As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 181 - Scary Family & Roadtrip Stories

Episode Date: June 29, 2025

Today, on the 181st episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast, we have 7 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 the horrors that come with family life, as well as some stories from the open road. 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... MadeUpName, Sara, Tom K, TraumaFromTheDead, Tracey, Hidden Fox As Well As Any Author That Has Requested Anonymity. TimeStamps… Midrolls after Stories 1 and 4 1 ➤ 1:44 2 ➤ 15:45 3 ➤ 27:10 4 ➤ 38:39 5 ➤ 46:47 6 ➤ 58:55 7 ➤ 1:11:51 ----- #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

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depop minimum, of 10 dollars, Veillet I'm in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply. Hey there, friends. Hope you're having a wonderful weekend so far. I know this episode is a day late, and I do apologize for that. Didn't mean for that to happen.

Just to be completely honest with you, forgot to put it up. So, yeah. It happens. I'm human for the most part. Between weekend stuff and other things just got ahead of me, no, got away from me. And yeah, just forgot to put it on the podcast. Sorry about that. Anyways, today we have some interesting stories, some road trip stories and family stories,

all of them terrifying, I guarantee you that. These stories were good, two of them are write-ups by Tom, so there will be a little more informational content in this one. Not a common occurrence, but it happens sometimes. But yeah, all of them genuinely terrifying, so hopefully you enjoy the stories. If you're on a platform that allows you to rate the podcast or comment, please consider rating. Be honest in your ratings. If you don't want to give me five stars, don't give me five stars.

If you want to give me a one, give me a one. It's up to you. It's entirely at your discretion. I would rather an honest review than a positive review that is dishonest. What's wrong with me today? That is dishonest. I'd rather an honest one star than a dishonest five. So if you like the podcast, great.

If not, I understand. I'm not for everyone. If you have a story you want to send in, please do go to as the ravendreams.com. If you found an Apple device, that website may trigger some problems for you. Don't ask or do. It's up to you. But if you have any issues with the website, just email me at as the Raven Dreams at gmail.com.

I get stories there all the time as well, so. Anyways, friends, we're going to go on to the scary stories. Hope you have a great day. Hope I see you again, but until then, enjoy. I wanted to share a story of my father, but because of the severity of it and out of respect for my mother, I will be keeping locations vague

and the names made up to prevent people from trying to find us. My family was the most ordinary that you could find. It was my mom. who worked as a substitute teacher, my dad who was an accountant at a local firm, myself, and then my twin brother and sister. We lived in a small three-bedroom house with a connected garage. My mom drove a minivan and my dad had a pretty old beat-up car. My mom worked at home sometimes when she graded papers, but otherwise she was home to take care of my siblings

until they were old enough to stay with my grandparents while she worked. My dad was up at the same time as me most mornings. He would be getting his shoes on or finishing his coffee while I was having my breakfast, so I would see him off. My mom wore nice skirts or slacks when she worked. My dad always wore the same dark pants and jacket. They rarely diverted from the normal routine, my dad even more so. My mom could be more fluid depending on the day, but not my dad.

His idea of changing things up would be not wearing a tie on Fridays. He was that kind of guy. I loved him regardless, and to me they both just seemed like your normal parents. But the most unusual thing about him was his home office. He set it up in our garage. Like many parents' home offices, I'm sure, we were told that it was strictly off limits to everyone. Even my mom seemed to respect this boundary.

When I asked about it, he told me that it was just due to private customer information that I wasn't allowed to see. As a kid, that made enough sense to me, so I avoided it. I had no reason to go into the garage anyways. My dad used to work in the garage at random times during the week, but he began working in there more and more during the weekend, too. Again, I was young enough that I just assumed he had a lot of work to do. My curiosity piqued when one day I was trying to find some tape. I asked my mom who told me to ask my dad, and he said that he may have some in the garage. He was in the middle of something, and that comment to me sounded like permission to go get it,

so I went into the garage and that was the first time that I saw his office. It was a one-car garage, so it wasn't huge, but I was surprised to see everything in it. I don't even know when he did it because I couldn't remember seeing him bring anything in other than a desk. But he had his computer set up out there. There were two filing cabinets, two chests with locks on them, and his old workbench pushed along the opposite wall. I knew that he had all kinds of stuff in his tall toolbox, so after staring at the desk, I went over to the toolbox to sift through it.

It wasn't long after that that I'd have. heard my dad's booming voice. What are you doing in here? It made me jump as he used his stern voice. I told him that I was trying to find the tape. I could tell that he wasn't happy with me, as he reminded me that I was told to never go in the garage. I tried to say that I didn't mess with his desk,

but he wouldn't hear me out. He yelled at me that I was not allowed in there, and I remember just being scared. I left quickly and locked myself. up in my room, wondering what I had done wrong. He later came up to my room and apologized but said that no matter what, I was never to go into the garage, and if I ever needed anything, I had to ask him to go get it, or to knock on the door if he was in there.

I didn't understand why it was such a big deal, but I agreed that I would not try to go back in there. But it's kind of one of those unspoken rules, especially as a kid. Whenever you're told to not go somewhere, not to look, whatever it is you want to. You want to do that very thing even more. So, one weekend, my parents were invited to a party by one of my mom's friends. They didn't have kids, so to me it would have been really boring. My siblings, however, were still rather young and they could be kept occupied by a single toy, or each other, for several hours.

Thankfully, at the age of 14, my parents trusted me to be home by myself for a few hours. My grandparents also lived on the next street over, so if I needed anything, I could just call them. My point being, this was my opportunity to, once again, go through the garage without being interrupted by my parents. They took my mom's van, so my dad left his keys hanging by the door. He had installed a deadbolt on the door to the garage, and he had installed a deadbolt on the door to the garage, he was the only one with the key. After they were gone for a good half hour, I finally grabbed the key and went to the garage,

ready to find out what the big deal was. I was expecting to find just a bunch of paperwork that I didn't understand, and a computer with no games on it. At first glance, that's exactly what I was seeing. His desk was neat and organized. A small plastic shelf with folders on it sat on the desk. The computer was password protected,

and after two attempts, I gave up, not wanting to alert my dad. There were shelves attached to the desk, and after trying a few of his keys, I found the correct one. Opening the drawer, I found more of the same. Some folders and notebooks, nothing far out there. But as I rifled around the drawer, I realized the back of it was soft. But looking at the back of the desk, it was hard metal. It was like the drawer had a false back. and after some finageling I was able to pull it down.

Now, this is where I got confused. I remind you, I was 14 and it was the early 2000s, and I was naive. I had a pretty normal family, and the worst thing I'd ever experienced or knew about, in our immediate circle, was when someone in the neighborhood ran over a kid's bike. There were no kids nearby, nor were they harmed. So when I found a small Ziploc back, with the soft substance in it, I didn't know what to think. There was also a small notepad that had various names and numbers next to it.

I put everything back as it was, including the false wall as much as possible. I opened the drawer above that had what I could only describe as a photo album, but it was filled with pictures of weapons, all being held by my dad, with our garage door in the background. I recognized it because the bottom panel on the garage door was a different color from the rest. I was confused. My dad never seemed like the type that was interested in collecting guns, so what was the point in a whole album like that? And on top of that, where were these weapons?

Because, as far as I knew, he never showed us any, nor was I aware of there being anything like that in our home. Were they somewhere in the garage too? The only place I could possibly think was in the large old chest that was against the wall. I tried every key on his ring and none of them worked. I was never able to confirm what was in that chest. I was starting to feel uncomfortable in the garage as something was telling me that this was not right.

That something about this whole thing was wrong, and maybe that's why my dad didn't want me in there. I made sure everything was back the way it should be, locked it all back up, and went to my room to try to distract myself. I know that I wasn't supposed to be in there, but something told me that what I saw was wrong. But I didn't know what, if anything, I could do about it. I didn't even know if my mom knew. When my parents came home, I couldn't look at my dad the same way. They both seemed normal, the same way as they left, but...

I couldn't shake those images of my dad holding all those guns. And unfortunately, that's how I saw them from then on. I had good days with my dad after that, but they were then clouded by those images. It was a few weeks that I lived with these thoughts, but it only got worse when I saw some strange men coming over late at night. The window in my room faced the driveway, so I saw my dad standing there with the few men. They would talk for a while, shake hands, and then leave. I had never seen them before, and they were never nicely dressed like my dad was. In the end, I did nothing.

I lived with what I knew and just watched my parents closely, noticing how my mom was never involved or seen with my dad when he did anything that involved the garage. That was, until one late night on a Thursday. I had been asleep, but was awoken to a loud thud. I thought nothing of it at first until I heard my parents arguing. I couldn't quite make out what was being said, but I could tell that my mom was clearly upset. I heard the garage door open and watched my dad walk out, toss a suitcase in his car, and burn out. I went back to sleep after that.

The next day, when I came home from school, I spotted my dad and two guys loading a lot of his chests and desk into the back of a truck. my mom standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. Once again, I had no idea who the men were. My dad gave me a hug and said that he had to leave for a while and told me how he was proud of me. And then he left. I asked my mom what he was doing, and she told me that my dad had made some bad choices, so he had to leave in order to think about it. That was the first time I mentioned the office to her.

I asked if it had something to do with it. his work. She looked at me suspiciously, like when a parent thinks you're lying, and after a short stare-down, she said yes, and then nothing else. Little did I know that that was the last time I would see my dad. He called me on my birthday that year, but then called one other time, where he argued with my mom, and that was it. Two years later, he was in a car accident that killed him. There were a lot of cops at our place. and they asked a lot of questions. After they were gone, that's when I finally asked my mom some of my own questions.

I asked her if his accident had anything to do with his work, and she said yes. I then specified if it had anything to do with the chests and drugs, and she looked at me surprised, and then she asked me how I knew. I confessed to her what I saw that night, and she gave me a little more information, but not much, as I was still barely 17 at the time. As you could probably guess, at some point, my dad started delving into a bit more than just accounting. At first, my mom had no idea and no suspicion.

Even though she didn't agree with how angry he got with me for being in there, but she just let it go. But when the strangers showed up at our place, my mom was no longer feeling safe. She did something similar to what I did while he was taking a shower, and found the same thing. That night, they got into a huge fight, and my mom demanded that he get out of it,

and he refused. So she kicked him out, threatening to tell the police if he didn't. That night, he chose that lifestyle over us, over his family. The police found incriminating things in his car and his apartment, which made them knock on our doors, and my mom told them that she had no idea,

what he was doing, but that they had split up because he had been acting weird. Nothing was in our home, and she was never charged with anything. I know that my mom did what she did to protect us, but part of me wonders what would have happened if I had spoken up sooner. What would have happened if I had told either of my parents what I found? What about the police? Could it have kept my dad from dying? His accident was suspicious, but nothing was ever.

determined beyond him crashing his car into a tree. My mom, siblings, and family are okay now, but it's something that's kind of become a bit of a family secret. Only certain people know the whole story. My siblings are not any of them. And I think my mom wants to keep it that way, which I can understand. She also remarried, and my stepdad is a great man. He owns his own carpentry business.

It's still something I think about on occasion any time I hear or see stories about drug-related crimes or even car accidents, and it brings back all of those memories and the what-ifs to my mind. Just a few years back, I took a mini road trip up to Indiana to visit my sister who had just had her first baby. The drive was going to take about 14 hours, but I was planning on doing it all at once. I work an overnight shift, so I was thinking I would drive overnight, get a few hours sleep at a nearby hotel, and then go stay with them for the remainder of my time. This would also mean little to no traffic because the highways are typically pretty empty at one in the morning. I let my sister know when I got on the road around noon and told her I would be at her place the next morning. The start of the drive was pretty normal. I stopped a few times for a restroom break and snacks.

and hit a little traffic around 5 p.m. Of course, I would be driving through a major city at that point. But once I got past that, it was back to smooth sailing, and a long but easy drive. It was around midnight, and it would be 15 to 20 minutes between seeing another vehicle. I was fully awake, but was needing a chance to stretch my legs, so I decided that I would stop at the next gas station to give myself a break. The sign I saw showed a single gas station on it, but I was fine with it. I didn't need anything extravagant, just needed a safe place to stop and maybe grab a drink.

Unfortunately, it appeared as though the gas station was not 24-7, as the sign portrayed because the lights were off and the door was locked. So I just took the moment to stretch and walk around. As I walked back to my car, I noticed my passenger front tire looked like to the car. low, so I pulled out my tire gauge, and sure enough, it confirmed my suspicions. Thankfully, their air pump was accessible 24-7, and I pulled my car over to the air pump to start filling it up, and decided to check the rest of them while I was at it. On the second tire, I started hearing the sounds of other tires rolling up in the parking lot.

I turned to see an old green van pull up to the pump and get out. Just another traveler stopping for gas, I thought. I continued to work on my tires when I heard a door open and close and feet walking closer to me. I looked over and saw a man in jeans and a t-shirt walking toward me. Beautiful night for a drive, he said with his hands out. I was friendly and agreed with him, and he asked where I was coming from. I was honest because he gave me no reason not to be,

and explained that I was driving to my sisters in Indiana. He whistled and mentioned how that was a long drive, especially overnight. I laughed and said that I was usually working at this time, so it wasn't really that big of a deal for me. He seemed surprised by that, mentioning how it's a hard shift to work. Then he asked if I needed any help. I thanked him, but declined,

seeing as how I was just putting air in my tires, nothing was wrong otherwise, no flats or anything. But then he got closer and crouched next to me and asked, mind if I take a look? I thought it was odd because I literally just said what I was doing. There was nothing wrong with my tires, but I just moved and motioned him over to look at it himself. To be honest, being a younger woman, I get that a lot.

While getting gas, putting air in my tires, Even one time I was changing my wiper blades. I'm not totally helpless when it comes to cars, but I digress. As expected, he stood back up and confirmed it looked like they were just low and that he didn't see any leaks or holes in my tires. Still, I was polite and smiled thanking him for checking. I noticed he was still standing in place, which was now blocking my driver door. I did the Midwestern thing and started motioning toward my door

when he spoke up and said, You know, there's a faster route than staying on the interstate, claiming it would save me about half an hour to get to the next major city. He pointed with an over there motion to a road that went behind this little gas station. He said that it was a county road, but from what I could see, it just looked like a dirt path that could lead up to someone's house. This wasn't the first time I had driven to my sisters, so I was not only familiar with the route that I was.

was taking, but also preferred it. Maybe it was a comfort thing, a familiarity of seeing the same places. But I certainly didn't want to take the unfamiliar dirt road in the middle of nowhere, in the dark. So, once again, I said that was good to know and thanked him, then motioned towards my door. Finally, he moved. I got in and he slowly started walking toward his van. He stood in front of it, as I pulled out. I certainly didn't take the dirt road, but got back on the same highway that I was already taking. Kind of an odd interaction, but it was what it was, I thought to myself, and moved on. At least now I was back on the road.

I wasn't on the road for very long when I saw another vehicle coming up behind me. I'm the type that, on an empty highway like that one, I will typically go about five, maybe ten, over the speed limit, so when this vehicle approached me as fast as it did, I knew it was going way faster than it needed to be. But I kept to the right expecting them to pass me. They did not. They stayed behind me and they were close enough that I could no longer see their headlights. It was so strange to me. Why, on such an empty road, would you do that to someone instead of just going?

around. But then as we passed under one of the few streetlights, I could make out that it was a green van, with something hanging from the mirror, much like the man that had stopped for gas. There were so many questions going through my head. Was he really following behind me now? And why? What good would it do? Based on the direction he entered the gas station, he was heading the same direction as myself, so that was okay. but if I wasn't going fast enough, why wouldn't he just pass? It was making me pretty uncomfortable, especially with how close he was following. I even tried slowing down to five under the speed limit, then ten under and he would just match my speed.

This continued for several miles, and I was getting more and more anxious. There were two cars in that time that passed by two, which for some reason made it worse from me, like my chances of help just kept on going, slowly fading into the darkness. I thought about taking the next exit, but then I was worried about it being just as remote as the last one I stopped at. If he was following, what would happen if I did stop? But then I saw a sign for a way station. This is where I thought I would take a chance. I don't know much about the station, but my uncle is a long-haul trucker and he actually told me a few stories about helping people on the road. So my thoughts went to him. Surely there would be someone there,

just one person that would help me. So I did something pretty stupid. I sped up as we got closer to the exit, so did the van. Then at the very last second, like tires dipping into the grass at the divider, last kind of second, I swerved over to the exit lane. for the station. Thankfully, this did exactly what I was hoping for and caught the guy off guard, and he didn't have a choice but to keep going straight. Once I exited, I drove up to the station and stopped. From there, I considered getting back on the highway,

thinking if he was truly following me, maybe he would turn around to get back, and I would now have a good start ahead of him. But then I worried about him catching up and being in that same position, so I decided to stay. I slowly rolled up next to a truck in my tiny little hatchback, and there was a guy standing next to the driver's door smoking. I remember the confused look on his face when he saw me.

He bent over to look in my window, and before he could say anything, I told him I was being followed. His reaction was just what I needed. He asked me who was following me. I explained that it was some random guy. He asked me to describe what he was driving and what he looked like, and then he told me what he would do to him if he stopped there and bothered me. I immediately felt relief.

I don't know what it is, but the truckers that I have met have always been very kind and fatherly to me. He radioed something in, and then walked me to the small rest building and offered to buy me a drink from the vending machine. I instead bought the drinks. We talked for a bit, as we looked around, but thankfully there was only one other trucker and a highway patrol officer that showed up. Little did I know that that officer was there for me. The trucker had called it in for me, and I appreciated it's even more. I explained to him what happened, and the cop looked at me curiously. I thought maybe he didn't believe me, but then asked me again about the gas station I stopped at.

The officer explained that the dirt road the guy was calling out pretty much went nowhere. He said that it led to a very small town about half an hour from the station, and that unless you lived there, there was no reason to go, because they didn't have anything. I understood the reason the officer may have told us, but at the same time, I kind of wished that he hadn't. That only confirmed my suspicion. The guy was up to no good. I try not to think about what his plans actually were. The cop offered to follow behind me to the next major city, and I accepted. I thanked the trucker for everything and left the station.

Once we got to the next city, I stopped and the cop said he was going his own way from there, and I again thanked him as well. I never saw that guy or any other weird people after that, but I also didn't stop again. If I was tired whatsoever, I certainly wasn't after all that. I got to my sisters and we had a great time. And my trip back was pretty unremarkable, which was fine by me. I hope to never run into that man again. And big shout out to the awesome trucker who said he was more than willing to run that guy over just for my safety.

Hey, Raven, I am behind and I recently watched one of your older video. on family secrets, and it reminded me of a story of my own family that I had to share. I had a pretty normal family except for one strange gap in our history that I learned no one ever really wanted to talk about. That is my aunt Dana. She was rarely mentioned, and when she was, the conversation would be hushed or quickly changed to a different topic. As a kid, I assumed it was just a falling out over something. They never talked about her in past tense, so I didn't think she was dead, but I also never met her.

Maybe she followed the wrong crowd and just never talked to the family again. I had no idea. I didn't try to push it, but I just let it be what it was. That, however, didn't mean I wasn't curious. We were at my grandparents' place, preparing for Thanksgiving, and something steered me in the direction of a family treat. This made me ask my grandmother about Dana. My grandma leaned into my ear and told me that we shouldn't talk about Dana around my mother

and quickly tried to distract me by asking me to help her. When I was 16, I was helping my mom clean out the basement when I found an old photo album. My mom and I started going through them and she was smiling, telling me about some of the photos. Until we got to a picture of a young woman with two younger children. children. I immediately recognized my grandma and assumed the two girls were my mother and her sister, my aunt Dana. I played it off, though, asking if that was correct, and her smile faded and she confirmed, and then she took the book from me. I asked her about her sister, and she said that there was nothing to talk about. I hated responses like that. It was as bad as because I said so,

so I pushed her. I asked why everyone was so secretive about Aunt Dana. What happened to her? My mom snapped at me, saying that I had no right and to drop it. I was 16, and I thought that I had to have the last words, so I shouted that everyone else seemed to be the jerks to Dana, and then I stormed off.

I could hear my mom sobbing in the basement shortly after. Part of me felt bad, but I also didn't understand the whole ordeal with Dana, and why no one would talk about it. I just thought that if someone would talk to me and tell me, then maybe I would understand and could move on. But until then, I was going to be the onry and nosy little teenager. I tried to do my own digging to find out more about Aunt Dana, but I couldn't even find an address, a phone number, overly any indication of where she was living. I did find an old album that I was going through previously and found a few more pictures in there, but they didn't seem as happy.

There was one of my mom and Dana hugging, but Dana looked uninterested. Another for my mom's birthday, and Dana was sitting next to her looking unhappy. It was strange, but I just figured it was a sibling thing. Then, there was one day that I went to my grandma, ma's for the day and we started talking. She was talking about when she was in school and how she was a troublemaker. Then she mentioned my mom being the exact opposite in school and how relieved she was. I took the opportunity to try and ask about Dana. Her mood shifted slightly, but after a heavy sigh, she said that Dana did well in school too, but shook her head as she solemnly said,

I just don't know what got into her to change. I asked her what she meant by that. And she told me that after my mom was born, Dana started to change. There was a six-year difference between them, and Dana had enjoyed school and loved to show off what she did or learned. She was even excited about having a little sister, but once my mom was old enough to start school and was talking on her own, that was when Dana began to change.

She didn't bring homeschool projects anymore. She didn't talk about school. She seemed to be moody a lot, and didn't want to do anything with my mom. There were times that they would even fight, and Dana would call my mom names, push her, or just physically fight with her. I asked her what happened to her, and that's where my grandma shut down again and tried to change the subject. It just seemed to me that they were two sisters that fought. Not really a reason to completely disown one of them. But as time all went on, I had already come to the conclusion that I would always be an only child,

and I couldn't help but want to know more about this aunt that I never met. I had asked for siblings several times, as kids do, but I would always be told maybe. I knew it wasn't going to happen the older I got, so when I was older and understood how to use the internet better, I started trying to do my own research, starting with one of those family tree websites. I was then able to get my aunt's full name and date of birth, and there was no record of death. So that at least confirmed that she probably was still alive. From there, I went to the library to try to find any public records of her life. I wasn't expecting to dive into this cryptic rabbit hole that was attempted to be covered up at every angle.

I found a few news articles related to an old dress that my parents used to live at, but there were no names given. It just said that there was an attack at the home. It happened during the time that my grandparents lived there, which both worried me and piqued my interest. So I looked up arrests and court records. I was not expecting what I actually found. There, in a crappy mugshot,

was my aunt Dana looking crazed yet tired. She was arrested and charged with assault with a deadly weapon, as well as some other charges. Who did she try to hurt? It didn't really give me much more information. The records also mentioned restraining orders being broken, so I was curious as to who had one on Dana. I started running into roadblocks there, but still wanted to know more.

So I went back to my grandmother. I will add that at this point, I was about 20. I wasn't a little kid anymore, and I could handle the darker conversations, and I think that's what helped my grandmother to finally come to terms that they wouldn't be able to hide it forever. She begged me not to tell my mom that I told her or she would never forgive me, and I agreed.

She also joked that she would rip me from her will, and I totally believed her, too. Finally, after many years, she filled in the blanks. My Aunt Dana had done a complete, 180 as a kid. She began being very mean to my mom, physically and mentally. My mom and dad started dating when she was 17, my dad 19. As I've heard that from my mom, too.

They got pretty heavily involved with each other and fell in love hard. Dana hated it. As my grandma put it, she seemed to be jealous. They had actually gotten into a pretty big fight a few times, with Dana trying to convince my dad to leave my mom. However, their relationship was too strong to let Dana come between them. But Dana only got angrier when she learned that my parents were going to get married, refusing to be involved in the wedding and she even tried to hit on my dad,

to try and convince him to call it off. And when my mom announced that she was pregnant about three months after the wedding, all hell broke loose. Dana, my mom and grandparents, all got into a huge fight and Dana threatened my mom. My grandparents actually filed a restraining order, preventing her from being able to go to their home, hoping to give my mom a safe place when they came over. It all escalated one night when my parents stayed with my grandparents while they were waiting on getting a new home. They had been staying at my paternal grandparents' guest house,

but they had to redo the floor and my parents' were in the process of buying their own home. My mom had fallen asleep in the living room, having troubles getting comfortable now that she was about eight months pregnant. My aunt Dana, who still actually had a key to my grandparents' house, showed up and slowly walked into the house. That's when she noticed my mom asleep on the couch. Dana went to the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife, and began stabbing my mother.

She stabbed her. in the thigh, only nicked her belly, thankfully, and stabbed her in the arm as my mother woke up and began fighting her. My dad was in there too, as soon as he heard her screaming, and got Dana off my mom and had pinned her to the ground. She was arrested that night, and the only thing she had to say to anyone was that she was mad that she missed her stomach, saying that she didn't deserve to have a baby. They pressed charges, and my mom actually went into labor that night due to the stress. I was born premature, which that I at least knew.

I remember seeing a scar on my mom's arm and hand, but she told me that it was from an accident, and I never questioned it. She got those scars trying to defend both of us. And that is when I felt like a crappy kid. I never really thought that maybe they didn't talk about Dana because it was too traumatic or painful for those involved. But my grandma explained what happened. They then went with the insanity plea and she was actually locked up in a psychiatric ward.

My grandma said that she tried to visit her, but she showed no interest in wanting to see her and continued being aggressive, so she stopped going. I hugged her and thanked her for telling me, while also crying and apologizing that they all went through it. I saw my mom that day, and I hugged her and told her just how much I appreciated all of the, that she had done for me.

I kept my word to my grandma, and I never told my mom that I knew the real story. I can only assume that affected their opinion on having a second child, too, wanting to make sure history didn't repeat itself. So I'll just carry this secret with me, too, along with the newfound respect for both my parents and all they have done to protect me.

In the summer of 2022, the Clay County Sheriff's Department responded to a call in Talladega National Forest. When they arrived at the scene, they found 22-year-old Adam Simji lying on the ground, as his panicked girlfriend, 20-year-old Michaela Palace, performed CPR on the college student. What was meant to have been a romantic time of bonding for the young couple had just been turned into a tragedy of Shakespearean proportion. Adam and Michaela were students at Central Florida University and were taking a road trip to spend a good amount of time together before classes started up again. They knew once school was back in session for what would have been Adam's final year of college, that there would be less time for them to get nice romantic evenings together.

And it was as they were traveling through the Talladega National Forest that a fateful encounter would shatter multiple lives, and end with a young man needlessly losing his own. The young couple were driving down an old forestry road when they were flagged down by 21-year-old Yasmin Hider. When they spotted the young woman on the side of the road, she clearly looked distressed. Once she had Adam and Michaela's attention,

Hyder proceeded to ask them for help getting her vehicle started. Hider then began to lure the couple further into the woods where her dark motives would become clear, when she pulled a gun and forced them deeper still into the forest, where she attempted to rob the couple, telling them both to empty their pockets before marching them further into the woods. From this moment on, Adam did everything he could to get Michaela out of those woods alive. As it turns out, Hider wasn't the only one armed that day.

While Adam drew his own concealed handgun, he tried telling Hider that everything of value they had was in the car, and that she was welcome to it, that no one had to get hurt. Hider was alarmed when Adam had pulled his own firearm and said, Are you serious? Before there was an exchange of gunfire, an explosive frenzy of violence. After things were silent again, both Adam and Hider were on the ground, wounded, and Hider reportedly said it wasn't supposed to be like this.

During the firefight, Hider had been struck several times in the torso, Adam had been shot in the back. Michaela called him a hero and said that he was shot while trying to protect her. In the aftermath, a second woman that Michaela had spotted watching them approached the wounded Hyder after Hider had called for help. The second woman then fled into the woods, leaving Hider behind. Once the second woman was gone, Michaela called 911 and got in touch with emergency personnel, after which she began performing CPR on Adam

until deputies and other first responders arrived. Sadly, Adam Simji was unable to be revived, and he passed away from his injuries in those woods. Hider, on the other hand, survived her injuries, and after being found nearby was airlifted to a local hospital. She underwent numerous surgeries and recovered in the hospital under the watchful eyes of deputies. But the search for the second person

would set in motion an unsettling string of discoveries that no one could see coming. The search that resulted from Michaela saying that she saw a second person watching from the nearby trees was going to yield more than anyone could have possibly foreseen. And this entire case would take an even darker turn, as if it weren't dark enough already. While searching for the alleged accomplice,

the deputies would find some very alarming things indeed, namely in the form of a large encampment set up deep within the forest as a kind of base camp. In the hours since the shooting, police had received reports that there may be a large camp of people living off the grid, and this site was less than half a mile from where the attempted robbery had taken place. There were indeed a large number of tents erected in the area, and upon spotting a woman near one of them,

them, the police called out to her. As they ordered her to the ground, an armed five-year-old boy with a loaded shotgun ran out of the woods. Despite being ordered to drop the weapon, the child proceeded to the woman's side before lying the weapon down. The woman was identified as Crystal Pinkins, and the armed five-year-old boy was her son. The Department of Human Resources was alerted and they took custody of the boy, while his mother was hit with a little bit of the the litany of charges, including endangering the welfare of a child. Other charges included one count of murder, two counts of robbery, and two counts of kidnapping. Yasmin Heider was also charged with one count of murder and two kidnappings and the robbery charges as well.

Michaela Paulus, for her part, was not physically harmed during the events that took place that day in the Talladega National Forest. However, she was deeply, emotionally, traumatized by them. Understandably, the loss of Adam weighed heavily upon her, especially when she saw it as him sacrificing himself to keep her safe. Yasmin Heider readily admitted to faking distress to get the couple to stop for her. She admitted that her goal was to lure them deeper into the forest and then rob them. And while her intent may never have been to harm either Adam, nor Michaela, her actions that day cost a young couple their future, and a much-beloved young man,

his life. Ultimately, she was sentenced to 35 years in prison for robbery, the second-degree murder of Adam Simgi, and the kidnapping of Michaela Paulus. Pinkins was found guilty on all charges, but the kidnapping, and Hider even testified against Pinkins at her trial. In Pinkins's case, She was sentenced to the maximum of life in prison for robbery, murder, and the unlawful use of a firearm during a crime of violence. The entire thing had allegedly been Pinkin's idea, and she had even provided Hider with the firearm that killed Adam Simji. It's a bit difficult to come up with some closing thoughts for this case. It's one of those things where, if you're not careful in how you couch it, either you sound like a naive idealist saying help everyone regardless. regardless of your own safety, or it goes the other way and you become a weird kind of nihilistic rally.

I think the best middle ground I can find is to say that, unfortunately, in such a big world with so many people, that regardless of our best efforts to prevent them, tragedies will always find a way to happen. All we can do is stay vigilant. If your gut says that maybe something is off about the person asking for help, then you should listen to it. follow your instincts after countless of generations on this earth I think most of us have really good ones and it's important to pay attention to them the case of Adam Simji does serve as a chilling reminder of the fragility of life

and the potential for violence to erupt in unexpected places shattering dreams in an instant while the perpetrators have been held accountable by the justice system the enduring legacy is one of profound found loss, but also of the bravery of a young man remembered as a hero, and the resilience of a survivor left to carry the weight of memory. Hey, Raven, I'm not sure if this is technically more of a dark web story or a road trip story, but I was recently going through one of my old journals and found an entry from 2015 that

might be considered a dark web story. If not, it's just another example of how you should be careful. Possibly a slight trigger warning since some of this story does deal with sensitive topics, and of course, as always, thank you for taking the time to read these stories. It was around August of 2015, and I remember I had gone back home to visit my parents and my younger sister, since I had officially moved out a couple of years prior, and had a habit of going to see them on the weekend at least, twice a month. Whenever I wanted to visit, they would either come pick me up from my place,

which was about a 30-minute drive, and I would stay the whole weekend and get dropped back off on Sunday night, so I could work the next day. I didn't have a car, but I did have a bike, and would either ride or walk wherever I needed to go. I knew my old neighborhood very well, including all of the roads and paths that led to the main street where the restaurants, dollar stores, and grocery stores were located. And what was once a two-lane highway just outside of our scarcely populated neighborhood was now a thundering four-lane highway in a densely populated suburb. There were still no sidewalks, so when you walked or biked anywhere,

you would either be in the messy ditches or grass on the side of the road, or you would walk the thin edge of asphalt and have angry drivers swerving and honking at you. Over the years, my friends and I got used to this and learned how to trek safely to and from our destinations. One weekend visit, I ended up wanting some frozen custard from a place up the road after being reminiscent with my parents about our childhood home,

growing up and finishing school, and even some of my near-death experiences while growing up here, which I'll probably share with the channel soon since I found my journal. I told my parents that I would make the walk since I was feeling nostalgic and missed the summer errands I would run for snacks and such, and they of course understood and didn't insist on giving me a ride. I took off on my walk, single sling bag over my shoulder, and my usual utilities on me.

It takes about 15 minutes to get to the front of my old name, neighborhood from my old house. And as I walked, I noticed how much the area had changed. Trees we once saw as tiny fruitless saplings were now fully grown and hosting full crops of tangerines. Houses that we watched be built were now settled in and homely. And it felt like decades had passed since I lived there. I got up near the main road and headed down the grassy ditch along the highway, still walking

at a decent pace. and eventually reached a traffic intersection with a crosswalk that led to a gas station. And just beyond it, was the frozen custard place. As I was crossing through the crosswalk, I saw something bright glimmering on the ground near the center of the crosswalk. And as I jogged across, I slowed down to see what it was. It was actually a GoPro camera. For those who don't know,

go-pro cameras are small action cameras that became popular with extreme sports groups, travelers, and thrill-seekers who wanted to document their adventures. They're small, most are currently waterproof, and shoot in 4K resolution or higher, and can be mounted or even worn on your body anywhere as long as you have the right attachment. They're expensive, and even though this took place in 2015, the model I was looking at would have been basically brand new. The camera was protected inside of a waterproof clear housing, but you could see the bold Hero 4 on the front,

and the camera appeared to be undamaged, safely in the hard housing. I, of course, picked it up, who wouldn't pick up a perfectly good action camera on the side of the road, right? This model also had a screen on the back, so you could actually view the footage on the camera directly instead of having to wait to connect it to a computer, like the older models required you to. I pressed the corresponding power button a few times,

and the camera wouldn't turn on. So I assumed it was dead and needed a charge. I continued to fumble with the camera until I made it to my destination, ordered a half gallon of my craving flavor, homemade vanilla, and coffee with peanut butter chips, and then jogged back to my house with my treat safely in my bag and the GoPro in my pocket. Once I got to my parents' house, I found a charger cable that matched,

removed the camera from its plastic housing, and connected the camera to my laptop to charge. I told my parents what I found and ate my frozen custard as we talked. In an hour or so, the red indicator light on the camera turned off, and the camera had a full charge. There was also an SD card already installed in the camera, and from watching some of the YouTube videos like DailyMD, who used to recover lost GoPro cameras in rivers and lakes, I knew that the first thing to look for was a video of the owner stating the name of the owner, and possibly an address or phone number in case the camera was lost. My mom said that honestly I should just keep the camera, but I wanted to do my due diligence.

I opened up the File Explorer and selected the SD card, which apparently had a 64-gibite capacity, and saw several date-stamped files going back to the previous year, 2014, and ending with one that had the same date as the day that I found the camera. I clicked on the earliest folder in 2014 to look for a video identifying the owner, and I didn't find one. A few of the videos looked pretty simple, and I saw several video thumbnails. pop up that looked like they were riding a motorcycle or on the road in the first folder. In the second folder, however, that's where things immediately took a turn. I was about to delete the files and told my dad that I didn't see anything in the first folder.

But he said just to be thorough and to check a couple more folders to be sure, in case the owner filmed what my dad called a slate later on while having the camera. So I did what he said. I went to the next folder and saw several more thumbnails pop up. Only this time, some of them were dark. And a handful of them had images of what looked like a young woman in them. Figuring it might be the owner, I made the mistake of clicking on one, and it was a video of someone following a woman in her neighborhood,

and then eventually taking off running after her, grabbing her, and abducting her. She was screaming and fighting back, but most of the camera footage was shaky and incoherent, possibly because the person filming was wearing some kind of harness attachment so they could be hands-free, which was common with GoPro cameras, but I remember seeing the arms and hands of the attacker were covered with black sleeves and gloves. The woman was fighting for a few seconds, and then went limp, and then a gloved hand reached over to the camera and the clip stopped. I should have stopped watching there.

I clicked on the next one, and this time it was a different woman, in what looked like a corner store at night. And again, this unknown attacker seemed to be following her around the store. I found myself stuck watching the video as the woman left the store and headed toward her car on the side of the building. Only this time the attacker didn't run up onto her. And the clip ended. There were a few of these clips on the camera mixed in with motorcycle rides and highway footage.

But once I reached the folder for 2015, things got really gruesome. The second to last clip I saw, and I'll leave out the unnecessary details, was actually the cruelest one of them all. Another young lady was in what looked like an abandoned building. Her mouth was taped over, and her hands were bound behind her to what I can describe best as a metal column in the middle of the floor. She looked like she'd been in this place for days or even weeks. The attacker seemed to be just standing there watching her cry and try to wiggle free.

I'll never forget how horrified this woman looked. It's hard for me to put it into words. The attacker eventually got close to her, grabbing her face to hold on to the camera, and I couldn't make out what he said, but it sounded like, smile for the camera, please. They like nice girls.

In a smug, muffled voice. The woman, of course, became hysterical and started thrashing around and crying, and the camera jostled around, and then stopped filming. The last clip was a motorcycle ride, which ended with the cyclist running a red light, and turning through the intersection,

and somehow the camera fell loose from the rider. This was the same intersection I ended up crossing where I found the camera. Of course, I told my parents, we all had a moment of feeling sick, frightened, and disgusted by what was on the camera, and my dad called the police. We had to speak with investigators, give statements. I even was asked to go with one of the investigators to show them where I found the camera, which I didn't know why they needed me to do,

since it was so clear from the last video where the camera was lost, but yeah. One of the officers mentioned things like this can range from simple extortion from gangs to sex trafficking and torture rackets for the dark web, which honestly gave us all chills. They thanked us for our time, took the camera in the SD card, and even though I had touched it,

they said they could still use the camera, for the investigation. As usual with these stories, you don't get much out of the police once they leave with statements. And I know that there were a handful of stories my dad looked up about missing people, but in the months to come, we only heard one story about a woman who was found after she didn't come home from the grocery store a few months back. She apparently ended up somewhere in Arizona, and authorities were apparently able to figure out where she was being kept.

We have no idea if us turning over the camera had anything to do with that case or not, and since most of the footage on it remained unseen by us, there was no way for us to know how many potential victims were filmed being abducted. So, that's the story. And, again, not sure if it's actually a dark web story or otherwise, because there wasn't a lot of evidence to suggest it, but, yeah. I hope that they were able to capture the sick individual who was disturbed enough to do all this, and dumb enough not to wipe his camera.

This might be a little different from the stories you've read before, but this was still something that not only came as a surprise to my family, but also affected me mentally. Growing up, I always knew my grandma was eccentric. Hell, the whole family knew that. She never acted like your normal, frail old lady. She laughed, she drank with the other adults. She danced and she even tried to ride on my brother's skateboard.

She fell on her rear, but had a good laugh about it. I know that I loved her energy and I told myself that I hope I was the same way when I got older. We had bi-weekly dinners at her place too, every other Sunday, which went fine. She loved to share stories with us about being a kid herself, and she also had a lot of keepsakes. It was something that seemed so innocent, but my dad, my grandma's son, clearly seemed uncomfortable about it.

She had a small shadow box in her china cabinet with baby teeth in it. Every single grandkids' baby teeth were in there and labeled with our names and the date they fell out. Now, I know a lot of people keep their kids' teeth, or one or two, mainly. so it's not abnormal. But she kept every single one.

I remember when one of my teeth fell out, I talked about putting it under my pillow for the tooth fairy, and she begged me to just give it to her instead, offering her $20 for it. That was a lot more than I ever expected to get for a tooth, so I just gave them to her. Again, yeah, it was a little weird to my kid's self, but we just joked about my grandmother,

being the real tooth fairy. But other than teeth, she also liked to collect hair. She cut her own hair and would occasionally cut ours if we wanted it, but if she did, she would immediately collect the hair by hand,

brushing it off and adding it to a small baggie. I remember one year cutting my hair really short, at the time it was down to my mid back, and I cut it to my shoulders. She loved it, but then also asked for the hair. I remember how upset she was when my dad said that he didn't keep it. I didn't get the

argument on either side, being upset that you didn't get to keep someone's hair and being so upset about someone else wanting to keep it. So, yes, she was a very eccentric person, but she was also one of my favorite people. She came over to our place one time to visit and I showed her my room because I wanted to show her a collection that I had started. It was of deformed or different flowers, leaves and rocks. If the flower was multicolored, the leaves were deformed or the veins seemed to make a picture, or a unique rock, I kept them. I took them from the yard, school, parks, anywhere I found them.

She seemed to enjoy it and said that I clearly had the family collecting jeans, just like her. I remember her caressing one of my rocks and saying, It's in our blood. Your father just doesn't understand it. I just liked collecting weird stuff. So did she, but mine felt less intrusive. But at the time, I just thought it wasn't that big of a deal. But then, my grandmother passed away, peacefully, in her sleep.

It was unexpected, but she didn't suffer or anything, which at least gave us all that peace of mind. Because it was unexpected, my dad was left to handle her estate. He had three living siblings, one he hadn't spoken to for many years, and the other two wanted nothing to do with any of her stuff. So he was the only option to settle at all.

Grandma's house was bigger than ours, and since it was now my dad's, I didn't understand why my parents just didn't move into it, giving us more room. But we were allowed to be there as he cleaned it out, saying that we could take whatever we wanted as a keeper. While several of us were scattered around the house, I decided to take the opportunity to peek through the attic. I always wanted to go through there because it seemed to be one of those cozy and hidden spots that intrigued me as a kid,

but my grandma never allowed me in. She always said that she kept her treasure in there, which, as a kid, only made me want to go through it all even more. So I went through it. As I entered, I realized the look of it was underwhelming. It was old and dusty for the most part, except for one corner in the front that seemed to be completely cleaned. There were boxes and tubs stacked methodically in each one with a name on them. Most names I recognized. My mom and dad, my two uncles that passed, my other living aunts and uncle, my cousins, and even one for me and my brother.

I first assumed it was either our belongings that she had, or maybe boxes that were meant for us. Maybe instead of a will, she just had things in these boxes for each person. So I grabbed my box to go through it. Clearly it was meant for me, right? I wish I hadn't done that. When I opened my box, there was nothing in there that I wanted. Inside was a bag of hair. There were used bloody tissues with a piece of tape with writing.

on it, nosebleed April 2002. There was a small envelope filled with what I think was fingernail clippings. I even saw my old retainer that I thought I had lost, but my name and age was written on it. I was weirded out, but I decided to go through a different box, hoping to find something better. I opened my brother's box and found similar items. But there were some used band-aids with dates written on them. But then there was also a jar filled with a yellowed liquid, and something long and thin, something organic in the jar. The top of the jar was written umbilical stump with my brother's birthday on it.

I was pretty creeped out at this point. What the hell was my grandma doing with all this stuff? Used bloody tissues and other organic materials? I knew that she collected teeth and hair, but this was crazy to me. She had boxes labeled for everyone. Just opening them, I could see much of the same things. I ran out of the attic and downstairs to tell my parents what I had found, and I remember the color draining from my dad's face.

He told me that he would take care of it and went upstairs, telling me to stay out. For the rest of the day, I could tell that the atmosphere was tense. My dad carried out all those boxes and tubs. threw them in the back of his truck, and when it was full, he left and then came back with an empty truck. I tried asking my mom about it, but she wouldn't really say much other than how my grandma liked to collect mementos about everyone she loved. But that all seemed extreme. Bloody tissues, scabs, an umbilical cord, that seemed creepy to me. but when my mom told me not to bring it up around my dad,

I just had to keep it to myself after that. I got to keep a few things from my grandma, one of which was her old vanity. When they asked me if I wanted it, I agreed to take it, and while I waited for them to clear a path to take it, I opened all the drawers to clean it out. There were some old hair pins and clips that I threw away

because I didn't use those. She had an old hairbrush in there that was a pretty, floral pattern on it, so I kept it. And there was also a notebook underneath it. I took both and put them into a small box that I had started for the stuff I was keeping before my parents saw. I wanted to go through it to see if anything was in there, if it was a diary, if it had contact information, or maybe even just doodles or something from her that I thought

would be cool. Well, that journal contained nothing of what I was exquisite. expecting. There were pages of what looked like journal entries, some tame, like talking about her day or if something important happened, like someone coming over, or the anniversary of my grandpa's death. Other pages had small things taped to them, like more hair, or what I can only describe as scabs. Each one had a description by it, just like the boxes from the attic. There was an entire page that was dedicated to me when I had to get stitches in my. arm. My grandpa had built a tree house in the backyard and there was a nail sticking out in one of the

wooden steps that was nailed into the tree. I slipped on my way down, slicing the back of my leg open. My grandma not only kept that nail, but she pulled off the bit of skin that was stuck to it. Then she had a page that she wrote about me. She mentioned how I seemed to get injured a lot and believed I was doing it in order to collect more pieces of myself. She mentioned how I was a lot like her with wanting to collect mementos of others to remember them, pure and unchanged. Once again, I was pretty creeped out. With how deep the nail cut me open, I was terrified it was going to lose my leg.

I was still a very young kid at that point, keep in mind. To me, a lot of blood where it shouldn't be was equal to a death sentence. I was too afraid to even go back up to that tree house after that. In fact, blood in general freaked me out. When I had a nosebleed, I would nearly pass out at the sight. So I certainly wouldn't be keeping something like that. And an umbilical cord? No, that was disturbing.

Nothing about that was something I would ever do. I didn't tell my parents about the journal, but I did trash it. I closed it, threw it in my bin, and threw more stuff on top of it, so I didn't have to look at it. Over the next few days, I became more focused on myself and my belongings. Why would my grandma think that I was like her?

I collected some weird things like my flowers and rocks, but they weren't things from my family. But then I saw the pencil that I kept that my friend had chewed on because she moved. I remembered the notebook cover I ripped off and kept that my crush had licked. It was an inside joke in class. I remembered the popsicle stick that I kept that my brother had given me

because it had a joke on it, after he had eaten the popsicle. They may seem fairly normal to someone from the outside, but after what I found at my grandmas and her claiming that I was like her, I freaked out. I did not want to end up like her, keeping weird things like that. I got rid of all of it, even her hairbrush. I know this may seem like a non-issue to some people, but the idea of my grandma, this kind and funny woman, someone that I looked up to, collecting these weird and maybe even disturbing things from people both alive and dead,

it was all too much for me. It had a lasting effect on me for years, and caused me to have even worse issues with biological happenings. I flushed any tissues with blood on them to make sure no one could keep them. them. I wrapped up used band-aids to hide what was in there. I even had issues with brushing my hair. I would make sure that it was all together and also discreetly throw it away. It left me with this irrational fear that someone would come along and collect these things from me. Now, of course, as an adult, I have gotten better about it. But I still catch myself staring at my trash bin, wondering if I should do something more about that tissue I just threw away.

I know that this was a really weird story, but I really wanted to share my grandma's creepy obsession that had an everlasting impact on me. To start this write-up about the Freeman family murders, it's importance to define familicide. A familicide is a type of murder or murder-suicide, in which an individual kills multiple close family members in quick succession. Most often children, spouses, siblings, or parents.

In half of the cases, the killer lastly ends their own lives in a murder-suicide. In this rich tapestry known as humanity, there are a percentage of people who become killers. Of these killers, there are various different types, as most people listening to this will know. But today we're going to look at a specific type of killer, possibly the most terrifying of them all, the family annihilator. Now, having already defined familal side, it's important to understand that even among the family annihilators, there have been classified four distinct types. One, the self-righteous. These killers blame the mother for any of the family's problems. they often believe that their status as breadwinner is central to their ideal image of the family.

They might even call their partner before the murders to explain their actions. Two, the disappointed. The disappointed family annihilator feels that their family has failed them or somehow undermined their ideal image of family life. This could come from children not following established family traditions or observing traditional religious practices. 3. Anomic. With these killers, the family is seen as the result of financial success,

and when that success falters, the family is no longer seen as having a purpose. And four, paranoid. These killers send some kind of external threat to the family. This can range from perceived societal decline to pending issues with the legal system. Whatever the threat, or perceived threat is, the killer sees ending the family's lives as the only way to protect them. The psychologies of these four types are disconcerting because, for all the vast differences between them,

there are so many disturbing similarities, from triggers and responses all the way to being capable of tremendous violence. Now, I'm compelled to say the overwhelming majority of family annihilator cases are when the patriarch of the family unleashes hell upon the people he was meant to cherish and protect. This is not always the case, however, and even as I have laid out some norms, I am going to present you a case that falls outside of these established parameters. Dennis and Brenda Freeman were a very religious couple, and had raised their three sons, Brian, David, and Eric as devout Jehovah's Witnesses.

For Brian and David, however, this religious lifestyle would only breed hatred and resentment in them, of the most radical kind. The teenage Brian and David fell in with a group of white supremacists and began to live a very neo-Nazi lifestyle. Friends of the late Brenda Freeman have said that Brenda was terrified of her two eldest sons. The boys went all in on the lifestyle too. Brian having the word berserker tattooed across his forehead, while David had the always classy Seek Hale tattooed over his eyebrows. Dennis and Brenda did all they could to try to reconnect with their sons and to pull them back from this very dark path they were heading down.

Brenda contacted therapist asking for advice. The boys even attended anti-skinhead education. Course is organized by the police, but despite their best efforts, the boys would not turn away from their creed of hate. The brothers were both deeply troubled, with Brian being admitted to a psychiatric unit for severe mental health issues, and David having done stints at multiple juvenile detention centers and receiving counseling for substance abuse.

From 1993 to 1995, the police made a total of five visits to the Freeman home. During one of these instances, the police said that Brian had threatened to. to kill his parents over a fight about using the family car. Both youths were on a very dangerous spiral. They both had their issues, but fueled by rhetoric of hate, and people praying upon their anger only exacerbated their issues.

A pattern of substance abuse and poor mental health, coupled with their neo-Nazi beliefs, was a recipe for absolute disaster, as the world was about to learn firsthand. end. February 26th of 1995 would see violence that would shatter multiple lives and see the tragic and senseless end of three. Brian, 17, and David 16 had been out at the movies with their elder cousin Nelson Ben Birdwell, 18. They had returned home to the Freeman family home afterwards where Brian and Brenda got into a heated altercation about Birdwell being in the house.

Things between Brian and his mother escalated, resulting in Brenda being stabbed to death by her eldest son. Meanwhile, David and Birdwell had gone upstairs where Dennis Freeman was sleeping at the time. The pair assaulted Dennis and beat him to death with an aluminum baseball bat. But the rampage was not done just yet. The Spree's final victim was the 10-year-old Eric Freeman. Some combination of Brian, David, and David. Birdwell bludgeoning the boy as he slept with the handle of a pickaxe. Afterwards, in the immediate aftermath, the murderous trio fled from Pennsylvania and went to the

home of one of their associates, Frank Hess, who was living in Hope, Michigan at the time. The day after the murders, Brian and David's eldest sister Valerie found the bodies of her family. The scene that met the authorities was one of absolute brutality. Dennis and Eric were beaten so badly that their faces were barely recognizable. The Allentown Coroners said that it was one of the most brutal acts of murder they had ever seen. The killings took place on February 26th, and the trio were apprehended on March 2nd. With the death penalty very much on the table, Brian Freeman pled guilty to the murder of Brenda Freeman. In a separate plea, David pleaded guilty.

to the killing of Dennis. Birdwell was charged with all three murders, however no one was ever convicted for the killing of young Eric. Birdwell was, however, found guilty for his part in beating Dennis Freeman to death when blood on his shirt was found to belong to Dennis. Initially, all three men were sentenced to life without parole. But in the intervening years, things have changed,

and as of 2024, Brian and Dennis were resentenced to 60 years with parole eligibility. However, this was good news in the abstract, as the brothers will still not be eligible for parole until 2055, another 30 years from the time of this writing. Brian, for his part, has expressed remorse for what he did in his youth. He has said that the murders were the result of years of built-up animosity between the brothers and their parents.

While I'm not going to try to excuse his behavior, obviously I do think the things that a twisted ideology like Nazism can do to someone that is abusing drugs and suffering a mental health crisis cannot be underestimated. Just like any cults, that culture preys upon people who feel frustrated and not in control of their life. The culture fosters that hatred and teaches you to see everyone as a potential enemy. Ultimately, it teaches you to lash out at your perceived persecutors. It's a very slippery slope, and it's one that I've seen several people fall into and get caught up in. So, this was the case of the Freeman Family Murders,

a family annihilator case that breaks the mold to some extent, but at the same time falls so neatly into the category. As with most things, it's complicated and requires a lot of different perspectives. to see the entire picture. A lot of things contributed to the tragedy that unfolded on that day 30 years ago, but the biggest culprit of all was the toxic ideology that taught these

youths to embrace their rage and their hate. Ultimately, that ideology turned three young men into brutal killers for one terrible night. And until we can figure out how to keep that kind of hate from poisoning young men like Brian and David

Freeman, there will be no shortage of tragedies in the future. 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.

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