As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 176 - Scary Work, Past Life and Small Town Stories

Episode Date: May 21, 2025

Today, on the 176th 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 terrifying work stories, scary small town stories and some chilling Past life stories. If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to like or rate the podcast, and leave me a comment with your thoughts if the platform your own supports it! Scary story episodes 2 to 3 times a week (New stories On Wed/Fri, Comps/remasters on Sundays) If you have a story to submit, would like to find where to listen to the podcast, or want to find me on social media platforms, all of that info can be found at https://www.astheravendreams.com You can also send stories into my subreddit (r/theravensdream) or email them to me at [e-mail] Want to check out some ATRD Podcast Merch? ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Or for signed merch ➤ https://ko-fi.com/AsTheRavenDreams I wrote a novel, "The Insomniac's Experiment" by Raven Adams! Check it out on amazon (Or you can email me for a signed copy!) Join Patreon to get early access and support the Podcast! ➤ https://www.patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Check out my gaming channel with my pal Ghost_Ink ➤ @superNefariousBros On YouTube Disclaimer ➤ Episodes include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Listener discretion is always advised. ALL Audio and visuals on this podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format. Bless This Mess. #AsTheRavenDreams #TrueScaryStories #GlitchInTheMatrix Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in todays episode... Hidden Fox, Ya Boi, FatherClaude, Shane, ALuckySister, Kelly, Tom Keithley... As Well As Any Author That Has Requested Anonymity. TimeStamps… There will be an Ad break after the 1st story and after the 5th story. 1 ➤ 00:57 2 ➤ 14:59 3 ➤ 29:28 4 ➤ 41:40 5 ➤ 55:45 6 ➤ 1:01:00 7 ➤ 1:15:20 8 ➤ 1:19:09 9 ➤ 1:31:52 ----- #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #GlitchInTheMatrix #RedditStories 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

Ahoy there, friends. Hopefully you are having an amazing day so far. Hopefully it continues to be amazing for you. And hopefully the rest of your week goes very well. By the time this episode goes live, I will be on the highway. And considering the time I schedule these four, I will probably be in the middle of Iowa. So, yeah, good stuff. Very exciting chapter for the future, like I've mentioned. Like you all have said before in my comments.

Signing on a house on Thursday. So pretty psyched for it, pretty excited. Yeah. Anyways, today we have some stories for you, as always. A little longer one. Work stories, past life stories, and some small town stories. Some really good ones in my opinion, and hopefully you all enjoy them. And hopefully I see you again here very soon.

But until then, my friend, much love and enjoy. One thing no one ever taught me when I became a father was how to react to my own kid talking about his old life. No, he wasn't adopted. He wasn't an orphan. My wife gave birth to him and we've had him his entire life, but he seems to remember differently. From the moment my son, Claude, named after my grandfather,

started showing interest in things. He seemed to be drawn to lighthouses. We had a nautical theme in his room for a while, and we just assumed it was because of that. His walls were a dark blue with one wall of wallpaper that had a scenic view with the lighthouse. His mobile over his bed had a lighthouse, a boat, a helm, and other similarly themed items. We just thought it was cute that he seemed really fascinated by it and clung to it.

The way he watched the mobile move was like he was in pure awe of it all, and as he got older, he seemed to just stare at the wallpaper. His fascination really grew when he was able to. to talk, draw, and articulate more. Any type of blocks he played with, he always built a tall tower, and he would put one of his little people at the top of it. He loved playing what he called boats and watchers.

He did his best drawing lighthouses, too, and even made a yellow circle around it, trying to indicate the light that circled. When he could talk more, he asked for more books about lighthouses. It was like any other child's obsession with dinosaurs or superheroes. His was just lighthouses. We found a few kids' books for him that were about the lighthouses, but he wanted more.

That kid doesn't have a mean bone in his body, but I could tell that he was expecting something different with the books. So we took him to the library so he could pick out his own. To my surprise, he went to basically an encyclopedia about lighthouses, a book that explained how they worked, listed different ones, the structure, and how long they've been in use. Not what I was expecting a kid to be interested in. He picked it out and immediately began flipping through the pages. I thought we would get home and he would just forget about the book,

but surprisingly, he was saying, sitting on his bedroom floor flipping through the pages and talking to himself about the different ones. He was mumbling things like, no, not that one, kind of, but it was all gray. No, the windows weren't like that. It was such a strange but interesting thing. I'm a schoolteacher and my wife is an accountant. Neither of us have any particular interest in maritime history, and we live in Ohio. hundreds of miles from the ocean.

So we never understood where this fixation came from. The only thing we would correlate it to was his bedroom theme. And we wondered, could we really have accidentally influenced him that much with it? But we learned there was more to it, more than what he would say to us. When we took our first real family vacation together, we were talking about going to a theme park of sorts, such as Universal Studios, and we asked him what he would prefer. To our surprise, even still, he didn't want to go to any of those. He asked to go see a real lighthouse. We wanted the trip to be memorable for him, and we felt going somewhere he didn't

want, or somewhere he wasn't interested in, was not a good impression. So, we changed our plans entirely to spend a week-long trip on the New England coast. While up there, we visited two different ones and even went to a museum about them. Claude loved it. He seemed very focused on what the people were saying in the museum and the lighthouses, and asking a lot of questions. But I still didn't understand his enthusiasm. I was absolutely willing to support it.

But then we were passing one in Maine that changed everything. It wasn't one of the famous ones, just a modest lighthouse on a rocky outcropping near a tiny coastal town. We weren't actually planning on stopping at it since there weren't any signs for it or anything, but Claude was insistent that we go. Similar to what I mentioned before, he's typically an easy-going kid, and typically pretty calm. But that morning, he was adamant. He wasn't asking as he normally. normally did. It was more so, we have to go there. I need to see it. It's important.

The way he stressed this, told my wife and I that we should stop. As we drove down the narrow coastal road, Claude seemed to become more and more eager to get out of the car. He was reaching up, trying to look out the window more, and constantly looking around the area. and as we drove, he said very matter-of-factly that the lighthouse entrance was to the right. We curved around the road, and there it was. The entrance directly to the right of the bend. There was no way to know that from where we were. We parked, and as my wife was unbuckling him, he mumbled, I remember this one.

She asked him to clarify, and he ignored her, and just began walking towards, the lighthouse, which is when she told me what she heard. Once we reached the lighthouse, Claude put his hand on the gray stone and smiled, looking toward the top. His eyes looked watery like he was about to cry. My wife asked him what was wrong and all he said was, I lived here a long time ago when I was grown up. My wife and I looked at each other, not really considering what he said at the time.

I know at first I thought that he was just playing around like he did at home. Maybe this one he saw in one of his books, and he liked it more than the others. But the way he said it, with that certainty, gave me the chills. There was a man right inside giving information and a tour of the lighthouse, sharing some of the history of said lighthouse. As the man went through his normal information, and Claude would respond with certain affirmations confirming what the man said was correct. Towards the top, as he continued talking, Claude touched part of the wall that looked slightly off.

The man started explaining how lighthouses get damaged and examples of damage, but Claude shook his head, telling him that he was incorrect. He explained how that part of the lighthouse was damaged specifically and then said, I had to fix it myself because nobody could get out here for weeks. The man chuckled and made a joke about how many times the lighthouse keepers may be left alone for weeks or months due to storms, so it was possible. He asked my son if he knew who took care of this one and Claude didn't hesitate. I did, Charlie.

My wife and I looked down at him confused. His name was Claude, and his middle and last name were not even close to Charlie. So where did this come from? But even more shocking, the man said that he was correct, that Charles was the keeper from 1872 to 1891. I asked Claude if he had read about this lighthouse in his book, and he said no, that he couldn't find it. The man nodded and said that this was not a common lighthouse.

It was smaller than normal and so run down that it's not one that's portrayed in books or movies. He said that you only really knew of this one if you lived in the area or were part of the family that owned it. But he did talk a bit more about Charles, saying he was one of the longest-serving lighthouse keepers, and then Claude started asking more questions about the lighthouse and the surrounding area. He asked about the vegetable gardens south of the property

and about a particular type of lens that had been used in the 1880s. The guide was visibly impressed by his knowledge and kept asking, asking how we knew these things. The hair on my arm stood up because I had no explanation to offer either. From there, the man guided us to a small building near the lighthouse that had been turned into a small museum on one side and a general store on the other. There were a few glass displays with some of Charles' personal bloggings,

including a pocket watch, an old warped logbook, and what looked like an old Deggerro-type photograph of a man I presumed to be. Charles. Claude pressed his face against the glass and smiled. He looked up at us and said, Yep, that's me. That was me. He pointed at the photo and then pulled his arm back,

rubbing his left one. He said that the scar on Charles' left hand was from an accident. As he put it, I got that when I was fixing the lantern during a storm. The glass broke and cut me really bad. My wife nudged me at that point, and I knew why. Claude actually has a birthmark on his left hand,

nearly identical Charles's scar from that picture. Walking away from the displays, there were small trinkets and gifts that you could purchase. Claude picked up a small book that was more informational about the town we were in than anything. It had a small section in it about Charles, too. He also grabbed a pamphlets about the town and the lighthouses in the area.

Then he picked out a small notebook that was made to look similar to the logbook that we saw in the display case. Claude then asked if he could get those items. Well, they weren't exactly something a child would normally pick out. The way he asked was very childlike. It was the first childlike thing he had said since we arrived. And because of the bizarre experience we all just witnessed, I couldn't say no. We approached the register and the woman looked just as amused by his selection.

He explained to her that he was Charles and he wanted something to remember him by. We got to talking while she checked us out. She even gave us the book for free. And we learned that the man at the lighthouse was her husband, and that Charles was actually her great, great, great uncle or something like that. The way Claude's face lit up to this was incredible. At that moment, he looks like a very happy and proud parent, as he listened to her go on about her family history

and how she opened the shop as a way to honor his memory and pay the bills. Before we left, Claude asked if he could hug the woman and she agreed. He hugged her like he knew her his whole life, like he'd been on this earth a lot longer than ten years. Afterwards, we left, and I don't think anything could have wiped the smell. mile off of his face. As we left, my wife and I were at a loss for words, not knowing how to react to this new information.

But Claude seemed different. He was calmer, peaceful. He thanked us for stopping by there and said, I'm glad we came here. I think I needed to see it again to make sure I remembered. When we got back to the hotel, I asked Claude if he wanted to talk about it, and he sure did. He told us a few crazy stories about being on the water, how he was married but they never had children. He even told us about the storm that took his life, but the whole time he seemed to be an amazement as he recalled these past memories.

Then, the rest of our trip, it was back to normal. Nothing could dampen his joy. He loved everywhere else we went and thanked us profusely for the trip. Once we got back home, he read that book multiple times. times. He wrote in the logbook Charles's name, date of birth, and death, and where he was born. And that was it. He kept both on his shelf in his room and after a year or so he stopped talking about Charles. He still loved lighthouses, but it wasn't nearly as obsessive. Thinking back on this event today, nearly a decade later, I'm still in awe. Neither my wife nor

myself ever thought about reincarnation. We never really talked about our thoughts or beliefs on it because we aren't really religious, but this really made us think more about it. We wanted to be completely supportive of him, but based on everything I've read, most kids who have similar memories, they tend to fade and forget about it, especially after getting some kind of closure. But even though he doesn't talk about it anymore, he still Still has an appreciation for lighthouses, and he has kept that logbook ever since.

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For a bit of context, I was 23 at the time of this story, and I was a lot closer to my aunt Sharr than I ever was with my parents. She's my mom's sister, married young, then divorced. No kids, but she seemed to be. to understand kids better than my parents. She was always loving and welcoming. She didn't judge me or make me feel like I wasn't good enough. Needless to say, she was my home away from home and basically a second mother to me.

So when she was going to have knee surgery, I picked up some of my stuff to stay with her for a few weeks to help her recover. Aunt Sharr lives in a town that had maybe 1,500 people total. There was your town center, which had a handful of stores, like a single grocery store, a gas station on both ends, which I always thought was silly because they were never busy, as well as some other little shops around. Then there were just miles of winding roads sprinkled with random farmhouses and cabin-style houses. My aunt lived on an old farmhouse, about two miles from the town center, so she lived in the, quote,

busy part of town. So, she had a few neighbors around and even saw some people walking by to get to the gas station. I swear, I think smoking was an extracurricular activity in that place, and my aunt was one of them. So, anyway,

while I was there, I would spend my morning taking care of her, making sure she was comfortable and had everything she needed. She did have internet, so I was, I would spend a few hours working throughout the day, too. I would make our meals for us, so she didn't have to. Sometimes I would go for a walk and just explore the area before going home again to make dinner or watch a movie with my aunt. It was a pretty simple daily schedule, and quite frankly, I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed my walks because even if the town was small and run down, it was also a cozy little place. Most people were friendly enough, if not a bit reserved, to outsiders like me, which was fine. About a mile from my aunt's house was this bright yellow house that stood out against the typically muted colors of the other homes. It was well maintained with a sturdy black barred fence around the property. The yard was mowed and the blooming bushes near the mailbox were even trimmed, and in order. I passed it a few times during my walks and, thought nothing much of it, other than the owner really cares about their home and lawn.

Occasionally, when I took my walks in the afternoon, I would stop at the bloomed bushes to watch the bees fly around, and yes, literally smell the flowers. I think they were some kind of butterfly bush, but they smelled marvelous, and I could even smell them on a good, windy day. On one of my walks, I decided to try a new route, which would have me loop behind my aunt's property and bring me back to the main road. As I rounded a bend in the road, I realized I was approaching the yellow house from the back. From that angle, I could see a detached garage and a large shed behind the main house, all of it's in that same matching yellow. But this time, I saw a man in the backyard working on something at a table. He must have sensed I was watching him because he looked up at me and waved.

I smiled and waved back, and he called out, Beautiful Day for a walk. I agreed. And while I didn't plan on stopping, I did slow down some expecting a small conversation. He seemed normal enough, probably in his 50s, average build, wearing a T-shirt and khaki shorts. He asked if I was staying with Sharr and I confirmed with a raised eyebrow, curious as to how he knew. I told him I was her niece and was staying with her for a few weeks. He then asked how she was doing, after her surgery, and this seemed to ease my mind a bit.

I thought, of course, Kelly, you're in a small town. Everybody probably knows everyone else, so it made sense in my mind. I explained that she was doing well and just in a bit of pain at times. He nodded along listening to me from the other side of the decorative fence. His face then lit up saying that he had something for my aunt, that he needed to return to her anyways, and offered me a glass of lemonade saying it was homemade. I know, normally alarm bells should have been ringing,

or at least telling me to be cautious, but the man was old enough to be my father and he knew my aunt. Surely she would have mentioned me to him and others. So I agreed to have a glass of lemonade with him. He motioned me to his gate and opened it to let me in, to which I walked into his yard and sat on one of the plastic lawn chairs nearby. When I approached, he had been standing over a table with a cloth. From where I was standing, it looked like he was cleaning something.

but I couldn't quite tell what it was. Now, I can see that he had a large set of knives, daggers, and even a sword of some sort laid out on a towel next to some sort of cleaner. When he returned with the two glasses, he must have noticed me looking at the table and asked me if I was a collector. I told him that I didn't collect things with blades, but that I did have other collections. That's when I took a sip of the lemonade. However, it tasted off.

I couldn't quite place what it was, though. It wasn't exactly bitter, but it wasn't sweet, either. It's just that something was definitely off about it, and I didn't know what. After the collection conversation, he called out that I wasn't wearing a ring, and asked if I was married or seeing someone. At first I said no, which was the truth, but then me always. being a nervous person, I felt the need to lie. I said that I wasn't married, but I was seeing someone,

and it all came out in a stuttering mess. No, well, yeah, well, not married, but yes, I am seeing somebody. He seemed to be amused by my response and chuckled. He said he wasn't married or with anyone anymore. Then, he suggested that we should go have dinner somewhere while I was in town. He said this like we were old friends, surprised to see me in wanting to catch up. I was also surprised because of our age difference. I didn't even know him and he just assumed that his offer was completely normal.

I thanked him for the offer but then declined, saying that I was just there to help my aunt out and then I would be leaving. I noticed he became a bit more, how to put it, aggressive, yet. yet friendly? He sat his lemonade down, picked up the cloth and a blade, and began wiping it down again. He said in that aggressive yet calm tone,

well, you can take the night off. She's not going to die overnight from a knee injury. It wasn't him asking, it was him telling me to. And I immediately became uncomfortable with the whole situation. As I watched him wipe the blades down, it started making me feel overwhelmed, and dizzy, that I chalked it up to me just being awkward and out in the heat. Clearly I needed more water.

I sat the glass down on the same table as I tried to think of a way to leave. Then, he asked me a really specific and suspicious question. He asked me if I was feeling okay, and when I hesitated and mentioned that I was feeling a little sick, he then asked me if I was feeling tired. In fact, I was. I was fine while I was walking, and even when I got back from my walk, I might feel a little worn out, but not the way that I was feeling at that moment. I realized that what I was feeling was dizzy and, yeah, tired.

But why? It just came on out of nowhere, because I felt fine when I left for my walk. That's when he picked up my glass of lemonade, insisted that I drink the rest of it, claiming it would help. At that moment, I was getting pretty worried. I realized that I was in this man's backyard, a man whose name that I didn't even know as we never shared names. My aunt didn't know where I was because she was under the impression that I had just gone for a walk. Part of me felt silly, but I started panicking a bit and stood up saying that I needed to get back to my aunt.

That is when he grabbed my arm and told me that I needed to stay. It was like I was frozen in place, unable to move. We all say I would never let that happen, and I'm guilty of that too, but for some reason, I was too scared to move, too scared to really do anything. But when I didn't go back to sit in the chair either, it still seemed to make him mad.

He looked angry, and he made a comment that I will never forget. He said, This is my town. I'm part of the city council, and when I want something, I get it. Something about that comment was more sinister than the words itself. Being afraid for myself and how I was feeling, I asked him to let go of my arm, and surprisingly he did. He stepped back and laughed, talking about how.

my generation was too self-centered and greedy, that we didn't care about anyone else, and that we needed to learn to respect our elders. As he said this, I stepped backwards a few times, then quickly made my way to the gate. He didn't stop me. He didn't say another word. He just went back to cleaning the knives as I opened the gate. I'm not much of a runner, but I don't think I've ever run so much as I did after that. to get back to my aunt's house.

When I got back and burst through the front door, I knew that my aunt could see the terror on my face, and she asked me what was wrong. I told her about the guy in the yellow house, and I watched as my aunt looked very concerned. She explained how that guy was named, well, guy, actually, and she said that he was a real creep. She apologized for not mentioning him,

but she also didn't expect him to come out of his house and harass someone on the street, after being bullied basically to stay home. Curious and concerned about what I had just gotten myself involved in, I asked her to tell me more. She explained how he was with the city council at one point, but he was kicked out due to some sort of inappropriate conduct. She mentions when she got married, he would try to hit on her all the time and try to fight her.

fight her husband. He also tried to get way too handsy and aggressive with one of the waitresses at their little restaurant slash bar down the way, so he was kicked out of there too. They couldn't really do much to him, legally, so a lot of people just bullied him to stay out of certain stores and just steer clear of him, which was probably why none of the other residents, including my aunt, mentioned him, thinking he would just keep to himself. But the more I thought about the interaction, the more creeped out I got. I remember that he said he had something to return to my aunt, and he never did bring it out with the lemonade. According to my aunt, he would never have anything of hers that she willingly gave him,

so she felt that it was just another lie. Then I was worried about the lemonade. It had a strange taste, and I started feeling strange afterwards. I wondered if he could have done something to it, maybe spiked it, but then what could he have possibly put in it that I would feel the effects after two sips? I took a normal drink the first time, which is when I noticed that it tasted funny, and then I just tried a small sip, holding it in my mouth long enough to try and identify the taste, but I couldn't.

If he did drug it, it was strong, but at least it wasn't enough to knock it. me out, and I was able to get back with minimal issues. After that, I stayed pretty close to her home, just walking up and down the streets, if anything. I never saw him again. I was worried for my aunt at first, like what if he tried to do something to her because of me, or because she had knee troubles now, but she assured me that she would be fine, joking about her arms being able to swing her metal bats just fine. I even visited her on occasion after that, and he's come up occasionally. She said that she still had not heard anything about him,

so I guess he was back to being a creepy hermit. Hopefully no one else had family visiting, and got reeled in like I did from his pseudo-friendly neighbor disguise. Hey, Raven, I hope all is going well with your voice. I think so. Thank you for including my crazy stories, in your recent posts. It is truly an honor to have you reading them and sharing them with the world,

and you have the perfect reading style to really bring to life the crazy stories that people share. Thank you. This story took place actually a couple of weeks back during one of your liminal streams. When I tuned in at work, but honestly, crazy things kind of took place all that week leading up to that Saturday night, and a bit the Sunday after. I work at a pizza place part-time, which I'll refer to as Emperor's Pizza. Since the situation I'm about to share, have made it up to the corporate level of the actual company. Our Emperor's Pizza location is in a strip shopping center connected to a gas station,

and we share the shopping strip with a donut place and the gas station convenience store. For the past few months, there has been a constant issue with the new manager of the donut shop, shop, having a vendetta against my manager at Emperor's Pizza, because my manager had recently broken up with an abusive and drug addict boyfriend, who was also the donut shop manager's brother. The donut shop manager, we'll call Jenny, since she's vindictive and might retaliate against my boss again, if she ever heard her name mentioned. She's that crazy.

Jenny began making it hard on my boss first by telling her employees to her employees to to berate and refuse service to my boss. And eventually she ramped things up and began having her employees question and then rudely refused service to people they suspected as friends, family, or even fellow co-workers of my boss. Because Jenny had a problem with her, all of which is illegal in many ways. Eventually, corporate management caught on since our pizza place in the donut shop were owned by the same company. and at the time of this story, they had gotten involved. I myself also was mistreated when I went to the donut shop with my wife for coffee,

and I haven't been back since. And our management told us that we would be fired for escalating the situation if we went over to the donut shop for anything. It actually got that bad, because it turns out the regional manager for the donut shop had a personal relationship against company regulations with Jenny, if you catch my drift. And his job was on the line if he didn't come to her aid,

even though she was in the wrong with the whole situation. The manager was stuck doing whatever Jenny wanted, and she was set on raising hell and getting my boss fired. So here we are. The backstory helps give some clarity to what actually happens at my job, leading up to the day that I caught Raven's Saturday stream on YouTube for liminal spaces. Monday, we dealt with someone reporting our pizza place for having bad ingredients and making them sick, which prompted an inspection from corporate, which we passed easily because it wasn't true.

Tuesday I was off work, but I was told that a customer had been sent over to Emperor's Pizza to purposely raise hell about a wrong order, and later on my boss found out that the customer, was actually a friend of Jenny's. Wednesday, someone unidentified, was caught on camera overnight, and had blocked up our dumpster door with trash. That investigation is still underway, but it was very convenient how only our dumpster was blocked up, and not the other two. Thursday, I was off again, but we received a handful of random bad reviews online,

which prompted an investigation by corporate, who pulled camera footage. transaction receipts, and tried to verify the bad reviews, only to find out that all of the recent reviews were fake. Friday, we dealt with someone in a dark hooded sweatshirt, hanging around our building before we opened. And then they left and came back hours later and hung out behind our building until we called the cops. The cops didn't see anyone or catch anyone. It's Saturday.

Well, Saturday was the day it all really went down. It was evening time, around 7 p.m. And I was making dough as usual and had just tuned in to the liminal stream that Raven was hosting on YouTube, not long after it started. I heard shouting and then yelling up front. A man had come in frantic, bleeding, and bruised pretty badly on his face and arms, and asked us to please call him an ambulance. From what my boss told me, the man who came in for help, who we will call him, called John, was a regular customer, and had been one for a few weeks. John said that there was a guy in a dark hooded sweatshirt walking around the gas station lot,

in the surrounding sidewalk with the baseball bat. He saw John walking up, and without warning, the bat-wielding man chased him down and began beating John with the bat as John tried to flee. Once he got away, John ran to us for help. but the man with the bat got away. The odd thing was the baseball batman didn't say anything or try to rob John. He just launched a full-on assault and started beating him. We did call an ambulance, and a dozen police cars and an ambulance were on site within a few minutes.

John was taken to the hospital, and the officers took statements and camera footage from our store and the gas station, as well as the donut shop in an attempt to find out more about the attack, and see if they could see where the baseball batman came from or went after the attack. They also left a police car at our store and had a couple of units rolling around the building, and the surrounding neighborhoods on patrol, before the officer up front came in to update us on their bolo for a man in the hooded sweatshirt, running around with the baseball bat. They hadn't found him.

But in addition to the report of the hooded sweatshirt man hanging around our store on Friday, apparently there was an earlier incident that same Saturday, at a fast food place a few miles up the road, where the police were called on a man matching the same description, who apparently had a fight with an employee, left, and then came back to burst one of their front windows with something and ran off. There are a lot of woods and some large neighborhoods that connect to various roads and such in our area. So it wouldn't be hard for a guy like this to disappear, which is probably why the police seemed like they couldn't catch him.

A few hours after John left in the ambulance, and the officer stationed up front left as well, one of my coworkers was working to resolve an issue with a customer who was insisting that their pizza was cold, even though it was ordered online and had just come out of the oven when the customer came in. The customer ended up throwing the pizza at my co-worker and thankfully missed, since an oven-fresh pizza with cheese, pepperoni,

and scolding hot pizza sauce can cause all kinds of burns. We called corporate again, and unfortunately there wasn't much that could be done except for telling my boss that they would document the incident and keep an eye out for another negative review. By this point, I was ready to go home. And honestly, apart from being tuned in to the liminal stream, I was irritated. I ended up being at work until around 12 a.m., making extra dough for Sunday since I wasn't scheduled to work.

And my wife came to pick me up from work once I was done. Sunday was uneventful, but Sunday night was crazy. My wife went to the gym in our apartment complex. with her sister, and I originally decided to stay home. I kept hearing sirens outside shortly after she left, and I began feeling weird, so I checked in with the community group for our complex to see if anyone knew what was going on. A few posts were cracking jokes about it, but those posts were silenced after someone said that the police were combing the area for an unmarked white van, with a shooting suspect that had just

fled the scene of a shooting. I got up, got dressed, and texted my wife that I was coming to join her at the gym so that she wouldn't have to walk home alone after her sister left. And while I was texting her, I heard the roar of a helicopter overhead. I walked up to the front of the complex, seeing police cars everywhere on the street, cutting through our complex, and converging in the empty parking lot of the department store just outside of our complex. A-life flight helicopter landed there, and I took out my phone and immediately started filming as I walked up.

I shared the footage of the scene there with the community group, and a few minutes later, I got a private message from one of the community group members who told me the story of what was happening. Apparently her source was one of the officers involved, her husband. Apparently, witnesses said that a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt was seen trying to get into one of the unmarked work vans parked at the edge of our parking lot. Someone inside the van opened the rear door during his attempt, shot him several times, and then the van took off. Police were looking everywhere for the van, and since the sweatshirt man was in critical condition, they were bringing him to the department store parking lot to transfer him to a life. flight, which apparently this department store lot was used as a waypoint for life flights,

since it was flat, open, and easier to land in. As I read the messages, I couldn't help but wondering if this was the same man that beat John with the baseball bat and had been hanging out around the Emperor's Pizza before, since the description was almost the same and the officers never caught the guy after what he did. The whole situation became unsettling. and after the life flight left, I headed to the gym at the front of our apartment complex and met up with my wife to tell her what happened.

The whole situation is crazy, and I apologize for how long it is. Nothing else has happened since then, except the donut shop manager Jenny starting a rumor that someone was rushed to the hospital after we served them bad pizza, and that's why the ambulance was there Saturday. I hear she's actually about to be fired, so good riddance. By the way, if you haven't already, definitely check out the community nights and streams that Raven hosts.

They're really fun and definitely worth it. Thanks for the plug there, buddy. Thank you, Raven, for giving us an awesome campfire community to share our stories with and not feel alone out there with the things that we experience. This story isn't actually about me. but about my younger sister Sherry. Ever since we learned more and she shared more of her experiences, I've been fascinated by the idea of past life stories.

Listening to similar stories on YouTube, it finally kicked me into gear to write up my sister's story to share, with her permission, of course. Growing up, Sherry was always different from the rest of our musically challenged family. Where I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, she had an immediate and unexplained affinity for music the moment she could reach a keyboard. No one in my family were musicians. My parents got me a cheap, used clarinet when I wanted to try out band class, but I was terrible at it.

My sister wanted to do the same, but she was still in grade school, and they didn't offer band at that point, beyond recorders and triangles. That didn't stop my sister from having a complete meltdown in a department store, when my mother tried to pull her away from a display keyboard. My mom tried to tell her when she was closer to my age that she could try an instrument, but I'll never forget my sister's explanation as to why she wanted to play so badly, and why the keyboard. In the store, she looked down at her hands and said in the saddest voice, my hands need to play.

So, for her birthday that year, my parents bought her a small keyboard. thinking it would be abandoned like most children's gifts, that she would play around with it for a few months, and then never touch it again. But instead, Sherry began playing that thing like she's known how to for years. She placed it on the coffee table, sat in front of it, and after pressing a few keys, she placed her hands on it gently and started playing it.

She didn't play a simple nursery rhyme either. Instead, she played these complex-sounding songs that were beyond what a child her age should be capable of playing. I remember my parents both being impressed looking at each other, like, how does she know how to do that? And then asking her about it. Cherry again would just look down at her hands and say they remembered how to do it. None of us understood, so my parents said that she must just be naturally good at, it and let it go. Sherry played that thing constantly, and by the age of eight, my parents wanted to look at finding her a piano teacher trying to hone in on this unique skill that none of us

seemed to have. My mom had a friend who used to be a music teacher, so she asked her about it. Now, this is coming from what I was told by my sister and my mom because I wasn't there, but my mom told us how her friend was reluctant to teach Sherry because of how young she was. She said kids that age usually have trouble focusing on something such as music that long, or they're unable to move their hands and fingers fast enough to keep up with or reach the notes. But then after their first meeting, she asked my mom if she was seeing someone else or watching instructional videos. When my mom told her no, she explained her amazing. She told her that Sherry had a technique of someone who had been playing for decades.

Sherry continued getting lessons from my mom's friend for a few years after that, progressing rapidly and showing a particular affinity for romantic-era compositions. I remember watching her play at this contest at the age of 12, and she seemed to enter an almost trance-like state, often closing her eyes and swaying to the music. Her skill seemed completely unexplainable, but we were all proud of her and certainly impressed. The only thing she ever mentioned to us about it was remembering how to play, but none of us knew what she meant by that. But fast forward in time here to 2012, and we're both adults.

Cherry is 28, and I'm 32. We both have our own lives and different careers. She became a music teacher, and I work in marketing, yes, long abandoning any love I had for music. Sherry never pursued a concert pianist path or anything like that, but she said that she loved her job and that it was quite fulfilling for her, for the most part that is. She would tell me on occasion that something was missing from her relationship with music,

but she could never figure out what. Then she called me in spring of 2012 and asked me about taking a vacation with her. I was up to the idea thinking we would go to our normal destinations, but I was surprised to hear her say that she wanted to go to Vienna. I had traveled out of the country before, that wasn't a big deal, but I had never been to Vienna, and she had never left the country. To my surprise, she had already gotten her passport and everything that she needed. needed. She was really just counting on me to agree with it.

I was hesitant at first, but when I asked why Vienna, it was her response that really told me I should go. She said, I really need to do this, and you're the only person I trust enough to do this with me. Then she went on to explain how she'd been having these dreams about a yellow building and music she had never played before. She said in her dream, she saw a road sign indicating that it was in Vienna. She said, I think something will be there for me to help explain everything. It was just cryptic enough, and the concern in her voice was just enough to make me leap at the opportunity. After a bit more planning and rescheduling some things, we got the trip planned and set up. We had a pretty shaky itinerary, but honestly,

I was okay with just being there with her. Sherry and I had always been close, and we hadn't been able to have a vacation like that in a few years. So when we got to our hotel, Sherry completely abandoned what we had planned and wanted to just explore. A little odd, but again, I was okay with it. We went to a festival that was being held the following night.

We went to a few local cafes and tried some new things. things, and I couldn't help but notice how happy Sherry seemed to be. She seemed to love the atmosphere, everywhere we went. It was like she had been there before and was soaking in being back there again. Then on our third day there, we were walking around a new area, exploring the shops, when Sherry suddenly stopped walking. She was staring down a narrow side street with such intensity. I thought maybe she saw someone there,

and that we needed to get out of the area. Instead, she said that we needed to go there and pointed to an older-looking yellow building. I tried asking her why, but she refused to say and just begged me to follow her, so I did. The house turned out to be a small museum dedicated to music. As we entered, Sherry moved through the exhibits

like she knew exactly where she was. She led me to a glass display that contained a few personal items that belonged to this pianist. I had never heard of her, not that I had a lot of knowledge and older composers, but Sherry on the other end seemed to be connected. The plaque explained how this person was a promising concert pianist

during the 1830s and 1840s, but she wasn't famous by any means. The display included her gloves, some sheets of music with handwritten notations, and several letters. Sherry put her hands, over the glass where the gloves were, and she said, her hands hurt her a lot.

I tried asking what she meant by that, when an older woman approached us. Based on the way she was dressed, and the name tag, she clearly worked there. She asked us if we knew who the pianist was, and when I shook my head, Sherry said that she thinks she does. The woman said she heard Sherry's comments about her hands,

which is why she asked, because based on the information they had on her and what they found in her diaries and records, the pianist suffered from what we now believe was rheumatoid arthritis. She explained how it ended her performing career, which she documented in her personal diaries. Those diaries weren't in public display either, so how could Sherry have known?

The woman then led us through the rest of the displays, telling us more about this pianist. When we reached a room that had been set up to recreate a 19th century music salon, complete with the piano. I remember seeing how Sherry's face lit up to see it too. She asked if she could play it, and the woman was hesitant at first. She explained how it wasn't normally allowed, but she pointed at Sherry smiling and said that she seemed special,

and asked her if she knew how to play. After Sherry explained her musical career, the woman agreed to let her play for a few minutes and guided her to the piano. I will never forget how she sat at the piano, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then began playing this hauntingly beautiful piece

that I didn't recognize. I had heard plenty of pieces as she played them at home or during shows and contests. This one, I had never heard her play before. I studied the woman's face to get her read from her, and I watched her go from one of concern and confusion

to shock and impressed as she smiled at my sister. When Sherry finished, the woman asked where she had learned that song. Sherry told her that she thinks it was the pianist from the display, and I can't make this up. They spoke at the same time. Sherry said, memories of home, where the woman said something in German and then smiled because it meant the same thing.

Without making eye contact with us, Sherry revealed that she thinks that she, was the pianist in another life. She explained her dream more in how she pictured the countryside where she grew up. She explained how her hands would hurt so much and how it was painful to her knowing that she would have to stop playing. All the woman could say was that the song Sherry had just played exists only in manuscripts in their archive,

but were never recorded or performed publicly. She told us that if Sherry knew this, then what she was saying had to be true. that the same pianist wanted another chance at sharing her love for music. She had just accepted Sherry's confession like she had heard similar stories before. I was speechless. How long had my sister felt this way? Did she know this as a child growing up?

And was this why she was so good at playing? Is this even possible? I mean, how else would she have known this song? The woman showed us some other items they had of the pianist, that weren't on display, and we both stood in awe when Sherry remembered some of the items. After some time, and we had seen and talked about all we could, the woman gave us a list of places to visit that had connections to the pianist. She then took Sherry's hands into her own and welcomed her back home before we left.

For the rest of our trip, we visited the places the woman gave us, including an old apartment building where she had lived, a small church where she had performed, and even a park that offered the view that the pianist described in her letters. That same view was one that Sherry had dreamt about, that she had explained in detail to the woman and I. When we returned home, we had a family dinner where we talked about our trip, and Sherry actually brought up her experiences

and how she believes they were connected to her abilities to play the piano. Except, my parents didn't talk about things like reincarnation. They weren't religious, but they also were skeptical about things like past lives and the supernatural. My dad claimed there was an explained reason for it all. But privately, my mom confessed that she can't explain what happened to us in Vienna. She's more willing to consider the alternative explanations, I think, but she chooses her words carefully when the subject comes up. Since our trip, Sherry has really embraced her past life recollections.

She plays that pianist's piece, occasionally, and I've even watched her play pieces and write it down trying to reconstruct it. She's never played it in a concert, as she says, out of respect to her. She said that she wants to honor her life, but that she doesn't feel like playing the piece as Sherry would be the right thing to do. So, she just plays it for me and plays it for herself. As for me, I don't have any other explanation, nor do I have any reason to not believe her.

Watching my sister's fingers move across the piano keys, especially as a seven-year-old, playing music that by all means should have been lost to history, makes it pretty impossible to dismiss the idea that somehow, Across nearly two centuries, that pianist's musical memory has found its way back through Sherry's hands. And, until there is another solid explanation, I'm there 100% to support my sister. Howdy, Raven, I've been listening for about a year now. I love all your content that you've made, and the glitch in the Matrix stories are my favorite.

Your stories get me through the long shifts at my current job. This is my first time submitting my story due to just laziness, and the slight feeling of anxiety I get every time I think about this experience. But I feel it would make a good story for the channel. This happened when I was 16. It was the summer between freshman and sophomore year, and I wanted some extra money for the school year just in case me and my friends wanted to go out during lunch. It was my first job, and I got to work with my mother. She worked at the laundromat of a hotel, and they needed someone for the front desk during the day. She recommended me as I was bilingual, speaking both English and Spanish fluently,

something they needed as some of the housekeepers there only spoke Spanish, and the manager only spoke English. I worked from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., Monday through Friday, for that entire summer. I managed what floors got assigned to the housekeepers and made sure all of the guests that were supposed to leave that day left on time, or if they needed extra time. I'd accommodate that and communicate it with the housekeepers. I would also clean up the breakfast area once 10 a.m. came around and checked people in once it was 3 p.m.

One of the housekeepers came to me at around 11 a.m., telling me one of her rooms was still locked, and that no one was answering from the inside. Expecting the guests to have left without informing me or them staying an extra night, I came up to the room with her to see what was up. I knocked on the door and made my presence clear. Front desk, I said, expecting to hear a reply or a shuffle on the other side of the door. I knocked again after a few seconds without hearing a reply. Front desk?

No reply. I used my master key to unlock the door. I'm coming in, I said, making sure to let them know, so they didn't think someone was breaking in. The door opened an inch or two before stopping. The chain locked was still attached. The little chain you can use to make sure no one enters the room even if they have a key. I closed the door back and told the housekeeper that I would wait an hour before trying again, since you can only have the little chain on if someone is inside the room.

About an hour later, the housekeeper comes back and tells me that she's done cleaning every other room except that one. I grab my master key and head up to the room once again. I knock and announce myself again. Front desk. No answer. I wait a couple of seconds and knock a second time. Front desk.

This time I hear a little shuffle on the other side of the room. door like someone's getting up from under the covers. I hear really quick footsteps getting closer and closer to the door, as if someone is angry and walking to unlock the door. I backed up a couple of steps, fully expecting an angry guest to burst to the door to yell at me. Just as it sounded like they were on the other side of the door, the footsteps stopped. I waited for what seemed like hours, but realistically was, at most, 20 seconds.

I turned a look at the housekeeper and back to the door before knocking one last time. Front desk. Hello? I stated before I unlocked the door with the master key. I'm coming in, I said as I opened the door. But this time the door opened all the way. No chain lock. The room was dark and cold.

The AC must have been blasting all day. The beds were made a mess and towels were thrown everywhere, but no one was inside. What did I hear on the other side of this door? I clearly heard someone get up from under the covers and walk towards the door. I asked the housekeeper and she said that she heard it too. The room was empty. There was no way they could have left in the short span between hearing the footsteps and me unlocking the door.

The room was on the third floor of the building and the windows were closed, not to mention the bug screen was still on. I would have heard them walk back or take off the chain lock or something, but the room was empty. The housekeeper refused to stay inside the room, so I assigned the room to a different housekeeper. To this day, I cannot explain what I heard. If it was just me, I could explain it as me being crazy,

but I wasn't alone. The housekeeper heard it too, and it was clear where the noise was coming from, directly across the other side of the door. I'm going to try and give as much information here, but not make it run on too much. I will say that the locations will be vague and names changed because this does involve my family,

and I'd rather just not to put all that information out there. Otherwise, this is something that affected my family heavily, but also many others that were in the neighborhood. I grew up in a pretty small town with probably no more than a few thousand people in it. When I say everyone knew everyone in their business, it was no joke or exaggeration. I remember when something happened at my dad's work and he would have to rush home just to tell my mom before she found out because she was likely to be on the phone, getting the details from one of her friends if my dad wasn't fast enough.

Honestly, that's one of the main reasons I stayed out of trouble at some. school. I messed up one time in class and thought that I could get away with not telling them exactly what happened, but they already knew everything before I even walked into the house. This is just to give you an idea of the size of this town and how fast word travels. Because of its small size, there really weren't any choices in regards to career and family, unless you wanted to be a car mechanic or a receptionist, or maybe staff at the only elementary school in the area. Needless to say, I couldn't wait to leave.

After I graduated, I left and really only ever returned for holidays or those random visits per my parents' requests. They still lived in the same house where I grew up, never moving, never even considering it. It was a two-bedroom home, and when my little sister came around, I was moved to the basement. It was at least finished and had a door, so it's not like they kept me locked in a dirty dungeon. Every time I visited, the town looked the exact same, like it was frozen in time. All the houses were just slightly more run down with each visit.

But then, when my dad died suddenly of a heart attack, I had to take leave of absence from my job. to help my mom and settle his affairs. He wasn't in the best of health, but he also wasn't even close to knocking on death's door. He also never had any heart conditions, so it was completely unexpected and hard on all of us. My sister had moved on the way across the country to California, so she was planning on being there for the funeral, but wasn't sure when she would be there prior and how long after. But what was supposed to be a two-week visit stretched into nearly three months, and I started noticing things about my hometown that I'd been too young or self-absorbed to see before.

One of the first things I noticed, and yes, I did notice it each time, was the drug store near the edge of town. The sign was always big and in good shape. The windows clean and covered with ads, stickers and other window clings. It was there for as long as I can remember. It was owned by an older man when I was younger, but then his son, I'll call him Dave, took over some time after I moved out.

The place always looked great, and I always thought that it stood out from the rest of the town. There was an old mill that basically kept the town running when my parents were younger, but it closed down shortly after my sister was born, which affected most of the people in town. Someone and your family worked there, and mine was included. My dad and grandfather both worked there when it closed. He was forced to find another job as a car mechanic. My mother then got a job at the elementary school as a lunch lady.

At least I was in middle school by that point, so everyone was just trying to keep their heads above water. Multiple small businesses were closed, and building, were boarded up, but the pharmacy was always thriving. I remember mentioning it to my mom one night, trying to make a joke, and she just shrugged and said they do well because everyone gets sick and needs medicine, and then changed the subject. I thought it was odd, but just reminded myself that she probably wasn't in the best headspace. Then came my dad's funeral. People came and gave it. their condolences, but it was the other conversation that had me really concerned.

Dave, from the pharmacy, was there, and even came over to talk to us. I will never forget the way he hugged my mom and how stiff she was during it. He then told her that if there was anything he could do to help to reach out and she just nodded. Exactly what could he possibly do? And why did she seem so nervous around him? But then walking around and talking to the people that I did remember, I heard people talking about Dave, and how this RX helped with that,

and Dave was even talking to others about prescriptions. I was confused, but even more, I was pissed. It was like people were doing their business, completing their errands at my father's funeral. It felt completely disrespectful to me, but I didn't feel like it was my place to say anything, so I left it alone, but knew that I was going to hold a grudge on Dave because of it. About two weeks after the funeral, I was helping my mom go through my dad's stuff.

He had turned the spare bedroom into a makeshift office and storage room, and my mom was ready to get rid of his tools and other things, aka I was going to end up taking some stuff home. I went to pull stuff out of the closet and found a small bankers box filled with different pill bottles. Most of them were empty, but some of them still had pills in them. The labels all showed that they were prescriptions made out for my dad for multiple hardcore painkillers. I'm not going to list them here for obvious reasons. I was shocked.

I had no idea that he was on any of these or that he was in that much pain. I know he messed himself up from work in the mill, but I didn't know it was to this extent. Enough so that he was taking all of these. I brought the box to the living room, and I asked my mom about it. She barely looked over at the box when she said it was for my dad's back problems. I told her that there was enough in there to stock a small hospital, with each bottle holding 60 to 90 pills. I also pointed out the dates because he was getting multiple prescriptions.

filled at the same time, from different doctors. One doctor would not give him this many prescriptions, so the fact that he was going to different doctors was a bigger problem for me. My mom then made a comment that didn't make sense. She just said that Dave did his best to take care of your father. But Dave could only fill prescriptions. He didn't write them. What did he have to do with it?

The incident at the funeral and then this, was enough for me to ask questions. So, I went and asked Dave about it. I went to the pharmacy with that box to ask what the hell he had to do with all of this. I asked someone else that worked there for him, and he came out, and immediately escorted me to a small room in the back. He asked about the box, and I opened it and showed him all the pills. I asked him what the hell this was,

and he tried to say the same thing my mom did, that he was helping my dad. I was pretty angry and said that if these were all being filled by him, then he was a piss-poor pharmacist, because he was on way too many pills at once. That was dangerous, and I wasn't convinced that it wasn't what led to his death. Dave did not take that well, and said that he helped my dad,

that he took care of everyone in the town and that I needed to watch what I said. Something about the way he said that made the hair, on my next stand. That sounded like a threat. I took the box with me and left. I tried asking a friend of mine that was working at one of the car shops still, and he refused to talk about it. He was vague and tried to change the subject.

When I brought it up to my mom again, she had tears in her eyes when she told me to just drop it. It was more like she was pleading, rather than asking, and that scared me. What the hell was going on that? that people didn't want to talk about. I even reached out to another friend that had moved away. They stayed there after high school to help with her mom and she wasn't doing good,

but when she passed, she finally left. Or so I thought that was what happened. After talking to her, she explained that when she filled her mom's prescriptions at Dave's pharmacy, he offered her something that was supposed to help with her anxiety. However, it was just another pain pill. After her mom died, she had spiraled even further, and she quickly got addicted to those pills to the point that it nearly killed her.

I was livid. Not only did he have no care for the prescriptions he filled, but he was obviously just giving out pills that weren't prescribed. What were the odds that he could have done something like that to my dad, and that that could have led to his death, too? But my friend warned me that it wasn't worth pushing. She said that I should get my mom to leave and just never come back. Her reasoning, the cop that saved her when she OD'd,

was from a different town as she had been out with friends. She told them everything and they actually started an investigation in to Dave's, trying to prove that he was more of a dealer than a pharmacist. However, the detective that was working on it actually went missing. There was a text message typed on his phone about, quote, leaving. It was left in his car on the side of the road and there was no indication of where he went. Some people say he must have fallen over the ledge that his car was on, but not even his body was found. That was pretty eerie in and of itself. What was Dave capable of, or willing,

to do? Was he involved in this disappearance? Even the sheriff in that little town was in Dave's pockets, so I knew he wasn't going to do anything about it either. That kept me up all night. I didn't know if there was anything I could, or should, do. Or if I should just get my mom out of there. I confront it Dave already. Would he try to do something to my mom? I was afraid that this whole town was wrapped up in this, and that she would be a target because of me. So, the next day, I did everything I could. I did everything I could. could to convince my mom to move. I offered her a room at my place, but she wouldn't bite.

Then, a few days later, there was a brick thrown through my mom's front bay window. This was midday. Who would do that without any fear of someone catching them? I wasn't there when it happened either, as I had left to go get something. My mom was terrified. While I hated seeing my mom in tears like that, it did finally convince her that she may not be safe there. She spoke to her sister, who lived in between my mom's house and mine,

and she agreed to stay with her for the time being. We did our best to keep to ourselves, as we finished cleaning out her home, taking what was important to her, and we just left. I offer to do all the work for her to sell it, but she wasn't convinced anyone would buy it with the work that it needed anyways. I got her to my aunts with no further issue, but I did look into things more once we were back home and saved. I learned that there were several other people that had died in the town for other suspicious reasons.

There was my old English teacher who died from a supposed overdose on sleep meds. Someone I had gone to school with had died, and three former mill workers who also died from complications of chronic pain. I get that it could be a real thing, but it was just a really bad feeling. Knowing what I did about my old friend and my dad, I ended up leaving an anonymous tip to some drug line. I don't remember. I was just hoping that someone could investigate it further with backup so they didn't go missing, too.

This was all back in 2011, so it's been quite some time ago. But unfortunately, I haven't. I haven't heard anything about that town. I don't know anyone that lives there now as my only friend that was still there eventually left too. And most of the older people that I know had also passed. Or, I just had no way of communicating with them. I haven't been contacted by anyone either,

but I know I tipped them off anonymously, so I'm not surprised. I'm honestly just waiting for the day to read something about them arresting him. But I also worry that they may be running out of time. Hi, Raven. There is a weight on my shoulders. A weight that I've been carrying for a long time. I'm going to tell you and your audience my story so that I may share my experience with a sympathetic ear. And in doing so, perhaps I'll finally be able to forgive my...

myself and move on. So let me begin. I awoke in the dark, unable to see anything. I wasn't sure where I was or how I got there, but I was alone with only my thoughts to keep me company. Do not forget, I said to myself. Do not forget.

I was holding on to a memory, something that was very important to me, and somehow I felt that this was the reason I had ended up in this situation. Do not forget, I said to myself, as images of that memory filled my mind and filled the darkness in which I found myself. Whenever had happened to me prior had put me into some kind of holding pattern, and now all I knew was the darkness, the memory in those three words do not forget.

How long had I been here? How much longer must I keep? this up, I wasn't sure. Then, something distracted me. Something that hit my senses through the darkness, a change in temperature, a sound, a feeling of warmth. No, don't be distracted, this is too important.

Do not forget. I said to myself once more. And once again, I went into a trance-like state, with just myself, the darkness, and the images of that memory. But this time the images were gone. So complete and so sudden was my amnesia that I wouldn't have even realized it had happened. If it were not for those three words that I was still repeating to myself, do not forget.

Those three words had been my mantra, my mission, my reason for being had suddenly become a source of anxiety, of worry, and of painful realization that I had forgotten. I had failed. I would have cried. I would have screamed, but I couldn't. Instead, I began to choke. I couldn't breathe. And that's when I realized where I was.

I was in a pool of water and I was drowning. Desperate for air? Desperate to escape? Was this how I die? And then with a flash I was surrounded by light, cold, harsh, unforgiving light. This is the story.

of the first memory that I can recall. For a time, I thought I must have invented it, but eventually I came to realize that this is the story of my birth. The sense of failure that I experienced in the womb was so emotionally devastating that it induced my mother, and as a result, I was born five weeks premature. I have no idea what I was trying to remember. Sometimes it feels like it's almost coming back to me,

but then once again it's gone. I'm really not sure what I should do. Should I get a past life regression? Or should I let it go? Perhaps we're not supposed to remember these things for a reason. And what if I had managed to hold on to that memory for just five more weeks? Would life be different now? I really don't know.

Hey, Raven. I figured it would be time to recall some of the craziest adventure. from my adulthood. Specifically, when I worked for a small business that was both an electronic recycling center and a computer repair and resale shop. The first one of this saga of true crazy stories is one that I'll call the phone, simply because that's what the story was technically about. But there's, of course, more to it.

I don't know if this would count as a workplace horror or just a creepy encounter, but here goes. In 2022, I worked for the newly formed Electronics Recycling Center location for a small chain of computer repair and resale stores, and was there for a couple of years. Since I knew the owner and had substantial skills in repairing, building, and otherwise fixing computers, I was brought on board to help with simple tasks like refurbishing what computers we could for sale in the storefront, listing electronics that we tested for either sale as used or for parts on the company eBay page, and otherwise helping market and promote the business, since I knew my way around social media and have extensive knowledge as a social media marketer.

Here and there, I would also accompany my co-worker on pickups, where companies we knew would call us to go pick up their old computers and electronics with our box truck. We had perks working there aside from being paid, that is. For example, we had dibs on certain electronic parts and could build or fix up our own computers, and I myself built about three of them. One was for my wife, who actually needed an all-in-one for her home business. The building was actually a remodeled single-story house,

which has been converted into a recycle center after the owner purchased it from the city. That's enough backstory on the job, so now we get to the reason why this store is creepy. Part of my job was taking whatever people donated, or whatever we hauled off in the truck, and testing it to see if it turned on, was usable for parts or was genuinely just garbage. This meant dismantling devices, checking batteries, and pretty much playing around with electronics all day. And for a nerd like me, it was exactly what I was looking for in a job. There was a day a few months after I started working there that a box of old tablets and iPhones came in.

And when I mean old, we are talking first-generation iPads and a few of the iPhone 3s and 4s. I went through my process and began checking the devices. But there was one particular iPhone 4 that had actually turned on and seemed to still work pretty well. It had a background photo that looked like a teenage girl. and then I noticed the back of the phone was bedazzled with the little plastic jewels, so it clicked that this had to be some teenage girl's old phone before she got a new one. I kept on checking the device. It won't tell you everything we did since we have tricks as repair guys for getting into and wiping devices.

And once I connected it to the test Wi-Fi, suddenly the phone began to buzz. All kinds of notifications. mainly text messages began to pop up. And eventually the phone ended up ringing. I told my co-worker who told me to turn the phone off and ignore it, which the owner also backed up his comment with, wipe it and get it ready to sell on eBay. This wasn't uncommon since people often left old electronics of all kinds with data still on them.

And we did forensically wipe devices and drives before ever reselling anything. So, I said, sat the phone aside and continued to work. About an hour later, my co-worker and the owner left with the box truck to go pick up another round of donated electronics from an old office building across town, and said they would be back in a few minutes. I've worked the recycle center alone before, and I knew what to do, so I wasn't worried. Boy, was I wrong.

The iPhone rang a few times, and then text messages began streaming through it, and I didn't read any of them mainly because I was trying to prepare the eBay listing for the device, and get the model number before having to wipe the phone and store it in the back. I connected the phone to the iTunes desktop software and saw that it was named Haley's iPhone. And once I got the info, I shut the phone off, but not before getting a glimpse at the last message on the screen from someone named Kelsey. Oh my God, your phone's back on. Where are you? Please call us. I don't know who any of these people were, but not long after I shut off the phone,

the business phone for our recycle center began ringing. The first time I picked it up, no one said anything, and then hung up. The second time, a woman was asking about our hours of operation and seeing if she could drop off her son's flat screen since she got him a new one. The third through fifth times, the phone rang no one said anything, and eventually I stopped answering it. because it was creepy, and now I was beginning to feel nervous. I locked the front office door since our recycling center location wasn't a walk-in type business,

and since we had a lot of electronics all around us on shelves. The owner permitted it, especially when one of us was working alone. And I'm glad that I locked that door. From my station, I could see out the front windows into the tiny parking lot, and we usually kept the blind's clothes so that people couldn't see inside, especially after hours. I noticed that a small blue sedan pulled up rather quickly from the road, but the man inside seemed to be sitting there in his car and didn't get out.

I watched him right up until I got a call from the owner asking me to check for a specific type of computer part in the back storage area, which I did go look for. but while I was back there I noticed something through the blinds of the small window near the back door, which was also in the storage area. The man from the car up front was actively walking around the back of our building, looking around frantically, and then he spotted the back door. It was locked and bolted.

But the man tried the door and then began pounding on it and kicking it. I moved back towards the front workstation area and told my boss, who was still on the phone, that someone was trying to get into the recycle center by force. He told me he would call the cops while he checked the cameras around the outside of the building and to see who it was. I don't know why I didn't just call the police myself, but the man was definitely trying to get in. The owner was smart, so all the rear windows had blinds and bars on them to keep people from seeing or breaking in. But our front door was still a regular house door, and eventually the man came to. around the building yelling and screaming about something, and then eventually began banging on

the front door too, which was also bolted and locked. I also slid a chair under the doorknob to help secure it. Not sure if it would help, but apart from that, there were plenty of heavy items within arm's reach that I could throw if I needed to, you know, if he actually got in. The man shouted at the door something that sounded like, I'm gonna game over you like Pac-Man, or something ridiculous. And he looked like he was in his mid-forties, balding, a Caucasian guy with an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt with a tank top under it and shorts.

He wasn't fat, but he wasn't far from it, and he had thin, rimmed glasses. I remember this because it's what I told the police when I hung up on my boss and called them myself. The local police station wasn't far from our location. and the man shouted that he could hear me and said he just wanted the goddamn phone, and that we had no right to keep it from him. It took me a minute to really put it all together, but since the only phone I had worked on that day that turned on was the iPhone 4 that belonged to Haley,

I assumed he was either a related person to her or had something to do with her, but I wasn't about to find out why he was trying to break into our store, and I stayed quiet. The police pulled up quickly while he was out front, and the man tried to run, but the officer was able to chase him down. After speaking with officers who did take the man into custody,

and apparently he had a gun on him, the phone was given to the officers who said that the man might have been able to track the phone once it was reactivated. And since we didn't know the person who dropped the phone off in our recycle bin, we couldn't tell the officers who actually gave us the device. But they did take Haley's phone, and all the phones and tablets from that box

as evidence. I wore latex gloves when working in the recycling center, but they said either way that they would be able to get it to their lab and figure out what they needed to know. I hadn't wiped the phone or done anything to the data, so it was pretty much good to go. They also brought a team out and went over the man's car with nothing shy of a fine-toothed comb. and also had it towed away afterwards. A few days later, the owner told my co-worker and I that the police contacted him and told him that the phone belonged to a girl who had gone missing from her high school, and that the man who had come looking for her phone was now a suspect in her disappearance.

They requested copies of our security footage and took a statement from me since I was there when everything happened. They asked me if I had made any copies of the information from the information from the same. the phone when I first connected it to the desktop. I told them I wasn't sure, since I didn't really have a chance to do much with it before it started ringing, and I told them that I didn't read any of the messages, except for the last one from Kelsey, who turned out to be Haley's best friend, who was devastated by her disappearance. The officers were at my computer station for a while, seeing if anything was backed up onto the computer, and then said that they would be in touch if they had any other questions.

The whole ordeal was crazy for me, and explaining it to my wife when I got home was even more of a task. We didn't hear back from the police after that, and about a week later we saw a story in the local paper. Yes, we still get those, then a man connected with the disappearance of a few high school teenage girls had been apprehended during an attempted break-in at a local business. They left out the name of our store, and in the small photo near the story, the man's mugshot had been posted, and it was definitely him, only now he was sporting an orange jumpsuit. Apparently, he was going to prison, but was cooperating with investigators to identify and locate the others involved in the ring of kidnappings.

I still never knew why he came to get the phone. And even as I think of it now, it didn't make any sense. Crazy people do crazy things, but one thing is for sure. Had that man gotten inside the store, there would have been a lot of heavy computer equipment going airborne. I also still never understood what the man meant when he said he would game over me like Pac-Man. No idea, but as Baffling... as it is, I'm glad that I never found out. Also, the lady who called that day in wanted to drop off the flat screen from her son

did eventually come in. And since we don't recycle TVs, she let me keep the 43-inch beauty as a gift for working hard. She had no idea what happened at our center days before. The following is a write-up on the case of Ken McElroy, a case of vigilante justice. July 10th of 1981, a day that will live forever in the lore of Skidmore, Missouri. It was on this day that a small town stood up for itself after years of living in the terror of a man by the name of Ken McElroy. Time and time again, McElroy had been brought into court, but every time through various

tactics, including witness intimidation, a favorite tactic of McElroy's, he managed to evade justice time after time. So, after he shot an elderly store owner the town had had enough, they made their own justice when Ken McHilroy was gunned down in a hail of gunfire, yet no assailants were ever convicted in the killing. To this day, no one from the town will talk about who all participated in the act of vigilantism. I'm not here to glorify this case, despite the nature of McElroy's character.

I want to approach this as unbiased as possible, because at the end of the day, a man was killed. For better or worse, it is not my place to judge, nor try to convince you, the audience, that the cold-blooded murder of someone was or was not justified. Whether we think it was right or not, we do have to acknowledge that it was indeed an act of murder. in Ken's background. It was on June 1st, 1934, that Tony and Mabel McElroy had their 15th of 16 children, Ken. A poor migrant family, they were living in Overland Park, Kansas at the time of Ken's birth. As a large, poor family, life was particularly hard for Ken and his siblings, where you had to fight for everything you got.

and often underhanded tactics were resorted to in order to win over the weaker siblings. Thus, Ken learned to lie, cheat, and steal to survive at a young age. Though one of his favorite tactics was also born of this upbringing, the one he would resort to most often throughout his life. Intimidation. No stranger to violence through his life as he grew up, Ken was not afraid to get physical in order to get his way. As a teen, once he came into possession of his first car,

he became very good at theft in order to keep his car mobile. If he needed gas, he would often siphon gas from the other cars in town, or parked at the rural farms in the area, or steel to earn money for gas. If his car had broken down or was in need of a new part, he would often target other people who owned the same, or a similar model to his own, and steal parts right off of them in the night.

He also became very persuasive with women, and began engaging in affairs with many of the married women in town, and often employed him in one of the most lucrative adventures, livestock rustling. At night, Ken would go and steal livestock from farms around the area, and, in the morning, have one of his mistresses go to the local live-suits, stock yard and sell the animals for cash.

One of the most tragic and dark aspects of the entire Ken McHilroy Iceberg is his last wife, Trina McLeod. Ken was already 35 and married to his second wife, Alice, when he met the then very age-ina inappropriate Trina. She wasn't even a teenager when she became a victim of Ken's predations. When she was 14 to escape the SR charges, Ken divorced Alice and got married to Trina in a very shady ceremony with no witnesses beside the bride. While her parents had initially opposed the marriage,

Ken was able to intimidate them by burning down their home. Just to make matters worse, he also took the life of the family's pet. It was prior to her marriage that she had become pregnant, and 16 days after she gave birth, Trina, Alice, and the baby fled from Ken, only for him to track them down and force them to return with him. During a period where Trina's parents were away, Ken also repeated his original punishment that he had dealt out the last time they had made him angry. And based on his known temper, one can only imagine how he might have punished Trina and Alice in his fury. One of the most tragic parts of Trina's story is that eventually she became just as sadistic as her abuser. Oftentimes, her and the couple's children would use the threat of Ken's wrath to bully, intimidate, and otherwise get their way among the townspeople.

They became almost as terrifying as Ken himself, because one word from them could have Ken McElroy raising all manner of hell in your place of business, if not you. your home. Throughout his life, Ken was brought up on charges 21 times, and every single time he managed to walk away a free man. Well, I'll accept the last time that is. The times Ken managed to go free were usually due to the sudden unwillingness of a witness to testify against Ken. He often intimidated them by following them, lurking around outside their homes and just being as ominous and threatening as possible, taking people's sense of security until they feared him more than the law. For years, Ken ruled through this fear.

Even when he wasn't around people, they were reluctant to speak ill of him, for fear that someone might rat them out in order to possibly gain a little bit of favor with this tyrant. Then, one day, he went too far. One day, he came into town in a fit of voice. rage and shot the elderly store owner, Ernest Bowencamp. Ken was brought up on these charges but managed to appeal his conviction and get himself released on bond. Of course, the first thing Ken did was begin a campaign to terrorized Bowen Camp and those

who were sympathetic to the elderly man's plight. On July 9th of 1981, Ken once more came into town angrily seeking out Bowen Camp. He found his target in the local tavern and armed with his rifle Ken proceeded to threaten the old man's life. Once Ken had left the town was a buzz with activity. Allegedly there was a kind of impromptu town meeting where it was decided that Ken's reign of terror had to come to an end. By any means necessary. And it was decided that if the law could not or would not help them, then they would stand up for themselves. and in a way that Ken McElroy wouldn't forget for the rest of his life.

The following day, Ken and Trina came into town. Ken went into one of the shops and got himself a pack of cigarettes. Then, as the town pulley got back into his truck and sat next to his wife Trina, Ken McElroy was shot dead in broad daylight. There were roughly 35 to 40 witnesses around, but no one was willing to say a word about who the shooters were. and to this day no one ever has. It was ruled, however, that he was killed by bullets from two different guns.

Who's to say that maybe one day a letter or journal or even deathbed confession may shed light on the 44-year-old mystery of just who killed Ken McElroy that day in 1981, while more than 30 people, including his wife Trina, watched on? And that is the tale of how one man held a small town in such fear that one day they hit a breaking point and fought back with lethal consequences. But when you kick a dog every time you walk past it, you don't make it highly likely that one day it's going to bite you. You make it inevitable.

Right or wrong is not my place to decide. When a life is lost, it's not a thing to take light, If nothing else, we should always try to understand what led to this outcome. Could it have been avoided? Ken McElroy was beyond evil. There were so many vile things that this man did to so many people. I will not say that the small town of Skidmore, Missouri should not have stood up for itself. But I will say that we should take a hard look at what brought it to a point,

where they no longer had a choice but to take the law into their own hands. and become vigilantes. 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 support 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.