As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Scary Stories For Dark Dreams - Vol 32 | ATRD Podcast

Episode Date: April 6, 2025

Today we have more than ## hours of true scary stories with a late night ambience. Scary Stories For Dark Dreams is a collection of older stories, remastered and put together in a long form episode. This Collection includes the following stories; Scary Hospital Stories, Family Secret Stories and other true scary stories. So, turn down the lights, tune in, and let the haunting tales of everyday people take you down that dark and creepy road. Remember, these aren't just stories... these are true experiences that remind us that our world can truly be scarier than fiction. Support the channel for Early Access AND more! Patreon ➤ https://patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Check out the Merch Store! ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Much Love, and Sleep Well... ----- #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #RedditStories ➤ Stories include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Viewer discretion is always advised. ➤ ALL Audio of this Podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format, without explicit permission ➤ If you like any of the following stories, consider subscribing! - Dark Web horror stories, creepy lets not meet stories, stalker stories, Glitch In The Matrix Stories, Unexplained Horror stories, Paranormal stories, cryptid encounter stories, Crazy ex lover stories, creepy neighbor stories, quantum immortality, true scary stories from reddit, or any other True horror Stories! ➤ And Remember; You are loved, you are important, and you are valid. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Story 1: 00:24 Story 2: 13:23 Story 3: 21:43 Story 4: 32:17 Story 5: 49:10 Story 6: 53:59 Story 7: 57:52 Story 8: 1:07:51 Story 9: 1:18:52 Story 10: 1:25:41 Story 11: 1:33:19 Story 12: 1:42:56 Story 13: 1:45:55 Story 14: 1:53:25 Story 15: 1:56:24 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you have a true scary story you'd like to share with the podcast, go to as-the-ravendreams.com and click the button to send it my way. Also, if the platform you're on has the option to rate the podcast or leave a comment, please consider doing so. And as always, thank you. This is about my father's sister, Susan. My aunt, Sue, as we called her. My dad had seven siblings, three sisters and four brothers. He was the middle child, and Sue was the second youngest. Growing up, I knew my grandparents as being very self-reliant and independent.

They lived in the same house since they got married in the 30s, and I even stayed the night there with siblings or cousins on many occasions. They really were the glue that held the family together. We had parties and holiday gatherings there, and it was always a great time. The only problem that ever came up was typically started by Sue. Now, not everyone in the family was well off. One of my uncles had his own business, an aunt was a realtor, and I think another uncle was some kind of doctor, or did something in the medical field, but I don't remember.

Everyone else, however, just had normal lives. Like, my dad was a semi-mechanic. My mom was a schoolteacher. Another uncle did carpentry. All seemingly normal jobs, so it's not like any part of my family was wealthy. I think my grandparents just had good savings and retirement, I suppose. Regardless, everyone was able to support their own families. Everyone, that is, but Sue.

She was the one that had odd jobs here and there, and never had one for more than six months probably. She didn't complete high school, she had a kid when she was 17, but she did get her GED. She started going to culinary school but never finished it. She used her son as an excuse for that as well, but then his father actually won custody of him before she dropped out,

so she didn't even have to care for him. I was old enough to understand what was going on because she would always end up getting money from my grandparents and even my dad and other aunts and uncles before. Some of them, like my uncle Ben, always refused to give her money. I think something happened that I'm still unaware of to this day that made him put his foot down. Things really started taking a turn when my grandfather passed.

He had underlying heart conditions, and his cause of death was heart failure. So I suppose the family knew that it was coming. He was in the hospital when he went, but I remember all of us going up there to see him and say our goodbyes. When he passed, as expected, just about everything went to my grandmother, except for a few things, such as a vintage car that he gave to my oldest uncle, and he even had these accounts set up for me and my siblings and our cousins, which there were 12 of us total. They each had $500 in them, and they accrued interest, but they couldn't be touched by anyone but us kids, and not until we were 18.

Nobody was upset about it, because since my grandmother had survived him, why? Why wouldn't she get most of it? It all made sense to my aunts and uncles, except for Sue. We had the celebration of life party the same day of his birthday, which was a little over a month after his passing, if I remember correctly. That's when we learned about these accounts. This did not sit well with Sue. She was visibly upset and had made comments about how much she did for them

and that she wasn't being appreciated. Uncle Ben told her that she needed to calm down because even her son, that she didn't have custody of, got an account, and that it wasn't about her. She quickly left, making the party a bit awkward, but my grandma did what she normally did, and brought it back around so that we all could have a good time.

A few years later, my grandma had a fall on her front stairs, and she had to have hip surgery. My parents actually picked her up from the hospital, and she stayed with us for about a week, until someone helped install a ramp next to her stairs. As mentioned, my grandparents had always been very independent, and my grandmother even after my grandfather passed,

so it was really hard to let go of the independence when she was healed. It was quite the surprise to us when Sue, kept showing up and staying at her place for days on end, saying that she was going there to help her. Even though a lot of people thought it was weird, Sue actually seemed to be helping a lot. She helped her with her garden that she cherished, she mowed the lawn,

and she even kept the house clean and dusted. Ben was even impressed, and we seemed to have a good time when we were over there. Then we learned that part of the reason that she had been stalled, staying there, was that she had been evicted, and she didn't have the money to find another place, as she wasn't working at the time. My grandma explained that she allowed her to move in until she was able to find a place, as long as she actually helped around her house. So, she seemed to be under a spotlight, everyone watching what she did, but it didn't seem to phase her,

which seemed to make everyone let their guard down, I suppose. then my grandmother started having complications. It started with her seemingly just having the flu or something like that, so we would just have to cancel holiday plans or reschedule. She still called and talked to us, but the parties became more and more different. When we did go over there, she looked noticeably different. She was thinner, sometimes she even had bruises on her arms

and legs, and said that she was going through bouts of illnesses causing a loss of appetite, so that's why she was losing weight. Of course, being grandma, she always made jokes about finally being skinny and things like that. She said that she was fine, as she was taking medications that she was prescribed, as well as vitamins, and we moved on. But she always seemed to have something wrong with her when we talked to her or visited. I know that she was older, she was in her 70s when this all happened, but my grandma had always been in great health. No cancers or other genetic diseases really on my paternal side, so to see her going from healthy, even after hip surgery, and slowly becoming this frail woman, it was alarming.

She always had a reason for her ailments, and Sue always seemed to be right there to explain more indeed. detail as to what was going on. She would always go on about all the different medications that she had to take, and I think everyone seemed to question it. How could someone's health change so much? How come they always defaulted to these strong and sometimes harsh drugs for someone her age? My dad and Uncle Ben and Roger always became upset about the whole thing, and mentioned talking to her doctor about it because they didn't think that it was.

was right. Grandma, however, would always try to calm them, telling them that she was fine and to not worry about her. But I knew that it would still eat at them. My dad talked with my mom a lot about it, and what options, if any, they would have. As time went on, her list of medications increased, and the worse she looked. It obviously ate away at her as she always dressed her best, but she stopped wearing her sun dresses and hats, and was typically just wearing pants in a blouse, covering as much skin as possible. She still talked to everyone, but she wasn't the outgoing self that she had always been. It was heartbreaking. I was really close to her, so when she seemed to not be able to focus on our conversations, it really started affecting me. Then, one day, while we were having

dinner, and my dad got a phone call from Aunt Sue. She was inconsolable, as she had told him that my grandma had died. I had never seen my dad so upset in my life. We weren't allowed to go over there, so we stayed home with the neighbor, and my parents went to the house. I was old enough to know what was going on at this point, not to mention the conversations my parents had at home, and with my aunts and uncles. It was a terrifying thought.

They all thought, and still think, that Sue had something to do with it. There was apparently a fight between Sue and Ben when they arrived. The death certificate said that she had died of natural causes, but they also found no proof of any of the illnesses that Sue claimed she had. Yet she still had all the medications prescribed to her. The other reason everyone believed that she was involved was because everything in her will, other than those accounts for us kids, was signed over to sue.

My dad knew for a fact that the house was supposed to go to my youngest uncle, James. His wife passed away from breast cancer, so he'd been raising three girls alone, and my grandparents had talked to some of the others about it, asked what they thought about the situation, and they all agreed with the decision. So the fact that it was now going to sue was unbelievable. Their life insurance, the house, my grandma's prized possessions, all for her to do with as she pleased.

And she had no qualms with keeping it all for herself either. She told the family that we could come and get some things that she didn't want or have any use for, which, in all honesty, most were of no vows. value, old furniture, knick-knacks, clothing, things that she would have just thrown away. She had these beautiful dolls that I always loved holding and brushing their hair, and my grandma had told me that they would be mine one day. My aunt Sue tossed them out, so I snatched them up in a heartbeat, as well as some of her dresses. Other than those items, she pretty much just mocked or tormented the rest of the family, acting like she was better than all of them and that she earned it all

because she took care of her for so long. Everyone always offered to help, but sometimes my grandma insisted that she was fine, or Sue would answer her and never allowed it. Shortly after everything was settled, she quickly sent a letter, delivered by a lawyer, to all of the siblings, including my brother, saying that they were to leave her alone and never talk to her again. There was no actual court order or anything of that sort, so many people tried to contact her to find out what was going on,

but she refused to ever talk to anyone. When I turned 18, I actually tried reaching out to her as well, but after saying who I was on the call, she acted like she didn't remember me and hung up. And that was the last time that I ever. heard from her. In 2019, she actually passed away, most likely alone, she never had any other kids or ever got married. We only found out through a mutual friend that she had passed. If she had anything to do with my grandmother's death, she took it to the grave with her, and our family will

always live with this hole in our life. Sireote, bookine Oh, that also And profite Viarae, La Vois we love that we're No one's going to believe me I would be skeptical myself

And I fully expect people To discount this as utter fiction But I swear on my kids That every word is true This was told to me by someone Who has top clearance in the government He was not prone to telling stories Or bragging

I know the man's character, and I 100% know that he was telling the truth. But to everyone else, this is just another hearsay of someone who knew someone that was there. So I get it if you don't believe me. I'm not just telling this anonymously for my sake, but because the person who told me shouldn't have. He was telling me classified information. So here it goes. I met John my junior year in high school. He was a year older.

His family had moved him from New York City into the woods of East Nowhere right at the beginning of his senior year. I mean, who does that? Why not wait one year instead of ripping your kid away from everything he has ever known? Not to mention all the opportunities the city has compared to a diploma from a podunk town with a population of 500. But there has just been a major shift in the government. Apparently they moved suddenly with almost no warning, to the middle of nowhere, to a dead-end dirt road that even the locals didn't realize was there.

So John was a very close friend. He was my first boyfriend, but that didn't last. But we stayed close over many years. His father had been a politician. He had lots of stories, all verifiable, nothing secret. Stuff with him hanging with the Kennedys. He has the photos to prove it along with presidents and other famous people.

As I started college, John's parents had started going away for the winter. We were in a very cold state. They had a cat that John's father loved like crazy. My school didn't have dorms, so I lived in an apartment, but I went home for the summers. I missed having a cat, but... getting one wasn't practical because I kept moving back to my parents' house in the summer. It worked out beautifully, because I would take their cat for the winter, satisfying my need for a furry pet, and then bring him back home to John's dad for the summer.

My senior year, I get a call from John's dad a day before we're supposed to do the swap. He's sobbing. This is a man's man, practical, no nonsense, but this man is... bawling. The cat had gone out onto a paper-thin sheet of ice on the lake. The cat fell through, and John's dad went up into his chest to save the cat. And that's how much he wanted to save his beloved pets. But the cat didn't make it.

I'm telling you this because it was our bonding moment. I had known him for six years at this point, and we always got along, but this was the point where we were more friends, unless my friend's dad slash his son's friend. We were home on winter break after the incident with the cat dying. I was having dinner with the family. John's dad gets a phone call, pre-cell phones. He takes the call in the other room and comes back really quiet. He was usually talkative, but not boisterous.

He was positive without being a prankster. Just a nice, solid guy. Now he was deep in his own head. After dinner, he sits in his chair and he starts to talk. The phone call was a longtime friend and they had brain cancer. A very rare kind of brain cancer. He told me the name, but I've long forgotten. He then tells me that this is the sixth person he knew

that had gotten this specific rare cancer, which seemed odd. He said, yeah, it is, but when you realize that there were eight of us all who saw and touched the same thing, then it gets weirder, but explains the cancer. He and seven others had a tour of Roswell. They learned everything. There was a crash. There were four aliens. One was dead when the military got there, and one died shortly after.

One made it back to the base, but didn't survive more than a couple of hours. and the fourth, it lived with minor injuries. It did die, tortured to death with experiments. Of course, they worded that differently, he said, but that's what it was. They then saw the aircraft. They had been trying to fly it for years. They were able to turn it on, get it to hover, which they did a demonstration, but that was it. Although they learned a lot, and much of our technology was retro-engineered from it.

So now, 20 years later, six of the eight in the group that had a tour had gotten the very specific, very rare brain cancer. One had survived. Four died, and one had just gotten the diagnosis. He was worried for his friend, but terrified for himself. I cannot tell you what he looked like, just scared, relief for being able to tell the secret. Later he came to realize that he told us classified information. He said no one would believe us, but if the wrong people knew, he would be in danger, so please don't repeat it. And I didn't. Not for years. And after 25 years, I've only told two or three people.

But that's not the end. Two years after this, he was diagnosed with the same rare brain cancer. He survived. Of the group at that point, he and the other were still living. I believed him from the start, but him getting the same cancer two years later erased any of my doubts. And then, just a couple of years ago in a very different part of the state a hundred miles away, I'm talking to my neighbor. His dad was stationed at a military base in Japan. They were removing old filing cabinets that had been the...

there literally since the base started. Behind one of those cabinets, he finds a classified memo. It details the Roswell crash. It confirms everything that John's dad said. One DOA, one dead soon after, one made it to base, and one survived to be experimented on until he died. And they still have the bodies. They sent the memo to Washington.

When they checked to see if it got there, they said, what memo? and we don't know what you're talking about. The memo came out mostly redacted, after the Freedom of Information Act compelled its release. My neighbor said that it was the same memo that he held in his hands, but this was before cell phones and digital cameras, and they weren't about to let a teenager photocopy a classified document, even if it was from the 40s.

The fact that my neighbor said the exact same thing tells me that both are credible. But, like I said at the start, I don't expect anyone to believe me. I talked with someone who gave me an eyewitness account, but for you all it's just another story on the internet. I swear everything I have said is truth. And for what little it's worth, but like I said, I want to be anonymous for this one.

John's dad is passed, but still, there's no point in outing him for him, giving up classified information. Back in the 80s, I thought that I was strong enough to work in a children's psychiatric hospital. I loved kids. I always wanted them, so I thought that this was a good way for me to be involved and help those that could use an adult figure. Many of the kids that I saw come in there had real disorders or had experienced traumatic events that will probably always. affect them.

But then, there were also cases where the kids just seemed a bit more eccentric, and their parents didn't know how to handle them. So this was the easiest option for them. I was warned by several people to never let your guard down, always keep an open mind, and don't take everything at face value. But things always look easier until you actually try it for yourself, right? And that pretty much summed me up when I went into this job. One day, we got this little girl that I'll call Shelby.

Shelby was about eight, I believe, and on the surface seemed to be a very kind and intelligent girl. When she first came in, she was very quiet and shy, and I actually saw her sitting alone, reading, or coloring. When a patient comes in, though, we have an entrance interview to kind of get an idea of what they may be suffering from, and what kind of treatment we could do to help them. I didn't get to attend hers, but I heard from the other staff that it went pretty normal. She was healthy on the outside, but when they talked to her about her thoughts, all she really said was, sometimes I think about bad things, and I can't help it. They tried to clarify, but they said that she didn't or wouldn't go into it.

detail. She wouldn't even specify if it was when she was mad or scared, or if it was brought on by specific incidents, or anything like that either. Now, this was normal to C2. Sometimes the kids didn't really open up to anyone for a few sessions, or some, sadly, seemed to be even rehearsed by parents that just wanted them out. So, we were told to proceed as normal, keep an eye out and report anything that she may do or say to us. Doing what I did best, I tried to get the girl to open up some, and maybe even play with the other kids.

My thought was, they are still children, so they should still get to play and enjoy their childhood. I approached Shelby multiple times with just small talk in different activities to see if she would be interested in any of them. As expected, She was hesitant, but she slowly started letting her walls down. It was innocent enough at first. She talked to me about her mom, her bedroom, how much she missed it and couldn't wait to

go back. She even told me things that she liked to do, such as quilting with her mother and paper machay. I thought it was pretty impressive, and thought maybe I could get the supers to get more crafting supplies to do something similar. We had outdoor days on occasion for those that were a lower-level threat, and I remember going, playing some hopscotch with Shelby. After some time, we stopped and just sat on the bench talking about random things.

When she stopped mid-sentence to ask, How long do you think it takes for a person to bleed out? I, of course, didn't know how to respond, so I just said something like, I have no idea, and I asked her why she asked. She just shrugged, and it was as if it was the same conversation we were having, she said, I don't know, as she giggled and returned to our original statements. I had to tell the staff about it, unfortunately, in case it was a potential safety issue,

and they were surprised. They said that she wouldn't talk or open up to anyone else. She'd been sharing a room with another low-risk girl, but this conversation made them go in and take any potential dangers or risks out of the room. She seemed a little upset that we had to remove some of the supplies, but she didn't cause a scene or act out or anything because of it. She just seemed to understand. The weird conversations didn't stop, though.

Again, I was talking to her about something unimportant when she stopped and asked me, how much force would it take to break someone's neck? I was stunned, and again, shrugged like I didn't know. But she continued into this a little while longer. She was holding a stuffed animal at the time and was pretty much acting out what she meant. She continued on asking things like, I wonder if it would be easier to just squeeze it? or maybe if you step on it, or maybe throw something on it.

This whole time she was acting out on the little stuffed animal. I did my best to hide my reactions to this, but she didn't seem phased either, as she then wrapped up the conversation and went back to talking about what we were talking about before. I was in shock. I know it may seem stupid now, but everything about her seemed... normal. I was so curious as to what made her like this, and even a little sad that she was so young and had thoughts like those. She shouldn't even have known what any of that meant. Again, I went back to the leads and told them what she had mentioned to me, and they asked me to sit in on one of her

interviews to see if maybe I could get her to talk more. I agreed, but the conversation wasn't much more in depth than what I was getting before. We definitely tried to steer the conversations, talking about what she wanted, and then changing the subject to something like the above. She would ask, what's the quickest way for someone to die? Is it easy to suffocate people? Can you suffocate yourself, and so on?

It was apparently enough for them to state that she shouldn't be sharing a room with anyone, and so she was moved to a single room. She was not happy with that idea. though, and decided that she didn't want to leave her room for about a week. She didn't do anything violent or destroy the room or anything. She just sat at the little desk that was in there, staring at the wall. She even got some of her supplies back, like her paper, crayons, and paint.

But when she did use them, they were simple pictures and doodles, nothing like she used to do. When she finally decided to come back out into the living area, she proceeded as she normally did, coloring with the stuffed animal next to her, but she really didn't want to talk with me at that point. So I left her alone. Everything seemed fine. We did our rounds, and we even had a camera room

where security could watch it as well. It was the 80s, as I mentioned, so the cameras weren't the best, and they kind of flipped between them all, but they did a great job watching them. Shelby asked for something specific to drink like orange juice or milk, so I decided to go get some. I thought I would do a special treat for the kids, as we were able to do that sometimes, and I started gathering drinks and snacks with the cafeteria staff.

As I was heading back, I heard someone call a code brown. That was for when a kid was missing. It didn't happen often, but sometimes they tried to. to leave, sometimes they just wandered off to hide, so I was on alert and ready to start searching, but I will say that I wasn't too terribly worried at that point, until I got back up to the living area and started hearing more calls for Red and all security. Red meant that there was violence, and that they were calling in for help. That's where I began to worry, because they were being called to the garden,

which was part of the living area. I ditched the card of snacks and ran towards the area, and to my horror, I watched a security had to pull Shelby off of another girl, who had what looked like a pillowcase or something wrapped around her neck. The other girl, of course, turned out okay, but she was turning purple and was almost unconscious. Shelby was, of course, punished,

meaning that she wasn't allowed to do activities with others or even in her room and was basically just locked in. I learned from the supers and the doctors that, when they asked why she did it, she said she just wanted to know what it was like to kill someone and to watch what happened to someone when she did. She had managed to find a blind spot in the cameras and lured the girl over there and used her pillowcase to try to strangle her. This brought on changes to the betting, among a lot of other things at that point. I learned a valuable lesson from her, though. You really can't see everything about a person on the outside, even children. I did hear from one of my friends that worked there that she did end up leaving the facility,

but I ended up leaving first. It wasn't as easy as I expected. I'm in pediatrics now, and have been so. since, but I truly hope that she was able to go on to live a much better life. Before you hear my story, let's just say that psychopaths are really good at acting normal until they aren't. True colors always come out, and this experience is the reason that I still have high trust issues with new people to this day. So, with that being said, I'll get to the story. Back in 2017, I briefly lived with probably the most impulsively insane person I had ever

met. Let's call her Ray. Ray and I met in the beginning of 2016 through some friends in college, and over time became closer. She seemed pretty normal and nice to me, and I never pinned anything out to be wrong or out of the ordinary with her. We had a good time when together, and from my experience so far, she was actually even pretty supportive, too. For instance, when my ex broke up with me, I was understandably devastated. So, right when she found out, to cheer me up, she immediately bought us a large case of beer to drink together while we hung out. And, admittedly, I needed a small buzz to take the edge off of the

drowning emotions that I was experiencing. Instead of a pity party, she decided to have a roast. She ended up insulting my ex to the point where I surprisingly felt a lot better, because she had me laughing super hard rather than sobbing. And it made me immediately feel like, you know, It was less of a loss for me. And she actually really helped me to move on, because she had convinced me that better guys were out there. She was actually right about this one. Truly, she seemed to be a really great friend at the time,

and she was the first person that I would vent to. And I enjoyed spending time with her. Over time, we hung out more frequently, and one day we discovered that we both each had a lease at our old apartments that were ending. Wow, we both thought, this is actually super convenient because we were both looking for a roommate. So, we decided to become roommates. Eventually, we found a place together and finally moved in together in March of 2017. Move-in day was also very exciting.

college was now basically 75% over at this point, and we both thought it would be a fun arrangement until we graduated in the spring of 2018. We even went as far as agreeing that we would resign the lease together then, only under the circumstances that we, for some reason, didn't find a serious partner and wanted to by chance live with them or find work in another city after graduation. I mean, anything is possible. At this point, there were absolutely no indicators that this arrangement would not work out. We also had quite a few mutual friends, so even more conveniently, we could invite them over and all hang out together.

Some of them even lived in our new building, even better. The first few months actually went really well. We went to school, worked, and happily had somewhat similar schedules with both school and work. So we were home at the same time a ton, and we would have wine nights, movie nights, cook new recipes together, invite friends over, have spa nights, you name it. And we even adopted a cat together named Charla, which was her name at the shelter, and we liked it so we kept it. That was when I realized that I had a small cat allergy, which would luckily make things easier later on. About four months into living at our new apartment, things began to get a little more iffy. Nothing huge, but just a few small things that we would normally move past and continue with the day.

She got a new job and her schedule didn't match up with mine as much, so we ended up hanging out about. bit less. It bummed us both out at first, and we began growing slightly apart, but still remained close. When our schedules were the same, we did chores together, but since our times were less synchronized, we made a rotational schedule and equal agreement on who would do what. For a random example, I would do the dishes, mopping and trash, and she would do the vacuuming, laundry, and dusting. Then, we would switch back and forth and mutually choose who would do what every week. We would just leave the list on the counter and check off what we did when we did it. It sounds like a lot, but we're both really clean people, and it worked great at first for about a month.

If a system works, then why not? It was the end of August now, and school had started back up. It was finally senior year, and we were five months into our apartment together now. I think it's around this point where things began to escalate, and a bit more this second time than previously before the chore schedule. It all started on this one particular day. With my new schedule, I had classes until 12 p.m., and then work from 2 p.m. until sometimes 10 p.m. four days a week. And I remember that this day was a Monday.

I got home at around 12.20 p.m. or so. Made myself some lunch, mopped, did the dishes, and dusted. My roommate had down trash, laundry, and vacuuming for that week. So I did my part, checked the chores off the list, and went to take a small nap before work. I got up, got dressed for work, and she came home about five minutes before I left. We spoke and I told her what I did and checked off for the day.

She said, oh, awesome, and seemed totally fine. Well, I get to work, and about a few hours in, I have to use the restroom. So, while there, I checked my phone, and I had about three rather rude text messages from Ray. I just went back to them now in real life, and I added them to this story. Thank you, I, Cloud. So, she said,

I really didn't want to do the trash this week. You could have done it instead of napping. I'll just pick up the slack later. I have work, so I'm not doing anything until tomorrow. I said, Ray, I did the trash last week. You never said anything about not wanting to do it until now. You agreed to do it without a problem,

and the trash can isn't. even half full, so I would see no need anyways. I already did the dishes, mopped and dusted. That small period of time is the only time I have to rest, and I only got 20 minutes of it. Ray, said, okay, whatever. I rolled my eyes and went back to work. When I got home that night, I showered, climbed into my bed, and saw a text from my friend Macy. It was a screenshot of stuff.

something that Ray had said to her. The text read, Bella is so annoying. She's being lazy with the chores and uses work and school as an excuse. I responded to Macy and also sent her a screenshot from earlier. Macy said, oh wow, that's pretty rude. I then plugged in my phone and went to sleep. The next day, I avoided Ray all day as I was pretty hurt and annoyed.

Plus, I needed to focus on my classes. She acted like nothing had happened, which pissed me off more. That night, I got a text from my friend Christine, sending me a screenshot of something Ray had texted to her. The text read, Bella's being such a bitch. She's ignoring me because I called her out on chores. I sent Christine the same thing that I sent to Macy

and explained what was happening in a simple manner. Christine said, I'm so sorry, you don't deserve that. As your friend, I just thought you should know. I thanked her and went on with my night. So, at this point, noted, Ray doesn't apologize and she's also a backstabber. From here on out, I barely spoke to Ray.

I continued to do my chores that week, do my thing, and hang out with other friends outside of the apartment. Throughout the next few weeks, Ray and I barely spoke. I continued on with my schedule and seeing other friends, including some of our mutual friends. During this time, I kept getting texts about things Ray had been sending people and posting about me. I found out the reason that I never saw this stuff was because, one, I was too busy to check social media often, and two, she had supposedly blocked me and I just hadn't known. noticed. I became very uncomfortable being in my own apartment, and on my free time I would crash

at some of my best friend's places. It just got worse from here, though. From what other people sent, she began posting really, really scary things about how she wanted to murder me for being messy, despite me doing my part every single time and remaining super clean. And her posts became very threatening. I began feeling very unsafe at my own place. While some said that she wasn't being super legitimate about it, I feel like anything such as what she was posting should have been taken very seriously. Another post on her Facebook said,

I seriously think I'm going to murder my roommate. I hate living with her. And I'm doing the dishes, and it is taking everything out of me not to barge into her room while she's sleeping with my butcher knife. Ha ha ha ha, a bitch deserves to die. I took those screenshots that my friends had sent me, and I sent them to my dad, who had actually met her dad when they helped us move in.

My dad immediately called Ray's dad, and her dad supposedly contacted her and threatened to pull her out of school, and have her go back home to the northeast. As these posts are a serious threat, and that Bella and her dad, I will take this to the police if you make one more post, and I will personally come drag you out of there and get you back home. I was so glad that her dad wasn't on her side, but that made her even angrier. I began to keep my bedroom door locked 24-7.

Shortly after this, she began, successfully, picking the lock at my door and I could tell that she was going through my stuff while I was gone. I had to change the lock and get a new key for my bedroom door. I had a locksmith come when she was at work. This lock was much harder to pick. She would handwrite disgustingly nasty notes to me and leave them all over the house. She would also post on social media that I was a fat pig, despite the fact that my BMI was already a bit too low, and my doctor told me I needed to put on some weight,

and that I was a POS, despite doing nothing mean or threatening to her. I told my dad what had been further going on, and he contacted Ray's dad again, and her dad had now had enough. Both of our dads flew down the next day, and they spoke to the leasing office. Her dad had her break her lease and forced her to pay for it. Unfortunately, she stayed in the building and got a one-bedroom two floors below me, but she never bothered me again because my dad and I had threatened to press charges

had she ever made a single post or spoke to me again. Those screenshots would then go to the police. It gets even worse. After she moved out, I discovered that roughly $5,000 worth of my jewelry and all of my heirlooms that I will never get back were missing. She stole all of them. I hid the bag so insanely well,

and being a dumbass, I didn't have a fire safe. And it was hidden so well that at times I even forgot where I put it. That's how deeply she was searching through my stuff. I filed a police report, and unfortunately there was technically no proof, so there was nothing they could do about it. At this point, everyone hated her and thought that she was crazy. I let her keep Charla because, she didn't have an allergy to cats, and I did, which I didn't even know until after we adopted

her. She would also keep the cat from me anyways, so it was really her cat at this point. She lost every friend because of this. Her dad had been helping her out a bit and cut her off completely, and she had to get a second job and also apply for student loans. Luckily, she really did never bother me again, but, aside from the main level, lock, I still had a padlock installed and would leave it closed when I was home. Final update.

It's been five years now. And Ray supposedly moved back to the northeast, and has a two-and-a-half-year-old kid now, and is a single mother. Word has it? That he would rather not be in his child's life if it meant he had to deal with her one more time, which says a lot. I can't even imagine what you're not. she did to him. And to be honest, I feel so terrible for the child. Lastly, I later found out

that she was bragging to someone how she knew how to clean up a murder and deal with a dead body and get away with it. But that wasn't told to me until I moved out of the city itself in 2019 because the person she said it to didn't want to scare me. Plus, everyone knew that she was scared to bother me at this point, including this person. She was supposedly officially diagnosed by a psychiatrist as a certified psychopath a bit later on. So, yeah, I lived with a diagnosed psychopath who I genuinely think would have stabbed me to death with a butcher's knife in my sleep, had my friends not been loyal and sent me her post, and had I not taken action and reached out to my dad.

I had no idea that she even had any horrible side to her whatsoever, for so long, way too long actually, which is beyond terrifying. It's why I now trust so few people. Psychopaths are really good at hiding their true colors, and anyone can be one, and half the time you would have no idea, unless you got to know them very well, very well. I live in another city two hours away, and I've been here for over three years now. I refuse to ever have another roommate again after leaving said city, where I went to college, and I'm so happy.

I have a best friend here that I can trust with my life, and a serious boyfriend of four years. So, goodbye, Ray. The joke is on you. I hope that you don't end up killing anyone, and I hope that you continue to have a lame life. So, me and a group of friends, me, a female, my ex-exam. boyfriend, my friend female and the other was male, that's important to know, we took a night of visiting abandoned places. Now, where I live, there's not many, or they're protected by dogs, and I don't fancy having my leg chewed off. So we all dressed in clothes that we knew we could throw

away from mold and other things being in the place, and we decided to go to the furthest one away, which was an abandoned swingers club. Just to clarify, none of us were swingers. We arrived at a petrol station halfway down from the literal mansion, walked down the side of the motorway, and were finally greeted by a fence and a small brick wall. We all helped each other get over and supported each other's balance getting through the back.

Some backstory to this club. A few years ago, some idiot said it on fire. because they thought it was funny. So the upstairs was caved in, and everywhere looked like it had been smashed up. Anyway, back to the story. We got in, walked through the main lobby. There was a massive swimming pool

and some pretty artwork on the wall that you can just about see. We looked around, took photos, etc. We walked out the front, and this was where the first interaction happened. I looked up into the front, and I was the one behind everyone else. I was taking photos, and someone grabbed my shoulder and yanked it back, but there was nobody behind me, just the big gates.

So I was a little freaked out, and I asked the others if they had felt it, and they all said no. My ex-boyfriend at the time had a bat in his hand, and we walked back in. We were going to visit the dungeons, but as we walked over there, there was a clown mask hanging from a rope, and bear in mind, it was not there when we came in. We would have seen it. So I literally said, F this, I'm out. I started walking towards the entrance, and before we left, one of the boys had collected a teddy bear and put it in his car.

We didn't drive more than five minutes, and the radio and lights went mad on the dashboard. It didn't take long for the friends to lob the teddy bear out the wind. window. The second building that we went to was an old pub. The back was open, so we got in through there. Everything looked like it hadn't been touched, and that they just got up and left. So I took some photos of the bar, and all of them posing as bar men and women. After we looked around, the two boys wanted to go upstairs, so we said, cool, we'll wait in the car and watch you. as we watched them, a tall, dark, black figure was walking around behind them. I tried to ring my ex-boyfriend, but it was like trying to get through to someone on a radio. They came back downstairs, and I said what I saw, and what they said next was spine-chilling.

So all the floors are normal, bedrooms, with the mattresses all stood up? I said, yeah, and he proceeded with, you get to the top floor? And it's empty, with just a chair in the middle, a belt, and a photo of a young girl sat on the empty chair. Nothing else, just a belt in the photo of the young girl. For some reason, I agreed to go back in after this to see for myself. I got to the stairs door, and everything in my body froze, and I said I didn't want to go. Now, you know, boys being boys arguing with me over the fact that I was scared or whatever, but this was my body purely refusing to move.

So they said all right, and they took me back to the car, and as we were leaving, a pint glass went flying at one of the boys' heads, and the toilet door slammed shut. When I tell you, they all ran, they all ran. Now, fun fact, where this place is was where the highwayman was born and raised. Turns out, I'm somehow related to the guy, but it's highly paranormal in the caves up top. So, was that him protecting me as a cousin or distant uncle? I'll never know. Hi, Reddit.

I just found this group and really am enjoying it, so I wanted to share one of my scares that occurred around five. five years ago. I would love to hear people's opinions, since I have heard many different explanations of this event, from those that I have told. I live in a small town in the northwest, a pretty mountainous area with lots of trees. On this particular night, myself and two friends decided to go on a drive for something to do. It was my friends, T.J. and Nathan, just call them that, who got together and T.J.'s old worn-down 2006 WRX. I was in the passenger seat with Nathan in the back. We decided to go down this windy side road that only has trees, and the occasional house spread out randomly.

There's also an active nunnery on this road, and an old worn-down and abandoned school. This particular night was dark with rain pouring so fast, the T-J-J-4. Jay's old windshield wipers couldn't entirely keep up with it. As we're speeding down this road, just being about stupid stuff, we start to see something in the distance. On the left side, over the white barrier line for cars, was someone walking with a large backpack. Right when we got close enough to where we could make him out a bit more, he stopped walking instantly, stood up straight, threw his backpack on the ground. and made a dead sprint for our car. T.J. had to yank the wheel hard to the right to not hit the guy throwing us into the dirt,

and almost rolling down a cliff. Looking left while this was going on, I saw the man's face, super pale with glazed over eyes, kind of like those eyes that blind people have. He had white hair and was a bit rigid, but had this crazied look about him. His hand was extended toward us like he was trying to grab us or the door. We managed to get away, but his face is still in my minds today. Right after this happened, I was expressing how crazy that was to T.J. and Nathan.

Turns out, Nathan was on the phone the whole time, and was just trying to figure out why we yanked the car and slammed on the brakes. T.J. wasn't responding at all as we were inching down the road. I asked him three times, and we ended up shaking him in order to get him to snap out of it. I made him pull over, and I started to drive us to the nearest gas station, and we then called the cops to tell them someone was trying to kill themselves on the road. Seems like a guy who was just drugged out, but there's one other very weird fact about this event. Right after we passed the guy, I noticed a car come up and pass us as T.J.

was going very slow due to the shock, not even 30 seconds after this happened. They didn't slow down or swerve at all when passing the area that we were just in. Since it was so dark and still raining outside, I couldn't see the guy in the road at all from just looking through the back windows of the car. We also saw another car shortly going the opposite way down the road, and they also did not slow down at the same spot. We had the encounter with the guy. I'm not sure what this was.

Drugs, attempted suicide, or something paranormal. Now, some people may read this and think maybe I was just an overreacting kid, and I misunderstood him. But those people also didn't know my dad. They didn't know this giant bully that I knew all my life. He was easily six foot or more, and he had that burly farmer builds to him. He was all manly, no emotions, no fear, and this also meant that girls were a problem as they were just a waste of space. I've kept this to myself my whole life, and I'll take it with me when I die too, because I would never want someone, let alone my little sister, to ever feel like they weren't worth it.

My parents struggled to conceive and finally gave birth to me when my mom was in her 30s. My father was almost 50. They thought their lives were perfect at this point. They had a boy. My father had someone to help and then take over the farm and carry on his family's name. What they didn't expect was my mother to get pregnant again. I, of course, was excited.

I was going to have a little bit. sibling to play with and share my toys with. My dad didn't quite share the excitement. I remember them arguing a bit about it, but my mom just kept talking about how it could be another boy, which would be helpful. I didn't care if they were a boy or a girl. Neither did my mom, I think, but I could tell that a girl was definitely going to be a problem. Much to my father's disappointment, it was a girl.

My mom refused to give her up for adoption, so after she was born, our home became a bit divided. Her name was Haley, and I loved her. I loved holding her, feeding her, and trying to play with her. My mom kept telling me that she was too young and that I had to be careful with the small and hard toys. Every time I was with her, my dad looked angry and disappointed. He hated seeing me help her and refused to let me help with getting her dressed or bathing her, saying that it was my mother's responsibility and not mine. He tried to pull me out into the barn to help with the animals as much as possible,

but he was always very mean and demanding, so I hated helping him after a while. Thankfully, when he would leave for whatever reason, my mom would allow me to help her with preparing a bottle, changing my sister, just things like that. Over the next few years, things were the same. When I came home from school, I would say hi to Haley, and then he would quickly want me outside helping. When Haley was a toddler, I was about ten.

While having dinner, Haley started getting upset and she didn't want to eat. My mom commented on her not feeling well, but my dad was getting irritable. When she started whimpering like she was about to cry, my father used his already booming voice to yell at her to stop, or that she could go to bed without eating. She looked terrified, and rightfully so. I remember him yelling a few times at me like that. Haley just sat there staring at her food while the rest of us finished dinner.

Afterwards, he left the house, slamming the door behind him, leaving the rest of us at a silence table. I immediately slid over to Haley to comfort her as my mom picked up the plates. I got her to cheer up a bit, and I even got her to finish her food. We had a decent night afterwards, as I went to her room to play with her before we had to go to bed.

My mom didn't want my dad to see me playing with her toys and caused another fight, though. That night, I woke up needing to eat. used the bathroom, but as I got up, I noticed that Haley's door was slightly open when it was always closed, per my dad's orders. I started looking in to make sure that she was okay, when I saw my dad kneeling over her bed, holding a pillow, as she slept. I was confused and curious as to what he was doing, but then what I heard him say terrified me. It was like he was talking to her, and I'm paraphrasing this, but this is what I heard.

I didn't want you. I didn't need you. You're nothing but a waste of resources and money. I can't even sell you off like my great pa did. I could just end you and feed you to the pigs, and then you could be worth it to him. I was scared of my dad and scared of what he could do to her as he started raising the pillow to her face.

so I immediately ran to the kitchen, grabbed a glass cup, and threw it on the ground, listening to it smashed to pieces. Sure enough, both my mom and dad ran to the kitchen. I told them that I was thirsty and that I had dropped it. My dad immediately yelled at me for breaking it and told my mom to clean it up as she went to get a broom. My dad and I just stared at each other for the longest time

until he nodded at me and walked off, slamming their bedroom door. I helped my mom clean up the mess, and when I finally went back to bed, I stayed up all night, waiting to see if he ever went back to her room. From that night on, I became her guardian, more so than a normal big brother. I tried not to let her be alone as much as possible, and if she was, I was always checking in on her. but it didn't stop there. I was always afraid that he might try something again,

so I wanted to distract him or make him realize that she needed just as much love and affection as myself. So I started acting out. I refused to help him with the farm. And when I did help, I half-assed the work and always complained about it. I let my grades slip some, but I still passed. typically it was after my mom confronted me. It was hard because I knew that I could do better,

and I hated disappointing my mom, but it was all to spite my father. As I became the problem child, Haley was looking more like the perfect one. She helped my mother with dinner, cleaning, and she rarely talked back to my father. She had great grades, and she always worked well with teachers and others. Unfortunately, she still couldn't earn my dad's love, I guess. He would tell her that she was doing a great job, but I could tell that it wasn't the same as he used to give me. Even after getting into a fight with him and yelling that I should be more like my sister,

he still wouldn't admit to being proud of her. He even became physically abusive at times, but it was always towards me. Even on those few occasions that he would fight with Haley, and I could see him ballast I would step in, making some kind of comment, causing him to swing at me. At one point,

Haley asked me why I acted the way I did. Even doing everything right, he would never look at her, smiling, saying how proud he was. Yet whenever I did the bare minimum, he at least thanked me for the help. I just told her that he was an ass,

and then I always turned it into a speech. I told her to never stop being herself. I told her don't change who you are for anyone, and do what makes her happy, and that's all that would matter. I think she took that to heart, too. She seemed to stop looking for approval, and I continued to just happily piss him off. I even stayed living at home after I graduated to make sure

that I could guarantee her well-being. One of the last times that I actually talked to him was one night at home while we were both drinking. Haley had moved out and I was on my way out. We started talking about our successes and how I would own the farm one day if I straightened up and wanted it. And I wasn't really interested in the farm life, so I joked about selling it. The conversation turned a bit sour,

and I spoke too much, as I made the case. comment, well, if I can't sell it, maybe I can just throw a pillow over it. He looked confused at first, but then it finally seemed to click in his mind what I had said. The only thing he said to me after that was get out. Happily. I got up and told my mom goodbye, and I left with the few things that I had left there. I never saw or spoke to my dad after that. Haley and I always stayed close, and I even talked to my mom often. My dad is still alive, but as far as I've heard,

the farm is going to go to my nephew after he's gone. Like I said, it may not be the creepiest to some, but I feel like I might have actually saved my sister that night. Back in 2004, I started getting these really weird pains in my side, and since I didn't have the best insurance, I tried to tough it out and take over-the-counter medications to make it go away. But when the pain worsened to the point that I had to call in for work, my mom rushed me to the hospital,

because she actually found me passed out on my bathroom floor. I had called her and told her about what was happening, and she suggested that I go to the doctor. I'm just thankful that I agreed to let her drive me there that day. So I went to the ER and I found out that I had appendicitis that ended up causing my appendix to rupture. They were shocked that I still went to work when I did because people typically are in way too much pain, not to mention the vomiting and other unpleasant symptoms. I just hid them really well.

This caused me to stay in the hospital for several days, as I had to have surgery and then recover, of course. The surgery was pretty immediate, so I remember being given the anesthetic, and my mom's saying that she'll see me soon. Then I was out. I remember dreaming a bit, but I could still hear what I assume was the doctor and nurses in surgery, based on what they were saying. At one point, the tone in the doctor's voice seemed to change to,

someone that was angry or stressed maybe. As the patient lying there without being able to move or talk or even open my eyes, it was pretty terrifying. Then I felt a sharp pain in my side, and I passed out again. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room with an oxygen tube under my nose. I can move my arms, which also had an IV in it, but I couldn't seem to move my legs. I figured it was just because I was too weak and gave in to going in and out of sleep. I woke up a few times to see a nurse coming in and checking my vitals.

At one point, there was one particular nurse that came in that I remembered quite well. She had short curly hair, and she wore one of those hairnets over at all, almost like what I remember the ladies wearing in the cafeteria in high school. She was always wearing red lipstick and had a fair complexion. On top of this, she was wearing an old-fashioned nurse uniform, not the normal scrubs that I saw all the other nurses in. Regardless of what she was wearing, though, she was beautiful, but also soft-spoken and very kind.

I encountered her on multiple occasions, and at times that I seemed even remotely upset or uncomfortable, she was quick to console me. The first time I met her, she had come in to check the machine and IV that I was hooked to, and when she noticed I was awake, she greeted me and told me her name, Beth. She said that if I needed anything, to just call for her and she'd be in. She talked to me a bit about what all happened to me, because I was curious, and my mom also wasn't around. She told me that my body seemed to want to give up when it was confronted by an infection,

but she wouldn't let that happen. She told me that the surgery went fine otherwise, and I would just be here till I fully recovered. It sounded about right based on what I heard while in surgery, and I'm also not a doctor, so I had no reason to question it. I mentioned that she was there to console me because I felt like I was there for a few days when I thought that I should have been able to leave by now.

I would feel some discomfort at times, but Beth was always there to put an end to it. I would start getting upset because I hadn't seen my mom, and it was really not like her to just not be there. I was, and still am very close to her, so to not see her when I woke up in my room, and what I presume was at least three days after, started to really get to me. I asked Beth about it, and she looked a bit upset. She was still smiling, but you could tell that it was a forced smile. She told me that she wanted to see me too, but it seemed like I was struggling to let her in. I was confused what she meant by that, since it wasn't like I could stop anyone from coming into the room.

I told her that I wasn't stopping her and requested that the next time she saw her to tell her, or even demand that she come in to see me. She said she would do as I asked, but again then said, You need to let her through. I was confused, but I let it go, because I was frustrated and confused, but still felt weak and constantly tired. It had to be about a week of me being there,

going between pleasant conversations with Beth and being angry that I was only being told I can leave when I want, but for some reason I never did just get up. and leave and I had no idea why. I was also still confused as to why my mom was nowhere around. I felt bad, but I pretty much snapped at Beth, saying things like, I'm done with this, and I don't want to be here anymore. That was the only time that I had seen her frown.

She grabbed my hand, and while her skin was soft, it was also very cold, which made me jump a bit. She looked me in the eyes and said, Sam, you need to leave. It's not your time, and your mother is worried about you. I just remembered being even more flustered, and I started crying saying that I'm trying, and that I didn't want to be there. That's when, while smiling again,

she smacked me across the face. This stopped me in my tracks, and I just looked at her. She turned and left the room, again said, just go, please, and left the room. I just sat there pretty much pouting until I fell asleep again. Except this time, I could hear my mom talking. She was on the phone because it was a one-sided conversation. I turned my head to see her pacing over by the window and talking, but once she noticed me looking at her, she pretty much screamed my name and dropped the phone. She ran over to my side, crying, and asking me so many questions when a nurse came in as well.

I told her I was fine other than feeling weak, and I asked her where she had been. She said that she'd been there the whole time, and the nurse checked my eyes, asked me what my name is, what day it was. They both seemed surprised when I said the correct date. She asked me if I'd been awake this whole time, and when I said yes, I was. the nurse looked suspicious of me and said that she would call for the doctor. While we waited, my mom explained further what she had witnessed. I had been in a coma for about six days.

The surgery seemed to go fine, but then the infection or something caused by my appendix had spread, and I pretty much flatlined in surgery. They got me stable again but had to proceed with caution in surgery, and told my mom to prepare for the worst-case scenario. The whole time, my mom had been in the room with me, talking, trying to do or say anything to try and get me to wake up, but nothing was working. I was confused, because everything that I had experienced and told her about Nurse Beth. She told me I never had a nurse named Beth, and none of them matched the description that I gave.

My mom thought it was weird, but chalked it up to being part of the coma, and just couldn't get over the fact that I was back. Unfortunately, I was there for a few more days after that, with my mom and a few less pleasant nurses, but to do more tests and make sure that I was good to leave and practice walking since I hadn't in about a week now. I couldn't get over the whole experience I had. witnessed after my surgery.

Obviously, I had to have dreamt all that, but the whole experience felt so real. It was hard to believe that none of it happened. And who was this very specific nurse that I only seemed to see or have interactions with? I told my friends about it, and even my mom a few more weeks after leaving the hospital. She said that she may have been my guardian angel, making sure that she was a little. that I was okay, and probably even trying to get me to wake up, without being creepy about it, I guess. It always stayed in the back of my mind.

Until one time, a few years later, my grandma had to go to that same hospital, and my mom and I went to visit her. I offered to go to the cafeteria to get us all a drink, and next to it was a wall of photos of previous owners, and I think people that donated to the hospital. To my surprise, I saw a picture of an older woman that looked just like Nurse Beth, and the nameplate even said Elizabeth. I looked into it when I went home, and I found out that she was a nurse there. I found a picture of her in almost the exact same uniform, same hair, same makeup that I remembered her in.

She had donated a lot of money and time to the hospital and was well known to many. She sadly succumbed to breast cancer at the age of 54, but they made a memorial for her in the back garden of the hospital. I'm now convinced that she's still there, taking care of her patients the best way that she can, and I think that I have her to thank for literally smacking some sense into me. I don't know if I can tell this one on an online story, YouTube or not.

It's not for kids. It's a true story, but I won't say exactly where it was or use names. This happened around 2004 or 5. I was in college and I lived with my much older boyfriend in a four-bedroom apartment complex. It had two shared bathrooms, one between each two rooms. It has one shared. kitchen in the middle of each building. It was the cheapest place in the college town that I live in.

Cars were broken into and slumlord management, etc. I think we paid $450 a month for that room back then. For the northernmost part of the West Coast, it was cheap back then. Typical Tweekertown, poverty, no jobs, etc. There was a peculiar lady who lived in the bedroom caddy corner to us. I guess she was around 55, but she could have been 70. I didn't know how old, but her beetle posters clued me into her generation. She wouldn't say her age, actually.

Anyways, she was on disability and basically laid in bed all day, surrounded by dusty old knick-knacks and watched old movies, like black and white movies. She was sick with a stomach thing, headaches, and mental issues. My boyfriend helped her with a few things, and she ended up talking to me a few times about her sad life. He wasn't the greatest guy, and he told me that he'd talked her into giving him a pain pill.

So she must have been sick, but then again pain pills were common in the early 2000s, prescribed by doctors who felt sorry for people in any type of pain. I never heard an actual named disease or condition. She just told us about the adult daughter that she never saw, and parents who she hated but paid her rent. Anyways, months pass, and I one day noticed the windshield on her car was smashed.

A day later, she was giving things away by setting them near her car with a free sign. When I asked her, she seemed ambivalent to the broken windshield. I was pretty ambivalent to her, because she tended to talk too long and sort of trap you in conversations. She mostly had just bought liters of soda and donuts, twinkies, which she had lying around her room. She was super skinny, too, even though all she ate was junk food, probably malnourished. So, a Halloween night was very close then.

On the big party night, I was drinking a shot of vodka in the kitchen before a party, When she came into the shared kitchen, and began asking me if she could have a shot, and I obliged. My boyfriend was a lightweight and already passed out from two shots, so he was useless. Otherwise, I'd have left him with her to, like, talk with her. She was an older lady, and at that time, I trusted that someone older than me knew how to handle alcohol. I had no reason not to share on a holiday, as I was. I was jolly and excited to go out. After a few shots together, I went to leave and she asked if she could come along with me.

I was only 19, and I was looking to hook up with friends and thinking that this old toothless lady would not be fun to babysit. Plus, she was in a nightgown, an old-fashioned nightgown like a little rich girl in white lace. She acted odd, not just drunk, but also like she believed that she was. She was my peer, and didn't understand why I wanted to go alone. Anyways, I was irritated by her and I just wanted to leave. Big mistake. That is the part that I regret. I left her.

I gave her the rest of the bottle as I felt bad. I made an excuse, I can't recall, and I left in a hurry. The party was okay, and I crashed when I got home around three or four in the morning. About four days after Halloween, neither my boyfriend nor I had seen her. One day as I pulled up from work, an ambulance in hazmat truck was in front of our apartments. It turned out, the poor woman had taken an entire bottle of her pain pills and drank the entire bottle that I had left with her. Then, she locked herself in her room. At the last minute she tried to crawl to the door to get out,

and was trying to vomit up the pills. She died up against the door. The EMTs had to yank the inner door off from inside the kitchen because she was stuck up against it. She was gone when I came in, but there were stains on the kitchen floor from her being removed, like stains that smelled and were obviously bodily fluids. I cleaned it up with bleach, as I felt responsible.

At the moment, I was mopping, her super-elderly parents showed up. They didn't say a word to me, but the look they gave me was nothing less than pure hatred. Like, it was my fault that she lived in a crappy slum. Or maybe they thought I was white trash, as the woman told me all the time that she was from a rich family. They went into her room, and they closed the door, into her coffin that they had ended up paying for. I felt bad, and I still will for a long time. Regardless of how physically and mentally ill she was,

I wish that I hadn't given her the vodka. I didn't know anything about adult protective services or reporting self-neglect of disabled folks back then either. From now on, I pay special attention to individuals' mental states, and I try to help where I can. I had no idea that giving away all your stuff and acting manic were weird at that age. Anyways, if someone acts odd, just call the cops for a welfare check.

It would have saved her life for as long as it could have, at least. When I was 16, I had a bit of a problem with authority. I snuck out of the house pretty frequently. My parents and I never really had a good relationship, honestly. They were overbearing, and I, like I, like I, mentioned, had this weird complex with authority. I had that 16-year-old mentality that I was invulnerable, and that no one could touch me or do anything to hurt me.

If anyone out there is around that age and has that mindset, let me tell you that you are not invincible. And this story was my wake-up call to that fact. This happened one time when I had snuck out and decided I was going to walk to to my local gas station for a Red Bull and some candy. I had some cash from my birthday, and it was quickly burning a hole in my pockets, so I figured I could spend about $10 at the station, and it would be good enough for now. It was the middle of spring and around midnight, so I had my window open to get the cool air in anyways.

My window was easy to pop the screen out of, which I knew because I once had to be a little bit of, to crawl into it when I had forgotten my keys at home one morning during the school year. So I pushed on the corner of the screen, and sure enough, it popped out of the frame. I quietly crawled my way out into the backyard and was able to get out of the gate without issues. I knew that neither of my parents were going to wake up to any of it. I'd done this enough to know what to do to keep the escape silent and get away without anyone finding out. I got out of my yard, and I started walking down the road to the gas station down the street. It was about a 20-minute walk from the house to the station. So, I put in my headphones and

started listening to some music on my iPod. I got to the station without issue and walked in. The clerk just kind of stared at me, as he did every time that I walked in alone in the middle of the night. I ignored it, grabbed my drink in a few pieces of candy, and then went to the desk to check out. After I put the items on the counter, the clerk just kept staring at me like something was wrong. I was a bit annoyed, so I asked him, what? He then spoke up and asked me how old I was. I lied and told him that I was 17. I don't know why I didn't just say 18, but I figured 17 was enough to be doing what I was doing? He stared at me with that look of,

I know you're BSing me, but rang up my items and told me the total. After I paid, Nt gave me the cash, he leaned in and asked me if I wanted to make some extra money. I shook my head and asked what he was talking about, and then he slowly reached down and grabbed his zipper. I just turned to walk away and told him that he was an effing creep and left. And while that was creepy, that's actually not where it ended.

After leaving and starting my way back home, a pickup actually pulled up behind me and slowed down to match my pace. They didn't get to the point where the window or driver was even with me. They got to the point where they were right behind me and just kept an even pace with me. This kept on for several minutes on the walk. and the second I turned around to see who the hell it was. They slammed on the gas pedal and gunned it past me down the road, and then made an incredibly fast, sharp, right turn. After this, I figured that I should probably make the trip quicker than I had been going.

I was basically speedwalking down the road and was cutting through people's yards to cut the trip short. I turned on to my road, and as soon as I did, who else would be heading in the opposite direction, but the pickup from earlier. As soon as I saw it, I was hoping that it hadn't seen me, but he started speeding up in my direction pretty much immediately. I booked it as best as I could in my flip-flops,

and every time I turned around, the truck was getting closer. I was pushing myself to go as fast as I possibly could, trying to just get to my house so I could get into my backyard. But I knew that I wasn't going to make it. my only hope at this point was to go in the front door and just face the music. Because if I went in the front, I was definitely going to wake up my parents as it was right by their bedroom door. I started booking it towards my front door, and, to my surprise,

the truck stopped in front of my house. They sat there for a moment, and then screeched out their tires as they gunned it down the road. I stood there for a few seconds, my heart pounding, and was just thinking, Holy shit, what the hell was that? After I was certain that they weren't around anymore, I made my way over to the side of the house, opened the gate, and then crawled back through my window.

As I got back in my room, I could hear my mom and dad talking, specifically my dad asking what the hell was going on, and I heard him opening the front door, I assumed to look out front. I just sat on my bed trying to get, gather my thoughts and really piece together what exactly that was. I honestly think that the guy at the gas station knew someone else that he had called,

and that they were planning to grab me off the road. A part of me assumes that at the beginning, the guy in the truck was on the phone with the attendant, and he was confirming that I was the person that he wanted. They had lost me for a bit until I got over to my street. Obviously, this is just speculation. but it was still creepy as hell, and it was pretty clear that the guy in the truck was trying to scare me or find me.

I think he just gave up when I got to my house. For whatever reason, I really don't know. I really should have told my parents, since this guy now knew where I lived, but nothing else ever came of it, and I never saw the truck again. And though that was the truth, this night could have ended a hell of a lot of,

worse. This was actually the last time that I snuck out, mostly because I had a feeling that the next time, I wouldn't be so lucky. And my mind just kept playing the scenario that could have happened. It may sound paranoid, but I am a bit of a worst-case scenario type person. So, the person in the truck and creep that worked at the gas station, I hope that we never meet again. Like ever. And to any young girls out there that have the same mentality that I had back then, I hope you realize that bad things can happen in the blink of an eye, and you are not invincible before you end up in a situation like I was in.

This is actually about my wife's family. This had an impact on me, so I wanted to share, but for her privacy, I'm going to remain anonymous and use fake names. I met my wife, and, through a mutual friend at work. We hit it off pretty quickly, and as we got to know each other more, that also included our families, history, and memories. Be them good or bad. I remember when it first came up, she mentioned her parents in passing,

and kind of skirted by the conversation. She said that her father died when she was young, maybe around 10, I believe. Her mom was still around, but they've never had a very strong relationship. She was also an only child, so she didn't really have anyone to play with as a young child. She typically tried to change the topic, or ask me more questions about myself. I just assumed that she either didn't want to talk about herself, or maybe his death was still a sensitive topic to her.

So, I always... moved on without questioning it. As time went on and our relationship grew, I would slowly get more information surrounding her father's death. The way that she always found a way out of the conversation and seeing her slowly become uncomfortable talking about it, it made me even more curious,

but I also didn't want to pry or press my luck. However, our relationship started getting more serious, which meant the family started to become more involved. She had met my parents a few times, but I hadn't met her mother. However, Anne came home in kind of a bad mood, and she said that her mother wanted to meet me, and that she invited us over for dinner. I thought it would be a good time, and I looked forward to it.

But that's when she explained a little further to me about why she wasn't feeling the same way. She told me that her father's death wasn't expected. So while she was young and barely knew him, her mom lost someone that she had been with for years, and it caused her a lot of grief and took her a long time to be okay again. She told me this following up with asking me not to bring him up, and father's in any way to just not upset her.

I agreed, but I was still curious. So, I decided to ask her what had happened. I immediately regretted my decision when I saw the daggers that she shot me. She was very short with me, but she told me that he was in an accident and that he died instantly. I apologized for asking and just left it at that. I could definitely see why that could be so traumatizing, especially when it's unexpected, so I just made a mental note to not ask about it again until she wanted to bring it up. Meeting Connie, her mom, went pretty well, I thought.

When we got there, she greeted us with a smile and she hugged us both. She asked me about me and I avoided my parents with everything I could, and I thought that I had done well. We had a great dinner and we all talked and laughed. When we left, and agreed that it was. was a good time and she thanked me. From then on, our relationship grew, and I even began thinking about proposing to her. We'd been to Connie's place a few times, and everything went smoothly. Unfortunately, I think I got too comfortable with it, and I caused a slip-up. We went over there

for our Christmas dinner with her, and to exchange a few gifts. We were talking, and joking, when something was brought up about genetics, which caused me, to make a comment about fathers. I immediately realized what I had done by the look on Anne's face, and in my foolishness I tried to apologize and made a comment along the lines of my condolences. I don't remember what exactly I said. But Connie looked even more confused than distraught.

I saw her look over at Anne and she said thanks, and the table went silent. That was the most uncomfortable situation that I had ever been in. Right before we left, I used the restroom, and when I was coming back into the room, I noticed the two of them were having a quiet conversation, and Connie was holding a small gift box. When they noticed me, they cut it short, and Connie shoved the gift at Anna. I pretended not to notice or care about what was going on,

since I had already screwed things up that night, and we left with little being said. The car ride back was also silent and awkward, so I tried apologizing when Anne told me it was fine, and not to worry about it. So I dropped it, and we didn't hardly say a thing that night. We both went to bed together, but I would wake up a few hours later to an empty bed

as sobs came from the living room. I got up to see what was going on, and Anne was sitting on the floor with the gift box, and a letter sitting in front of her. It took a while to console her by just holding and trying to comfort her and not saying anything. She finally explained what the box and the letter was. It was from her father. He hadn't died, or at least not like she had said. He didn't die years ago.

He had just died several months prior to this event. event. He had been in prison the entire time for assaulting her. He had apparently been doing it for years, but her mom, Connie, had no idea. He threatened her that if she ever told, he would sell her to another country. She was a child at the time, so she didn't know any better and she didn't know the validity of the threats. Not to mention, they were all coming from her own father. Apparently, Connie had come home early, catching him in the act. She called the cops, and he was convicted.

Anne told me that she grew up with mixed feelings for both parents. She thought that her dad was the only one that cared for her, since he always told her that no one would love her like he did, including her mom, claiming that her mother never loved her. This was compounded by the fact that her mom, never did anything about what he was doing, but the reason for that was because she didn't know what was happening. After her father was incarcerated, she felt like Connie blamed her for what happened, and always felt animosity from her. She even asked about counseling, but her mom basically dismissed this as an option, but I don't remember her reasoning.

It was like she didn't believe in it, which makes sense knowing who she is. Mental health definitely isn't something that she believes in, sadly, because she could definitely benefit from it, too. Anyways, this caused Anne to become more distant from her mother, and she just treated her dad as if he was dead. To be honest, he could be for all she cared, and I didn't blame her. This all came crashing down on her because the box contained a small beaded necklace with the letter A in it, as well as a letter from her dad.

It talked about how he found out he had cancer, and he wanted to make amends before he died, so he was asking for her forgiveness. But, included in it, was a copy of his death certificate, confirming that he had died of complications from lung cancer. She had quite the argument with her mom the next day about it. She was understandably frustrated that she would give this to her

and now of all times. She said she wanted her to have closure, and that was about the only sense that I got out of it. Connie and Anne's relationship never seemed to get better. I proposed to her, and when we got married, I got her on my insurance, and she was happy to see a therapist to finally put things to rest.

She tried to get Connie to go with her or talk to her, but she never did. I personally don't think Connie holds any ill-will towards her daughter, but I wonder if she feels responsible, and that's why she doesn't want to face it. However, that has been over a decade now, and Anne is such a happy and confident woman now, but I understand where she was coming from, and I think that will just always be something that we keep to ourselves. I was in Girl Scouts when I was younger. We would go on lots of field trips, and once yearly would take a camping trip with the other local troops. I live in the south, so the campground was an old plantation.

The plantation house was at the front of the property, situated at the end of a winding dirt road. Our campsite was pretty far back on the property, with a trail through the woods leading to cabins, picnic tables into latrine. After we settled into our cabins, we ate dinner by the campfire, and our counselor told us the story of the family who used to live at the plantation. They had one daughter named Sarah.

Sarah had apparently met an early death, and there were a few different rumors about how that death came about. The most accepted one was that she fell off while mounting her horse and hit her head on iron hitch. I don't know if this is the right word. It was a pole in the ground with a ring attached to it for tying horses. He was tied to it, but others believed that it was something more sinister. The next day, our troop ventured up the trail to get a closer look at the main house.

It was beautiful. It was surrounded by large moss-covered oak trees and tall swaying grass, a pretty typical southern plantation. There was the main house, an old stable, and a peculiar small white structure attached to the side of it, kind of like those mini sheds you can buy at the hardware

store, but with windows. I can't vouch for the truth behind the campfire tales, but I can tell you with confidence what I saw that day. When we got there, all the girls hurriedly crowded around the small white shed. Inside, was a perfect

preserved tea party for about ten little dolls, all sitting around a table in high chairs in various stages of decay. I don't remember all of their faces, but I will never forget the face of the one at the head of the table. It looked Victorian, with a cracked face and white eyes with no irises or pupils. That's the doll that killed Sarah, said one of my fellow Girl Scouts. She told me that there was a campfire song. about how the doll had stabbed Sarah with a knife in the middle of the night.

Some of the other campers that had been there before swore that if you visited the dollhouse at night, her eyes would glow red. I never got up the courage to go see it for myself. I also never fell asleep that night, and I never went back there again. I was a nurse for several years at a small local hospital in my state. I had some pretty weird interaction, with patients, but there was one that I've never forgotten about. I was actually still a fairly new nurse at the time, so I more so followed the head nurse around and helped the other nurses, or was even their little errand dog for a while.

I get it, I suppose. Being new and having to earn the respect or create your own reputation, so when I noticed certain things when visiting a patient, I would always check with the other nurses or check the patient's file if they were aware of something. In this case, we had a patient that came in for routine surgery. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his 70s, I believe. The surgery went fine.

There were no complications, and even his recovery went fine. We even had things prepared and were warned that, due to other conditions that he had, he may need oxygen longer than we normally have to do after surgery, but never did. On one of the days after his surgery, when he was awake and cognizant, I was assigned to help him with cleaning up and checking vitals, etc. I remember having an everyday conversation with him, something like the weather, and he mentioned his wife and dog, and even his plans for the upcoming summer vacation.

Then, right before I was leaving, I asked him if there was anything else I could do for him, and he just looked at me smiling and said, When I die, be sure to check my legs. That's all. I looked at him puzzled because, as far as I was aware of his reason for being there and the surgery that he had, it wasn't even really a life or death situation. I think he had cysts being wrong. removed on his back or something similar.

So I asked him, What do you mean, Mr. Smith? Your surgery went perfectly. He just smiled again and said, I know, and laid on his side watching TV. I just left the room and thought this should be a funny conversation to have with the others. I went and told them about it too, and they agreed that there were no complications and no reason that he would die,

so they chalked it up to him just being old, possibly memory issues. Or maybe he was confused from the surgery, and we all kind of just left it with that. Then the day of discharge came, and his wife was there, helping him get his stuff all packed and together. The guy mentioned that he was feeling a bit ill, like his stomach was upset, so they gave him something like Pepto to help, saying that it was probably a mix of stress, and leaving and eating solid foods,

and they helped push the wheelchair out the door. They didn't even make it out of the building before he dropped his cup of water and seemed to lose consciousness. They brought him back in and started procedures to help bring him back. His heart rate had slowed dramatically, so they had to go through the normal life-saving procedures

to get him back to us. Thankfully, his consciousness did return, but we kept him overnight again to monitor him and do some more tests. He didn't have any prior health conditions that could have caused this, so it kind of bewildered us. I was off the day that he was being discharged, so I learned what had happened when I returned the next day from both the nurses and himself. He was a talker, so he told me what had happened, albeit in his light and joking manner. However, he didn't seem to get better.

He continued to lose consciousness or felt ill, so we kept him to look at doing more tests, part of it being his wife's request. Some of the nurses were talking about it at the station, and for some reason I remembered what he had told me before he was supposed to be discharged. I thought maybe it was worth bringing up to the others to see if it may be important. As expected, they thought that, this was something said by someone still feeling the effects of anesthesia, and they thought nothing else of it, so I didn't press the matter. Being a newbie, I figured it was probably out of place

for me to question another nurses or doctor's decisions, so I just kept it to myself. Except it wasn't that easy, because the same patient complained about having troubles breathing and pain in his chest. I knew that these were both signs of blood clots, so I tried to quickly look him over and ask him questions about how he was feeling when he stopped responding and started coding. He had no pulse whatsoever. I immediately called out for assistance, and as the others came in, they began helping with CPR

and going through our normal procedures in these situations. And when we finally got the pulse back, I was able to point out to them what I was worried about. his leg had turned blue and purple. Again, another sign of blood clots. We immediately set him up for surgery and got him all fixed up. One of the nurses got mad at me, basically accusing me of holding back information that could have killed a patient,

when I explained to them that I had brought this up days prior. Thankfully, others agreed, though that was definitely something anyone should have seen, and they thought it was impossible that they wouldn't have noticed it prior, since he had sat on the edge of the bed with his legs out. But it would be incredible for it to turn purple like that in just one day. After the surgery, tests, and exercises to prevent the same thing from happening, he was finally feeling and looking better, no more passing out.

So he was about to leave again. I'd been working on the other side of the floor, so I didn't get to see him much, but I wanted to wish him well before he left. When I got to talking with him, I brought up the clot and asked him how he knew about it, or if he'd had a history of them, and he had no idea what I was talking about.

He didn't even remember making the comments to me about it. In fact, someone else told him that I pointed it out, and he wanted to thank me as I saved his life. I didn't know what to say. other than just take the compliments and gratitude and move on. I know this may not necessarily be too creepy, but that was one of the most bizarre cases that I've had while at this hospital. I've definitely learned to trust my gut in those situations,

no matter how much the other nurses may mock me or look at me funny, because it could just save a life. So I'm 15, but when this story took place, I was 14. I went to a wedding in one of the southern states of the U.S. where I lived. The Hispanic culture is very large. Nothing wrong with this. It's just relevant to the story.

My best friend, we'll call her Stacy, was a close family friend. So my parents allowed me to go to a wedding with them one night in December. Weddings in our area were more of a public thing that's open to the whole town because everyone knows everyone. It was fairly cold outside, but I remember wanting to look pretty in case guys from my friends school were there. So I wore a strapless romper.

I'm not sure if this is relevant to what happened or not. Stacey wanted to teach me how to two-step, as I hadn't danced much before. After a couple of dances, we were sweating from all the moving around, So I told Stacey, hey, let's go back to the table and get something to drink. It's hot in here. So, Stacey followed me off the dance floor, and as we did so, we scouted for boys.

A few feet off of the dance floor, and an older man who looked to be in his 50s looks me up and down multiple times, and I just stood there not knowing what to do. I turned to walk away, and Stacey tells me that there's an old guy checking me out. I was a little weirded out. I turned to look at him, and he's smiling right at me. Then he comes around to the front of me, and he grabs my hand. And he says, let's go dance. I said no, as this seemed inappropriate, because I was only 14.

He kept pleading without letting my hand go. Please, we need to go dance. It's a good song and everything. He looks me up and down. I'm smiling. I keep trying to pull my hand away, but he won't let go. This whole time, Stacey had left me to go find her dad so he could tell the old guy off. I finally pull my hand away and I tell him that I need to find my parents.

It was a lie as they weren't even there. I go to Stacey and I feel like crying. This event made me feel so gross and dirty. We went to the bathroom and I looked in the mirror and just. shock. I couldn't dance for the rest of the night. We just sat down and drank. Eventually, the guy ended up getting kicked out of the wedding for being inappropriate. It just scares me to wonder what could have happened if I did give him that dance. The hospital that I worked for back in the early 2000s was old as hell, and I guarantee that there are other things walking around those

halls that we cannot see. It was built in the early 1900s, but most of the building actually went through a major overhaul to update it, except for one part of it which housed the chapel, gift shop, and the bell, in order to keep its original roots, I suppose. But as for the creepy parts of this place, we seemed to have a chain of deaths that followed in a specific room. almost like a curse. I still hate saying it because I'm always like, well, gee, if we did our job, then they wouldn't have died, right?

But it's always been those crazy phenomena that led up to them. The first one that I remember was a lady that came in that seemed to have the start of dementia. She came in with burn injuries due to pretty much trying to set her clothes on fire, her to warm up as she was cold. Thankfully, someone was home to put her out, but unfortunately just wasn't nearby to see or know what exactly she was doing. She was going through the normal treatment and was responding well to it. I even had a conversation with her that was fairly normal.

But then, pretty much out of nowhere, she began seizing and died. I heard that her cause of death, was unrelated to the burns or the treatments and medication she took for it, which, I suppose, did make those of us that cared for her feel a little better, but it was still one of those unexpected deaths that punches you in the gut and makes you feel bad. But life goes on in a hospital, and new patients come in, including a man that was being seen for a stroke. He was in a different ward and was then moved upstairs to our work,

ward and into the room 224, as the physical therapy rooms were up there too. Again, he had gone through some PT, come back, and was in good spirits, because he was starting to get feeling back in his arm and leg. That ended when the next day he coded, and nothing we did brought him back, and he passed. His death was related to heart failure, however, but still, it was upsetting. This continued to happen over a few months, I believe it was. Patients would go to that room, would be fine, and then on day two or three they would die. What's worse is that we thought we were smarter.

We had one patient that, after their first night, we moved him to a different room to try to prevent his demise. He still ended up passing. And from then on, room 224 was fine, and then 226. and then 226 was having recurring casualties. We all joked about it being a curse, but after the fifth or sixth, I believe, I think it became a little more serious for us nurses. We tried to avoid the room at all costs.

We double-rooms or triaged out once, when we could, just to not use it. But unfortunately, there came a time that, we couldn't avoid it. It was one of those strange occurrences where it was the weekend. There was some kind of show going on nearby. People were getting drunk and being stupid. Just one of those kinds of days.

So we started filling up quicker than normal. One of the heads told one of the other nurses to move someone to room 226. She hesitated, and she tried to come up with every excuse that she could to not put someone up in there. However, the head didn't give a damn, not believing in anything supernatural, and told her that if she didn't do it, then she would.

She started making her way to move the patient there and gather her things. Then she started freaking out, causing the hair on my neck to stand. I was at the nurse's station when suddenly I heard the lady yelling, so I came over, already aware of what was going

on prior to seeing what happened. The middle-aged woman, who was soft-spoken and optimistic in her recovery, was now pale in pleading us to not take her to that room. As I remember it, she was saying things like, please, I don't want to go in there, please, I'll die in there, please. The other nurse tried to calm her down and told her that she would be okay and that she wouldn't die, although I could hear the shaking in her voice. The patient continued screaming.

No, please, they'll kill me. They'll all kill me, please. I don't want to die. She was unconsolable. So we got the head nurse and explained what was happening. So instead she put her back in her room and put the new patient in the other room. When we put her back in her room, her nurse tried consoling her again and asked her about it.

She mentioned how she felt an overwhelming sense of dread in that room. and that she didn't want to be around it. That alone spooked me. Sure enough, however, the younger-looking guy that went in for an ear infection died the next day from, again, something unrelated. The other nurse there was freaking out, and rightfully so. We never want to lose a patient, but then having this feeling that it could have been avoided really takes a toll on you. after some arguing and one nurse threatening to walk out,

we finally got them to agree to not use the room anymore. To our relief and, unfortunately, our horror, the unexpected deaths seemingly stopped. We've talked about it on many occasions, and even told a few new hires why we avoid the room. We eventually begin using it as a storage room. That way, there was no way that it would get, used by a patient ever again.

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