, of course he was joking with us, right? Then the man tapped the roof of the car and said that he should probably get going. Mallory agreed and told the man to have a good

rest of his night, and he told us to get home safely. Mallory drove off slowly, immediately turning down the next street to break the view of him. The drive-back was silent. No one said anything until we pulled into the driveway. That is when a little bit of the driveway. That is when a Melander asked us if we really thought he was dragging a body. Mathery laughed and said no way. I immediately agreed and explained how it was long, but it wasn't body-shaped, and that he was definitely messing with us. Mallory agreed and said that we should all just go in and never talk about it again,

which we were all accepting of. We didn't know if we would get in trouble for being out anyways, so we didn't want to tell her parents. We went back in, the house was just as silent and we quietly made our way back to her room. We tried to get the mood back by sharing our snacks and talking about other unrelated things, but I think that man was lingering in the back of all of our thoughts. He was certainly lingering in mine.

I kept telling myself there was no way that it was a body. He was dragging it behind him, pulling it along by a rope, so with it dragging, he would have torn open the bag and, whatever was in it then would have been leaking, right? I have no explanation as to what it could have been considering where he was. It was near a neighborhood, but on a main street. We didn't pass a car on the side of the road, and we didn't see any ahead of us either. So where did he come from?

And why was he dragging whatever that was behind him? After that night, we did finally talk about it, and not feeling like the guy was going to show up when we didn't expect it. The only thing that makes sense to us is either maybe he was going to dump whatever that was in some kind of commercial dumpster, like illegal dumping. There was an older gated community nearby, and they had signed about how dumpsters were for residents only,

so it was entirely possible. The other option was that he was literally just doing that as a prank, to just disturb someone. But the problem with that one was why would a man his age, one, want to try to prank someone, and two, choose to do it at two o'clock in the morning? What are the odds that he would run into someone at that time?

And that the person wouldn't call the cops, or be the cops, for that matter. The good thing is, we never saw any stories about a body being found wrapped in trash bags, so that probably was a lie, but I have no other reasonable explanation for what he was doing that night. And to be honest, I really don't like to think about the possibilities. So, let's just hope that we never meet again. I used to love fireworks.

My birthday is on July 7th, so I often got fireworks for my birthday and would shoot off any extras that we had from the 4th. Having your own fireworks show for your birthday was really cool as a kid, but then one Fourth of July celebration turned into a nightmare that really turned me off of fireworks. On top of my family going overboard on the fireworks, our whole street would have a block party for the Fourth of July. Every year everyone would pull money together for a massive display. And I don't mean some cute little fountain or sparklers glort, no, we're talking professional. professional great stuff. Everyone would gather in the cul-de-sac. Some adults were cooking.

Everyone was eating. All the kids were shooting stuff off during the day in the start of the night. Then, once we were finished, the adults would then set off their large displays for everyone to enjoy. But one year, Mr. Henderson decided he wanted to one-up everyone. He went to the next date over and spent a ton of money on firework. packs. The problem with this was that the stuff that he got wasn't legal in our state, and probably not legal in general. He went to some random Joe that he claimed to be friends with that made his own firework displays. I could tell they were homemade because they didn't look

like the stuff we normally got. It didn't have the wrappers on the sides with names, it didn't have the bright arrows pointing towards the wicks or instructions. It looked at It looked like it was just wrapped in gray paper and then wrapped again in plastic wrap. Just looking at them made me nervous. It certainly didn't look safe. But most of the other adults were excited to see it, and my dad even asked for his friend's contact info to get his own the next year. I trusted the adults, especially my parents, so I told myself that everything would be fine.

So that night went on as normal. People gathered in their small groups, the adults talking, including us kids showing off our bravery as we held two or more sparklers at once. But then Mr. Henderson started talking about showing off some of his stuff. It was dark at this point, but not too late, around 9 or 10 p.m., I believe. I was sitting in the chair next to my mom when Henderson went to the little platform, the martins made for the fireworks. He lit it with a lighter,

and then walked back toward his wife. I watched the wick as it sparked, getting shorter and shorter, until it reached the firework. Then it stopped. Many laughed, as it was common to have that one firework that gets weird and doesn't light.

Mr. Henderson approached the platform again. I saw the lighter flick on, a quick spark from the wick, and then immediately followed by, boom. I jumped as the fireworks shot up, and Mr. Henderson jumped back. It popped in the sky in pretty colors,

and everyone loved it. They laughed and teased him, but said that it was worth it, and we all moved on. It startled me, but the adults all seemed to be okay with it, so I felt like we were safe, that everything was okay.

But something was, still wasn't sitting right with me. Then a little later on, Mr. Henderson wanted to shoot off another one. It started the same. He carried this bulk brick up to the platform, my dad with him, holding a flashlight. He lit the firework and they all backed up. Once again, I watched the Wic spark and braced myself for that loud boom. But this one didn't have problems lighting up at all.

In fact, this one blew up before the Wic's. even finished. Unfortunately, this one didn't do what it was supposed to. It exploded outwards instead of upwards. Some shot towards my mom and I, some shot to our right and some towards the back. At first we jumped, and there was nervous laughter about that one, and how he should get his money back. But what no one had noticed was that one of the explosions had shot towards the fireworks

stockpile. There was a burning mortar that didn't burst open when it shot outwards, until it hit those fireworks. Everyone was talking and laughing, and then there was an even larger boom. Fireworks, all different kinds, began exploding in every direction. Projectiles screamed through the air from the fireworks at us. I watched as people jumped trying to avoid them. My mom pushed my younger brother out of the way of one of them while another shot toward us, hitting me in the thigh. It burned right through my shorts, and I remember screaming as I felt it burning. I tried patting it out until finally I just took them off and ran to our porch. Listening to everyone screaming, the fire, kids crying, all the while the fireworks just continued

going off. It was nightmare fuel. I stood there not knowing what to do. I was only 12, but I felt like I needed to do something, save someone, try to put out the fireworks. What was I supposed to do? I was sobbing as I went to get the home phone and called 911. I brought it back outside, still standing pantless, explaining to them what I saw. I could only imagine how horrifying it sounded that person that got my call. A child crying with people screaming in the background. While they were on the phone, I could hear sirens coming, and I thought that they got there fast.

Apparently someone else had phoned it in, too. The operator did their best to calm me down and help me with my burn, and at least kept my mind occupied. Then I let them go when I heard my mom screaming for me. I ran back out, holding the paper towels to the crater in my leg to let my mom know that I was okay. She was walking up the porch, holding my little brother who was crying too. She told me to watch him and that she would be right back. I brought him inside where he pointed to his face. He must have been hot with stuff falling from the sky because he had soot sprinkled on his face

and part of his hair was singed and his eye was a very red-watery mess. I was worried that something got in his eye and he was complaining about it burning. I went down a rag to wipe his face and try to soothe it, treating it similar to what the operator had told me to do. Once he was calmed down enough, I turned on the TV for him, put some shorts on finally, and went back outside. There was a fire truck now trying to put out the fire on the hedges of our neighbor's house. There was a car alarm going off, and I saw an ambulance in paramedics treating someone lying on the ground. The person on the ground was Mr. Henderson.

He had tried to put out the fireworks stockpile, and when he was close to it, something else exploded and covered the front of his body. He had some pretty bad burns all over. My dad was also trying to help and got burned, but not anywhere near as bad. He put his arm up to block his face, but had some pretty bad burns on his arm. One of the teenagers got some severe burns, and another one ended up having to cut her hair pretty short because something landed in it, and actually caught it on fire.

Her hair was very thick and long, and that's actually who, I had heard screaming. She was trying to put it out, but she kept swinging her hair around, so they had to pull her to the ground and stomp on her hair. By the time the fireworks were finally and completely waterlogged, it had been at least an hour, but felt so much longer. It was hot and humid as is, but with the smoke and that awful sulfur smell, it was so hard to breathe outside. This was some time ago, but it became pretty clear pretty fast what had happened. If he didn't already put it together, the fireworks Mr. Henderson got were not professional, and they were nowhere near safe.

They were just made by some guy in his garage, thinking he knew what he was doing. Stuff didn't light because the wick wasn't properly connected and most of the stuff wasn't even packed properly, which is what led to them exploding outward instead of up. A lot of people were rightfully upset, several kids had been hurt. Mr. Henderson especially was upset and incredibly remorseful. He ended up reporting the guy and it was in our local newspaper. He'd been using and modifying old mining explosives

that were incredibly unstable. Not to mention, this guy didn't know anything about that kind of stuff. I actually heard my dad talking about it one time. Some of us have lasting scars. I have a dark spot on my leg. My brother made it out okay after his eyes got flushed out, and people's hair grew back, but the trauma never left me.

Since then, I've honestly been terrified of fireworks. I will still light off some of the small stuff, like smoke bombs or sparklers, just simple things like that. The fun little fountains that moved on the ground, those parachutes, all that, I couldn't watch it anymore. Any time one moved, I would damn near have a panic attack that it was going to fly toward me or someone else. They did continue to do the fireworks display in our neighborhood, but when it got dark and they started doing all the big stuff, I would just go back inside. I was hoping that once I got older, I would grow out of it, but I still have a fear of fireworks.

I can now sit outside and watch the little fountains go off, but anything else, I still can't do it. I don't blame Mr. Henderson, but I do just wish people would take firework safety seriously. If you want to shoot them off, if you want to celebrate whatever, it doesn't have to be this never-before-seen show. Buy the stuff from certified places. It's really not worth someone's life or health just to have. have a bigger and louder boom.