As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 232 - 11 True Chilling Stories (Creepy Encounters & Other Listener Stories)

Episode Date: July 6, 2026

If you watch the video, you will find that my captioning software DID NOT like the word Fiance due to the Accent over the e. I did not catch that pre-render, so that error is one me lol. Today, on the 232nd episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast, we have 11 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 creepy Encounters & Other True Scary Stories From Listeners! Would you like to participate in the postcard exchange? It comes with a free ATRD Sticker! Just Send a post card to the following... Lucas PO BOX 8198 Rochester, MN 55903 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 on supports it! I upload episodes every 3 days, so there are 2 days between new uploads. The podcast consists of new scary story collections, Glitch in the matrix collections, and also what I call the "Dark Dreams" collections (which are older stories, remastered and layered with rain sounds). 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 Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in todays episode... Strawberry, Jessie Duker, Robert, Tom K, Emma, Old woman from Germany, Julianne B, Elder Millennial (Aka MA), Andi J.B, Jeff V. As Well As Any Author That Has Requested Anonymity. TimeStamps… Ad breaks after Story 1 & Story 6 1 ➤ 1:29 2 ➤ 9:33 3 ➤ 16:53 4 ➤ 21:19 5 ➤ 26:51 6 ➤ 30:35 7 ➤ 35:01 8 ➤ 41:58 9 ➤ 46:04 10 ➤ 51:00 11 ➤ 53:16 ----- 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. None of my audio is AI Generated, I am a real person reading real stories into a real microphone. Note: The podcast nor the host endorses any advertisements played during the podcast, ads are not chosen by ATRD or Raven Adams, they are chosen automatically by the advertisement systems by the platforms that host the podcast. I do not endorse, support, or promote any opinions or statements made in any adverts played during the show. #ScaryStories #UnexplainedMysteries #LetsNotMeet Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Spotify, it's Jay Shetty. Are you one of those media strategy people? Scrolling through spreadsheets, searching for an audience that pays twice as much attention to your ads than they do on social? Let me introduce you to fans. And they're here with me on Spotify. Trust me, I know fans. They don't skip. They stay for hours.

They don't move on. They manifest. They're not a demographic group. They're fans. Spotify advertising. You're among fans. Oh, hi there, friends. Hopefully you are doing well.

It is nice to be back. I know I was gone for a little longer than anticipated. There should have been a new episode up on the holiday weekend. However, if there's one thing I've learned doing this for six years, uploading a new episode on an American holiday is not a good idea. Typically, if I upload an episode on, for instance, in this circumstance, July 4th, that episode will tank miserably. And while I'm not obsessed with numbers,

if I can avoid that, I don't want that to happen. Plus, the wife was off all weekend, and I kind of wanted some time to myself to do nothing. We went for a nice hike yesterday through some wooded trails. I almost said woodsy trails. Some trails in the woods, is what I'm trying to say. So it was nice. Had a decent fourth. Hopefully everyone who celebrates had a decent fourth.

And if you don't celebrate, hopefully you had a great weekend either way. All said, friends, today, we have some true scary stories, kind of a mixed bag. and some creepy or stalker-en-counter kind of stories like Let's Not Me'd style. Some interesting stuff here. Hopefully you guys enjoy them. If not, there will be another episode in two days, as always. I think that's a glitch episode, too.

Anyways, have a great day. Hope I see you again here soon. Enjoy the stories, and until next time, my friends, sleep well. Hello, Raven. First time writing in, but I've been listening to your videos for quite a while. I'll probably send you many more stories over time, but I wanted to start with this one. This is not a glitch in the Matrix, and it's not paranormal, which I have several of. But this incident scared me more than anything paranormal I have ever encountered.

This one is simply about humans, and how terrifying and perplexing they can be. To set the scene, the year is 2020. I'm living with my parents, delivering. food through an app that no longer exists in today's world. My parents had moved to Indy the year before, and I had followed suit, after my life became a country song, literally. My fiancé cheated, my house burned down, my car got repoed, said fiancée accidentally set my grandma's house on fire too, and then he dumped me.

My God, I am sorry. Anyway. Needless to say, I was also lost in life, and cortisol was, living in my frontal lobe rent-free. I had started a decent-paying job, but gotten fired for a safety violation, in which I cracked my back over a conveyor belt and the big boss saw it. I spout all of this seemingly random information to say that I was at a point of desperation in my life. I was taking any and every order I could get,

and I did not know my way around Indy well enough to know what I was doing. To make matters worse, I always did this late at night after my two children were asleep, so all my parents had to do was handle the occasional bad dream or trip to the bathroom. All right, enough background, on with the actual story. I was delivering for the aforementioned app one night when I got a delivery in the area of Post Road. I had heard about Post Road and had been warned not to go there by some friends from my previous job. I figured I'm bringing their food. I don't think they can rob me through an app.

And I was right. About that, specifically. The delivery went smoothly. Afterwards, though, I realized my gas needle was dancing with the E. I remembered seeing a gas station nearby, on the corner of Post Road in 38th, if my memory serves me correctly. I knew I wasn't in the best area, but I definitely didn't want to run out of gas there. So I sucked it up, pulled up to the pump, and went in to pay for my gas. I was also jonesing for an energy drink.

It had to have been after midnight at that point. I asked the clerk, who was behind a sheet of glass for my gas, paid him for that, and my drink and started to walk to my car. I opened the gas station door, take one step out looking down at my phone to make sure my app is offline for the moment, take another step as I look up and see men. several men, at least eight. They're surrounding me in all directions. I can see two walking together on my left side coming from the side of the building. A few at 10 o'clock, three men at 11, 12, and 1 o'clock walking from an empty lot across the street.

A few walking together at 2 o'clock, and I don't look further behind me before my fighter flight kicks in. Unfortunately, my fighter flight response is freeze. and for a moment I did I froze and did a double take of all the men every single one was wearing a black bandana with a white print with the COVID regulations in full effect at this point they don't originally stand out to me but looking back on it I wonder if those bandanas meant something

I just stood there for a second assessing whether I was being paranoid or they were truly coming towards me I noticed one of them start to pick up the pace, and it seemed like the world began to move in slow motion, as I saw the rest follow suit. To this day, I don't know how I made this assessment so quickly, adrenaline, I guess, but I determined the only safe direction was 6 o'clock. I made a face that I'm sure was unsightly and ran back into the gas station so fast that the clerk undoubtedly thought I had lost it. I called my friend who will call Rob and pretended that I ran back into the gas station because he asked me to get him some chips. One of the men came into the store and my heart sank. He pretended to shop a bit but kept his eyes on me and never picked anything up.

Rob played along, asking if they had different kinds of chips as I desperately searched for a kind face. I found an older woman in the gas station told her what happened. I was appalled at her unperturbed reaction to my news. She seemed to know exactly what was going on, and she wasn't giving me any clues. She just said, oh, Lord, I'll walk into your car, honey. She walked me out to my car, and I checked my back seats and hatch, and then she stayed there as I pumped my gas. While I was pumping the gas, she asked me what I was doing there in a voice that would indicate I had lost my mind. I told her I had just delivered someone's food

and kept apologizing because I didn't know what else to do. She seemed thoroughly annoyed, as if this was some sort of regular occurrence for her. Once my gas was pumped, I told her thank you and also expressed my confusion at the entire situation. She offered no explanation, solely an emphatic warning. Don't you come around here no more now? This ain't for you.

Don't come around here anymore. She pointed her finger stern like a mother would to a child in hot water. I know this story isn't strange in the same way as most of the stories you choose to narrate, and I'll understand if it doesn't make the cut, but if it does, I will be anxiously awaiting the comments to see if anyone knows why delivery people shouldn't be on Post Road in Indianapolis, at least not at the Valero. Was there something about me specifically that made me a target?

I was wearing a black mask with Love is Love written in rainbow, but I don't think they would even have been able to see it. And I've never known that to be an issue in Indy, having a few years there under my belt now. Perhaps it was just the fact that I was a woman alone at night, but then why wouldn't they target the other woman as well? Maybe because she lived around there? Could it just be that I was an outsider in a small community residing within a big city? I will also add that I am neurodivergent, and I do often struggle with social cues. So if there's something obvious that's just going over my head, please tell me or comment it. I won't be offended.

I just want to know. It's a night that replays over and over in my head. If you do choose to read this, thank you. Thank you so much for reading it, and I hope you and yours are doing well. If not, I still hope, y'all are good. We're doing well, thank you. My thoughts, very quickly. I know I don't do this normally.

That woman probably knew one of them, at least. They very well could have just been targeting you because you were a person who wasn't normally there, and don't take this wrong, probably looked like an easy target. That woman was probably, maybe not affiliated, but at least familiar to them. And yeah. Just a thought, maybe wrong. Visit BetMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive.

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products for all people. Visit laurel.com to learn more. I've been grappling with this story my entire life. Now that I entered my 30s, it's been decades since it happened, but all the contemplation I've given to these events over the years have yet to yield a normal explanation. By the way, thank you for creating a platform for this. Thank you for supporting and submitting your story.

These strange experiences confess to inside your heart and mind without a proper and safe place to share them. Time seems to have only sharpened my memory of this story, further burning its strangeness into my mind. I was about 10 years old, and, like every other year since, would be attending summer camp when school ended in June. However, a family trip to the shore would pose a minor scheduling conflict. We would be leaving for shore points the day after school ended.

to return the following Tuesday evening. I would have to miss the first two days of camp, Monday and Tuesday and start on Wednesday instead. My mother always handled these matters with a great deal of anxiety. She repeated these plans over and over to me, in typical fashion for her, in the days leading up to my summer camp debut. Every day, and multiple times that day, she would tell me,

remember we're staying at the shore until Tuesday, and you'll be starting camp on Wednesday. As if she didn't drill it in, like the world's longest screw, that I would run the risk of somehow waking up in bed suddenly on Thursday morning, screaming, I missed it, no. Also as if she wouldn't be personally waking me up to drive me there and see me off that Wednesday anyway. But that's my mom for you. Our trip to the shore, while lovely, the ocean is always lovely, was the same as any other.

I still remember dawning my favorite blue sweatshirt, still my first pick, despite some newly developing holes in the sleeves, to wear to my first day of camp, when I woke up at home instead of a beach motel on a cool Wednesday early summer morning. While part of me resented having to attend summer camp every year, due to my parents' work schedule, I was still excited to swim and play basketball and possibly make some new friends. The place was run by nuns, and one of them had even become my personal basketball coach and mentor in previous years. She would run me up and down the court, modeling, dribbling, blocking, and three-point shots, shark gray habit flapping wildly against her legs. While other campers expressed sympathy for the basketball boot camp, I was forced to endure, I was secretly looking forward to resuming our lessons, together that year.

While Sister Francis would surely still be there, my counselor would most likely be new to me, as different ones were assigned for each age group and new ones came and went every year. Each summer saw an influx of new campers as well. So my peer group would likely be swimming with new faces too. I put my most confident face on as I left the security of my mom's Buick and walked up to the gazebo labeled Fourth Great Grower. girls. I approached two friendly-looking but unfamiliar counselors, standing next to each other in orange t-shirts, prepared to introduce myself. But before I could break through my shyness

and do so, they greeted me with a cursory, Hi Jocelyn. My eyebrows must have popped up in surprise, since I hadn't told them my name. I considered it for a moment and figured that they probably had a roster with all of our names, and maybe they just recognized me as the last one on the list that they had yet to meet. Satisfied with this explanation for the moment, I managed to politely return their greeting before making my way over to a duo of approachable-looking young ladies. I took a deep breath, social anxiety poised to attack at any moment, walked over and waited tactfully for a pause in the conversation through which to

gracefully enter. When one presented itself, I said something along the lines, of, hey, I'm Jocelyn, it's my first day. What are you talking about? Smiled a girl with chin-length, wavy, brown hair as she choked down a chip. You've been here all week. Um, no? My family just got back from the shore yesterday.

I'm starting today. You're kidding, right? The other girl smiled wryly. She had hair a similar shade of brown, but well past her shoulders. Don't you remember? we went boating yesterday and you fell in the water. It was so funny. The other girl's eyes lit up with the boating memory and they both started to laugh.

Here, want a chocolate? The long-haired girl offered me a wrapped candy from her canvas bag. But I was about to push back again until I caught myself. Even at ten years old, I knew that I would simply look crazy if I continued to resist. I swallowed my look of incredulity. forced a grin, and just tried to converse with my two friends. Evidently, we had already formed a small friend group. As the rest of the day unfolded, my interaction with the larger community followed a similar suit.

No introductions. Everyone either knew my name or at least seemed to recognize my face. The counselors made no effort to orient me, or treat me like a new camper. I stifled the eerieness of it all by stuffing it down as far deep as I possibly could, pretending everything was normal. I said nothing to my mom when she picked me up. That is, except, we were at the shore until Tuesday, right? And today's Wednesday?

She confirmed. I tried to come up with an everyday explanation. The best I could come up with was that they were mistaking me for someone else. another camper that looked like me. But that would have to mean that every single person who automatically recognized me was simultaneously making the same mistake. And she would have had to have had the same name as me, and to have never shown back up to camp after I came that day,

which is a tall order. Later in life, I learned the term doppelganger. Apparently the meaning of the term expands beyond. simply a person who resembles another person. Often, doppelganger experiences are supernatural in nature. That's what my research says anyway. Some sources suggest malevolent forces at play. I still have no idea what really happened over 20 years ago that June.

But so far, supernatural is the most rational explanation I've got. Hey there, I'm a female barista. and have been for many years. Quite honestly, it's a wonderful job for people to work at some point in their life. You really get a feel for customer service. Co-workers tend to be quite lovely, and you get a real sense of community from the regulars, whom come in nearly daily.

Or at least, this has been my experience over the last ten years. The only downfall, with any customer service or retail job, is the fact that you will eventually come into contact with some. some, shall we say, unsavory folk. I worked at a small local and well-known coffee shop in northern San Diego. I love this shop. Its location, just blocks from the beach, the excellent craft drinks and the sense of community that I built there.

Truly, it feels like the show cheers. Everyone knows each other and gets along. I even met my boyfriend of four years there. Anyway, one busy show. shift, I was on register ringing people up. We would switch back and forth between ringing up customers and pulling espresso shots. So we often moved to positions. I greeted the next guy in line and took in his appearance. He was normal enough looking, medium height and build around 50 or so. However, he looked a little gruff. I feel like he had a sort of homeless look to him, but he also

could have just been scruffy in appearance. I noticed on the left corner of his forehead he had a cut. It hadn't really been very well taken care of, and I had thought to myself, I wonder why he doesn't have a bandage over the wound. Regardless, I kept on track and took his order. He ordered his coffee. I tell him the cost, and he went to pay. This is when the vision that I will never forget happened.

As he was getting his cash out of his wallet, I saw his finger and noticed white. I was confused at first, and then I blinked and looked again. Bone. Yeah, pure white bone, clearly visible on his three fingers. His ring finger, middle finger, and pointer finger were all completely split vertically down to the bone. It was as if the wound happened two weeks prior and he did nothing to attempt to heal. them. The skin on his fingers was dried and thick along with the muscle. I couldn't even fathom how his hand had been able to heal enough to function without bleeding. I was truly taken

aback. I'm a very sensitive person to blood and injuries. For example, when I get my blood drawn for testing, I shamefully have to warn the nurses that I can sometimes be a fainter. Hey, me too. So after seeing this man's completely mangled hand, I had to take his hash from him, and pretend that his bones weren't protruding from his fingers. As I mentioned, it was a busy day, and I was discreetly trying to get the attention of my hustling coworkers to tell them what I had just witnessed, whilst also trying to get his espresso shots pulled and get the next customer's order. I then started to feel faint, and was trying to keep myself together and upright.

My coworkers didn't even get a chance to see his fingers, as they put out his cup, and he were on to the next drink before seeing his mangled hand. Luckily, I hadn't seen him again after this point. It wasn't the worst encounter I've had as he wasn't threatening, but, man, was that a sight? It's one that stuck with me over the years. No acknowledgement from him about his condition whatsoever. I truly hope that man got some sort of medical help, as there's no way it wouldn't

eventually become infected. As I said, working in the service industry means you come into contact with a lot of people. From all walks of life. Some wonderful, some quite atrocious, and some just... Odd. Hello, Raven. I hope you're doing well. I've listened to your stories for probably two years now, and you're my favorite creator.

Thank you very much. I also became a member of the channel recently. Thank you for that too. I would love to grow into a storyteller like you someday. Anyways, first time I'm submitting a story to you, so here goes. This is a scary home alone story. The story is 100% true and still gives me goosebumps to this day. This strange event happened around 12 years ago and my husband and I were still living in the eastern Cape Province of South Africa.

He worked as a civil engineer on a work site that was about four. hours drive away from home, so he would travel back on Friday evenings for the weekend. A little background to where we lived, our rental house was on a small tomato farm. There were three other houses on the property, but they were spread out, not close together. Two of the houses were occupied at the time, though the neighbors were quiet and kept mostly to themselves. Houses were far enough apart that you couldn't hear any noise from the others. None of us worked on the farm. Everyone worked in the main town, which was about 30 minutes drive away.

The farm workers lived further away, up over the hill, and they would walk along a gravel road that ran right past our backyard to get to work on the farm. Also noting that both my husband and I grew up on farms, and we are used to the quiet, sometimes lonely life of living on a farm. including all the normal farm sounds that come with it. It wasn't something new. However, this farm was the kind of place that could get incredibly quiet, dark, and eerie at night, especially if he were alone.

One Friday evening, my husband was driving home after a long week. He still had about an hour left to go, and I was busy in the kitchen preparing our dinner. Out of nowhere, our two dogs started barking, like crazy outside, which was unusual. I tried peeking out the window, but I couldn't see anything in the dark. I was too nervous to open the door and check, so I just stood there, wondering what was going on. As I was walking back to the stove to adjust the heat, our home phone suddenly rang. Now, keep in mind, we never used that phone, and I don't really give out the number since we only

used our cell phones, so I was confused, but I picked up anyway. There was nothing but silence on the other end. I thought that it must have been a wrong number, so I hung up. Just as I walked away, the phone rang again. I answered, hello? Still no response. But then I heard something that made my heart stop. Someone was breathing heavily on the other side.

I froze. Hello? I said again. No answer. But the breathing got louder and heavier. I was terrified. My whole body just went cold. My pulse was racing and I quickly hung up the phone.

Meanwhile, the dogs outside were still barking frantically. Before I could process what was happening, the lights in the house went out. Complete blackout. It was pitching black outside. I peaked out the window again, this time in the direction of the other houses. The two houses with occupants still had their lights on. What on earth is happening? Why was my house the only one in the dark?

The dogs were still going crazy outside, and I felt paralyzed with fear. I called my husband, and I told him everything that had just happened. I told him to hurry up and get home now. At that point, I was curled up on the couch, hugging my knees, wondering if I was in the middle of some horror movie or an actual home invasion attempt. It felt unreal. I probably sat there for five minutes, praying, which felt like an eternity, when suddenly the dog stopped barking. It went dead quiet outside. Within the next few moments, the lights flickered back on and I sat there in disbelief.

feeling as pale as a ghost. To this day, I still have no idea what happened. I can remember that night like it was yesterday. Now, some of you might be wondering why I didn't call the police. Honestly, I'm not sure why I didn't. But given that we lived so far from town, the police would have been way too late, even if they did show up at all. Our police here aren't always that reliable.

So was it all just a huge coincidence, or was there something more sinister at play that night? I guess we'll never really know. Thank you, Raven. And to everyone else listening, good night, and stay safe. This is a scary story that still affects me over 20-plus years later. Back in the late 80s, my mother had a lady come in to help clean her house. Her name was Donna. We became friends and then started dating.

One problem with her I didn't think about at the time was that she was bad at cleaning. I mean she looked like she was cleaning without actually cleaning anything. My mother did eventually fire her, but we kept dating. That, being fired, could have been a red flag, but wasn't. We dated for, I think, about two months before I asked her the question. I was going to marry her thinking she was the one. We hadn't set a date yet, but I did buy the rings and I had them sized. It was at this point that I started noticing things about her that everyone around me,

and I mean everyone, already knew. One, she had no respect for other people's property. If she thought it was trash, even if it wasn't, she would throw it away. Anytime we went to her friend's house who had a cat, she would let the cat outside. After that person told her not to let the cat outside, she would then do it without a second thought. Part of the time I was taking a class on being a truck driver.

She called me to tell me that she had quit her job because she didn't want to have to drive that far. We were living in Oceanside, California, and she worked south of L.A., about 30, maybe, maybe less. I asked her if she had enough. job to replace it. She said no, but that was okay as I was going to be working. She did say that she would look for a job when she had time, and I started to realize how possessive she was. It was like I was her property. She needed to know what I was doing and if there was anyone else

with me. It was almost like she didn't want me to not be with her. I drove trucks for about six months, and when I was home, she kind of just clung to me. The kicker that started the end of our relationship was I took a shower with her. I was thinking, great, we can wash each other's backs. The moment I stepped into the shower, she yelled at me not to touch her. I was like, then what am I doing here? I'm not getting much water at all. She never hit me.

Heck, we hardly touched each other at all. We never even kissed. So, I broke up with her. At that point, I had rings that were worth nothing compared to what I paid for them. Luckily, a friend bought them, but I lost money on them. I once got $5 from my grandmother for my birthday, and she got really mad that I didn't give it to her. Then for months, after I left her, she would just show up and kind of harass me, wanting to get back together. Loudly speaking, well, what about my feelings?

I would answer back, what about my feelings? She didn't care about that, only hers. Like I said, this went on for months, like five to six months. I was scared of her. This and the three other girls I had over the years is why I don't have a girlfriend and probably never will. I'm too scared of being hurt by abusive women, which is sad, I know. Hello again, Raven.

and this is a story from this lifetime and this timeline, I think, from when I was about eight years old. This was around the time of my eighth birthday. I'm an early August baby. I'm a Leo, so a lot of my birthday activities revolved around summer fun. This year, my mother took myself and my friend from school, Brandy, to a fun city in Burlington, Iowa. During this event, Brandy and I were on our own interview. tubes in the lazy river. I gone off mine to swim around for a bit because I thought that I saw something in the water. Well, apparently when I tried to come up for air, being unable to find the thing, I was right underneath Brandy. She started kicking my head downwards and kept pushing it

under. The sides of my vision started going black, and I started hearing something that sound similar to the PlayStation 1 startup noise without the sparkles. And the tone was getting deeper the longer I was under the water. Eventually, I saw the light, and I remember thinking to myself, don't go to the light. That's what they say in movies, right? What if I die here? Why hasn't the lifeguard pulled me out yet? I'm too young to die.

This can't happen. Like, come on, it's my birthday. I tried to get away from the light, but it felt like the softest and warmest blanket right out of the dryer. It felt so comforting, and I didn't want to go, but I knew that I had to because it wasn't my time yet. Eventually, someone grabbed my hand and put it on the side of the pool so I could pull myself up. The lifeguard was just about to jump in. I don't know who grabbed my hand. I crawled out of the pool and started spitting out the water and catching my breath.

Once I caught my breath, I started screaming at Brandy for nearly killing me. It went something like, I'm not a fish, I can't breathe underwater. You almost killed me. I almost drowned. Why were you shoving my head under? I can't hold my breath for a minute underwater like you. You know this, Brandy. My mom told me to calm down and looked furious at me for bringing so much attention to us.

I said, no, mom, I nearly drowned. And you almost had to go home on my bird. birthday without me because you were too busy doing whatever to help me. Eventually, I calmed down, not because my feelings were resolved, but because I knew that nobody understood how big of a deal this was. Nobody but myself seemed to know how close I had gotten to dying in a water park on my birthday, or at least they acted like they didn't care. Personally, I'm wondering what took the life card so long.

I still have to thank whoever pulled me out of the life. the water because they truly saved my life. I never returned to the water park part of Fun City ever. I opted to stay in the arcade and the RV cart part of the park when we went back later for school trips. I also know that somewhere in my soul, there is a timeline where I didn't make it out of Fun City alive. Thanks to whoever or whatever saved me in that timeline

because I genuinely wouldn't be here without you. I don't hold any resentment towards Branden's. because I don't think she intended to nearly kill me. My mother is no longer with us. She passed shortly after my 18th birthday in August of 2011. She fostered between 20 to 50 kids in her lifetime, and they adopted four of us. I'm the youngest, although they fostered other children after adopting me. My theory is she thought I was just being dramatic.

She was asleep. She was too busy talking to someone to pay attention, or she just didn't care. Knowing her, I think she was too busy talking to someone to pay much attention. And she thought that I was seeking attention. We would frequently stop in the middle of Walmart so she could have a few five to ten minute conversations with her friends. And she would frequently ignore me during such conversations. If you want a $3,000 a month payday for life, what would you feel free to do? Maybe take a long weekend, every weekend, or try a bunch of new hobbies?

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Introducing Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg, a new fit that moves with you. It's everything you want denim to feel like for summer. easy, breathable, and effortlessly cool. With a fit that creates natural movement and a wide leg that feels modern, not overwhelming. Plus, that signature, wait, for this price, moment. Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg. Carrie Swenson was not inexperienced, reckless, or unaware of her surroundings.

She was, in fact, the opposite. In the early 1980s, Carrie was an elite bi-athlete. a member of the U.S. National Biathlon team and an Olympic hopeful. Biathlon is a sport that combines cross-country skiing with rifle marksmanship, demanding endurance, focus, and physical discipline at a very high level. Carrie trained hard. She was strong, capable, and conditioned for both harsh terrain and long distances. This is important.

Because when stories like this aren't told properly, they quietly imply that the person, lacked awareness or preparation. Carrie Swenson did not. She was not naive about the outdoors, physical exertion, or about her own limits. She was simply doing something she had done a thousand times before. In July of 1984, Carrie was jogging near her home in Wyoming, training as part of her athletic conditioning.

The area was simultaneously rural, quiet, and familiar. She wasn't on an unfamiliar trail or taking. some kind of risky detour, this was just part of her life, the way she prepared her body and mind for the highest levels of competition. As Carrie was running, two men approached her. They didn't rush her and they weren't brandishing weapons, nor did they shout threats. Instead, the pair approached Carrie and spoke. They claimed that they were lost hunters and were seeking some help. Their tone was awkward, hesitant. almost apologetic.

Nothing about the interaction screamed danger. In fact, it leaned on something most of us are conditioned to offer out of reflex. Politeness. That's what makes this story so incredibly unsettling. There's no obvious red flag and no cinematic warning. It was just a simple interaction with two seemingly normal people in a place where running into others wasn't that out of place. And so Carrie stopped. What happened next?

very fast. The men produced weapons, and all at once, the truth surfaced and the tone shifted. This was no misunderstanding. It was not an awkward encounter. This was a kidnapping. The men restrained Carrie and dragged her deeper into the wilderness at gunpoint. The shift from harmless request to active threat had been so sudden and absolute, that there had been no chance for Carrie to spot ill-intent, and there was no series of bad choices to dissect later. This was simply a lie that had worked. They took Carrie deep into the wilderness,

to a remote area that even someone of her physical capabilities would have difficulty escaping from. They were prepared for this. They knew the terrain, and they had plenty of supplies. Truthfully, they thought that the isolation would do most of the work for them. Her athletic training mattered here. Not in a heroic and cinematic way you made envision, but in a more brutal and practical one. Endurance, pain, tolerance, and mental focus, the ability to keep going even when her body was screaming at her to stop. These were all

skills she had developed for sport and was now repurposing for survival. Still, survival was never a guarantee. Strength didn't make her safe. It did, however, by her time. Carrie spent days in captivity, deep in the wilderness before things began to unravel. They unraveled not because the men had lost control, but because the wilderness itself doesn't cooperate with fantasy. Local residents, armed and alert after Carrie was reported missing, began searching the area.

Eventually, a group of civilians met the men. A confrontation followed and gunfire was exchanged, and during the chaos, Carrie was shot. She was recovered alive, but seriously wounded. A bullet had torn straight through her lung. Her survival was the result of many things intersecting at once. Her own endurance, the intervention of others, and a break in the kidnapper's plans. It was not a clean victory. It wasn't triumphant.

It was survival narrowly achieved. Carrie's story is often framed as one of resilience, and that's not wrong, but focusing solely on the survival part of the story really risks missing the more disturbing truth at the center of the case. The most dangerous part of the story was never the wilderness. It was the conversation. The trap wasn't physical weakness. It was social conditioning. The men didn't overpower Carrie at first. They engaged with her in a way that felt ordinary enough not to trigger alarm.

They exploited the assumption that danger looks obvious and announces itself clearly. That bad situations feel wrong immediately. It didn't. The true danger here wasn't the wilderness or even the weapons. The men that abducted Carrie were not acting on impulse. They were acting on something far, far worse. Delusion. Carrie lived.

She didn't vanish into the mountains, nor did she become some footnote in someone else's apocalyptic delusion. She recovered. She even returned to biathlon, and competed again. That might be the most profound detail of all. Survival itself is one thing, but reclaiming your life is something completely different. Carrie Swenson's story isn't just about being resilient in the face of violence. It's about the fragility of extremist fantasy when it's confronted head-on by community, law,

and the stubborn refusal of a captive to disappear. When it all came down to it, extremism was fragile in the face of endurance and community. Carrie's captors had relied on isolation to do the heavy lifting, and when faced with solidarity, the entire foundation crumbled. Carrie Swenson, you are a freaking legend. and an inspiration. Hello, Raven. I'm writing to share an experience that I've had difficulty explaining,

even after months of thinking it over. I'm not someone who tends to jump to unusual conclusions, but this incident and what followed has left me with more questions than answers. I guess you could title this, glitch or abduction. A few months ago, I woke up on my living room sofa. That, in itself, isn't unusual for me. At first, everything seemed normal, but as I became more aware, a thought

kept coming back to my mind. Didn't we just take a walk? By we, I mean myself and my dog, who was resting in her usual bed nearby. What immediately felt strange was that I had no memory of returning home, or of how I ended up on the sofa. Despite that, I had a very clear fragment of memory, being down by the river where I'd regularly walk my dog. I specifically remember noticing that a footbridge, one that had been taped off for months due to being unsafe, appeared to have been repaired. I recalled that the caution tape was gone, and that the surface must have been replaced. At first, I assumed this must have been a dream while I was dozing, but the more I thought about

it, the less that explanation made sense. If I had actually taken a walk, how had I gotten back? I had no memory of returning at all. As I looked around more carefully, I noticed that something was off. My dog's leash was not where it should have been. That stood out immediately because I always use a leash when returning home. We cross private property and a busy highway, and that's a habit that I never break. Then I realized something else.

The hoodie that I would have been wearing on the walk was also. so missing. These are not items that I casually misplace. I have a routine. After every walk, I returned the leash to my truck and lock the vehicle, so I always know where it is. To check this, I went outside. My truck was unlocked, which is unusual for me, and the leash was not inside. That strongly suggested that I had taken it out for a walk, but it had not been returned. The leash has never been found since, and neither has the hoodie. The following day I went down to the river to check on the bridge, it had in fact been repaired, exactly as I remembered.

New surface, no caution tape. That raised another question. How did I know that if I hadn't actually been there? The next morning, I noticed that my left forearm was extremely tender. As though I had struck it hard against something, the pain was consistent with a deep bruise that lasted for about a week. However, I have no memory of injuring myself at all. What I'm left with is this.

A distinct but incomplete memory of being at the river. No recollection of returning home. A missing leash and hoodie that have never been recovered. An unlocked truck, which is out of character for me. And verified knowledge of a real world change, the repaired bridge. And then lastly, a physical injury with no remembered cause. Even allowing for the possibility of lapse in memory or an altered state, I find it difficult to reconcile all of these details together.

Considering the lost time and wiped memory, I lean toward abduction. That would also explain the physical injury. I'm not claiming any particular explanation. I'm simply trying to understand what might have happened and whether others have experienced anything similar. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Hello, Raven. I hope you're doing well. Pretty good. I first want to start out by saying that I absolutely love your YouTube channel. Around late summer evening of 2021, I was sitting on my bedroom floor watching an old episode of the Maori show on YouTube on my iPad.

As the episode was gradually starting to come to a close, I heard an I-message notification go off on my iPhone. That was sitting on my bedroom table. A few seconds later I paused the video, gone up off the floor, and went to the table to see who had texted me. Well, oddly enough, it was a text from a random number I didn't recognize at all that was based in an upscale area of Tennessee. The text said my name, Emma, with a kissing face emoji next to the name. Followed by a random link next to it. I was extremely curious, so I opened up by a kissing face emoji next to the name. I was extremely curious, so I opened up message and replied to the text. I questioned, who is this? A few hours went by and there wasn't any

sort of reply, so I looked at the random link in the text and decided to manually type the first part of the link before the slash into Duck Duck Go to see what would pop up. Once the page loaded, it opened up a blank white screen. Besides one brief sentence in the top right corner that said, you are beautiful with an exclamation point at the end. So, I typed in the rest of the link after the slash, and it automatically opened up a page to the song Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley. I went back to iMessage and texted the number again questioning the anonymous sender. Who are you?

Still, no response. Then I sent them a photo of my pretzel snack that I was eating to see if it would get them to fess up, as to who they at least could be. Once again, no response, so I then texted them. This is clearly a joke. I don't know who you are, so just please don't text me. Well, little did I know that that's when things were just getting started for at least the next year and a half from that day out.

A few days later, I got another text with my name next to it with a different link from an entirely different phone number. I got the same results. But then things got even creepier when I started hearing a third-party voice on the other end of the line, when I would be on the phone with a friend or a family member. The third-party voice sounded like a male in his 20s disguised by some sort of auto-tune effect. One time when I was on the phone with my dad, I heard the third-party voice then say my name, Emma. I then asked my dad if someone in the background on his end was calling out to me, and he said,

said no. Then there were other times where I would be on the phone with friends and I would hear the same third-party voice say stuff such as, Emma, I love you. You're beautiful. Then there was one time things got exceptionally creepy when I heard the third-party voice say when I was on the phone and it said it clear as day, Emma, don't listen to your parents? The text messages, they even got creepier and creepier. I remember one time I was on the phone with the friend, and I was talking to them about these strange occurrences, and how I might have a creepy secret admirer. And that's when I randomly got a text from another strange number that said,

You have a secret admirer, this could turn into something great. Chills ran down my spine in that moment. Keep in mind, I was also on the phone with the friend talking about the other pre-yearer. previous strange text messages when that happened. That is when I realized that I had someone listening into all of my phone calls, who also probably had a ton of my personal information, along with having accessed all of my text messages in social media. It totally freaked me out.

I eventually got so annoyed with it to the point that I ended up changing my phone number permanently. Keep in mind, hardly anyone had my old phone number, let alone my call. current one. Since then, I haven't heard a single word from this cyberstalker of mine. I hope they've moved on in life and have found something way better to do with their time. Thank you so much for listening to my story, Raven. I graciously appreciate it. Hopefully you got a new phone, too.

Just in case. Because that's... It's weird. Hi, Raven. Listening to the stories you read, I decided that I also wanted to submit to... a weird experience I had when I was 13. It's not very exciting compared to others I've heard, but I want to send it anyways, because I have a message that I really want to submit.

I'm female and grew up in Germany. I was on the bus one day. I was 13, as mentioned. I was on my way home from school and was reading a book. When I looked up, I saw a man sitting on the opposite bench, who played with his you know what, and was grinning intensely at me. I was shocked and embarrassed, but did nothing more than pretend to read my book for some more minutes, until the bus stopped and then I ran home as fast as I could. He didn't follow me, but still, after all those years, I can remember how he looked.

I could even draw a picture of him. He was so disgusting. This was in 1974. I'm 64 years old now. I never told anyone, and I wonder why. I wish I had the strength and knowledge back then than I have now. But please, to all of you who have children, especially daughters, please teach them how they should react when they meet one of these disgusting creeps.

Teach the girls' self-confidence and self-respect, so they don't feel like natural-born victims in such situations. as if it was normal that men would treat us like that, and as if girls always have to be nice and polite and cute, no matter how inappropriate men behave. It makes me so angry when I hear those stories, how mostly girls and women are being stalked, threatened, how they're being harassed and forced to feel or change their routes to work,

or even their homes and workplaces. Shame has to change. change sides. I have a lot of stories. Stories ranging from the weird and unexplained to, so that just happened. I've created a new account to keep some semblance of anonymity, but there are really only a handful of people who really know about these stories. Pick and choose at your own will, but I felt like I had to finally get these out of my brain. Story number one. I want to preface the story by offering the disclaimer that there are huge chunks of my life that I do not remember.

It's not trauma, or at least I hope it's not. But I am pretty severely neurodivergent, and I spend a good portion of my life pill-hopping to find a way to feel normal. Lucky for me, just last year at the age of 40, I was finally prescribed a winning combination, and I finally got to experience how, quote, normal people feel. But I digress. The reason I point that out is because even though there are chunks of my life missing and memories I wish I had, there are also oddly specific, seemingly, totally meaningless memories that pop up from time to time. Now, that's out of the way.

I need to tell someone about a memory I have from approximately 1983 to 1984. I was most definitely at most three years old, because I was born in 81 and we moved to to a new city in 84. My dad worked in an above-ground mine, and I can still picture the front yard, the walkway to the front door, the dining room, the hallway, my room that I shared with my sister and my parents' bedroom. The room my sister and I shared was the first bedroom on the left in the hallway, then my brother's room at the end and my parents' room at the end of the hallway on the right.

In our room, my crib was on the left side of the room directly under the window, and my sister's bed was against the opposite wall by the door. I remember that one night I was in my crib and it was pitch black. I could see these stars through my window. That night seemed to go on forever, or however long forever is to a three-year-old, because for what seemed like hours, I heard a man's voice yelling, help me, help me fire, fire, over and over and over. His voice seemed like it was right with me, or loud like it was inside my head. And he had an almost cartoonish southern accent yelling, help me, help me fire. Those were the days where most families had one massive block of a TV, if at all. And I'm assuming our television was somewhere in the sunken living

room by the Giant Stone fireplace. It struck me as I'm writing this that I also remember this room very vividly. I don't remember if I even try to to tell my mom or dad. But I do know that I've told my husband about the man's voice, and as expected, he looked at me with a face that said, yeah, right. Because, really, who would believe a three-year-old? Story number two, after we moved into the new city circa 1984, maybe early 1985, I was now four years old.

My dad was hired on at a large construction company, and we moved into a very nice middle-class. class two-story house. It was a 1900 square foot five-bedroom three-bathroom home. More so than the previous home, I can still close my eyes and mentally walk every square inch of that house. I'll lay it out as much as I can, so the story makes sense. You would access the basement via a set of stairs down to the right of the middle of the upper level. At the base of the stairs, Immediately to the left, there was a small room that I don't think technically could be called a bedroom, but it was tiny. Immediately past this room to the left was my older sister's room.

Across from her room was the bathroom. From the bottom of the stairs, you would have to make a complete 180 to continue down the hallway. To the best of my recollection, as you walked down the hall, there was a storage room to the left, and then a little further down there was a large entrance that opened into the massive family room. In this family room there was a large fireplace, a closet, and for some reason only half of the floor was carpeted. There were also large supports that separated the carpeted area from the concrete area. Past the large room, eventually you would reach my brother's room, which was at the very end of a dark wood-paneled hallway. Now, you can call me a liar all you want, but there was something majorly wrong with the basement.

It's a total understatement to declare that the basement filled me with complete and total dread. I don't know if it was when I know I saw hoof prints along the wall of the storage room, or when I would have nightmares about the sharp-toothed critters, not like the movie, or if it was one of the times I braved to go down and watch TV alone, only to hear someone walk into the family room, you know, like socks on carpet, only to turn and see what I can describe as an electric outline of a person. Every time, I would sit on the couch, which faced away from the entrance of the living room. It felt as though you were being watched and the hairs on the back of your neck would tingle.

I don't remember ever leaving that room at a normal relaxed pace. Luckily, my room was upstairs, and I rarely went past my sister's room when I did go downstairs. I'm glad that we moved to a new house after about five years there. Story number three. We moved to the new house of a similar size five hours away when I was just about to turn eight. This house was pretty nice with a beautiful view of the city below. We really lucked out with this house, and for the majority of my 15 years living there, it was peaceful, calm, and really filled with a lot of love. There were, however, a few scary incidents that happened there, but not of the paranormal kind.

The creepy people kind. In our downstairs living room, there were two couches. One was placed along the back wall, and the other was placed along the side wall under a large window with the back door between the two couches. The back door was almost always locked, as my mom tends to be a very paranoid and anxious lady. Although we lived in a very safe neighborhood surrounded by a somewhat older population, there was a house next door which housed a myriad of different people throughout the years. We lived in a college town, and this house was more like a boarding house versus a family house.

Anyway, this night in particular I was sleeping on the couch under the big window. I was a very heavy sleeper at the time, and although I remember hearing some kind of banging, I didn't really wake up. At one point I did wake up and I looked back to see a man sitting on the couch along the back wall, and I remember thinking it was one of my older brother's friends. No big deal, right? The next time I woke up, I turned to see two police officers and my parents standing in front of the man who was still sitting on the couch. It turns out, some dude was incredibly drunk and he was from out of town and visiting friends. Somehow he had forgotten or misjudged where his friend's house was, next door, and had broken through our back door thinking

he was in the right place. The story isn't necessarily scary, and we even joke about it now, but I've wondered throughout the years why my parents didn't scoop me up and get me out of there. Why didn't they take me to another room? What if this man had, in fact, been dangerous? Maybe they were trying not to scare me or hoped that I would sleep through it all. But the younger of my two older brothers had heard the banging from his room, which was clear down the basement hallway, and had come out to see the man passed out on the couch and gone upstairs to tell my parents. I'm not a very heavy sleeper anymore. The second traumatizing incident in this house actually happened to my older sister,

who was approximately 18 at the time. All of our bedrooms were down south. and I suppose I should mention that we lived on a hill, so where my parents' bedroom upstairs had normal windows, all of the bedrooms downstairs also had normal windows. I don't know if that makes sense. Think of our house as short to tall with the back of the house facing the city. Anyway, one night my sister was in her room changing, and as she looked out of her window, it only took a few seconds to see the silhouette of a person blocking out the last.

light of the city. She never saw his face because he ran off when, I assume, he realized my sister could see him. She was, of course, freaked out, and we all just assumed that it was someone she knew from school. We never did find out who it was, but I can tell you that from that night on, I had to completely block out my windows, even tacking down the open spaces because I was so afraid of someone looking in. Even when I moved out, out on my own, I always, always chose the upstairs apartments, as to avoid this ever happening to me. I'm now 41 years old, and to this day I have to close all of the shades and curtains when night falls. The last creepy experience in that house also did not happen to me, but it did

kick off the process of my mom and dad moving from the home they loved for over 25 years. As I mentioned before, the house next door acted as a revolving door for countless college students and whatnot for years. In 2015, a man lived there who, by all accounts, was just plain creepy. My mom says that he always glared at her when she would see him outside, and she had often heard yelling and swearing coming from the house. Well, on Christmas Eve of that year, a knock on her door revealed police officers questioning if she had heard or seen anything that day.

that seemed out of the ordinary. She mentioned that she had again heard some yelling, but it wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary as they had problems for years with college parties, yelling, screaming, etc. She would discover that a young woman, who had been reported as missing on Christmas Eve, it was severely beaten by her boyfriend,

the creepy guy, and he had taken her up a nearby canyon and dumped her nearly dead body down at an embankment. I believe she was alive when he dumped her body, but she eventually died from her injuries before being found. According to reports, she had told a co-worker that if she went missing, to look in the canyon because he would often take her there to hurt her. It's truly heart-wrenching, and although we do have a moderate amount of crime in the city, things like this definitely shock the community. May she rest in peace. Story number four and my final story.

A few years ago, 2015-16, it was December and we had just put up our Christmas tree. Because I love the look of the twinkling lights in the dark and it always brought me a lot of warmth and comfort. So sometimes, even though I'm now 40 and have a kid of my own, I still like to snuggle up on the couch next to the Christmas tree and fall asleep. I suppose it helps me forget the stress of the season, and it helps me remember some of that Christmas magic I experienced as a kid. Also, for context, we placed the Christmas tree right in front of our big picture window, and the couch was perpendicular to it, just off to the side. The back of the couch faces the front door and the hallway down the bedroom goes off backwards from there. This night I snuggled down and drifted off to sleep facing the lights of the trees. I don't know how long I had been asleep, but I woke up feeling little hands and arms wrapping around me from behind.

This did not alarm me at all, because at the time, my kids were small and it was very common for them to come and find me in the middle of the night and snuggle up next to me. For a moment I kind of responded with my own snuggling back, before coming to me. to the realization that my back was pressed fully up against the cushions of the couch, and there was no way one of my kids was behind me. I could still feel the arms, and then I realized I couldn't move. I tried to scream. In my head, I was screaming for my husband, and I mean screaming for him, but I knew it wasn't actually coming out of my mouth.

I started trying to wrench myself off of the couch to get away, and it was like dragging myself through mud, and like I was just being held there. Eventually, I threw myself to the ground in front of the tree, all while screaming for my husband. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced, and just as I got to the floor and looked back at the couch, where I'd been held down, I woke up.

I was still lying on the couch in the same position in which I'd fallen asleep, facing the tree. Everyone was asleep. My chest had the heaviest white-hot feeling of sheer dread I have ever felt. When I sat up, I could hear what sounded like someone walking down the hall in socks. Remember that creepy basement story for when I was a kid? I got up and looked down the hall to see nothing. No one.

I had dreamed it all. Or had I? Fast forward a few years and I start getting those white-hot feelings of dread in my chest. and I know to wake myself up, but there have been a few nights where I haven't held on to reality fast enough, and I've slipped into a dread-filled dream trap. I don't necessarily think it's sleep paralysis in the traditional sense, like most people experience. I've never seen demons or old hags, etc. I know when I feel that dread I need to grab onto my husband's arm or something very real and tangible, or else I get trapped again. One of the last times it happened, I was trapped in dream after dream thinking I was finally waking up and grabbing my husband, or screaming, only to realize that I was still dreaming.

When I finally ripped myself from the trap and yelled out, I could hardly keep myself from falling back to sleep as if something were forcing me to sleep. I believe this was the night my husband finally admitted to me that he thinks he saw something at the end of the bed when I finally were. woke up. He didn't go into it any further, and I think he doesn't want to scare me. In a weird way, I'm glad I was able to associate that feeling of dread with these experiences. And sometimes it's better for me to just stay awake rather than get dream trapped again. The last time that had happened was in June of 2022. We were on a family vacation and sleeping in the basement of a beautiful cabin in the woods. As usual, the white-hot dread filled my chest, and I knew it was coming.

But I think I was already too far in to wake myself up. I don't really remember the dream at this point other than I kept waking up, only to have the loop start over. In these traps, I attempt to scream and scream and grab my husband, but I can't move or speak. There does come a point where I fight an exhausting battle with myself to wake up, like dragging yourself through the thickest mud you can imagine. I woke up absolutely sobbing and although I was exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally, I fought to stay awake because I was terrified I would slip back in. I cried into my husband's arms for a good half hour.

He's definitely sympathetic and he always tries to comfort me. This was by far the worst trap I've experienced, because for the rest of that day and into the next, I would have to stop and quietly ask my husband, this is real, right? He would assure me that I was actually awake and that everything that was happening was in fact real. I don't know why I started to experience this, and I do suffer from anxiety, so maybe it's just my subconscious reacting to times of heavy stress, but I know I never once. to experience it again? What if my brain, whatever, or whoever is causing this, knows to reassure me that this is real

when I'm actually still trapped? Hello there, friends, Raven here. Welcome to the end of this episode of As the Raven Dreams. I hope that you genuinely enjoyed this collection of scary stories, as I enjoyed putting them together for you. If the platform you're on has the option to follow the podcast or leave ratings or reviews, please do consider doing so as it helps the podcast grow. Of course, if you enjoy the content, that is.

If you didn't enjoy it, then feel free to also leave a rating as honesty is important, and I take all feedback seriously. Also, I do have a YouTube channel. It's a lot of the same content, but we do live streams on Saturdays around 6 p.m. Central, so if you're free once Saturday night and want to come over and say hi, I would love to have you there. We just kind of have a good time doing whatever we want for the few hours that I'm online. You can also join the Patreon, patreon.com slash as the raven dreams, for early access to all this content.

Check out the website, astherravendreams.com for information and where you can listen to the podcast, find all my social media links, find the merch store, and send in your own stories to keep the podcast going, is it pretty much exists on crowdsourced content at this point. All of you really do keep the show going, so a huge thank you for that. Also on the website is information about the book that I wrote, titled The Insomniacs Experiment by Raven Adams. It's a psychological thriller, and I think it's pretty good. You might actually like it.

Check it out. It's available on Amazon, or if you want a signed copy, you can email me to see if I have any left, and I will absolutely oblige if I do. All that said, friends, I hope you have a lovely rest of your day. I hope I see you again here very soon. But until then, remember that you are loved. You are valid. You are important.

And the world is a better place with you in it. Don't forget that. Until next time, much love and sleep well. Hey, y'all, it's Kelly Clarkson with Wayfair. Ever order furniture online and wonder, what if? Like, what if it doesn't hold up? That sofa was four days old. You should have ordered from Wayfair.

With Wayfair, there's no what if. Just style you love and quality you can trust. Visit wayfair.ca. Wayfair, every style, every home.