As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 163 - Scary Snow Day & Other True Scary Stories

Episode Date: February 14, 2025

Happy Valentine's Day ♥ Today, on the 163rd episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast, we have 9 True Chilling stories. These stories come from the shadowy corners of reality, where everyday life takes an eerie twist & ordinary people experience the extraordinary. Today we will be diving into some scary Snowy Day Stories As well as some other true scary stories from listeners. 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. Time Stamps 0:24 ➤ Story 1 14:53 ➤ Story 2 22:10 ➤ Story 3 26:46 ➤ Story 4 38:00 ➤ Story 5 1:01:10 ➤ Story 6 1:04:54 ➤ Story 7 1:19:24 ➤ Story 8 1:21:18 ➤ Story 9  Two Ad spots at about 15 and 65 minutes I wrote a novel! It is a psychological Thriller, titled "The Insomniac's Experiment", and I put a lot of time and creativity into it! It is available directly from me (autographed and with extras), and also on Amazon (digital or unsigned physical copies)! Signed Copies: https://ko-fi.com/s/bfdb8cb5f2 Unsigned or Digital: https://a.co/d/4voCEK1 Have a Story To Submit? ➤ https://www.astheravendreams.com Or Post to the Subreddit ➤ https://reddit.com/r/TheRavensDream Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in today's Video... Not Alexis, Brady Baker, Carla Base, Christina O, Dan, NeedMoreCoffee, GracePlus4, Kenny As Well As Any Author That Has 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 #GlitchInTheMatrix #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. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Please consider doing so. And as always, thank you. For the longest time, I never understood why or how even people died in their cars during blizzards. I won't lie, I was one of those people that was quick to be judgmental. Just stay in your car. Keep the exhaust pipe clear. Run the engine periodically for heat. It all sounds so simple until you're actually living it.

until I almost became one of those statistics. This happened during a brutal storm that hit the north in 2019. Some of you might remember it. Temperatures dropped to around negative 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Dozens of motorists had to be rescued from roads and highways. It was pretty bad. I was actually driving back from visiting my sister for the weekend, trying to beat an incoming storm.

We watched the forecast at her place that morning talking about a wintry mix. Some saying it would hit overnight, others predicting late afternoon. The National Weather Service had issued a winter storm warning, but like many locals, I'd grown a bit complacent about some of the warnings. I felt I knew how to drive in it and was confident in my abilities. I decided to risk it, thinking I could easily make the four-hour drive before any anything serious developed. I was so

incredibly wrong. The snow started about two hours into my drive. At first it wasn't bad, just light flakes that barely stuck to the road. But if you're at all familiar with the snow, you know just how fast things can change. Within 20 minutes,

the wind had picked up, and the snow got thicker. The road was practically non-existent in the few cars I had seen had either pulled off, exited with their hazards on, or were far ahead of me. When I slowed down as much as I did, part of me said that I should turn around, but I fell into that deadly trap of thinking, I've already come this far, so I kept going, driving slower and slower as visibility continued to drop. My car's thermometer was showing the outside temp

dropping rapidly. The mistake that nearly killed me came about two and a half hours into my drive. There was a steep incline that I had to take and the roads hadn't been touched. I tried speeding up to get over, but very quickly, I started skidding. My little car didn't stand a chance.

I tried to back up some thinking maybe I needed more momentum, but no dice. I still couldn't get over that hill. But then you think, okay, turn around and find a path around it, which is what I was going to do, but the road was very narrow. I tried to do a K-turn and got stuck on the side of the road, in a little divot, I suppose. No matter how much I tried to drive through or back up, I was not budging, and the more I tried the deeper of a hole I was putting myself in.

I even dug out the snow around my tires with my scraper and tried pushing it while it was in neutral. Believe me, I know that that was stupid too, but don't worry, it didn't work. I'm a fairly small girl, so there was no way I was moving it alone. So, I decided it was time to throw up the flag. I called 911 and advised them that I needed help as I was stuck in the snow. The dispatcher was kind, but... direct. They told me the highway patrol was overwhelmed. This obviously wasn't the first call

they had about this, and there were a bunch of accidents and other stranded motorists. It was going to be a while before they could reach me. She said if I had someone that could get me to safety, I could go that route, but only if we were sure that they wouldn't be risking themselves. Otherwise, she told me to stay with my car, and she told me to do those basic things I mentioned before. Keep the exhaust pipe clear, run the engine, and conserve gas while staying warm. The first two hours weren't bad. I had about half a tank of gas, an almost full 32-ounce cup of water, and my coffee thermos that I filled before I left my sisters because I'm one of those weirdos that drinks coffee all day.

I also had a few meat sticks and cookies for me to snack on during my drive, so I still had a few of both left over. I had on a heavier winter coat, gloves, and a hat, and I even had a blanket that I kept in my trunk with an emergency kit. After a fire and an apartment complex I used to live in traumatized me, I put together a little jump ship bag, if you will, and I kept it in my car. It had spare clothing, including necessities, a phone charger, and a few other things you wouldn't think about in those situations. I had my cell phone and still had a good amount of battery left, but I did have a charger in the car too, just in case, as well as my Kindle. I called my sister to let her know what happened, and she even offered to have her husband come help me, but I refused. I was already two and a half hours in. and I didn't want him to risk getting out and getting stuck with me,

although he did drive a truck. I also didn't want him to get most of the way and then have emergency services beat him there and have him waste the drive. I told her I just wanted to let her know and that I would update her when I got out, and she agreed. I started to read from my Kindle and tried to just relax. The snowfall was pretty to watch, even if I was covered in it.

but I had my coffee and my books, so I was trying to make the most of it. I got out of the car every so often to make sure the snow didn't pile up around my exhaust, and then I would get back in and run the car for those ten minutes. But as time passed, the snow didn't let up. In fact, it started coming down heavier and faster. I found myself checking my exhaust more often, and even took some time to kick away the extra snow around the back to try and prevent buildup. This, of course, made me colder, so it took me longer to warm up when I got back in.

I couldn't read anymore as it was making me drowsy, and I knew it was bad to fall asleep in a situation like this. So I switched to playing a game on my phone to keep me occupied. I would play it while I had my car on, so I could charge it, but it was struggling to keep up with the power I was using. and charging at the same time, so I had to limit myself there, too. As the sun began to set, that's when things got a lot worse. The temperature had dropped to negative 5 degrees. Each time I opened the door, more cold air and snow blew in, and it would get harder to warm the car back up.

I thought maybe I could put more space in between each time I checked the exhaust, but I was too afraid to do that, thinking, Maybe I was feeling tired because the exhaust wasn't able to escape. So I continued checking and would continue to get colder and start this process all over. The real terror started to set in around hour four. My gas was getting lower, down under a quarter of a tank, and my movement was getting sluggish. It was a struggle choosing between dangerously cold and low on gas, or running the end. engine longer to stay warm.

I tried to distract myself by calling my sister back and acting like everything was fine. I told her that I was doing fine, just cold and bored, but I could hear it in her voice that she didn't believe me. She again offered to come out and help, but I declined, and said that I would call the highway patrol to get an update, and she agreed to let me go. The dispatcher had given me two different numbers to call to get updates or report back if anything changed, so I called. To my surprise, they said they were trying to reach me,

but there were two abandoned vehicles blocking them that they had to clear first, and make sure that no one was inside of them as well. By the fifth hour, I was fighting to stay awake. I was out of coffee, I couldn't really afford to run my car anymore, so I could at least drive to a gas station. And I didn't want to kill the battery, so I didn't want to touch my phone anymore. I tried to recite the lyrics to songs or poems that I knew to keep my mind occupied, but it only half worked.

My eyes were heavy, and I know I drifted off for a few moments at one point. I even rolled down the window hoping the cold air might cholt me awake, and grabbed my blanket. it wrapping it around me too. I knew this was bad, but I had to do something. I risked using up more battery and grabbed my phone to call my sister and asked her husband to make the drive.

I didn't know how much longer it was going to take, but I needed to do something. And as I sat in the car bundled up, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, that was when I really started to get scared. My movements were slow, and while I was panicking in my mind, my heart rate was normal, even slower than normal. It was a truly weird experience, but I didn't know what I could even do about it.

Then, at one point, I had my eyes closed reciting whatever I could, when I started seeing a bright light reaching my eyelids. I opened my eyes to see a big truck coming towards me, and I think I nearly passed out then. I remember saying they can just watch me sleep, I'll be fine. I don't know how long I was out, but it felt like a long time. I was awoken to a knocking on my window, and I got out to see a cop in a tow truck driver standing by my door.

I remember the tow truck driver's smile as he asked me if I was all right. He then said that I could go sit in his truck because he kept the heat running and helped myself to his coffee. My legs were sluggish, but I ran as fast as my body permitted. I watched as the trucker pulled my car out of the pile, and that's when I realized just how much it had snowed. With the wind, the snow was nearly at the bottom of the windows on the passenger side, and there was probably about a foot on top.

I had stopped checking the exhaust after I called my sister, so that had even started piling up. I could have suffocated. When all was said and done, they towed my car to the closest sign of life, a 24-7 gas station, and gave me directions around that hill. I was one of the lucky ones that was able to get my car back that same day.

Some people were having to wait until the next day because of how deep they were in. On the way, the truck driver was telling me how he had already rescued so many people that day that he had lost count. and he was probably going to be out for a few more hours before he even went home. I talked to him about how I had even thought about walking, and he told me I was smart for not doing that.

He mentioned that the temps had dropped to negative 15 degrees, down to negative 40 with the wind, and I easily could have died from exposure. He said it like my father would have, and it stuck with me ever since. That concern he hadn't had in his own. his voice. This man had seen a lot, so I

trusted his judgment. Once I was at the gas station, I thanked the truck driver and called my sister to tell them to turn around. But, per her demands, I did not try to drive home that night. I did find a nearby hotel and agreed to stay there for the night.

After six hours of sitting in a cold car, I really wanted a hot meal and a warm bed. The next day was looking a lot better. They had already started plowing and treating the roads, but I still took the alternate route that the trucker gave me, and I got home with practically no further issues,

just a little skidding here and there. I know that I was incredibly lucky. If I had had less gas, if my phone had died or I didn't have a charger, or if I hadn't kept clearing my exhaust pipe, this story may not have existed. I thought my emergency bag had everything I needed, but I learned what it was missing. I put an extra set of gloves, a scarf, and a blanket in it, and I even got a mini shovel to keep in the back.

And if they mention a storm, I don't even try to challenge it. Because until you're in that moment, you don't realize just how important each decision you make becomes. Everything happens decision by decision, each one seeming reasonable at the time, until you find yourself trapped in a metal box while the snow piles higher and higher. Moral of the story, learn from my mistakes, and if you can, just stay home. Hey, Raven, I've been lurking and enjoying your channel for a while now. it's really great to listen to because you try to have different topics

and ideas to make all of us happy. I do my best. Anyways, thank you for making my time at work more bearable to be at. And just so you know, I appreciate how you tell us that we're loved and appreciated. Well, you are loved and appreciated. Anyways, I have a short, scary Christmas story to tell you.

I'm 32, female, and this happened when I was 21 or so. At the time, I was with my ex-boyfriend and we were celebrating on Christmas Eve. My ex and I didn't stay together, but that's a whole other nightmare story. But because he's crazy, and despite him being out of my life for over six years, I don't want him to catch on that this is a story of his family, so I want to leave it as ambiguous as possible with no names if that's okay. My ex was super into family,

and despite their constant drama, with each other, not just petty drama, but the kind of drama where one aunt had an affair with her sister's husband, and they were going to Vegas to get married, but he ended up flaking out and ran home to his wife and told her the truth. The sister hadn't talked in over ten years, and this Christmas Eve decided to reconcile because their brother, my boyfriend's uncle, had passed away somewhat recently. For some context to the story, his grandma, was a bit of a hoarder. It wasn't exactly dirty,

but she had a den where she had a whole Christmas town with lots of trinkets and linens, and it spilled throughout the house in little corners. And while she had a very nice yard, she had a porch with furniture, but also cluttered with sheets, trinkets, angels, and other things. Also, the party was enjoyed throughout the house, but every year they would seat everyone in the den

because it was the biggest part of the house, so it could seat everyone more comfortably. So this Christmas Eve, they decided family was more important. So they decided to all gather together despite this elephant in the room and a few other quarrels they had throughout the year. For context, my ex's grandparents were amazing people. And so they would each year wait until midnight to open gifts. And in the meanwhile, it would be a four to five hour party of just playing yonauty.

hanging out amongst family, some TV or movies, and a lot of food to consume. They were more informal, where there was a lot of food to serve, and he would just keep eating throughout the night. So, after waiting impatiently, grandpa decided he was too tired to stay awake until midnight and started becoming fussy. He was in his late 70s, so he normally would go to bed early. after arguing amongst all the siblings and a few of my ex's cousins, they decided that 9 p.m. was early enough to open gifts.

His aunt had pulled us all into the living room, front of the house, and sat us all along the wall cramming us into a smaller enclosed space. She said that she wanted to open gifts by the tree, so she decided for everyone we could suck it up and just deal with us being squished together. His aunt started making a speech about the hardships of the family, saying that despite everything, they loved each other and showed that they cared. During this speech, I just remember looking out the front window and noticing a very bright orange light.

I was just thinking it was the neighbor driving by. He worked construction and sometimes had the blinking street cones in the back of his truck. I tried to focus on the speech, but my eyes kept wandering, to the window, until my ex perked my hand and scolded me to pay attention. So a few minutes go by, and all of a sudden there was a great big crashing slash popping sound. The family stopped talking and looked around trying to find the cause of said sound. Eventually, I decided to get up and scoched between people to open the door. As soon as I opened it, I saw through the screen door big,

orange flames on the side of the porch. A cousin, teenager, said that we didn't need to look out there and slammed the door. Two of the cousin's boyfriends pushed her out of the way and ran outside to look and call 911. I ran outside as well to grab the hose, while I glimpsed as my ex started crying and running to a room and three of his aunts started to shake and cry. His grandparents were escorted to their rooms to avoid. smoke inhalation, and a few of the older cousins were filling bowls of water to try to put out

the now blazing fire taking over a side of the house, and part of the roof as well as the corner of the porch. Since the hose wasn't exactly used often, it was a whole mess trying to find it in the dark. Not all cell phones had flashlights back then. After a few minutes, both boyfriends caught on to what I was doing, and they turned on the hose. and as soon as I found it by feeling for the water they both took off with it and started dousing the huge flaming wreck. By a certain point, it was a lot calmer, and luckily the firefighters came a few minutes after and finished putting everything out. After the inspection of what caused the fire, they found that one aunt had decorated not only the yard with luminaries, a southwest Hispanic tradition that puts paper bags with a candle, or a fake camera.

candle in it, but also put it on the railing of the porch. Because it was slightly windy that evening, it had fallen over on the horde of junk, and fallen leaves, and started a fire. The firefire said that if it was ten more minutes, the whole house would have been in flames and we could have died, because the porch would have collapsed, not letting us out. I'm super grateful that despite the fire, only parts of the porch and not now a small patch of roof was damaged, alongside the shattered window. Luckily, the boyfriends of the family were handy, so they patched up the house with a big

board, and after Christmas all came to help replace everything that was damaged. His aunt was definitely distraught for a while, being the cause of the fire. But she did learn from that year on. Me? I'm just so glad that we were all gathered in the living room instead of the den, so we we actually would hear and see the fire. If we hadn't, I'm pretty sure we all would have died in that house that night.

Anyways, have a Merry Christmas, and thank you for letting me share my story. Hey, Raven, love the podcast. I discovered it a few months back and have binged it a few times since. Keep it up. Thank you. Anyway, listening to other people's stories of surreal dreams has inspired me to share mine.

I must say I don't dream very often, or at least, I never remember them once I'm awake. This particular dream, however, is one that I will never forget. It was primarily about my mom's dad. We called him Papa Bill. My mom always told me and my brother about him all the time. To the extent that I feel like I miss him sometimes, writing the story even makes my eyes water. This is all crazy because he died eight years before I was born. He was a hardworking and respected man in his community.

A foreman at an electric co-op, as well as a rancher. Masonic Lodge, father of the year, just prior to his passing. I worked for an oil-filled service company at the time. We usually left out every morning at the same time, so I had adjusted and rarely used an alarm. It wasn't really hard for me to just wake up when I needed to. But we were starting a new job the next day, and we're going to leave early, so we could fix any problems that came up and avoid delays. I set my alarm for 3 a.m., double-checked that it was set, and then lied down and dozed off.

The dream began with me operating a tractor frontloader to muck out some corral pens. My mom, aunt, and uncle were all on the... outside of the fence watching me as I went back and forth. My mom and aunt were talking and laughing at each other while my uncle stood in silence. At one point, I backed the tractor through part of the fence and busted it. Oh, your papa ain't going to like that, my aunt said. And then my mom said, yeah, he's probably going to whoop you good. I remember fear at this point.

My papa was a big man. 6-4, about 250 and stout. I asked them what I should do, and they both told me to just be honest about what happened. I remembered wanting to cry. At that time, I see him come walking towards the pen. He had aged quite a bit from the pictures I had grown up looking at. His hair was thinner, face more wrinkled, like he'd been alive and aging normally for the past 35 years.

He was wearing some old lace-up boots that came halfway up his calves, to which his Dicky's khaki work pants were tucked into, an a faded red and black flannel shirt. His eyes were locked on me, and at this point he was coming straight toward me. My heart was pounding. My fear was just about to peek when I noticed that he had something in his hand that gave me pause. It was my heart hat. He was now standing right.

in front of me. His eyes seemed to sparkle. He got a half-grin and smile on his face. He handed me my heart hat, and then gave me a firm once up and down handshake. It's time to go to work, son. He said in a manner and bold tone of pride. Then my alarm went off.

I quickly turned off the alarm, but just sat there for a moment looking at my hand. I felt his hand. in mine. I heard his words. I've never had a dream this real before, nor since. I told my nanny, my grandmother, about this. I described his mannerisms, his walk, etc. She was in tears by the time I finished. She smiled, patted my hand, and told me that I described him to a tea. The rest of my family was in awe too. That's it.

Strange, eerie, but also, a happy dream. As a kid, my little sister and I always prayed for those snow days the moment we heard it was going to snow. We lived in the Midwest, so snow wasn't unusual for us,

but it did have a knack for shutting schools down when we got a good amount. We got lucky one year when they closed our school at nearly the last minute. We were excited because we wanted to play in the snow all day, and now we could. Our neighborhood was filled with kids, and we got along with most of them, so we planned to all play together. The more of us meant better snowball fights and faster-made walls.

We got dressed that morning in multiple layers, parents' orders, before finally getting outside. We lived right around the bend on our street, so, the side yard between ours and the Henderson's was wider than normal. This meant more of an open canvas for us to play in. First, we had to go gather some other kids. This was back in the early 2000s, so it was pretty normal for us to just walk around to someone's house and ask if their kids could play.

Eventually, we got Maria, who lived two houses to the left of us, Brett, who was further up the road, and the twins, Jacob and Jackie, came running down. down the hill to play with us too. Once the six of us were together, we all started walking back down to the bend. As we walked back, I remember hearing the familiar grinding sound

of a plow scraping the road. Shortly after, I saw it zoom past us, and even as a 12-year-old, I knew that he was going too fast. My dad always talked about how to respect the snow, and any weather for that matter, because it can and will always

make a difference in your drive. I yelled out, Slow down, and everyone else followed suit. We also called them a jerk, but then my sister, Amy, reminded us that the windrow could benefit us for access to more snow, or even a wall. So we quickly forgot about it and moved on. The more we played, the hotter I got, as I had on a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, and a thick neon pink coat.

along with my hat, a scarf, and, well, everything else. So I took off my heavy coat and left it in the snow near the front of the house, as a child would. We were playing as normal, going back to the front to gather more snow, when the plow driver came by again. This time he went around the bend close to the curb, hitting the dip that was along the edge. It had been there for as long as I could remember,

and everyone on that block knew to avoid it. But if you weren't used to driving down that road, you may not realize that it was there. Either way, the driver hit it and splashed some of us with the dirty, snowy slush in that hole. I took the brunt end of it, and my whole left side was covered. I was soaked and angry.

I hated being wet like that, and I knew that I didn't want to be out in the cold, like that either. So, I told everyone that I would be back after I went to change. I told my mom what had happened since I was the only one that came back. As I changed, my mom was debating even letting me go back out, saying that the plow driver was being reckless. However, I begged her to let us continue playing and she finally gave in. She told us that, if we saw him again, I needed to let her know immediately and I promised her that I would. When I got back outside, Brett's older brother had showed up and they were all working on rebuilding

our first wall and building a third. We got them all completed and were trying to decide how to split up into teams before we started our game. We played some version of Capture the Flag with the Snowball Fight and we had a lot of fun. I was on a team with my little sister, Amy, and Maria. and we were at the wall closest to the road. In the middle of our game, Jacob stopped and pointed toward us and shouted, He's coming back.

I looked behind us and saw the plow driver coming down the road again. At first, I was annoyed, because I knew that if I told my mom she would want us to go back in. But then my stomach dropped. The plow was up, and he was just gunning it toward the bend. so why was he even going down our street? Even worse, he was practically flying down the road,

way faster than he should have been. That bend was infamous for unfamiliar people taking it way too fast, and I knew what was about to happen. He hadn't started turning yet, and with how fast he was going, he was headed right for our base, right where Amy stood. I don't remember making the decision,

decision to move, I just remember grabbing Amy and shoving her as hard as I could toward the yard. Maria already ran off, and once Amy was out of the way, I ran towards her. I wasn't thinking. I just thought that I could get her out of the way

faster by shoving her rather than making her run, picking her up even, or dragging her. She was the youngest of our group at only seven. So, she was definitely slower than the rest of us, especially in all the layers of clothes that she wore.

As I reached out and went to grab her arm to continue pulling her, I heard the truck roar past us, and the tires skidding. It all seemed to play out in slow motion. I looked back and watched in horror as the truck jumped the curb, fish-tailed through our snow wall,

ran over my pink coat, and then continued flailing through the yard and around the bend, until it finally finally. slammed into our community mailbox station further around it. The sound was incredible. Metal screaming against metal, the mailboxes ripping from the post and the truck's engine racing.

Before any of us kids could even move, people started pouring out of their houses. My mom was one of them, but Mr. Martinez, Maria's dad, was one of the first ones out, and he stormed towards the truck. I had never seen Mr. Martinez, Mr. Martinez looked angry before.

He was always the gentle guy who helped anywhere he could. Sometimes he took us to school when we were running late and when I stayed over with Maria. He made the best ice cream sandwiches. Mr. Martinez ran straight to the truck and started yelling at it. We all watched as he yanked open the door and stood on the step, shouting at the guy. Then he dragged the driver out of the truck, by the back of his jacket. and I remembered the sound of his feet hitting the ground and him being dragged across the snow. Mr. Martinez stood over the man shaking him,

yelling things like, What the hell is wrong with you? There are kids out here. I could hear the guy's shaky voice. He was scared, but he just kept repeating, I'm sorry, over and over. My dad, Ms. Martinez, and another neighbor ran up to them, and were trying to get Mr. Martinez off of the man.

while I noticed my mom was on the phone telling someone what was happening. I calmed Amy down as she was now in tears, terrified of everything that was happening, but otherwise, us kids still just stood there in awe, watching this all play out. My mom then asked us what happened, and a few of us explained what we saw. That's about the time the cops showed up, too. There were a few of them, and they all were a few of them. and they all seemed to take turns talking to us kids with our parents, some of the adults, and the plow truck driver.

The sun was starting to set, and we all went to my house to watch TV until everyone else's parents showed up too. The last thing I remembered about that night was watching out the window as a tow truck hauled away the plow truck. The driver was handcuffed, and I'm pretty sure he was put in the back of a cop car, and some people helped pick up the mailbox station and were assessing the damage.

When everyone was back inside, my parents told me that it was very smart of me to move my sister out of the way, and it was a nice feeling, but it didn't last long. I noticed my mom had tossed my coat in a laundry hamper, and when I saw all the giant treadmarks across it, I remember crying. What if I had been wearing it? What if I was lying in the snow right there, or even my sister? There was no way that we would have survived getting run over by the plow truck,

and it was an incredibly terrifying and awakening moment for me. My parents made sure that we knew we did nothing wrong in that situation, but also it made me more aware of the dangers of the road. We had walked in the grass-covered snow because the sidewalk was still covered. but since then I now pay attention to any car approaching us and it would make me nervous for many years after that when we got older my parents and even Maria shared more about what happened that we missed Maria said that her parents were talking and her dad mentioned the guy reeked of alcohol

but when he approached the truck he yelled at him that we needed to stay out of the streets then his tone completely changed when he was yanked out of the safety of the truck. That's when Mr. Martinez could smell him. My parents told me that he did get arrested that night because he was heavily intoxicated. I've got kids of my own these days, and while I don't have panic attacks when I see a plow truck, I am still very protective of my kids, especially when it comes to them playing outside. We don't have backyards where I live, so they only have the front yard to play in, but I have very hard-set boundaries of where they are allowed to play. And I stay out there with them the entire time.

I want them to be a kid and have fun and venture around, just like I did, but some lessons, you just can't forget. Before I get into this, I would like to mention that the story does contain to be. of varying kinds of abuse, as well as substance abuse. If you don't feel that you can listen to this, I would completely understand if you ended up skipping my story. Also, I have family members who gravitate towards channels like this, so for the sake of the story, I'm going to remain anonymous. I appreciate your understanding.

So, without further ado, here we go. I'm a man in my 40s living in a small town in rural Virginia. Throughout my childhood, my family life was fractured at best. My aunt and my cousin both had issues with their mental health and went about dealing with it in the most unhealthy possible ways. My aunt would keep a flask full of green alcohol in the top drawer of her desk at work and would usually end up finishing it by 1 p.m. My cousin felt unloved due to her mother's issues with alcohol

and went looking for a substitute in all of those proverbial wrong places. One abusive relationship after another hardened her towards her everyday life, and between the two of them, I would have to endure the most toxic misandry-filled, hateful rhetoric that my young ears were ever privy to hear. hearing. Bear in mind, at this point in my life, I was maybe nine years old, and my only oasis in this hellish hate storm was my mother. She was a single mom at the time of three children, myself included. We didn't have a lot of money. We were actually staying in our family

home that had previously belonged to my grandparents. We scraped and scrimped to get by, but we made it work. In this period of my life, my mother had just recently met the man that would become my stepfather, and though they weren't together alone, it was the healthiest relationship I had ever seen her in, and they were currently expecting my youngest brother. We kept my aunt and my cousin at arm's length, because my mother was considered high risk, and she didn't need the stress. but my aunt, especially at that time, wanted to watch the world burn, and so she caused many problems for us,

most of which involved false claims anonymously dropped to CPS. This was the start of the many factors that changed my mother for the worse. Between this, unresolved trauma that I would later learn about, and an upcoming scenario nine-year-old me had no idea he was in for, a world of trouble, but it would make itself well known a couple of months after my 10th birthday. My mother was set to deliver my brother via Cesarean section. The delivery went as expected, at least to the best of our knowledge. But we would come to find out later on rocked us.

You see, one of the doctors that was in charge of my mother's C-section was a close friend with my aunt. She had this idea in her head that my mother was a welfare queen. White trash, absolutely garbage. And so while my mother was under the influence of anesthesia, she had her signed paperwork that gave them permission to perform a hysterectomy after the birth of my brother. So, my mother, fully sober and off the influence of the medication, had to face the realization she'd been forcibly sterilized.

Upon attempting to sue the hospital, she would find out the lawyers they had were far better than anything she could ever hope to afford. And so, any kind of justice for the situation became a lost cause. My mother was a changed woman after that, withdrawn and angry. She would go through the motions with my brother, but around the time he was one, she was experiencing pain. This was the debilitating type of pain that would make it so five out of the seven days of a week, she would be confined to her bedroom. I would only see her once or twice a day, and that was usually when she would come out of the kitchen to get a cup of tea or use the restroom.

Don't get me wrong, she still had her good days, and I lived for this. These were the days where she would hear me in my room listening to bands like 9-inch nails, typo-negative, white zombie, gravity kills, etc. And if she liked what she heard, we would have this little trade-off system. This would result in her handing me a CD of a rock group from the 70s, usually Black Sabbath or Meatloaf. We would have conversations about the music a little bit later on in the day, and these were the days that I hold high regard, because these were few and far in between. When I was 14, things only got worse.

My mother found a pain specialist that seemed more interested in writing prescriptions than actually solving the issue. To paraphrase James O'Barr, he was the type of person that would prescribe morphine for a wooden leg. I found myself raising my siblings and living a double life, trying to put on a strong face. My stepdad tried to be as much help as possible, and, as... At the time, I was angry at him because I saw him as being just as useless. But as I grew older, I realized what he was actually doing was shielding us from my mother's deteriorating condition. By now, my family didn't have a relationship to speak of. My aunt had been fired from her job after finally being caught with the flask,

and once word got around, she felt humiliated enough to pack up, moving. across the state and put her house up on the market. I know a good portion of people on the outside looking in, not knowing the details, would see this as a messed up situation. But I was the one living with it, and I welcomed what I considered to be a small but significant change. Half the time, my mother didn't even know who I was because she was so blasted on prescription meds. She might have well been on another plane of existence. But then she started complaining about the strength, or lack thereof, of the medication she was taking,

which would eventually lead to her being prescribed a combination of Darvasset, Soma, and DeLua did. Last on the list is generally prescribed to third-degree burn patients, and her doctor knew this. The thing is, he didn't even try to warn her about it before writing the prescription, he just did it. things had gotten so bad that there were times when I would find my mother with an exacto knife, one of those little scalpel-type knives you use for crafting, cutting slits into the time-released patch and licking the medication out, so it would enter her bloodstream sooner. This is when she became an absolute monster.

The beatings didn't initially start at first. If anything, the abuse was verbal. She started seeing me as my father. She held a lot of resentment towards him because rather than raise his child, he opted to sleep with the babysitter and run off with her. So for my mother to start off one of her tirades with, You Destroyed Our Lives and I Wish I'd Never Met You, it would come as a pretty big indicator as to where her mental state was.

It was during these days I would lock my door and stay in my room after making sure my siblings were taken care of. I had a couple of odd jobs working under the table, doing stuff like helping the neighbors shovel dog excrement out of their backyards or other types of yard work. And with this money, I bought my siblings a small television set and a VCR setup. I would occasionally go by the video store when they were selling some of their overstocked were under-rented films, and would snatch up whatever I could afford.

So, on days like this, I would be listening to stuff like Danzig when my brothers sat in their room watching sub-part Disney sequels, or whatever I could get my hands on to keep them entertained. At this point, I was 15, and being more of a parent than my actual parents. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I learned we had to sell her home because the property tax had gotten to the point where we just couldn't afford them anymore, and two straws would drop breaking that camel's back. Rather than soldier on like she would have pre-medication days,

my mother got so blitzed that she eventually ended up wandering around in our backyard, naked, during a snowstorm. I had to help my stepfather get her back inside. I remember she was drooling all over herself and speaking incoherently. He's begging me to help her lay down and I'm yelling at him to take her to the hospital. Eventually, he would cave. But he told me that once she got there, CPS would more than likely be informed, and it was on me if my brothers ended up in foster care. He would eventually apologize for this.

statement. He said that it was something that came out of his mouth due to the heat of passion and absolute exasperation. But that's stuck with me for so many years. I want everybody to understand that I'm telling you all the abridged version of my story, and I know it may seem as if it's all over the place. That's because it is. That's because of all this trauma I endured throughout my young life, and it left me kind of scatterbrained. I'm doing my best to tell an incredibly emotional story all while trying to keep it together on my end. So I thank you for your patience.

Back to the story now. My grandmother came through in clutch, and she knew that if I went with my mother and my stepfather, after all was said and done, this would just continue, and it wasn't doing my mental health any favors. My stepfather was quick to think on his way to the hospital, and he had mentioned to the doctors that she'd forgotten she'd already taken her morning dose and accidentally doubled up on her meds. This was enough to convince them to keep CPS out of the picture, and just make sure my mom came down in the presence of doctors. Her pain specialist was called by one of the ER staff, the nurse practitioner, if I'm remembering correctly, and she read him the riot act.

She wanted to know why a woman who was suffering from fibromyalgia, like symptoms, was being prescribed medications generally reserved for amputees, cancer victims, and the aforementioned to burn victims. When he couldn't answer the questions, she went directly to the main doctor in charge of my mother's case and had him direct us to a different pain specialist that would make sure to call her out if he felt as if she was abusing her meds. When I mentioned my grandmother came through in clutch, it's because of the fact that she offered me an opportunity that I gladly jumped at.

My uncle operates on the level of a six-year-old. They were moving to Virginia and he needed a caretaker. When all of this was happening, I was still 21 and living at home, because I was never really given the opportunity to save up and move away. To know that I had this opportunity was a godsend. And even though my mother was livid at me because I chose my uncle over her, I just couldn't do it anymore. I'd been robbed of a childhood,

didn't have the opportunity to date, mostly out of sheer embarrassment. And I found myself feeling as if I didn't wake up one morning, it would have been for the better. I made a fantastic decision for myself, but it wasn't all peaches and cream. I would end up finally being able to come out of my shell, but I would also find out that I had my own demons to confront.

I found myself following the same path of my cousin. The only difference being was that I didn't become a full-blown misogynist. My first girlfriend was only using me to get closer to a friend, of mine, and she wanted to have some experience, if you get my drift, before she got with him. After her, I ended up with a really possessive girl around my age, and her day-drinking former nurse of a mother made things even more difficult for the both of us. She would eventually facilitate this ex cheating on me behind my back, with her ex, mostly due to the fact that he had no problems applying her with alcohol

that she so desperately loved. Me being a child of addiction, refused to go out and get her so much as a light beer. She didn't like this, but I wouldn't find out the full scope of things until years later after catching up with my ex's brother. A big part of me felt as if I deserved all of this. I didn't know at the time,

but I had a pretty serious. severe case of PTSD, and part of me has come to realize that the victimization aspect is part of the disorder. I had one healthy relationship through all of this, and due to my neediness and overall feeling that the cards would drop at any minute, I would end up pushing her away. She would go to college and break up with me over the phone, because she couldn't just handle the college life and a long-distance relationship. But I know my mentality. But I know my mentality, at the time was no help to the situation either. Eventually, I would meet the woman who had become my ex-wife.

We dated for three and a half years before taking the plunge, and while we were dating, things were great. It wasn't until after I put the ring on her finger that she became a much less funny version of Peggy Bundy. I couldn't hang out with friends. The karaoke nights that I cherished were now a little. part of the past. She was always getting on me about my lack of intelligence and comparing me to her high school

boyfriend. I would try to make things better by getting a marriage counselor involved. But on the first day of marriage counseling, before we even got into the office, she told me I wasn't worth it. And I was so sick of hearing that coming out of her mouth and feeling that way in secret. I just took off the wedding ring and handed it to her as I said, Well, then, I guess we're doing this. We were divorced less than a year later.

All of this would lead to me meeting the mother of my son, and no, we are no longer in a relationship. But that's largely due to the fact that we would eventually figure out we were better off as friends and co-parents. That doesn't go without saying that we didn't go through a lot in our few years together. We had to weather two miscarriages, the first of which was five months along after our son got wrapped up in his umbilical cord. The second was only ten weeks in, but this did irreparable damage to our relationship, and both of us were suffering from the losses,

and our own sets of issues that came with them. The only silver lining in any of this was that my mother had been cleaned for about five years at this point, and I had gotten her back. She supported both of us throughout this trying time in our lives, and even though the relationship was taking a downturn, she was there for us regardless. We eventually ended up having our son, and we stayed together throughout his first four years of life.

During this, we would find out that he was on the autism spectrum, and parenting him was a challenge to say the least. He wasn't autistic to a degree where he was, let's say, non-verbal, but he certainly had some severe issues with development and social aspects. Thanks to my mother being the closest version of herself before all the days of being somebody I didn't even recognize, we were able to get through the early days virtually unscathed. But then, one morning in December of 2015,

I got a phone call from my brother. My mother had relapsed. She overdosed and unfortunately passed away in her sleep. This destroyed me. This destroyed us. I would find myself falling back into such a deep depression that I didn't want to continue existing anymore. I felt as if my son would have been better off without a father,

who couldn't be in control of his emotions. But then something happened that would eventually put me on a better path. The day after my mother's passing, I went out to get the mail and I saw a letter from social services with my name on it. I'd completely forgotten that I had tried to get some form of affordable medical insurance due to the fact that my job at the time didn't offer it, and I wasn't making enough to have rent utilities, a young child, and medical bills. Upon opening the letter, I would find out that not only had I been approved for some sort of insurance that would cover counseling, I wouldn't be stuck raw-dogging my depression anymore. And so I got myself into therapy.

It was the best decision I've ever made. The only downside to it was that I was put on a medication that affected my short-term memory. I eventually went off that medication and decided to deal with my depression through counseling. only. For three years, I did what I had to to put myself in a better mental state, and to this day, I'm a better man for it. As mentioned before, my son's mother and I didn't last either, and since being with her, I haven't been with anyone else. I needed to take that time to put myself in a mindset, where I didn't want to jump in front of a bus once things inevitably took a turn for the worse. During this period, she would meet her youngest son's father,

and let's just say the moment that son was born, he went out for milk and menthol's and has yet to return. I am the poster child of children not being able to choose who raises them, but I'm also a component for those who decide to step up when others refuse. I've cut off people I've once considered friends over the fact that they've gone as far as to call me a, a simp, an idiot, or other derogatory terms, because I chose to help raise this boy since he was four months old. No, my ex and I have not gotten back together,

and we will not be getting back together due to other factors that I haven't mentioned, but no child deserves to grow up without a dad, or at the very least, a father figure. Life still has many challenges, all of which I'm doing my best to face, on. I have my good days and my bad days. But in closing, I want to thank you for listening to what is essentially a long ramble. And I want to tell you, you are not your parents' decisions. Their mistakes do not define who you are at the end of the day. You need to know that there is a

light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes, in order to find it, you need to take the initiative. Things can get better, and you don't have to go it alone, and more often than not, going it alone isn't going to put you on a forward path. There's no shame in getting help. Anybody who tells you this is a piece of crap and not worth your energy. Your parents' life lessons, both good and bad, can still be used as a tool to better yourself, and whether you grew up in an environment that was full of anger, overly religious, or otherwise just flat-out toxic, you can rise above it. And I guess at the end of the day, that's why I'm telling my story.

Yes, it's chaotic. Yes, it's sad. And for some of us, it's absolutely scary. I still suffer from PTSD. I still have night terrors. But do you know what I don't suffer from these days? Ideations. I now have come to the realization that my past didn't completely define me. But it did make me work towards being who I am today.

And though I'm not perfect, I'm at least able to look in the mirror now and not see a complete loser who deserves whatever crap is thrown at him. Know that you are loved, even if you don't feel that way. most of us don't even have to look far to see the people who care about us in our lives. And if you feel as if you don't have that luxury, do what you can to work towards being the person for somebody else as well as yourself. Life is a difficult thing, but that difficulty doesn't have to lead to permanent consequences.

Much love to you all, and you're going to get through this. I worked a part-time job and went to school at this period of my life. I had gotten a job in a huge place filled with computer tables, with privacy panels separating the large octagonal tables, and there were regions with large numbers over them. It was massive. One section was very large, and there were maybe 40 regions of young and old college students

and retired people of every race and situation. We took service orders from all over the country on our headsets that beeped calls into our ears, and we typed up the service requests offering morning or afternoon appointments, and detailing the problems with the refrigerator, a range that went out just before Thanksgiving, or garden tractor with a tire that wouldn't stay inflated, things like that. I'm five foot five inches with long brown chestnut-colored hair.

A nearby worker and I had a break about the same time, and sat together talking 15 minutes most days. One day she got a creepy call. It sounded different, local, crisper and clearer. This time of day, our calls were from PA, but this eerily sounded close, too, and they just breathed. She told me at break that it was creepy and had happened before to her. It seemed a well-lit, busy place. inside, filled with vitality and diversity, and everyone was always normal, friendly and polite,

and the parking lot was large and you could always park close. Even in winter, people poured out together under strong light towers and it felt secure. It was a good group of people. One late afternoon, I met up with my friend and this time told her, I got a call tonight, and he asked me what I was wearing. I got that breather. My blonde friend replied and rolled her big green eyes. Pervert, she said.

I told her my aunts lived nearby and formerly worked there a while back and used to take catalog orders, and a man would pretend to order ladies undergarments and then breathe into the phone. That had been a while back, I reasoned. And then we found out who had been there during a company transition, and it was clear now that it was a man old enough to be our father or grandfather. We were creeped out and watched. Soon we discovered we were right,

and covertly watched as a co-worker, who seemed awkward on the phone, was blushing. We couldn't make outgoing calls yet. Somehow he could call people. He got personal with the girl, and we went together to the personnel department, where a huge man who was approximately... 400 pounds barely looked up at my friend as she spoke, because he was actually staring at the front of her, if you get it. It made her furious and she cried out, hey, my eyes are up here. We all three left that personnel office and wondered if he was the second perverted collar.

None of us worked there much longer as it felt less and less safe, as a collar would complement what we were wearing strangely accurately. And eventually we just left the job. Creepy perves stay back. It's something else here now, something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls Scarious Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real.

Sci-Fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Back in middle school and high school, I was a pretty big band geek. I played the cello and I've always loved it, still too. I also participated in multiple band calls.

concerts, including one that was held in our town's plaza. It was a holiday concert, and the mayor even showed up. I remember being pretty psyched about it. The only other event that sat that high for me was a contest our school band was invited to. It was a prestigious music competition being held in New Hampshire, about four hours away. The grand prize was a $5,000 scholarship, which, did have my parents practically pushing me to go. Not that they needed to, however.

I was just as excited to go. I had several friends in band, including a girl that I was crushing on, and a four-hour bus ride with them all sounded like a great time, even if we had to perform for complete strangers with a bigger purpose. So we got all packed up, and my mom dropped me off at the school around 6 a.m. on Friday. Another bonus, we got to miss out on a day of school. Of all the students in band,

16 of us were selected for the contest, but only 12 of us were attending. So, other than the 12 of us students, there was our band teacher, Mr. Walter, the bus driver Dave, which we all knew pretty well, and two parents who chaperoned, Rebecca's mom and Dylan's mom. I remember before we left My parents and the adults were talking about the weather we were expecting that day

There had been talks of snow in the forecast, but in New England that's hardly news in February My parents said that there was supposed to be some light snow in the evening But that we should either be home or almost home by the time that happens, so no big deal We all loaded on the bus I headed to the back where I liked to see it, along with my friends, Dylan, Andrew, Kate, and Heather. I was hoping to spend some more time with Heather. The drive out there was fine.

Dave was always trying to get us to play songs for him, or would ask if we knew this song or that. He was always fun to ride with. He was actually Dylan's normal bus driver, so I was used to him as well. We had some time once we arrived, so we stopped somewhere for lunch before we made our way to the center where the contest would be held. Once there, we got to go on a small tour of the history of the state, before we were finally led to a room that we could set up in and prepare for our turn.

There were a lot of people there, and each school got their own room to prepare in. It took hours before it was completed, but even through the nerves, I thoroughly enjoyed it. By the time we finished, around 5 p.m., it had started to snow heavier and was turning to sleet. Mr. Walter and the two moms started rushing all of us to get on the bus, saying that we needed to get going. Mr. Walter and Dylan's mom did a headcount each, and once they were satisfied that everyone was accounted for, Dave started the bus, and we headed back home. We were all in similar, if not the same seats that we started in. The first hour of the ride was normal. The snow was falling heavier and faster, but Dave was experienced and careful.

He started doing what he normally did, asking us what songs we played and so forth. But then, as the wind picked up and the snowfall thickened, he got quieter, clearly trying to focus. The rest of us noticed too, and our chatter and laughter died down, and we spoke as if we were in a library, trying to not be a distraction to the adults. The weather was clearly getting worse than what was anticipated, and I think a lot of us were looking a bit concerned. We could feel the wind slamming into the bus, and hear it whistling as it found its way through the crevices. I could barely see the other cars on the highway anymore. their headlights looked like dim floating orbs amidst whiteness. Dave was taking it slow and I had no concerns about his driving,

but I did have to worry about others. Some people were trying to pass the big yellow bus and probably going faster than they should have been. But at least they weren't putting more pressure on us. But then some people aren't as careful as others. I remember looking out the different windows around me, and since I was sitting in the back, I frequently watched the cars behind us. That's when I saw the truck.

It was just a pair of headlights at first, but I could tell that they were approaching way too fast through the snow. I immediately got a bad feeling about this truck, and I remember verbally saying, Oh, hell, and my friends sitting with me looked where I was focused. We watched as this truck sped towards us, in our lane, then it tried to be. to jump over to the lane to our left, but there was a smaller sedan there. Without signaling or slowing down, he just veered over. The sedan honked, and the truck tried to veer back into our lane, but did it way too fast. This made the truck fish tail a bit, and they nearly hit the sedan that had slowed down.

I watched as the truck driver threw his hands up in an aggressive manner, and then veered over to the other lane faster. This time, I don't know what his intentions were, but he did it so fast that he started sliding again and clipped the bus. I remember that sound of metal crunching on metal, as the truck tried to speed up to get away from the bus, but it only seemed to make it worse. It caused the bus to also lose control, and we heard Dave curse, which he never did, at least not around us kids. Dave tried to control the bus, but it was too much. I could feel the tires slipping in the snow and ice-covered road, and I looked around at everybody. Dave was gripping the steering wheel tightly as it jerked in his hands.

The moms were telling us to stay seated and calm, and Mr. Walters was now standing, bracing onto the seat looking out the front. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. The bus seemed to be moving on its own, and it hit the dip in the shoulder, Everyone was screaming and being jerked to the right. And when all the weight shifts in something like a large bus, it's not good. The bus felt like a big toy being thrown around, and we all felt it tilting.

I watched Dave furiously trying to control it to get us back on all tires, but I don't think it was in his control anymore. We all felt the pull to the right, as we hit the ditch. and in that moment, it felt weightless. We had flipped and were now at a stop. To make it worse, we all had our instruments with us that slid right along with us. Some of us landed on top of the hard cases, while others such as myself ended up with them piling on me. I didn't move. I was trying to determine if this was all real, until I heard Dave ask if everyone was okay.

That's when I started hearing people groaning, some crying. I looked under me and I'll never forget seeing the window flush with the dirt and snow. We really were on our side, in the middle of nowhere. I slowly sat up and looked around, and everyone else was in a similar position to what I was in. The four adults started to help the kids, removing instrument cases and doing quick lookovers, to make sure we were all physically okay. Dave was apologizing for everything, but I still don't believe he did anything wrong.

Based on the way the other adults responded, I don't think they did either. Once we were all standing, I think that it's when it finally hit us. We were all stuck there until help arrived. Dave shut off the bus. Of course, we couldn't keep it running, but that just meant we were going to be in vain.

the cold for a while. Dylan's mom was on the phone calling for help, and we could hear someone shouting outside. We all tried to make our way to the front of the bus, and we saw a car, the same one that was hit by the truck, had stopped on the shoulder, with a woman shouting towards us. Dave went to the back of the bus and opened the emergency door. He said that we should all get out for safety reasons. And slowly, the adults all helped us out at the bus. leaving everything else in it.

I heard Dylan's mom say that help was on the way, but they didn't know how long it would be due to the weather and how many accidents there already were around the state. This was some time ago, so most of us kids didn't have a cell phone. We couldn't even phone or text our parents to tell them what had happened, and that we were okay. Once we were all out, the lady said that she saw what happened, and wanted to see what she could do to help.

She was in a small car, a car that had some damage to the bumper, but she still stopped, which was incredible of her to do. I wish that I could say the same for the truck that caused all this, but they were long gone. Between the 12 of us kids, we all took turns warming up in the lady's car.

She kept it running, and we managed to cram five of us in the back seat, one person basically sitting across, the lap of the others, and two in the passenger seat. The rest of us stood outside, huddled with the adults, who were talking about the incident. Another car came by, which was apparently the woman's husband, and he brought this huge container of hot chocolate for us, and we managed to fit the rest of us in his car. It was still a situation that we didn't want to be in, but at least there was still some good

out there. The woman could have kept going, just like the rest. She could have left after making sure that no one was injured. But instead, she stayed with us and even had her husband bring us something to keep us warm.

We were out there for a little over an hour before two cop cars showed up. They were driving the larger SUVs and after talking with the adults, they all came up with the plan. Between the two cars and two cop cruisers, they were going to take us to a safe and warm location first.

Then, we just had to wait for a replacement bus to pick us up. With the amount of people in each vehicle, we were all driving slowly. A cop in the front and in back driving with their hazards on. They took the next exit, and we all piled out and into a little restaurant that gave us water and coffee while we waited in the heat. It was nearly two hours later when they finally. got a new bus for us. One of the cops came back with us

and went over things with the adults before we finally got on our new bus. Dave got to sit with the rest of us as we had another bus driver, and I think that was for the best. He could relax a bit, and not have to worry about the rest of the drive,

because I know that part of him felt responsible. Mr. Walter did his best to try and lighten the mood by testing us on our song knowledge, and getting us to sing the songs. It seemed really cheesy at first, but it worked, and it even loosened Dave up as he started shouting, Play me some Aerosmith. Even the new bus driver seemed to be enjoying our banter. We finally arrived home around 11 p.m. with all the delays. Apparently Mr. Walter had all

of our phone numbers and had called our parents to let them know what happened, so they were all waiting for us at the school when we got back. We had to leave the bus and all of our equipment behind, so we didn't get to get our instruments back until around a week later. Amazingly, no one had been seriously injured. Only bruises, but I don't think the bus came back. We all got our instruments, but Dylan said that his bus was now a newer one, remembering the seats now being dark blue instead of the dark red they used to be.

To my surprise, multiple people witnessed the accident, and, including the couple that stayed with us, the person's license plate was captured, and they called it in to report it. I don't know if they ever caught them, though, but I do remember my mom talking about it. Dylan's mom said that the lady told her, and that the operator said multiple people had phoned it in. At least people weren't completely heartless and still called for help for us. So that was the worst accident that I had ever been in, and while it was terrifying and I learned a very valuable lesson about driving in the snow, I also learned what it meant to help those in need, and that one woman has always stuck with me.

I hope what I experienced never happens to anyone else, but if it does, I hope that someone does the same thing for them, because I know that I would in a heartbeat. that one helpful face can make all of the difference. Hey, Raven, I love the stories that you tell. I always find them to be so refreshing and not just retold tropes. Thank you. Anyways, I worked at a hotel during the time this happened.

The last dream on my mind before going to work was the following. I was being attacked by some unknown monster. Out of nowhere a giant's, think 100-foot snake, came and protectively coiled around me and fought off the monster. Now, I've been at that hotel at this point for about a year. No critters have ever wandered inside. I see what happens to be a tiny toy snake, so, laughing at what I think is a prank, I go to pick it up.

To my shock, it moves. Slightly. There was no way in hell I was going to let anyone hurt it, so I put him in a box and watched it during my shift. No one was missing a pet, and based on the looks and what I found online, it looked like it was just a wild snake that had wandered in. I'm glad that I picked it up, because as soon as maintenance saw it, they said they would have just killed it. I returned him to the wild. I never understood the significance of it being small until tonight, as I was thinking about it. It protected me as I was helpless and small, and gave me the chance to return the favor, this time as the giant.

I appreciate snakes, and I will always treasure this moment. Thanks for reading, Raven. Hey, Raven, here's a story that I thought you could read on your podcast. It happened to me a while back during a camping trip with my boyfriend, Greg. It's still something I think about, and it was one of the creepiest nights I've ever had. I was asleep when the soft jingle of the zipper stirred me away. At first I thought it might have been the wind, or just my imagination playing tricks on me, but then I heard it again.

The zipper was moving, slow, deliberate, it, like someone was outside, unzipping it. I nudged Greg awake. Did you hear that? I whispered, trying to keep my voice calm. He stirred, eyes groggy, but then he heard it too. The tent flap slowly opened, flapping gently in the breeze. We held our breath, waiting to see what or who was out there, but the space outside was

empty. It was just darkness beyond the tent. In the silence, I heard something else. Like someone was urinating on a fire? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Do you hear that? I whispered again, shaking a little by now. Greg nodded, listening closely, and fumbling around for anything he could use as a weapon. The fire popped, smoked and crackled. As the stranger extinguished the fire plunging us into complete darkness. Suddenly, the air filled with a sharp, pungent smell, like rotten eggs. I muttered. What is that? Greg whispered.

Eyes wide with unease. Is that sulfur? The scent grew stronger, thick in the air, making it hard to breathe. Then in the quiet, I heard it again, breathing. Soft, raspy breaths just outside of the tent, though nothing was there. No shadow or figure. I grabbed the torch next to me and scrambled to turn it on, but the light wouldn't work. I clicked it again and again, my hand shaking, hitting the torch in desperation for a sliver of light.

We need to get out of here, I whispered, my voice trembling now. We bolted out of the tent, stumbling into the cold night. The torch finally flickered on as we ran, but it was dim, barely cutting through the darkness. Every few steps, it flickered off again plunging us into the shadows. Suddenly I heard footsteps. Close. Too close. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and the heavy breathing was almost right behind me.

The breath so near that I could feel it on the back of my neck. My legs felt like jelly barely. able to keep moving. Just as I thought I couldn't go any further, Greg grabbed me. He threw me behind a fallen log, his hand clamping over my mouth. I could feel the pounding of my heart in my chest as we lay there trying to stay as quiet as possible. The footsteps slowed.

Whoever, or whatever it was, stopped, just feet away from us, searching. I didn't dare move, I didn't even breathe. Greg's grip tightened as the figure lingered, listening and looking around. The silence was suffocating, each second feeling like an eternity. Then the steps moved forward again, slowly fading away as the figure walked past still searching for us in the dark. Tears streamed down my face, as I stayed as still as I could. My body was trembling with fear. I don't know what happened after that.

The next thing I remember was waking up to the sound of birdsong. It was morning. I heard a crack behind me, a twig, snapping, and someone tapped on my shoulder. I spun around and screamed, but it was just a ranger. Relief washed over me. I stood up and hugged him as tight as possible, feeling both fear and relief. I finally felt safe, really safe. We told him what had happened.

We explained how we had been chased and didn't know who or what it was. But the strange thing was is that he didn't look at all surprised. It was as if he knew something we didn't. Like he was aware someone or something was out here. That's when I looked into the ranger's eyes. They didn't look human. They were black. Just pure black.

I tried to scream as he started to strangle me, crushing my throat. I fought for air as my feet dangled and he lifted me higher with ease, an unnatural strength that I had no chance against. But seemingly out of nowhere, Greg hit him as hard as he could from behind on the head with the big branch. Growning in pain or shock, the ranger's grip on me weakened and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin.

coughing and sputtering I ran as fast as I could we ran and ran and saw our car parked just ahead we tried to open the doors but they were locked our stupid keys were back at the tent I stood there crying not knowing what to do still coughing and trying to catch my breath I looked at Greg and he looked at me with fear in his eyes he grabbed the first branch that he could and stood there ready to defend us We were too tired to keep going and we knew our time was running out.

But just as we thought there was no hope, a van with two guys in it pulled up and asked if we were okay. I yelled no. Greg joined me in the back seat as he yelled, Drive, get the hell out of here now. There's some psycho when they're trying to kill us. The guys took one look at my bruised neck and believed us. They spun the car around and we drove away as fast as possible.

I don't know who or what it was that we saw, but we know that we are never going camping 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 the platform you're on has the option to follow podcast and you enjoyed my work, please do consider doing so. Also, leaving ratings and reviews are super important for the algorithm to support the growth, of the podcast. I'm just one guy doing this. I don't have a team. It's literally just me doing everything. So any supports like that is greatly appreciated. Never expected, though. So if you go above and beyond with that, I do appreciate it. Some platforms also allow you to leave comments, and if you

feel inclined to do so, please do. I would appreciate that. I do have a Patreon in a merch store that you can also check out if you want to support a little further. The Patreon side of things get you early access to all of my content. It is formatted differently as it goes in line with what my YouTube channel is, but it is the same stories, just different collections. There is also a website astherravendreams.com, where you can check out pretty much everything about me, my social media platforms, fiction stories I've written if you want to read those, as well as submitting your own stories, which there's a big button on the front page you click to do so. And those stories basically keep the podcast alive, to be honest with you. So, yeah. All that said, friends, I do hope

that I see you again here very soon. Until then, remember that you are loved, that you are valid, that you are important. You're the best you that you can be. Don't forget it. And until next time, much love and sleep well.