As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 091 - Creepy Neighbor, Craigslist and Hotel Stories - 10 True Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 15, 2023

Welcome to the chilling 91st episode of The ATRD Podcast! Today, we will step into the shadowy corners of reality, where everyday life takes an eerie twist & ordinary people experience the extraordinary. Today we will be diving into stories about the horrifying things that can happen when dealing on craigslist, the scariness of hotels, and the horrors living next door. So, turn down the lights, tune in, and let the haunting tales of everyday people take you down that dark and creepy road. Remember, these aren't just stories... these are true experiences that remind us that our world can truly be scarier than fiction. Have a Story To Submit? ➤ https://www.astheravendreams.com Or Post to the Subreddit ➤ https://reddit.com/r/TheRavensDream Support the channel for Early Access AND more! Patreon ➤ https://patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Join ➤ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkW0ihdMHfBUjQrMKjRto6g/join Or Check out the Merch Store! ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in today's Video... CreamCheeseConnoisseur, Dawn-uh, James A., DeepTwenties, Brian Shawns, SupremeDoorstep, Grobs632, StandardRun0k, Colleen Wasner, And any authors that requested anonymity. 'As The Raven Dreams' is a community where we explore the darker parts of human existence through true and harrowing stories. From sinister encounters with strangers and stalkers, to terrifying experiences that defy explanation and unsettling mysteries that linger in the shadows, I am here to tell you the most haunting narratives ever whispered. Much Love, and Sleep Well... ----- #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #RedditStories ➤ Stories include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Viewer discretion is always advised. ➤ ALL Audio of this Podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format, without explicit permission ➤ If you like any of the following stories, consider subscribing! - Dark Web horror stories, creepy lets not meet stories, stalker stories, Glitch In The Matrix Stories, Unexplained Horror stories, Paranormal stories, cryptid encounter stories, Crazy ex lover stories, creepy neighbor stories, quantum immortality, true scary stories from reddit, or any other True horror Stories! ➤ And Remember; You are loved, you are important, and you are valid. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/support Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. My boyfriend, Luke, and I have been together

for well over a decade now, and we've lived together for a majority of that time. We'd found a quaint, albeit slightly worn, little duplex, that was in a good spot and was easy to get to from anywhere. And they were willing to rent it to us right away. So we took it. Our neighbors were a bit of an eclectic mix, but none of them stood out more than damn.

Dan was in his early 50s. He was tall and wiry, with scruffy hair that looked like it had seen better days. It was one of those haircuts where you could tell that the person was in denial about going bald, so they did everything they could to make it look like they weren't bald. Dan was, as I said, in his 50s, but I would frequently see him skateboarding up and down the sidewalks. I mean, good for him. It was neat to see someone his age wheeling it like that, but he would literally be skating around at all hours of the night.

I would wake up to go to the restroom in the middle of the night at, like, three, and I would glance out the window and see him trying to kick-flip off the curb at the corner. A bit weird, but whatever. One Saturday afternoon, Luke and I were out on the bus, porch enjoying the sun when Dan approached us. In a strangely eager tone, he said, Hey, do you know who I am? Luke and I both kind of looked at each other in confusion, until Luke said, uh, I mean you're Dan, right? Dan responded with, no, I mean, who I am, what I've been through. We both kind of shook.

our heads in a way to say, no, sorry, we don't know your history. This, of course, seemed to be an invitation for Dan to tell us literally everything about himself. He began sharing stories about his childhood, about how he was physically abused by his parents, how he'd been kidnapped once when he was ten. He kept going on, telling us all about his teenage years, and how he had even once gotten into a fight with the police officer and was shot because of it. He had a scar on his stomach, and he was sure to show us, and tell us that that was where he was shot. This guy went on and on, telling us everything he could think of over that hour and a half at least.

Then he paused, like he was trying to remember anything that he hadn't yet told us. and then said, Oh, I'm an artist. You want to see a painting I made? Luke, unfortunately, is a very compassionate guy, and he engaged with him about his art. Dan then skated down the road, went into his place,

and then immediately ran back out, and back to our place with a decent-sized canvas in hand. When he got back, Dan's attention completely shifted from, from us to just Luke. It was like he decided that Luke was the person he wanted to talk to, and that I was just a third wheel to this conversation. Dan showed Luke the painting, and Luke nodded, saying,

Wow, that's interesting. And then motioned towards me, motioning for Dan to show me the painting. No lie, this painting? It was this really nice landscape. very well painted, really gorgeous, and then overlaid with a group of stick figures, having a crudely painted picnic. As I looked at it, it kind of clicked what I was looking at.

This beautiful painting, it was a print of a real painting, and Dan had painted the stick figures over it. I nodded, I'm stifling a bit of a chuckle when I realized, and said that it was nice. After a few more minutes of talking about literally nothing, Dan said that he had to go because he needed to help his mom, whom he'd earlier said was actually dead. We said okay, and he skated off down the road again.

Luke and I had a bit of a chuckle about the whole thing, and he confirmed my thoughts about the painting. It was a print that he had painted stick people over. definitely weird, albeit mostly harmless, and we had just accepted that maybe Dan was a bit weird. That weirdness got a bit extra about a week later, when we were in bed and were woken up by the doorbell going off at literally two in the morning. I got out of bed and went down to check the door,

and was surprised to see Dan standing there on the front porch, skateboard and hand, canvas, and the other. I asked him what it was that he wanted, and he said, Oh, I wanted to show Luke my newest painting. I was a bit rattled by the fact that he'd had the audacity to wake us up to show my boyfriend a quote-unquote new painting, but I stepped back into the house and yelled up to Luke saying, Hey, your friend is here and he wants to show you his newest painting.

As I was stepping back from the door and yelling up, I noticed that Dan had grabbed the door and was holding it open and kind of starting to step into our home. I just stared at him as he walked through the door, at the same time that Luke had come down the stairs to see him standing in our entryway and holding the painting. I shrugged and told him that I was going back to bed, and then went back upstairs.

I could hear the conversation, and I was a bit upset to not hear Luke tell Dan that he needed to go away. He engaged him and listened to him discuss the painting for a solid 45 minutes. Until Luke finally said, Hey, Dan, this is really interesting, but I have to be at work in the morning, so I got to get back to bed. Dan seemed to be okay with this and told him that he was sorry to have bothered him so late, and that he would just talk to him later.

Luke came back up, and I could tell that he was not happy. I asked him about the painting, and he told me that it was more of the same. A really nice print of a landscape, with stick figures painted in random places. I shook my head and told him that he needed to discuss boundaries with his nose. new friend, and Luke agreed. Then, the worst of the events happened. About two weeks later, once again it was the middle of the night and we were in bed. I was struggling to stay asleep, a common issue with me, unfortunately, and as I was laying

there half asleep, I thought I heard something coming from downstairs, but I was half out of it, so I just assumed that it was the cat or some sort of normal house sounds. I went from a bit unnerved by the strange sound to hitting a sense of terrified realization within a few minutes when I started to hear what I thought was labored breathing. I knew that it wasn't Luke, as I could hear him snoring next to me, so this breathing was coming from someone or something else. I laid there still for just a moment, making sure that it wasn't my brain doing that weird, half-a-sleep thing that it can do.

But my eyes shot open when the bedroom light turned on. I jumped up, Luke jumped up, and we both sat there just staring at Dan, now standing in our bedroom and holding a canvas. This guy had somehow gotten into our house. was in our bedroom in the middle of the night, and was saying that he wanted to show Luke his newest painting. Luke had clearly had enough, as he started yelling asking what the hell Dan's problem was. Dan just kept saying,

I made a new painting. I wanted to show it to you. Luke got up out of bed and kept shouting at this man to get out of our house. The whole time Dan could not understand. what he had done wrong. I heard Luke telling him to get out and to not bother us in the middle of the night about his paintings, and then he slammed the door. At that point, I don't think either of us were really able to get back to sleep,

and Luke was incredibly upset. The next morning, when we got up, we saw that Dan had left the painting on our front porch with a note that said, you could have this one, I'm sorry. We also found that he'd actually broken in through the living room window. He had pulled the screen out, gotten the window open, and crawled in. Interestingly enough, we never saw Dan again. We didn't see him skating down the sidewalk.

He never showed up again to show us a new painting, and after a few months there was a moving truck at his place down the road, and new people were moving in. I have no idea about what happened to him, and I know that Luke feels bad about how he'd reacted, but also screw that. This man had broken into our house in the middle of the night. I don't care if his intentions were innocent. We actually still have the painting. It's a print of a man fishing in a boat on a lake.

and there's, of course, a stick figure painted next to him, so it's his normal work, and it's actually hanging up in our garage. Now that all is said and done, I do kind of feel bad for Dan, and I'm sure that he had something wrong with him, and he had taken a liking to Luke for whatever reason. but he had absolutely crossed boundaries that no one should ever cross. When everything started with COVID, I lost my job for a while, and while unemployment did help a bit, and my wife was able to keep her job, we were spreading ourselves a bit thin financially,

so I needed to do something. I thought, hey, let's all. for handyman services on Craigslist. I wasn't a handyman by trade, and I admit that I wasn't certified or anything, but I knew how to do most home repairs. Benefit of my dad being pushy with making me pay attention to him when he worked. He was a handyman. And when I was a kid out of school, I had to go with him to all of his jobs. All that is to say that I put a post up on a handi man.

Craigslist to advertise my abilities as a handyman. And I priced myself lower than anyone else, hoping that that would be enough to entice people to contact me. And entice it did. I got a notification on my phone the next day, an email from someone that had seen my ad, and they asked me if I could repaint a room. I've painted rooms before, successfully, even, so I've painted rooms. I responded and told them that I would be happy to help them out with painting a room, if they needed.

The deal went through quickly. They wanted me to come over the next day to start it, and asked if I could finish it within the week. After a bit of finessing on the price and how quickly we could get it done, he agreed to pay me half up front on PayPal, and when the payment came through, I excitedly said, All right, I'll see you tomorrow. I got to the house and was a bit shocked to see the outside of it. It was not pleasant.

The yard was overgrown, the shutters and the windows were literally hanging off, and the exterior paint was peeling. Part of me was a bit confused. Why would you worry about the color of your living room and the outside of your house is so uninviting? The other part of me was thinking, I bet I could talk him into letting me mow his. lawn and fix those shutters too. I rang the doorbell, and a middle-aged man answered.

He looked a bit tired, but other than that, was pretty normal. He looked at me with half-opened eyes and a bit of a scowl, asking me what I wanted. I want to add here that I was wearing overalls, a hat, and carrying my painting equipment. It was pretty clear why I was there. I'm here to paint your living room. I'm James from the Craigslist ad. As soon as I said this, the guy perked up. Oh, James, come on in.

Thank you for taking the time to help me out with this. I thought maybe this guy wasn't too social, and he put on a face for uninvited visitors. And when he realized who I was, he changed his tune. I walked into the house and let me. me say that the inside of this house matched the outside. The house had clearly been neglected. The walls were tinged with that nicotine yellow, and there were cobwebs in the corners.

Each room had a fluorescent light in the ceiling, of which only about half worked, and the other half just sat there flickering. I wasn't there to judge, only to paint, so I ignored it and just maintained my customer-friendly smile. Then we got to the room that he was planning on dubbing the living room. The walls were covered in a dirty, half-peeled wallpaper, and the air was stale. There was a chair in the room in one corner, but other than that, nothing else but a lamp. I wasn't expecting wallpaper, and he hadn't mentioned needing to depaper the room, but

he said that he would help me to remove the paper and make it easier, and then apologized when he realized he hadn't mentioned the wallpaper. He had some tools and some wallpaper remover to get it off the walls, so I wasn't overly concerned. We started on one corner together, but after about ten minutes, he mentioned that his back was hurting, and asked if I would be okay if he sat in the chair for a couple of moments. I would prefer that he hadn't, but at the same time this was his house, and he was paying me to do the wall. He was paying me to do the work, so I wasn't really in a position to argue. He sat down and just started watching me take the paper off, and while I assumed that he would

get back up to help, he just sat there, watching me with a big smile on his face. As the night went on, the room started getting a lot darker, and by the time it was hitting the evening, I was about three-quarters done with removing the wallpaper. I started to start to started stripping off the last wall, and I noticed something on the wall underneath it. I was a little bit confused, but intrigued, so I stripped the paper off, only to see what looked like a pentagram burned into the wall underneath the paper. I took a step back and said, What the hell? When I said this, the man jumped up from the chair and stood right behind me, damn near breathing in my ear.

You can see it? You can see that symbol on the wall? He asked this as if it was a serious question. Of course I could see it. It was burned into the drywall. I turned slightly, which is when I realized how close this guy was to my face, which made me jump even more. Yeah, I can see it.

What is it? I stammered out my stupid question. I don't know why I prodded for more information. I didn't want to know what it was, but I guess I was curious. My curiosity was rewarded with this man giving me this really, terrifying, Willem Defoe, Green Goblin grin. It's for the ritual. He held that smile and then grabbed my arm tightly.

I need your help for the ritual. I yanked my arm free and shouted, Help you with the what now? He started laughing, and I saw him reaching into his pocket for, I'm assuming, a knife or something. I shoved him as hard as I could, and I told him that I was done with this nonsense, and started to walk out of the room.

He then started shouting about how I had to stay, and how he had sent me the pay-pal, and that I had to finish the job. I told him he could shove his job and do a charge back on the payment, and I took off out of that house, kicking myself for leaving my painting equipment, but it was a small price to pay for whatever the hell this was. I jumped in my car, and I started to back out, and I saw this man starting to run out of his house at me, and he seriously chased me out of his driveway and partially down the road. He was sprinting as fast as he could, keeping that creepy smile on his face the whole time. Thankfully, this middle-aged creep was no match for a pickup truck, and I did lose him eventually. I don't know what all that was.

I don't know if this was some kind of satanic insanity that he was trying to get me to be a part of or whatever, but the money he'd pay me was nothing in comparison to how terrified I was. funnily enough, he never did a chargeback, or ask for a refund or whatever you have to do. So I kept the money that he sent. I did lose a day, and I had worked my back end off stripping that wallpaper, only for this guy to turn into an absolute lunatic, but I guess I got paid for it.

I have to travel a lot for work. and I have stayed at countless hotels. Because of this, I've come to expect the usual disturbances. Loud neighbors, creaking pipes, old rattling air conditioners. There was one night, however, that I wanted to write about because it was super weird and kind of creepy. The hotel was nice. It was in a smaller coastal town and was decently priced. It had a really ornate facade, and the lobby was gorgeous.

It looked like they had done a lot to maintain the history of the building. There were a ton of sepia-toned images of the founder, and other images that were pretty clearly over the history of the building. I had checked in late, worn out by a really long drive, and I was given the key to room 312. I remember being a bit annoyed by having a room on the top floor, especially since I saw the parking lot and I knew that the building was not full. But I shrugged it off, just assumed that it was something to do with logistics or whatever,

and I logged my suitcase to the elevator. The room was charming, but definitely had an air of what I would say was a faded grandeur. You could tell that it had seen better to be. days. The walls were faded. The bed and bedding was definitely old, and it still had one of those small tube televisions sitting on a dresser facing the bed. In the end, it was a bed, and that's all I really needed. I unpacked, took a really quick shower, and then settled in for the night. About ten minutes after I settled in is when I first heard it. a soft, distant melody that seemed to drift through the walls.

It seemed to cut through the late-night silence of the hotel. It was an old piano tune, filled with a bit of melancholy that sent a chilled on my spine. I listened for a while, sort of entranced by the haunting beauty of it, completely ignoring the fact that it was almost one in the morning. Eventually, my fatigue got the better of me, and I drifted off to sleep. I had the weirdest dream while I was sleeping there that night, a dream that I was basically a fly on the wall in the hotel way, way back.

It was a strange dream that I wasn't really part of. It was like I was just watching the front of the hotel back when it first opened. Nothing really happened, but I remember seeing people, dressed like it was the 1920s, running around like crazy, and seeing the man that was labeled as the original owner downstairs at the front desk. He was helping customers, getting luggage upstairs. When I finally woke up, I assumed it was just my brain being influenced by the last interesting thing that I had seen that night, which was all the stuff downstairs about the hotel. The next day I went to the front desk, and I asked them about the music,

asking if they had music playing in the hallways or something, or maybe a lounge downstairs where someone was performing. But the receptionist just looked at me puzzled. She informed me that the only music that played in the hotel was in the restaurant, but that it wasn't live, and it wasn't that loud, especially not loud enough for me to have heard it on the third floor in the back end of the hotel. I asked if there was anyone in any of the rooms around me, but she mentioned that the rooms near me were both empty,

that they weren't heavily booked at the moment, so it was unlikely that it was coming from the rooms near mine. I was a bit skeptical, definitely unsettled, but I decided to brush it off and just assume that I was, hearing music from somewhere. It wasn't disruptive. Sure, it was late, but it wasn't like it was keeping me awake. That next night, the same thing happened.

This time, though, the music was a bit more insistent, a bit louder. It sort of lingered around the room like a cool breeze, if that makes sense. And I decided that I would go ahead and investigate. I put some clothes on and I headed out into the hallway to see if I could figure out where it was coming from. And sure enough, I could tell that it was coming from my left. I stepped out and went over to room 313 to see if it was there, but it wasn't. The only other room in that direction was 314, which was the last room on the floor at the end of the hallway. As I approached, I noticed that the door was actually slightly open, in that it wasn't locked.

I assumed that maybe a member of staff or the cleaning crew was in the room, and maybe they didn't realize that their music was so loud. So, I figured I could just ask them to turn it down really quick, and that would be that. I pushed the door open, and I was hit by this rush of freezing, cold air, and just as strong of a feeling of shock and confusion. When I opened the door, I swear I saw an old piano being played by a man. It wasn't just any man, though. It was the owner. The man that I saw in my dream. The man that was in his 50s or 60s.

in the photo downstairs, that photo that was taken in the 1920s. He was sitting there at the piano and just running his hands around the keys, playing out this beautiful tune. I stood there,

wide-eyed, and obviously very confused, unable to comprehend what it was that I was staring at. And then, it was over as quickly as it had started. I blinked and the piano was gone.

The man was gone and the music just stopped. I was just left there standing in a room that was empty, clearly being remodeled, a room that was very clearly not occupied by a piano, nor its talented player. I turned around and went back to my room and just went straight to bed, deciding that I just needed some sleep. I mean, there was no logical way that I'd just witnessed a spirit in that empty room, right? The next morning, I checked out, and the receptionist asked me how my stay was. I mentioned that I heard the music again and thought about telling her about seeing the owner's ghost,

but just decided against it. She gave me a concerned look saying that she was sorry if it had disturbed me. I told her that it wasn't a big deal that it was actually kind of pleasant. I'm just wanting to keep the overall sense positive, in case the owner's spirit was present and listening. I'm not much into the paranormal, so I don't know how any of that works, but I figured keeping a trapped soul happy was the best way to do things. I haven't had to go back to that town for work since.

either fortunately or unfortunately. If I have to, I'm considering staying in that hotel again and asking if I can get room 314. It's been a few years, so there's no way that they aren't done renovating it by now, and I kind of want to see if I can have another experience, just to reassure myself that what I saw was real. So I've been a bit down on my luck as of late, and unfortunately have had to move out of my apartment due to the building being shut down, because there was a major issue. I don't know the whole story, but I think it had something to do with mold in the inner walls or something.

Basically, we were kicked out and told that we could come back eventually. But there's been no updates about it for weeks. It's incredibly stressful not being able to be in your home because of something out of your control, and to not know if you'll be told that you can't come back, and to just get your stuff, really sucks. Thankfully, because this was an issue with the property, and not my doing, nor the fault of anyone that lives there, the rental company has to cover our living expenses,

until they get everything sorted out. However, they also have the ability to restrict where they are willing to let us stay, and they chose a hotel that is an extended stay kind of place in a rather mediocre part of town. Now, I don't want to complain about a free living space, but this place needed some major TLC. The first thing I noticed when I went to check in was that the main lobby's carpet was horrifically dirty, like stained multiple colors and fraying at most of the edge kind of dirty. And the TV in the lobby was a thick CRT-style TV that was really small. I know that I sound like I'm complaining, but it's just one of those things that, in 2022,

if you see a CRT TV in the lobby of a hotel, it kind of speaks to the quality of the overall hotel. Some people may disagree with that, and that's fine, but that's my opinion. Anyways, I checked in and got my key to my room, which was room 203. I got to the room and went in, and it was nothing special. It was a pretty bland and plain single bedroom, and really, that was fine. As wary as I was of the hotel, I was still happy that I had a place to sleep, and that I didn't have to have to pay for it honestly it was decent here for the most part for the first couple of weeks until one night on the second week i got a phone call to my room i answered it because it was kind of weird and i assumed it was the front desk because who else would have the number directly to my room i say hello and the person on the other end says hi this is howard from the front desk there was an issue

you with your payment, and we need you to come down to the front desk to clear it up. It shouldn't take but a moment or two. I mentioned that I wasn't the one paying for the room, and that it was being paid for by my apartment complex. And after a moment, the guy said, huh, well, if you could just come down, I'll get your info, and we'll get this squared away. Obviously, I was annoyed, but just said okay and that I'd be down in a moment. I grabbed my wallet and phone and went to the elevator and then down to the main lobby. I got down to the desk and the same woman that had checked me in two weeks ago was working. I mentioned to her that I got a call from someone at the front desk saying that there was an issue with my payment. She kind of looked at me confused and mentioned that

She was the only person working the front desk that night, and that she wasn't aware of any issues. I asked that there was anyone named Howard that worked there, as that was who had called my room, and she told me that there wasn't. After a few moments of her checking with my booking and making sure that everything was okay with everything, I thanked her and mentioned that it must have just been a prank caller or something. She agreed, but told me to come back and tell her if it had been a prank caller or something. told me to come back and tell her if it happened again, or if there were any other issues. I went back up to the second floor, went over to my room, and as soon as I entered, I realized what had happened.

I got in, and my suitcase with all of my clothes was gone. When I went downstairs, the suitcase was sitting on the chair in the corner, as I always do, and when I got back, it was just gone. I immediately called the front desk and told her that my room had been robbed, that someone had broken in while I was downstairs and stolen my items. She was a bit confused on how that could have happened, since I was the only person that should have had the key to the room, but she said that she would call the police

and would send one of the hotel staff up to the room right away. I just sat there, honestly feeling violated, like I should have realized something was up because there was no way something would have just gone wrong with my payment, as I wasn't the only tenant staying there. I should have asked more questions and pressed the guy, and I would have realized that it was BS. But hindsight is 2020, right?

After a few minutes, I had a knock on my door from one of the hotel staff, and then the police showed up, and I explained what happened to all of them. I told them that I had gotten a call on the phone, saying there was an issue that I needed to come downstairs for, and I fell for it. I then said that when I got back into the room, my stuff was just gone.

The police asked me if I was the only one that had a key to my room, and I told them that I was, and the staff member mentioned that the only people that could get into the room were the customers that rented it and the cleaning crew. It was at this point that one of the officers asked if they had cameras in the hallways, and they confirmed they did. I'm not going to get into the specific details of all that happened, but they checked the security camera,

and they did see someone entering my room. Sure enough, he was using a cleaning crew key to get in. It was a different color than the normal room, room keys, and the staff confirmed that it was a staff key. Even worse, the front desk knew exactly who it was that was on the camera, stealing my stuff. It was another tenant of the building that I lived in. It was seriously someone else that was in the same situation as me. They had decided that they would take the time that they were stuck in this hotel to steal a

key from a staff member and rob the other people staying there. I think he was surprised when I mentioned that I was from the apartment complex, because I think he was targeting other people, but he still saw opportunity and took it. After the front desk confirmed who he was, the officers went up and checked out his room, and, well, long story short, he was put in cuffs. He'd mostly stolen small things from people while he was there,

but when he got to my room, there was nothing sitting out. except my suitcase full of my clothes. So, he just snatched the whole thing and ran. Hence, why, I was the first to complain about this. I was the first to have noticed. In the end, he was arrested, and I got my stuff back. I am actually, as of the time of writing, this, still staying at this hotel. Because I don't have much of a choice, really.

There haven't been any more issues, thankfully. but I'm kind of paranoid now about everything I hear in the hallways, thinking it's going to be someone breaking in. I know that's dumb, but it's just a response to having my temporary home violated like that. Hopefully I get to move back into my apartment soon, like hopefully by the New Year's kind of soon, but I'm not holding my breath. There appears to be no shortage of creepy neighbors, and living in some cities high in crime and weirdness,

from NYC to L.A. and beyond, you would think I would have chosen the Buddhist stalker, the bathrobe man, or even the most distressing peeper who tumbled as a landlord. No joy. But no. In all these decades, and I mean decades of moves, there is one who stands out above the rest.

Timeless. and the memories are imprinted, flawless. It goes way back, way into the deep recesses of a childhood that was already old somehow. We had lived in Seattle. My dad had transferred to L.A. to a big job, a golden job, dripping with celebrities and parties. I was only four or five. It was the mid-60s at the time. he was a minister to Andorra on Bewitched, to Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies, the cast of gunsmoke, some of the monsters, the list really went on.

It was a new thought church, sort of a precursor to the New Age movement. There was only one problem. I would wake in the night, not breathing. I have such strong memories of not breathing. breathing, and trying to move out of my room to get to my parents. And my mom would always turn on the shower while my dad got dressed, and then we would go to the hospital. I would always black out and have no memory of anything until after the hospital, while it was

still dark. My dad would drive us all west and north along the coast. We would disembark from our car, and hear the waves crashing on the rocks, taking in to deep breaths of air. I never wanted to leave, because the air was so pleasant and cool and pure. We had to move, though.

I had too many near deaths, and he grabbed the first church opening he could find. I recall not even knowing where we were going, but it was beautiful. We had flown there in the night. It was Atlanta, and from the second-story cafe at the hotel,

all I could see was the green, below, the green of the treetops. There were still asthma attacks, but they were less. We had a scare on a trip to the Bahamas. I recall the Cinderblock Hospital Corridor. Atlanta was like moving into the past. It was not hipster L.A. It was embroiled in civil rights struggles,

and as a minister, my dad knew Martin Luther King. For ministers, priests, and rabbis will often get together, as chaplains, except for the more extreme ones who hate all others. So when Martin Luther King was shot, and Robert Kennedy, who had come out and we had all met, and that's a long, intense story, was killed as well, my dad needed a break, I guess, because before I knew it, we were in Wisconsin, where he was again a minister, but only for a moment. And then he dropped out of the church for a time and went back to college in a small town, and we rented a house in an old neighborhood there.

Sorry to give such a long-winded introduction, but I felt it was important to show that we had been around a bit, and we'd seen plenty. We'd cruised down Sunset Boulevard, and we had been there for Martin Luther King's March, the first one. So this new move seemed like a little bit. breather. Small town, quiet homes, some very nice Victorians with smaller 50s homes as well. The eclectic jumble of a downtown living area. There was a hippie couple who owned a head shop living above us in the renovated attic. There was an East Coast couple who wore tie-dye and gave me pet gerbils in the biggest, coolest aquarium, outfitted with Mr. Zimmerman's hand-carved

cedar tunnels and bridges. In a ginormous house, caddy corner behind was a family of ten kids, which was pure heaven for me, an only child. And they were fun kids. We had the best time in the leaves

when they fell, and we would build forts and houses, or even pirate ships, singing X marks the spot with a dash and a dot. There was an old penny candy store still in business on the corner. It was dark and the paint had come off of the little building. In the summer when we would

come in from the light, it was impossible to see. It was easy to bump into jars of candy on the long counters. It was funny that across the street was a dentist who only gave out balloons on Halloween, next to the degenerate who gave out joints and pennies in his underwear for trick-or-treaters. And then, there was that neighbor on the other side of us, directly. It was a family, but the person who stood out, the one that you saw the most,

was the father. And my dad, who never gossiped about neighbors, he was a busy guy, even began to notice him. This was a college town, so casual, yet from our many-windowed place on the corner,

you could see him. I am sorry that I can't recall his name now. He walked in a perfect gray suit with a fedora hat. Again, all so neat and of another era. There was something anachromatic about him. He was on the thinner side, pale, sharp features. He would walk alone, but as if on a mission. And he was never without a cigar box that he held on too tightly as he walked,

Years later, stories would come out about the men in black, and he looked so much like those images. An expressionless face with some sort of determination. Men in gray? And what was in that cigar box that accompanied him on each walk? What's in that box? Why is he dressed like an undertaker just to walk around the neighborhood? It's 80 degrees out, and he has on a tight tie. It had such an unsettling Cold War vibe,

and our big window, with inadequate coverings, just added to the creepiness. You could be lost in thought, looking at goldfish or waiting for a pie to be baked, and absent-mindedly look out the window, and there he would be, staring right back in from across the way, as if he had been there, unnoticed, for hours.

He would not turn away upon discovery either. My dad's OCD would kick in over the curiosity about who this man really was. Were the contents of the cigar box drugs or many flasks of booze? Or was there a transmission device inside of it? Like spyware from Get Smart, the innovative covert operations comedy. Would we ever have a gotcha moment watching him talking into it? He did not appear to have a job, or maybe walking around and looking creepy was his profession. Was he a paranoid delusional?

Was he a German war criminal? Our interactions with him consisted mainly of what has already been mentioned, a through-the-window affair of him on his solitary strolls that were eternal and insidious, purposeful and mysterious. He walked around the neighborhood, but he was a little bit of the neighborhood, but he was, was not of the neighborhood. Sometimes, my dad would shrug and say that he didn't even look like a Russian or German spy, more like some wax creature from outer space.

Our only close encounters with him, and more broadly, his family, would come after a trip. Our house was a rental while my parents went back to school. It was a big place, but not beautiful, just utility. with a plain grass yard in the front, and only scotch thistle grew along the front border of the house, blooming purple. We had gone on a microbus camping trip in Canada, and upon return, saw the thistles had been cut down. Several days later, the neighbor walked by when we were outside, and he said that he had done it. It was eerie, because he had waited for us to go on holiday and then trespass. He seemed gleeful in his own alien way, and he wanted to get pleasure from getting us upset, it seemed.

Just such a weird ambush to get all fired up about. To go after eight thistle plants? He really was proud of himself. He'd sent a message to us. Now, this part I will never fully make sense of. There was a family, I had mentioned. though mostly unseen. There was a wife who we never saw speak,

and only come out the back door without looking so much as up, to the car and the detached garage for grocery runs. And they had a daughter, a few years ahead of me in school. I feel that she was in the fifth grade. She was, of course, more than welcome to play with the rest of the kids who jumped in the leaves out back, but she never came out, and she was pale. She never showed emotion and seemed more like a little adult, unlike that giant Catholic family with the kids who were always making faces and laughing,

especially the little boy who was only about a year younger than me. He would always be sticking out his tongue or making his eyes pop out. This was so odd, but I was invited to spend the night at her house. at the house of the fedora-hatted cigar boxmans. I have no idea why my parents said yes. I recall being sort of uncomfortable with the whole thing. Did I really want to be in the clutches of that cringe mystery man? In his layer?

On his turf? And why was I invited after he trespassed and beheaded the purple flowering thistles? We moved soon after this to Canada. Their house was smaller. It was a 50s box, but very much nicer inside with a white carpet, good sunlight, and a perfect area to place Chinese checkers.

The girl told me that her parents were older, and they were. Her mother looked like one of my grandmas, with a head of short gray curls. I don't even recall seeing the freaky dad there very much. He must have been to be a little bit of, out combing the neighborhood the whole time. But the really weird part, the part that put me on high alert and still makes me wake up sometimes,

was when she and I went to her bedroom and got undressed into our pajamas. She got really embarrassed. She said, oh no, like she had forgotten, and maybe that I would not have even noticed. But then I did. I very much did, and there was no way to unsee what I saw. Her smooth body, her belly, to be exact, was missing a belly button. She had no belly button. She had no belly button.

Suddenly she's talking fast and low, saying it's why she avoids swimming and only has a one-piece suit, and that she never wants to be disgusting. She begs me not to tell, not to tell anyone. I recall just staring, taking it in, knowing that I would never have another chance, and giving myself the space to really see that she did indeed have no belly buttoned. And indeed, she had none. It was so disconcerting, and of course I told my parents when I came home, and they didn't even question me.

It seemed to just make sense somehow. Of course, the progeny of that alien neighborhood cigar box carrying MIB would not have a Pelly button. It made perfect sense. They were hatched. They were from a lab or from space. Or was she some kind of experiment of his? Soon the snows would come, and we would be lifted out of the U.S. and into the frozen canals of Ottawa, dripping on pastries and surrounded by ski resorts.

I would miss the faces of that dear town. Studious Veter, or Tony, whose mom had a car that could drive in water, getting lost in the big family, tearing around their boarding houses like residents or tree-rich yard, we would go on to move again and again and again. New Mexico, Chicago, the northwest, but never in all of these well-traversed years of absorbing people in places, has there been anyone so singularly mysterious as the girl with no belly button, and her father, last seen standing at night in the rain under a light,

much like a haunting movie poster that would come out exactly a decade later for The Exorcist, only staring inside our homes, at us, and for how long? There are so many questions about the nature of life and existence itself, and the voyeur next door just added another confounding set of unknowns in motion. Is there anyone out there who has ever had a similar experience? Thank you so much. About 20 years ago, I had some pretty sudden life changes,

and ended up renting a small house in a small suburban neighborhood. It was nice. It was a major change for me, and I would say that it was a peaceful and fresh start. The house was charming, not too big, had a comfortable little yard, and I knew the person that was renting it out, so it wasn't too expensive.

As comfortable as it was, I will say that some of the... the neighbors were a bit out there. The majority of them were kind people, but some of them were nosy. One neighbor, in particular, Mr. Weller, was a very confusing individual. He lived in the house directly across from mine, and the day that I moved in, I saw him standing outside on his front porch, just sipping on a glass of tea, and watching me. He waved. He seemed friendly enough, but we didn't talk, so the only knowledge I had of him was that he lived there and was willing to wave at a neighbor that was outside. I didn't see him for a couple of days after that, but about a week or so later, when I'd gotten home from work, I felt eyes stabbing me when I was walking up to my house.

I turned around to see who was staring at me, and I noticed Mr. Weller standing at his front window and just staring. He wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was staring. He was clearly watching me, with an unreadable expression. I waved, thinking maybe he was just lost in thought and didn't realize that he was staring, but he didn't wave back, or blink, even. He just held that same deadpan stare. I felt a bit unnerved about the whole thing. I quickly made my way inside, but the eerie feelings did not stop there. When I would come home from work or from a jog, he would be there just staring at me. When I would step out to get the mail, he would be there at his window. If he was outside doing something like mowing the grass, and I went outside. he would stop doing whatever he was doing,

go back inside, and stand at the window until I went back inside. Then it got worse. Sometimes whenever I would go inside from doing whatever I would need to do, my landline would ring. But when I would answer it, the person would just hang up.

No breathing, no voice, just me saying, hello? And then a click as they hide. hung the call up. I couldn't prove who it was, and the caller ID would always show blocked, but I had this weird feeling that it was Mr. Weller. I had no idea what I had done wrong, or if I had done something that made him hate me.

But clearly, this man had something against me. I called up the person that owned the house. They were a friend of my mother's, so I had their direct number. and I asked her if she'd ever had any troubles with Mr. Weller. She told me that she hadn't personally, and that I was only the second person to rent the house. But the other tenant hadn't mentioned any issues. So, by this point, I knew that it was just me.

After a while, it started to get to me. The incessant staring, the silent calls, it actually made me feel paranoid. I would actively avoid going outside so that I didn't have to see him standing there and staring at me. I stopped going for my jogs, and when I got home from work, I would just go straight to the house without turning around. I would get the mail every few days to avoid having to walk to the end of the street. It hit a point where I would wake up, thinking that he was staring in my window. I literally just paranoid.

Then I hit my limit. I went outside to get my mail one day, and sure enough, he was there at the window, staring daggers at me. My paranoia shifted to rage, and I started walking towards Mr. Weller's house. I hate confrontation, but I was done with all of this. As I was walking to the house, I watched Mr. Weller pull the curtains closed and retreat back into the house, but I wasn't going to just let this go. I stepped on his porch and I banged on the door, probably harder than I should have. After a few seconds of waiting for him to answer the door, part of me was actually more angry at the possibility of him being a coward and not answering. Then the door unlocks and opens, and the person that answered was not Mr. Weller.

A frail old woman opened the door and looked at me with a big smile and asked how she could help me. I was a bit confused. I had never seen this woman. I mentioned that I was looking to speak with Mr. Weller, and she looked at me a bit like she was upset at my request. She then hits me with, Oh, I'm sorry, dear. My brother Kennedy passed away a few months ago. I've been living here for a few months now.

I had no idea what to say, but after a few moments, she smiled again and said, Were you too close? I shyly just kind of shook my head and mentioned that I was a neighbor and that I was sorry for her loss. She thanked me, and I awkwardly made my exit out of the conversation. feeling like a total idiot. I was walking back to my house just thinking about how creepy it was that he was dead, and apparently had been for a few months. I got chills thinking about how I would see him staring at me from the window,

even though he was gone. Then I stopped, and it hit me that this was all a load of BS, and that I had literally seen him moment. the lawn the day before. I turned and looked back at their house, and sure enough, he was there at the window staring at me. I actually laughed as I went inside.

This jerk was such a coward, and was so unwilling to face me after being a creep for so long, that he had, whoever that woman was, his sister or wife or whatever, lie and tell me that he was dead. after that the staring and calls actually stopped he never bothered me again I would see him outside

doing whatever he would do and I would wave at him any time we made eye contact mostly to taunt him and he would just scowl at me and turn away in the end I don't know what the hell Mr. Weller's problem was I don't know what I did to make him dislike me

so much, and I don't know why he was such a creep. But I was thankful that it all stopped. I only lived in that house for another year, and the whole time I never spoke to him or that woman. And I never had any other problems. Beavenu at board of Viarai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savour.

So usually when I buy something off of Craigslist, I make sure to go with someone just to be sure nothing bad happens. This time around, however, all of my friends were busy, and I had already set up a time, and I really wanted what I was buying. I'd been looking for a specific computer that came out in the late 90s. I used to have one as a kid, and it played DOS games better than anything I had afterwards, and it had the best built-in speakers. This outlet was claiming to have one. They posted a bunch of old stuff that they apparently had in stock. All of it's retro and old-fashioned tech.

Some car parts. Anything you could think of they were claiming to have. I sent the guy a text and set up a meeting time for 4 p.m. In hindsight, I should have just kept looking on, like, eBay or something more safe. But the price was just too good. I hopped in my car and headed to the address the guy gave me. I arrived at 401, cash in hand, ready to finally make this purchase. What I didn't notice until I got out of the car was the smell.

This place smelled like old garbage and rusty metal. In fact, I didn't know. really look at the place at all until I got out. It was filthy. It looked to be a whole acre of land just covered in trash and old tech-slash-car parts. The smell was putrid. I should have backed out. I almost did.

But as soon as I was even thinking of getting back in the car and getting the hell out of there, this lanky man came hobbling out of the small building in the center of the lot. Howdy, welcome to Jimbo's warehouse. We've got all kinds of stuff. I'm sure you'll leave happier than when you arrived. God, I hope so, I thought. I decided to full send it. Hey, I texted you earlier about the DOS PC.

Is this the right place? Sure is. I got two of them. You can take a look and pick which one is better for your budget or whatever. Follow me. I slowly started walking into the muddy garbage. filled garage lot. The smell was

so strong, so putrid. I had to cover my mouth and nose while walking through, hoping this guy didn't turn around and see me. We start going around the side of the small building instead of in. It's just round back here, he said. I should have just turned around

when he wasn't looking and just ran back to my car. I think I was convincing myself that maybe the place was dirty, but if he actually had the product and it worked, who cared? We finally reached the back of the building, and it was odd. The dirt and the grime was gone, even the smell. There was a clean blacktop with tables and tents lined around the corner edge, looking to be a small outdoor consignment area.

I walked to the PC-looking area, and the dirty, lanky man pointed out two big, clunky computers. There it was. The computer that I had been looking for since my childhood. It was cheaper than it was listed on Craigslist. I handed the guy the money and walked out of there as fast as I could, thanking the man. It went better than I thought.

I didn't really get a chance to use it. I did plug it in to make sure that it worked, and then I packed it up along with the rest of my boxes and stuff. I was planning on moving within the next few days. A couple weeks after I moved out, I got a call from the guy that I sold the house to. He said that a few big men in masks broke in the first night he was there and ripped the place apart. He said that he hid in the bathroom until he left. They took all of his electronics.

His TV, computer, game consoles, anything that was considered tech, I guess. My theory? was the guy sold pristine tech to people after putting in some kind of tracker. And then when they went home and used it, he and a few people would break in, steal the stuff from their home, and bring it back to that landfill of an outlet to do it all over again. I feel sorry for the guy that moved in after me, but I am also very glad that I moved.

That could have been me. I got scared that they tracked me somehow when I turned on the commons. to see if it worked. So, I just tossed it in a dumpster after I got off the phone. Thankfully, I hadn't even plugged it in since I'd moved. I would have sold it, but I didn't want another person having the same problem as the man I sold the house to. I would rather be out the money and the PC than put someone else through that. It's safe to say, I won't be buying anything off Craigslist for a while, or, ever.

ever again. I have a hotel slash lodging-related story that I wanted to share because it was fairly creepy in my opinion. It wasn't really a hotel. It was a small bed-and-breakfast-type place that was owned by a couple. When I booked this room, I was feeling kind of down about things. Having gone through a recent breakup, and I wanted to get away for a while. I assumed that a nice weekend getaway to a quaint little bed and breakfast in a small town

would be exactly what I needed to clear my head. This specific B&B looked like it was perfect. I booked the room and took the trip out to the house. When I got there, I immediately noticed a bit of a red flag about the guy that was checking me in. He saw me and I quickly noticed that he was giving me this really weird, flirty stare. I'm going to assume that most of you out there will know what I mean

by that. He was giving me this half smirk, and I could tell that he was staring at my chest for most of the conversation. Overall, he was a creep, but I assumed that he was probably just someone that worked for them to do check-ins.

I followed through with giving them all of my info for the reservation, and that was when I was greeted by a woman, and she mentioned that she would be taking me to my room. On the way to the room, I asked her for the employee's name at the front desk, because I was planning on talking to the owner about him, and she answered with, The guy that checked you in?

That's my husband. We are the owners. As soon as she said that, I dropped it. I just smiled and nodded and said, Oh, lovely. She showed me my room. I set up shop and just decided to let it go and move on. The man was a creep, sure, but I assumed that he wouldn't do anything other than be a creep from a distance and stare.

It was uncomfortable, yes, but I wasn't going to let him ruin my weekend. I was here for me, and that was that. Sure, that was a bit ignorant, but again, this was a married man that co-owned a business, and I assumed he wasn't going to pursue it any further. The first night was fine, and the first day was a really good time, too. I enjoyed a few places in town, and when I got back, I spent some time in my room working on some art on my laptop. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon, and evening.

And around 10 p.m., I decided that I should go ahead and go to sleep. I put my laptop away, got dressed for bed, and turned off the light. Somewhere around 10 minutes or so after I got into bed, I started feeling like something was off. It was one of those, did I forget to do something, or is something happening that I don't know about that I should kind of moments? Like my instincts were saying that something was up. I opened my eyes a bit and kind of shifted to look around. the room. As soon as I looked over at my door, I noticed that it moved. I shot up out of bed and nearly jumped to the door pulling it open. And big surprise, on the other side of the door,

was the guy from the front desk, just standing there like a deer in the headlights. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and he fumbled over his words for several moments before landing on, I thought I heard a noise And I wanted to see if there was someone in there with you I was nothing shy of livid at this point I asked why the hell he thought he would have the right to come into a customer's room like that In the middle of the night He started getting defensive and telling me that it was against the rules to bring people into the rooms

That weren't on the reservation And started screaming at me about how he was going to kick me out right around this time the other owner his wife stepped out of their room asking what was going on this man seriously started shouting and saying that I had someone in my room

and then started screaming incoherently about how I was doing drugs in my room that he saw me with a crack pipe he was literally just throwing out everything he possibly could that literally made no sense and she looked at me bewildered, like she had no idea what was going on with her husband,

and she then asked me what happened. I told her the truth, that I was in bed, looked up and saw my door open, and then when I got up and opened it, he was on the other side. She looked at me and then at him, and he was seriously bawling his eyes out

and mumbling something incoherent. She asked me if I wanted to do that, wanted to stay the rest of the night, but said that if I wanted to leave, she would give me a refund for the room. It was pretty clear that she really didn't know how to handle this event. I told her that I would like to go ahead and just get my stuff and go, and she nodded. She said that she would see me at the front desk in a few minutes. I went in and grabbed my clothes and my backpack and went down to the desk.

The woman was incredibly apologetic. She mentioned that she had no idea why he did what he did, and I really think that she was just in shock that something like this had happened. She did end up refunding me for the whole stay, and again mentioned that she was sorry. I accepted the apology, but mentioned that she really needed to deal with her husband. She agreed. After that, I went ahead and stayed the night in a close by. hotel and just put it behind me.

Was it creepy as hell? Yes. And could it have gone really bad, really quick, depending on what his intentions were? Absolutely. Honestly, I was just glad it was over, and that I didn't have to think about it again. I clearly never went back, and I'm just hopeful that she got away from that creep of a husband, because he was most likely going to escalate at some point, if he wasn't dealt with.

My self-care weekend was ruined, but it's all right. I moved on and got past all that, and life is better now. Even though I am a bit iffy on staying anywhere other than large hotels. I don't usually go on places like Craigslist, but at the time of this story, I was really desperate. My car had been stolen about a month prior, and they found it two states away, completely trashed at the bottom of a lake somewhere in Utah. So, needless to say, I didn't have many options to find a replacement. I couldn't hitch a ride with a friend to work forever.

I also hated asking for favors. I always felt like I had to return the gesture immediately, so I usually stuck to doing everything from myself. I opened up Craig's List on my phone, and I started looking for a used car. There were a bunch outside of my price range, a bunch that were in my budget but looked like absolute garbage. And then there was this 1995 Pontiac Bonneville. It was a nice dark green, looked well kept, and only had 80,000 miles on it. The guy was only asking two grand for it, which was under my budget, and I could use the rest to fix up any problems

if it had any that the guy didn't list. So I called the number listed on the posting, and after a few rings, a man with a deep and rough voice picked up. Yeah. Hi, I was wondering if the Pontiac was still for sale. Yeah, you want it? Yep, I can come by today for free.

Mm-hmm, sounds good. He told me the address to meet him at, and it wasn't that far from me, so I decided to just bike there and toss the bike in the car after I secured it. With 2K and cash in my wallet, an excitement pumping in my chest, I headed out. After about five minutes later, I reached my destination. It was a small shack of a house, with a canopy on the side of it that had a car under it. The car was under a tarp. I assumed that this was the Pontiac that I saw in Craigslist, so I stopped and got off my bike. I decided to call the guy, because there was no way I was going up to this creepy-ass shack alone.

The phone rings and rings. No answer. I call again. Same thing. So I texted him, but nothing. Instead of listening to my gut that someone, something was wrong and high-tailing it out of there, I convinced myself that getting this car today

was more important than my possible safety being compromised. I leave my bike on the side of the road, ready to hop on if anything goes awry. I walk up to the lifeless husk of a house and wrap on the front door a few times. The frame making a rickety, tinny sound as it bounced against the wood. After a minute or two,

a large bearded man that had to be a bit of, be in his 50s or 60s, appeared from inside and looked me up and down. Yeah? What the hell you want? Hey, I'm the guy who called earlier about the Pontiac. I tried calling and texting when I got here, but you didn't answer. The guy just looked at me staring daggers into my soul. He seemed like he either had no idea what I was talking about,

or the anger he felt after me knocking on his door outweighed the rules of the transaction. After about a minute, he just went, Hmm, one sec, be right out. I backed up from the porch just in case he decided to blow my head off or something. After another minute, the man, now fully dressed, he was in a tank top in his underwear before, walked out the front door, looking me up and down again. Come here, he motioned to me with his hand.

I followed him over to the tarp, covered vehicle under the dingy canopy, It smelled musty and old. Probably the entire property, and hopefully not the car, right? I'd have to pay to get that smell out. He ripped the tarp off, and what I saw made my jaw drop involuntarily. It was indeed the car from the listing, only it looked like it sat in that spot where we were standing for the entire 25 years since it was made. I clenched my mouth shut again before he could see my reaction.

Well, he said with his eyebrow raised, Pretty, ain't she? Yeah, man, she is beautiful. I managed to say back in utter confusion. Um, just one sec, I gotta check my bank, you know, make sure I have enough money, I said. I went and checked the listing to see the pictures one more time, and something I neglected to notice in my desperation, was a timestamp on the bottom right of each picture.

October 11th, 1995. These were scans of printed photographs. I looked back at the guy and he was staring right at me, the same horrible glare right into my soul. I could not buy this car, and I had to get out of this transaction somehow. Hey, man, I think I left my wallet back at home. home. I just need to go get it real quick. I'll be right back, I quickly said. Before he could say anything,

I trotted to my bike, hopped on, and I sped out of there as fast as I could. I never looked back, nor went back to that creepy house. A week went by and I did end up finding a car within budget. It had about 150,000 miles on it, but it got me from point A to point B. The creepiest part of this whole interaction wasn't that the guy was trying to sell me a 25-year-old car that looked like it sat outside during a nuclear explosion. But that somehow, a day or two after I left, he ended up finding where I lived. He showed up, and he started pounding on my door, yelling slurs and obscenities at me, demanding that I pay him for his wasted time. He came back once or twice over the next few days, and one of my neighbors called the cops, and I never heard from him again after that. So, take this as a lesson.

If you don't have a car and need one, don't go on Craigslist. The risk of it being a random weirdo or even some kind of serial killer far outweighs the actual real sales on the site. I have always been a bargain hunter. Always looking for neat things to add to my collections. I'm the kind of person that loves finding hidden treasures and thrift stores, online marketplaces, etc. Craigslist has absolutely been a godsend. That and Facebook Marketplace.

I've gotten so much stuff from those sites, vintage furniture, concert tickets, instruments. Of course, not all of my encounters have been great. Some were pretty clearly people trying to scam me, but there's one that made me question whether or not my love for online deals was really worth my time. It all started with a vintage camera. I'm a photography enthusiast, and I love older analog cameras. I was instantly drawn to this listing, a beautiful camera from the 1960s that was in damn near perfect condition. being sold for a price that was almost too good to be true.

I kept looking through the post, and the guy that posted had put a ton of detail into the description. He had pictures with information listed, had some scans of photos taken with the camera. The overall feel of the listing was by someone that was passionate about the camera's history and information about it, which made me really feel like this was a real post. excited. I messaged the seller asking if the camera was still available.

They replied almost instantly, and their response was enthusiastic and friendly. Yeah, it's still here in need of a new home. Are you interested in seeing it? I'm available this evening if you want to come by and check it out. There was something about the quick response, the eagerness to meet up for it so quickly that did make me pause for a second. but at the same time, maybe this guy just wanted to get this thing into the hands of someone that would appreciate it. I'm a pretty decently sized dude, so I'm not typically scared when meeting up with other people. After a little bit of back and forth, I agreed that I would meet them at their apartment. It was a small apartment building, according to Google Maps, but it was a multi-floor building,

which made me feel a bit better about it. he gave me the address in some basic directions, and I made my way there later in the afternoon, eager to get my hands on that camera. The apartment building definitely looked a bit older and worn down than it did on Google Maps. Like, a lot more run down. The front door made this awful creaking noise,

and the hallways were seriously dark. Like half of the lights didn't work. That, and there was a smell of, of must and old wood. I slowly made my way to the door, which was actually down the stairs to the lower level, and knocked. My heart was pounding.

The thrill of a good deal was fighting that growing sense of dread in my head. Then the door creaked open. The man was standing in the doorway with his face and a slight smile. He was wearing an old pair of basketball shorts and nothing else. I was a bit taken.

taken aback with this guy coming to the door mostly naked, but at the same time, this was his home, so maybe he just wanted to be comfortable? I personally would have at least put a shirt on, but that's just me. He told me to come on in, and he ushered me into the apartment. I very slowly stepped towards the door, thinking that the second I stepped across the threshold, I was going to be grabbed or attacked or something, but thankfully that didn't have to be. happened. The apartment was an absolute disaster, cluttered and filled with stacks of old newspapers, and various items that looked like they were part of a collection. I stepped in as far as three steps past the door, and stopped. The man noticed, but kept walking over to the corner,

opened a cabinet, and pulled out a box that was in near pristine condition. A complete contrast to the rest of this place. I grabbed it, and I know for a fact my eyes lit up, because the guy chuckled as he turned to walk away and sit down in his chair. I opened the box, and I pulled out the camera to give it a once-over, and it was just as quality as what he'd listed. As I was looking it over, he was asking me random questions. Do you live around here?

Are you a professional photographer? Do you do a lot of deals on Craig's... list? I'm giving him short and vague answers, my instincts telling me to keep my guard up. I nodded as I finished looking the camera over and placed it back in the box, and then I looked up at the man, and thought I was going to be sick. I'd seen him walk over to the chair and sit down. What I didn't see was him pull a blanket over his lap, and now he was sitting there with

his eyes closed and making a motion under the blanket. I stood there for probably four or five seconds not speaking, just living through the most awkward moments of my life. I think he realized I wasn't saying anything, because he opened his eyes and noticed that I was just standing there. I kid you not, this guy immediately cleared his throat and shouted, I wasn't masturbating. I swear, I stood there just blinking confused for several minutes, before I pulled the cash out of my pocket,

placed it on one of the stacks of newspapers, and just turned to walk out of the apartment. As I exited, the guy shouted, Thanks, pleasure doing business with you. I'm pretty damn sure I sprinted out of that building, jumped into my car, and went double the speed limit out of the parking lot. I was happy to have the camera,

but that was just gross. So very gross. He messaged me the next day, saying that he was sorry I had to see that. I obviously went ahead and blocked him. Even if he really was sorry, I didn't want to talk to him anymore after that. So, in the end of it all, I did get the really neat retro camera, but I had to deal with this dude giving some self-care in the process.

That absolutely was not the last deal that I did on Craigslist, but it was the last time I ever went to get the item at someone's house alone. After that, I always brought a friend, or my brother. I'm glad the dude didn't do anything more, like move the blanket or try to attack me, but it was still super creepy. So, dude that sold me the camera, let's never meet again. Hey there, friends. I hope that you enjoyed this collection of scary stories on this episode of the As the Raven Dreams podcast. If you did, make sure that you follow the podcast on whatever platform that you're utilizing,

and if the platform you are on has a rate the podcast option, please consider doing so. Those ratings push the podcast into the algorithm, and we all know how the algorithm controls everything, so yeah. I also do have a Patreon. If you go to patreon.com slash as the Raven Dreams, you can support the channel further for as little as a dollar a month, you can get early access to all of my content in audio format. The content's a little different, as it's based on what I upload to my YouTube side, but it's the same stories, just in different collections of stories than how they're presented

here. Speaking of stories, if you have one you would like to submit to me, please go to as the ravendreams.com and click the button in the middle of the screen that says submit your story. These stories are mostly sourced by listeners, so let's keep the podcast alive. If you've got one, I'd love to read it. Anyways, friends, I hope you're all having a beautiful day and a lovely week. And I hope I see you again very soon. But until then, remember you're loved, you're valid, you're important.

You're the best you that you can be, never forget it. And until next time, much love and sleep well.