As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Scary Stories For Dark Dreams - Vol 35 | ATRD Podcast

Episode Date: May 18, 2025

Starting with this episode we are going to try out the "every 3rd day" schedule. This means there will be an episode (like today) and then no episodes for 2 days, then on the 3rd day there will be another episode. So Today, Wednesday, Saturday, then Next Tuesday and Friday and so on... Today we have nearly 2 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; Yard Sale Stories & Stalker Stories from May of 2023, and Paranormal stories from January of 2024. 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. TIMESTAMPS Story 1: 1:36 There will be a midroll ad after story 1. Story 2: 12:01 Story 3: 17:18 Story 4: 22:18 Story 5: 32:09 Story 6: 43:39 Story 7: 47:07 Story 8: 59:43 Story 9: 1:06:45 Story 10: 1:09:05 Story 11: 1:19:37 Story 12: 1:25:24 Story 13: 1:28:42 Story 14: 1:32:20 Story 15: 1:40:25 Story 16: 1:43:56 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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so see, and profite. Via Raille, the voice we love that am I'm Hey there, friends,

hope you are doing fantastic on this Sunday afternoon, which is when this went live if you're listening

at another time, it won't be Sunday, obviously. I wanted to come in here really quick, just to mention that I'm going to

go ahead with the every three-day schedule for the podcast. So we have an episode today, Wednesday, Saturday, next Tuesday, next Friday, and then the second, fifth, and so forth, so on. So from here on out, what it's going to be is there's an episode, there will then be two days with no episode, and then an episode. So, like, for instance, this week, Sunday, Wednesday, Saturday.

I think I said Friday earlier. I'm not going to listen back, because I'm a professional, and I trust myself. Um, that was a joke. Anyways, so every three days. So episode, two days, no episode, then an episode again. That's how it's going to go for a little while. We're going to see how this works out. If it works out, great.

If not, I'll change it back to how it is. But I think this will work out best for kind of getting the most content to you guys and giving myself the most time to do it. So it works better than my current schedule of sometimes there's two episodes, sometimes there's three. There will still be sometimes two, sometimes three. It's just better gaps in between them. more consistent in how it is.

Yeah. Some good stuff coming your guys' way, as always. Hopefully you guys enjoy it. And without continuing on and blathering for hours like I can, I hope that you all enjoy the stories. This happened to me back in early 2018. My wife and I were cleaning up our home, and we were considering moving to downsize,

which meant that we had a lot of stuff. wanted to get rid of. Instead of paying to have someone haul it away, we thought we should try to have a yard sale, make a little extra money. When moving, any extra money helps, especially when you have a kid on the way. So, we started organizing stuff, setting up a few tables and containers, marked prices, all of the basic duties of running a sale. The items that we were selling were pretty standard.

I had a lot of tools that I was getting rid of, old clothing from both of us, and even some small home appliances and decor. Saturday was our first day, and while it started a little slow, it picked up quite a bit around noon. We had some people driving up, people that were walking with dogs or kids, people that we recognized from the neighborhood, etc. My wife had just walked inside to grab some things, so I was left outside to tend to the camera. and customers. While sitting at the chair by the garage, I saw a guy looking over my tools. I had a few people ask me about them already, so I was prepared to be asked some more of the same questions.

However, I noticed the guy picked up one of the kits and was looking all over it. He flipped over to the back. Granted, there was a label back there, so I thought maybe he was just looking for a list of the items in it, and then opened it, moving all of the pieces around inside. Then I saw him look up and around like he was trying to find someone or something. We made eye contact, and while holding the kid up, he asked if it was mine. Kind of a weird question, since I was sitting by the cash box. But I was polite and said that it was, and then asked if he had any questions about it.

He nodded and asked me if all the pieces were in it. When he brought it over, I was able to tell a little better that it was a socket wrench set. I looked it over really quick, and I was familiar with the set because it was one that I rarely had to use. It had sizes that I never really used, as it had a lot of bigger sockets in it, but there was one specifically that I used, and I ended up just tossing it in my big rolling toolbox, so that I didn't have to dig it out of that set anymore. I told him a little about it. I mentioned that I had gotten it as a gift,

but that I only used the one size so the set was complete, except for that one. Otherwise, it was in great condition, obviously, and even the wrench that came with it was in there. I think I was selling it for like five bucks. It wasn't much. He mentioned that it was a pretty convenient set, and he looked pretty happy to a fountain.

it. I agreed with him, and he then said that he had a similar set, then asked what I normally used mine for. Again, I thought it was kind of an odd question, because I used them on whatever they were required for. I told him that I used them mainly on our cars or small projects around the house. Then he asked where I got it from and why I was getting rid of it. I remember this because I know that I mentioned as he brought it up to me that I had gotten it as a gift. So I just repeated myself and then said that I rarely used the sizes in that kit

because some of them were a bit large. This was when I noticed that between his questions and his change in demeanor, our friendly conversation was starting to sound a bit more like an interrogation. He then asked me when I got the kit. why it wasn't a complete set, and even asked again where I had gotten it from.

He was rephrasing that last question differently each time, to make it seem like it was never asked before. But the way he was asking this seemed more like a parent trying to get a child to tell the truth. I backed up a bit to get him out of my face, and even asked him if everything was all right. He then said, no, everything is not all right. I know that you stole this. I was taken aback by this. Where would he get the idea that I had stolen that set? So, at a loss for words, all I said was...

I'm sorry, what? And he responded with, Explain to me how I had a set just like this a few weeks ago. It ended up missing, and now I find you selling the exact same one with the exact same socket missing from it like mine. I was shocked. This random guy standing in front of me had the audacity to approach me at my yard sale

and accuse me of stealing? Irritated at this point, I pointed out to him that it was a gift and that I've had it for a few years now, and, in fact, I had never even seen this guy before, let alone know where he lived. He was adamant, though, that I couldn't give exact dates or something, so I must have stolen it. I laughed. I told him that he just needed to leave my property.

But he had other intentions. As I turned around to toss the kid into my garage that caused this whole interaction, this psycho pulled out a handgun and shot right into my garage. I remember the sound was excruciating. It was way too close for me, and I had lost my hearing for a good minute because of it. Now, I was terrified. There were a few people at the sale, and I could hear the screaming and the sound of people dropping stuff and running. Part of me felt bad, but I knew this guy was after me, so I ran into my house,

locking the door, and yelling for my wife to call 911. While I did this, I quickly ran to the back to lock the door, that connected the garage to my house, worried that he might try to come in. I cracked the door open and looked into the garage, and I didn't see him, so I pushed the button to close it, and then locked the door.

Our garage doesn't have much in it, as we were using it to store some boxes against the back wall, and then there was the sale stuff, so he couldn't really hide behind or under anything either. I told my wife to go upstairs in the bedroom, to stay away from the windows. She was pregnant, and I was very worried about her and our child's safety.

I kept checking the windows to see where this guy went, but I never saw him. I was beginning to think that this coward really ran off. The police finally arrived and knocked on my door, identifying themselves. They asked me what was going on, and they seemed to have some information already. That's when I finally caught on and asked if they talked to the other guy and they confirmed.

That guy was sitting in my driveway and talked to the cops when they got there as if he was the one that had called for them. He told them that I had stolen the damn set again and wanted me arrested. However, he left out the gun part, and when they asked about it, this guy completely denied all of it, saying that it never happened. Of course, I explained to them everything, and I even led them to the garage so they could find the bullet hole, which they did. He managed to shoot the back wall, and, by some miracle,

the bullet was still lodged into the wall. I was incredibly thankful that it didn't go through, and even more so that my wife wasn't in the kitchen at the time, which was on the other side of that wall. She was in the laundry room and ran upstairs when she heard the sound, thinking it was just something that fell. So, anyways, they had checked the guy and, of course, found his gun on him, so they detained him and had him by their car and had me come out and talk so that they could see the item that started this whole thing. I showed them the set and explained to them how it was a gift, so I didn't have proof of purchase,

but I did pull the one out of my toolbox to prove it was the thing. the one from the set, because the brand logo was etched in to the socket. They handed me the set back, smirking, and walked away asking me to wait there. They talked to the guy that was in the back of the car and then came back to me and asked if I wanted to press charges. You could bet your ass that I did, too. The dude couldn't even prove that he owned the same set, and to top it all off, he lived a few blocks over. He was just driving around and saw the sale sign and stopped by. Why would I rob a house a few blocks over from my place, steal one specific socket set, and then nothing else?

Hell, if he was nicer, I may have even given him the set for free. Of course, he was ordered to pay for the damages, and we also got a restraining order, even though that part wasn't as important. We moved about eight months later, but I'm quite hesitant in having another yard sale. I guess from here on out, I'll just donate my stuff. These are four experiences from my youth. Number one, pranked.

I was completely home alone one evening. I turned off the TV in my bedroom. It was a 90s-style TV box. Anyway, I go to shower, and when I got out of the shower, the TV wouldn't turn back on. Did the power go off? No. All the lights are on, so the power isn't out. Maybe the TV's power cord got loose. I checked behind the TV.

It wasn't just the power cord. It was also the cord to my VCR and cable box. All three cables had been disconnected. All three. Did someone come home and try to? try to play a prank on me? No, a quick tour of the house confirmed that I was home alone. And how would they have known that I was watching TV before I showered?

My goodness, had someone broken in to try to steal my TV? I don't think so. I hadn't noticed anything just moments ago. Plus, why would they want my ratty old TV when there's much nicer stuff in the house? Including a nicer TV in the living room. Another quick tour of the house this time, looking under the beds and in the closets. I even went into my parents' bathroom and peeked in the shower. Nothing.

No one. Back in my room, I plugged all the cables back in, and with as much courage and calmness as I could muster, I said something like, okay, you got me. I didn't think that was funny. Please don't do that again. I went about my evening until my parents and siblings. came back home. Two, disembodied voices.

It was about two in the morning, and I had just hung up the phone with my girlfriend when I heard what I thought was muffled voices over white noise. Maybe a TV was on. My sibling, a room over, was scared of the dark and would usually put the TV on a sleep setting. I thought maybe they just forgot to do that.

When I opened the bedroom door, the voices sounded lower, but the white noise sounded louder, and as if it were coming from the direction of my sibling's bedroom. I made my way to the bedroom, but when I put my ear up to the door, the noise now sounded like it was coming from the living room, at the front of the house. Maybe this was some sort of nighttime Doppler effect thing. I made my way to the living room, down a T-shaped hallway,

and the noise gets louder. But as soon as I come to the front of the house that opens up into the living room, nothing. The silence. The noise is completely gone. Three, did the dark just play a trick on me? I felt hands gently shake me awake right at my shoulder and chest.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a figure in the shape of a man, but darker than the dark of my bedroom, kneeling at my bedside. The second I saw it, I knew that it was not a man, but I don't know how I knew that. And I knew that it didn't want to harm me, just wake me up.

A second later it stood up and took a step back and then completely vanished. I then sat up and looked around. And number four, W-T-F-H. Something startled me awake, and when it did, I was wide awake and afraid. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a plastic bag being ruffled at the doorway to my bedroom. I couldn't explain why that noise was so scary, but I was basically terrified when the noise moved from the door to the center of my bedroom, to the foot of my bed, and then to right next to my bed. I was panicking. What the freaking hell is going on.

but I was so scared that I was frozen. The only thing I could move was my eyes. Suddenly the noise was gone, but I felt something straddle me. Like, literally, there was this pressure on my hips and on my chest. That's when I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to make myself sit up, but failed. I couldn't move. I then felt this odd, wispy-like presence hover right above my mouth, almost like a feathered kiss to my lips, and then it was gone.

To date, these have been the only paranormal experiences that I have encountered. Experience number one was the first one and number two followed, but I don't remember which came next, whether it was number three or number four. These all happened while I was in high school, so sometime between 1998 to 2002. over 20 years ago now. Thanks for reading. Other than the haunted dorm, where baby the kleptomaniac philodendron,

if you remember those stories, stole its first balloon, I've only had one experience that some might consider a human ghost. I'm not going to give you the particulars of where the classroom was, as that's one of those truth is stranger than fiction things, but it was used as a lab for the storage and study of human skeletal elements. We would be in there all of an evening, studiously concentrating on learning to identify whole and fragmentary elements.

One of our study techniques was to ask a neighbor to hand you a bone while your eyes were closed and then practice identifying it by the feel, because that was part of the final exam, and you just need to know them that well. But, occasionally, I would turn to a neighbor only to realize that no one was there. You know how it is when someone is beside you. You might be concentrating on something else, but you are aware of their presence. Glimpses out of the corner of your eye, that kind of thing.

It was like that. So, yes, I was distracted and completely absorbed by my studying. So it might just have been that, but I have a lot of university credit-acred, hours, and I took it very seriously. I have also been in a lot of rooms where human skeletal remains were stored and studied, some with thousands such individuals, and usually dimly lit with few, if any, living humans as company. But that was the only place I ever had that experience.

No, most of the experiences I've had that one might call ghostly were of animals. I say experiences rather than ghosts because, while I don't have an immediate explanation that I find satisfactory, I'm not ruling out a natural cause. For example, the night after I had to put one of my cats to sleep, I felt him jump on the foot of the bed, stalk the length of my mattress, and curl up against my back. I was awake, but it might have been something hypnagogic. Likewise, the time I was driving before dawn when I saw a man cross the road ahead of me. He was being followed by a little white dog. It would pause to sniff something fascinating and then dash to catch up,

or run off to a side to investigate something. But always it hurried back to the man's heels. But then I passed by the man and realized there was no dog. He was on a sidewalk with an empty, but for me, Four-lane road on one side, and an even more empty grocery store parking lot on the other. There was no place for a dog to hide, but it was gone. I was leaving work a couple of hours before dawn, following my usual schedule, and nothing like that had happened before or since.

But maybe that was something hypnagogic, too. Another time something happened in the middle of the afternoon, so it had nothing to do with sleep or the lack of the same. thereof. I had three black cats, but one of them had been missing for several days. That afternoon, I had opened the back door and all three ran in. What a relief. I closed the door and went to check on the formerly missing kitty, and he was nowhere to be found. Sadly, two days later, the dog had dug his remains out from under the shed. He'd been dead for as long as he'd been missing, but maybe seeing him that last time was a trick of my brain,

a replay of past events based on hopes and expectations. My sister's experience is harder to explain as it involves multiple witnesses and physical objects. She worked at a pachyderm house at a zoo. Again, not going to tell you where. Suffice to say, the building was the original facility from the bad old days when elephants were chained and handled harshly. They have a new, much nicer building now, and my sister was hired expressly because she knew how to train an animal without making physical contact.

There were no chains in the facility, and spaces where elephants were once kept had been repurposed for storage. But many times the keepers would hear the sound of chains, dragging across the concrete. And sometimes the heavy scoop shovel, stored where once elephants had been pinned, would lift off of the wall and fly across the wall. and fly across the room with great force. And you'd best hope that you weren't in the way when that happened. I've never really shared this story before,

mainly because it still causes me mental distress every time I think about it, even all of these years later. But after reading a bunch of other stories posted in this group and seeing that a lot of people have gone through terrible things, some of them even similar to mine. I decided that I should put this out there and see if it helps me get past it. Maybe it'll help others see the severity of obsessive behavior, and if it helps anyone, then that would be an added bonus in my mind.

Back whenever I was in high school, there was this kid named Carter, who was always a bit odd and out there. He was quiet. very quiet. He kept to himself for the most part, but he had a bit of a fascination with me. In that, where he never really spoke to anyone else, he always treated me like I was a good friend,

like we had talked all the time. Now, I didn't mind Carter. He seemed like an okay person, but outside of that, I never really paid much attention to him, assuming that he was just shy or that he might have had a bit of a crush on me or something. I figured it was completely harmless,

that it would pass, and that would be that. However, of course, that's not how things went. What started as him having just that small crush turned into him getting a bit creepy. He started seeming to always be around, seemingly by coincidence.

He would be a bit of, in the hallways nearby when I walked to class. At lunch, he would sit at the table next to where I was, regardless of who else was sitting there, or he would stand with his back against the wall near the table if there were people already there. He joined the drama club randomly, and would be there every day after school when the meetings would occur. I tried to pretend that it had nothing to do with me, that I was just noticing a bunch of coincidental occurrences, and that he wasn't doing it to be around me.

Then, the notes started. There was a random note in my locker one day, handwritten and not signed, and it was filled with a bunch of compliments and declarations of love. Flattering, sure, but it was cringe-inducing, too. It had compliments about random things that really didn't make sense to me, like the straightness of my teeth and how I walked. And, of course, that wasn't the only one.

Oh, no. It happened every day for a few days. And then there were a few days where there were multiples, and it started getting beyond unsettling. They started mentioning details about my life that no one should have known. One specifically mentioned the color of the underwear that I was wearing that day, and how it matched the color of my bed covers. worse yet, it was actually accurate.

When I read that, I started to feel sick to my stomach, realizing that this guy was stalking me. I could no longer pretend that it was all a coincidence. I had to accept an address that this boy was pushing boundaries. I will say that I was only 16 and I really didn't know what to do about it beyond telling an adult. and I figured that I should tell my school counselor since it technically was happening at school. So I went to my counselor, and I explained everything that was going on, and I gave her those notes, including the last ones that I mentioned. She read them, and after getting through it and taking a few moments to think about it,

she looked at me and said, And you think you know who sent these? I told her that it was Carter, and she asked me how I knew for sure. I tried to explain that he had been stalking me, that he was always around and such, but she mentioned that none of the letters were signed, and that I couldn't just accuse him without being able to prove it. I asked how I was supposed to prove it, and she shrugged me off, saying that, as serious as this sounded, there was nothing to show that it was actually him, and that I should talk to him about it.

She seriously recommended that I talked to him about this whole thing, that I talked to him about how obsessive he was, about the fact that he had obviously been peeping in my window at some point. That was not going to happen, obviously. I walked out of that room and I finished the day, and when I got home, I just went and laid down in my bed and sobbed. I was feeling paranoid, freaked out, like he was watching me while I was sitting there crying. I kept glancing out my window thinking that I would see him, thinking he would be right there for some reason.

When my dad got home, he asked me what was going on, and I explained the whole thing to him, and I even told him that I tried to talk to my school counselor, and that she basically, told me she couldn't do anything about it. He was shocked and angry. And when I told him about the counselor and he read the part about how the guy was looking in my window, he became furious. He told me that he was going to talk to the counselor that next morning. The next day he drove me to school and went in to talk to her and when he came out,

it was pretty clear that everyone was unhappy. He told me that I was going to be staying home from school that day, and we left. When we got home, he told me some of what was said, and he mentioned that the counselor was going to have a conversation with Carter, and then said that things would be okay. The day when I went back, the next day, I was nervous that I was going to run into Carter in the hallways. But from what I could tell, he wasn't at the school, which made me feel a bit of him. bit better. That is, until I got home. When I got home from school, as was normal, my parents weren't home yet. I went in and grabbed something to eat and then sat in the living room to

watch something on TV. After about 20 minutes, I heard something in the garage, like something had fallen down and without even thinking I got up to see what exactly it was. When I opened the door, my heart dropped. There, in the middle of the garage, was Carter, just standing there trying to pick up what he had knocked down. He looked up at me and gave me this horrible grin, and then immediately started toward the door. Thankfully, there were two things that were going to be my saving grace.

The door upstairs from the garage, had a dead bolt lock on it, and my dad was going to be home within only a couple of minutes. I slammed the door and locked it, with the deadbolt and the knob lock. After a couple of minutes, I could hear Carter smacking the door and yelling at me, telling me that I needed to let him in, that he loved me, and that I needed to let him be close to me. With the door locked, there was only one way out of the garage, and that was through the garage door, which was now opening because my dad was pulling in. I heard my dad pull into the garage

I heard the door open and I heard my dad shouting at Carter yelling at him to get on the ground and Carter saying that he wasn't there to do anything wrong that may have been believable had he not somehow broken into the garage to wait for me to get home a bit after this my dad told me to call the police and tell them that Carter had broken into our home and long story short

the police did show up. I explained what had happened, that I'd come home and found him in the garage. After a lot of talking to the cops and then putting Carter into the back of the car, I was just sitting there staring at him in the back of the police car as they asked us questions and got more info. They pulled off, and I had never been happier than that day. Thankfully, that was pretty much the end of it.

I don't know how far into the legal system, Carter ended up getting. But I never saw him at school again. Obviously, I never got another note in my locker either. I never had to deal with his craziness again, and my life got back on track almost immediately. I'm thankful that my dad took me seriously, and screw that counselor for not even thinking to address the whole thing beyond saying, oh, we can't prove it. Oh, and Carter?

I'm glad that you and I never met again. And please, stay the hell away from me. My sister and I have always loved to get together and go thrifting or yard sale shopping. It wasn't just shopping and getting new stuff for us, but we loved finding old treasures that once held many memories for others. We loved finding antiques and other items and learning more about said items. We loved hearing from the previous owners when possible, and we honestly thought about starting a vlog with our finds and those stories.

But this story isn't about one of those stories, unfortunately. This is a story of something we experienced on one of our shopping trips. This took place in 2019, in about mid-May. I remember because her daughter was in her last week of school when this happened, happened, and we talked about how she would be with us after that week if we went. I adored my niece, so I was absolutely okay with this, too, and was excited to spend some more time with her. I drove to her place, and we took her car, and we started around her area and slowly branched out. We were probably about an hour into our trip when we came across a community yard sale.

If you aren't aware, community or neighborhood sales are when a lot of people within the same neighborhood have a yard sale on the same days. It's a lot of fun, and convenient for people like us who like to hit up a lot of different houses in one run. We could park our car on one side of the road, take our little wagon and walk around the block before making our way back to our car. We actually had gone through most of the neighborhood and scored some pretty good finds, but we started to get pretty tired. We lived in the Midwest, and it had been very humid, so we started taking the car to each home, so we had less walking to do. We pulled up to the next house with high hopes because of what we could see from our car. They had a lot of books, paintings, and toys. We personally liked obscure paintings to keep.

for ourselves. We've found our share of valuable books, and even items left behind in those books, such as pictures, postcards, and newspaper clippings. And, lastly, the toys. We found a lot of ones that were never opened, as well as ones that were, but were in great condition. We sold many of them on eBay for a lot more than what we bought them for, and priced many more that we've kept.

As we got out and walked around, we made our way to the toys since there were so many of them. The owners must have had a little girl because there were a lot of girl-oriented toys. There was a dollhouse, a tub full of old Barbies, a kitchenette, and a play makeup set, as well as other similar items. But then my sister gasped as she made eye contact with one item. It was part of a set for these toys that we used to collect as children. Some of you may be familiar with them. They were called pound puppies. The set we saw was the old van that folded out and collapsed flat to be a play area for the little pups.

You could also store them in it. I remember us both wanting to get this as kids, but we never really did. No hate to our parents. There were a lot of us kids in knowing how expensive toys are now, I get it. But at that moment, we were reliving our childhood. She still had all of her pound puppies, as she had many on a shelf and even more in a container in her basement.

She could never part with them, and she was hoping to one day share them with her daughter. We were looking it over and discussing it when a man approached us and asked if we were familiar with the item. My sister, Ellie, turned her excitement to him, started telling him all about how this van was always on our Christmas and birthday lists. He explained that our assumption was pretty much right. The toy belonged to his wife, who then tried to give it to their daughter, but she didn't really play with it,

so she just wanted to get rid of it at this point. The tag said $10, and it was definitely coming home with us. As Ellie was fishing out the bills from her fanny pack, I grabbed our latest find and walked it to the car. I was still talking with the guy when I walked back, and as I got there, he mentioned to us that she had a whole collection of the little puppies in their spare bedroom, but they didn't have the time or space to bring it down yet. He then asked us if we were interested, and we could then check it out if we were. From the look on Ellie's face, I knew that we were probably going to go home with more.

We agreed and followed him into his house, as he motioned to a woman, I assumed his wife, that he was going to show us the rest of the collection. We entered a home that was very obviously well taken care of. It had a very nice, rustic look to it, and you could also tell that a kid and a dog lived there, based on the toy chest in the corner of the living room, in the dog bed next to the TV. We walked through the living room and took a right up a set of stairs and into a bedroom.

This was definitely one. one of those catch-all rooms. There was a bed that was fully made, but then there were a few boxes and tubs stored in the corner. The closet doors were open and only had a few items that were wrapped in plastic sitting in them. The man pushed the clothes to the side and pulled out a plastic container that probably stood about three feet tall. It had drawers and doors that opened on different sides with labels on all of them.

He brought it to about the center of the room and gesture to it that we could look it over and pick out what we wanted, if not take the whole thing. Both of us were super excited about this and started opening the little containers to see what all was there. It was really exciting. We found a lot of items that brought back memories and others that we had never seen before, but then all of the serotonin seemed to drain from my body. As I started getting this weird feeling, I felt like something was wrong. I looked over to Ellie to see if she was okay and she was still talking and smiling as she sorted through the various toys and stuffed animals. But then I noticed the guy that escorted us in here was now standing behind my sister,

who is bending over slightly to look into these little cubbies. The problem I had with this was that the guy had his head cocked to the side, clearly staring at her with his hand down his pants. I felt so stupid at that point in time. We'd willingly followed this man into his home. I guess between knowing that he had a kid and a wife and us being too excited, we accepted that as being completely normal. I'm sure neither of us suspected anything at first, so being the big sister, I had to do something.

I figured that I shouldn't try to act too alarmed, because it was pretty obvious what he was doing, and the fact that he was standing between us and the doorway was a bit problematic. I stood up and walked around to stand behind Ellie. I tried to nudge her arm to get her to stand up, but she would just look over real quick and then back down to the item. I pulled my phone out, typed out a message, and showed it to Ellie, acting like I was looking up an item. I watched as the smile on her face slowly faded. She finally understood. She quickly stood up, and we started walking out of the room, just saying,

Okay, we're good. You could hear the guy walking up behind us, and he started talking about how we didn't look at everything, and was adamant asking us if we were sure, or if there was anything else we were looking for. I said no, and I followed behind Ellie through the doorway and down the stairs. This guy then shoved past us and jumped in front of the front door, stopping us from being able to open it. My sister asked him what the hell he was doing,

and sensing the desperation in his voice, he asked us if there was anything else in the house that we were interested. interested in. I really felt like he was grasping at any reason to keep us in the house, which made me worry even more. My sister said that there wasn't, and that we just wanted the few things that we were holding. Then the desperation really started showing. This man actually asked us if we were willing to have a quickie, and if we were, we could just

have the whole container for free. Before I could react, Ellie lost it. it. She started screaming at him, saying, What the hell is wrong with you? She mentioned his wife being right out front and then threatened to call the police. I was already pulling out my phone at this point, but the guy backed away from the door with his hands up, and his only response was, Okay, okay, but don't mention this to my wife, please.

Ellie shoved past him, and we both dashed out the door. As we ran down the front stairs, Ellie, shouted to the woman that her husband was a creep, and we ran to our car. I watched from the passenger side as he stood by the door, and the wife was standing at the bottom of the steps with her arms out to her side. Her body language was pretty telling as to what was going on. That was the last time that we saw or heard from that guy, or went to that house, obviously. We left and immediately started recapping all of what had just happened. We thought about whether we should call the cops, but figured they wouldn't be able to do much since he didn't touch us, and we were able to get away, and we were in his house.

We just shook off the creepy vibes that we had, grabbed some Starbucks, and chilled out for a bit. We were definitely done for the day. We both agreed that it was pretty stupid of us to go in there, and agreed that we would never let that happen again. If anyone wants to show us something like that, they would have to bring it out to us. But, at the very least, we did get a few of the little puppy stuffies at no cost. We just took it as payment for the trauma that he caused us. I genuinely have no clue why I haven't said anything about this yet, considering so much weird stuff happens in my life.

But this was probably one of the creepiest. encounters I've ever had, and I feel lucky that I walked away. One summer night a few years ago, I was out for a drive with a friend. We decided to make a little late night stop at a nearby waterfall for a smoke session, since it was always super dead and really peaceful in the evenings. This specific time, I didn't make it anywhere near the waterfall. As we were getting out of the car, I, night. female at the time, really had to pee.

Now, I used to go to this waterfall very often, and I know the area like the back of my hand, even in the dark. So I went and found a spot where it was too dark for me to see more than maybe two feet in front of me, and tried to stay as close to the forest exit as possible, without being seen by a semi-busy road. The entire time I was up there, I absolutely know that I was being watched.

Very closely. I ended up getting out of there as fast as freaking possible, jumping in the car and locking the doors. That entire time, I could feel someone's eyes digging into me like daggers. I was genuinely ready to be grabbed. What confirmed that I was definitely being watched happened when I got back to the car. I saw a kid run across the street directly up to where I was. He came from nowhere, literal cliff on one side, hence the waterfall.

And I could genuinely only describe him as the little boy from the jungle book, clothing and all. I get majorly weird vibes every time I go there now that I never, ever got before. It still has a weird feeling in the day. I genuinely don't even know how this happened so quickly. That kid would have had to have scaled a large cliff and moved at a super, super high speed. I'm going with the most logical explanation in my city, which is people living in the woods, with possible ulterior motives. But at this point, I'm not ruling anything out.

This was by far the weirdest and creepiest encounter I have had. had in a long time that I recall, and it has honestly just kind of stuck with me. I hate going to this waterfall now, which absolutely sucks, because it's so close to my house, and it's absolutely gorgeous. I don't know, I just got the weirdest vibes. Also, just before anyone says anything, I know how stupid this was, but I was 19, and I was I'm stubborn as all Christ, so nothing would have talked me out of peeing

in a place where I need a flashlight. Safe to say, I've never been back up to that part of the park since. Hello, Raven, and Happy New Year. I commented the other day on YouTube about a story that you read,

the one where the person heard someone breathing when they were going to sleep, and I said that I would write you, as I too have had this experience. Please bear with me as this happened a long time ago, and tis a lengthy one. My whole life so far has been one long paranormal experience, non-stop from my earliest memories, and I'm in my 50s now. Like a circle, I cannot tell you when it began.

It's just my life. It's something to do with the blood, that's what they say in my part of the world anyway, that these things run in families. And it has certainly proved true in my case. Some call it a gift. I don't always think of it as such, especially when you're a kid that's so frightened you dare not even get up to pee in the night.

I'm at a stage now in my life, where I've overcome the fear and either get annoyed at it all or actively ignore the nonsense. I'm not even going to try to convince anyone, that I'm telling the truth, because I know that I am. And that's enough for me. I don't need validation, and I'm too tired to massage the skeptics.

I digress already, but only for a little backdrop to this particular occurrence. Like I said, I can't tell you when exactly the breather made its first appearance. I'm estimating prepubescence, around age 10 or 11. It coincides with the nighttime vision. visits from what I now know to be a hatman, but I don't know if they're connected or separate entities. All I can tell you is that they exist. I'm going back to the early 1980s now. No internet, no information in the very small public library, beyond the story of Borley Rectory and Arthur C. Clark's strange world. No journals or magazines or TV programs on the

paranormal, at least not in my house. So, no, these people who insist the Hatman is a phenomena born of creepypasta have got it wrong. Before I get to my experience of him, I will tell you a little of what was going on otherwise. I used to have frequent nightmares, and usually the same general theme, Darth Vader in various ways terrorizing me. Now, I was a Star Wars fan since my dad took me to the cinema to watch the very first movie, when it was released. I think I was seven or eight.

Neither Darth Vader nor any other character upset me at the time, and it was surprising that it would be years later when these nightmares began. It was always the same kind of thing. It was his breathing. He would just stare and breathe, and I would be paralyzed with fear. Anyone who's had a night terror will understand the indescribable and irrational fear

of that type of energy. I would often wake up to my bedclothes pulled up so high they were wrapped around my head, often suffocating, and they would be so tight. Like, not just up over my head, literally wrapped around it. One time they were tied around my throat, and I did panic a bit, because it took me a while to get free of them. I wore night dresses back then, and they would always be pulled up to my armpits, too. I always felt like there was something in the room watching me after I woke up, a very

uncomfortable and frightening thing. It would sometimes dissipate and sometimes hang around, just a quietly menacing presence. I would be petrified, and unable to move at times. One night, I even tried to sleep in the built-in wardrobe just to feel secure and away from it. and strangely, I never mentioned these terrors to my parents. I was a considerate child, and I knew that they had their own worries, so it never occurred to me to add to them. I was also raised to be somewhat stoic and resilient, and so I didn't share problems easily.

It wasn't apparent then, it's only in later life that I have wondered if this was the breather that I encountered later on, because the raspy way Darth would breathe was similar to what I would hear with my awake ears, years later. I had reached the age of 12 or 13 when I first remember the thing in the hat. My father liked to socialize regularly, but my mother hardly ever did.

She didn't like alcohol and she was a little reserved in company. But I persuaded her to go one New Year's Eve to the club with Dad and enjoy herself. She didn't want to leave me in the house, but I convinced her that I was a big girl now, and I would be fine. And the club was only at the bottom of our road, and I was responsible enough to come get them if I needed to.

So, reluctantly, she went. Turns out that she enjoyed herself playing bingo and would accompany Dad more often from then on. That's when the thing in the hat would turn up, and I would regret trying to socialize my mother. That first night, I stayed up watching TV until it finished. Yes, I'm talking of the time when we had three channels, and they stopped broadcasting at midnight.

I would have gone to bed earlier, but I kept getting a creepy feeling from outside the room, and I thought that I kept hearing noises on the stairs. But every time I checked, there was nothing to see. I eventually dragged myself up them to the sanctuary of my room and went to bed. I didn't want my mom's first night out to be spoiled by seeing me scared when she came home. I told her not to worry about me, hadn't I? I had to prove myself.

I was dropping into the haze of sleep. I could see the light from the landing under my door. I heard my parents come home and my dad came up the stairs. I saw the shadow of his feet. under my door, so I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I wanted to show that I was responsible enough to get myself to bed on time. But Dad didn't come into my room. I waited and waited, and then I peeped and saw him in the open doorway.

I don't remember hearing the door open. He was in dark shadow. I couldn't see his features at all, and he seemed tall. collar. I wondered why he had a hat on. Pretty sure he didn't go out with a hat on. The only hat he had that resembled that shape was his uniform hat. He was an ambulance man, and in those days, they wore a kind of peaked broad hat. I don't know what the style is called, kind of like an old bus conductor's hat. And why would he wear that to go out in? My dad was a very smart man of his generation, always wore a collar and a tie, always fixed his hair even when staying in the

house. This was not making sense. He just stood in the doorway, staring and not moving to the point where it creeped me out. My dad had never frightened me before, even when he was drunk. He was a happy drunk. I was about to pluck up the courage to ask what he was doing when I heard the dog downstairs get excited. and my mom and dad came home. Mum asked Dad to come check on me if he was going upstairs to the bathroom.

F.I. I tried to get the dog to sleep in my room, but she absolutely would not stay. The next thing I remember, the dark shape was gone. And Dad came up the stairs, full of joy and beer and a good night out. There were more incidents like this to follow, and many others besides, some far more frightening. A darkness, bad luck, ill health, and hardship descended on our family. And I do see that as the turning point, but I want to tell you now more about the breather.

So fast forward. I'm 25 years old. My mother had died not a year since, and my dad was ill in the hospital. I had traveled a very long way from one end of the country to the other to come home. It was late, and I was exhausted. The dog had passed not long after Mum, and I was alone in my old room in the cold, dark, empty house.

I flopped into bed, and was nodding off when I heard his breathing. At first, I thought it was me, or maybe the divay as it rose and fell. I tried to rationalize it every way possible. I was stressed, I was tired, I was imagining it, at a set. The breathing was timed with mine, but just a split second behind. It was really weird, but at that point I was more curious than afraid. I stopped my breath to reassure myself that I was going insane, but the other breathing continued. It was undeniable that it was not me.

I was so tired and full of grief that I didn't feel the least bit afraid at that point. I was angry, and I shouted, Shut the F up, I need to sleep. And it breathed once more and then stopped. It was not the end of it, though. My dad came home and I cared for him until he passed away, not 16 months after Mom. In that time, we had all kinds of stuff happening,

and my dad always managed to find an explanation until one night the breather paid him a visit too. He still tried to rationalize it, but failed. I had a boyfriend stay over with me one night, and I hadn't told him about the breather. We were just settling down to sleep when it came by the side of the bed, with its raspy, labored, all-to-familiar old man-type breathing, always timing its inhalations and exhalations with mine. It was bloody strange.

I didn't say anything and tried to ignore it, when the boyfriend said, Can you hear that? So, again, confirming to me that it wasn't all in my imagination, or a stress response. I have puzzled over this phenomena for years, and never found an answer as to what it was or why it was bothering me. I always wondered if it had a hand in my mother's death.

She died in bed, age 54, of no known cause, though they spent six weeks trying to find one. She was very susceptible to spirits, and this is where I get it from, and my children too. We've always been pestered by them. Plenty more things happened in that house. And after Dad passed, things got really hairy. But I think I've rambled on for far too long already,

so maybe I'll write again another time. Sorry this was so long-winded. I didn't think it made much sense without all the details. I really hope that someone out there can tell me what the heck the breather is. And if it's cursed us, how to break that. Because I do feel at times like I am haunted, and it affects my whole family regardless of where we live. Thank you for reading this, Raven, and for providing a space to share.

God bless and best of wishes. for 2024. I'm going to tell you about an event that happened to me quite recently. For practical and economic reasons, I use the taxi service. The fixed price, which costs me less than taking my vehicle, especially given the place where I live, as already said, an ultra-rural village, isolated from all cities,

and where to go to the bank or go shopping, you have to go 10 to 20 kilometers. In general, the taxi service I use is ultra-professional. Recent vehicles, clean, maintained, friendly drivers, always a friendly random conversation, always on time and almost always the same drivers. And one day, three to four weeks ago, I was given a new driver, but nothing special.

And it was the same, impeccable service, we're talking about rain and good weather, nothing to really complain about. Two weeks ago, this gentleman who already told me to call him by first name, gave me his age, his nationality, information that came out of nowhere. And he continued his conversation by explaining that he bought a connected printer but couldn't get it to be recognized by his smartphone. I tried to give him advice, and it stops there. But again, I'm just there. He's in too much of an enthusiastic mood for my taste.

I don't pay much attention to it. He starts to talk about his printer again and blurts out to me, You work in this field. You can help me. I can't do it. I can't get it connected. If you want, you should add me on Messenger. Since we had arrived at my destination, I stammered an answer, just something like,

Yeah, I'll think about it later. But I didn't know this guy. I never talked about my work. Yes, I am a computer technician, among other things, though. I did think about it afterwards, and it's information that is easily found on Facebook. For example, even if my profile is not fully public. I ended up forgetting about this,

since I had to help a friend, mired in a complicated divorce where there was domestic violence. Suffice it to say, this divorce worried me a lot more, and that moment with the taxi, it wasn't that important. Except when I had to leave, I had to call another taxi. And wouldn't you know it, it was this driver again. I was hesitant to get in. I had a sudden urge to just get out of the vehicle,

and he said hello to me, but then used my first name. He then started asking me questions about my father's health, and even made a few jokes about it. I specify that once again I never mentioned my first name, nor had I ever mentioned my father to this driver. Suffice it to say, that trip was heavy, and I was completely silent. I did what I needed to do, and,

then in the store parking lot, I called the taxi center to order a taxi for the return. The gentleman replies that there's already a vehicle that has just dropped off another person and that I can meet with them and notify them that they could pick me up. I arrived at the car, and, as expected, it was that driver.

He had a big smile. He helped me with my bags by placing himself behind me, against the trunk, and then put his hand on my back. He kind of caressed it. It made my blood run cold. The driver then asks me to get in the front, because the rear doors have a problem unlocking.

I just want to run away, quickly, very quickly. I get in the seat, telling myself it's just 10 kilometers by car, and it'll go quickly, and I tried to hide my emotions. That was a mistake. This driver started talking to me and asking questions trying to get answers out of me. Questions very focused on sex. Increasingly disgusting questions. Saying things like,

You get compliments when you finish a man? Have you ever tried the Moroccan cigar? Illusion to the fact that I had bought cigars. He said all this with this just awkward, smile, putting his hand near me, moving it in my direction, while I was trying to cram myself against the door, holding on to the handle, and planning to unlock it quickly. Doors, which, by the way, seemed to have no problem, since it didn't indicate that there were any issues.

And, of course, instead of taking the shortest route, he took the longest, which makes the time go from 10 to 15 minutes to almost 50 minutes in an ultra-isolated wooded path. I just responded vaguely to his comments or tried to make little jokes hiding my growing anxiety. I don't know. I don't really want to know what this guy was up to. We got to my house. I jumped out, grabbed all my bags in one go, and went home. And while I was at home, in the hour that followed, this driver tried to. message me on WhatsApp. I blocked him immediately. I didn't even read it. After calming down a bit, I contacted the taxi company and explained this situation. The gentleman asked me,

Are you talking about this guy? And I answered in the affirmative. And then he told me, in a very mafia-like tone, don't worry, we'll take care of it. At the end of this, I said to myself that I may not have been the first to report him, which is kind of scary. And with his will take care of it, I decided to look into another taxi service. This whole thing is still spinning in my brain. P.S., I forgot to specify it in the story, and would like to remain as anonymous as possible, but I'll say that I'm Belgian, and I am a man. This really changes nothing.

whether you're a woman, a man, an adult, a teenager, or a child, this is not acceptable behavior. I was subcontracted at a funeral home for 30 years. It was a very old building, about 100 plus years old. I came in late at night to do the hair on three elderly women after I had finished work at my studio. I heard talking and thought that a funeral director was in the office, or perhaps the radio, was left.

So I went to the office across from the room that I was to work in to let the funeral director know that I was there, or to turn off the radio as I was alone. But nothing. Upon entering the room that I was to work in with the three ladies, the talking then turned into people yelling at each other. They were unrelated. I was not scared, as this was not my first paranormal encounter. I asked if I could help, and they shouted back. at me to stay out of it and to mind my own business. I did all of their hair without talking from that point on,

as they continued yelling at each other over some event. Perhaps they didn't realize they were dead. It was very weird, and at no point did they try to harm me. I guess after working on the deceased for so long, I just got used to it. I actually have another funeral home story as well. I did the hair on a woman in her late 30s. She had died in a car accident. The story behind this tragedy was the night before the accident.

Her husband woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He woke his wife up to tell her that he had just dreamt that she had died, and that he was standing by her casket just looking at her. It seemed so real. In disbelief and confusion, she said, I just had the same dream. The next day, they were driving in their car. The husband was driving.

The wife was in the passenger seat, and their young child and dog were in the back seat. A truck hit them, and she was killed. The husband's child and dog were unharmed. Back when I was younger, my mom had a garage sale every summer. I had three older brothers, and I was the only girl, so hand-me-downs weren't really a thing for me. so after my last brother couldn't fit into the clothes or shoes, they were in the sale. I honestly enjoyed helping my mom on these, as it was like playing a real-life shopkeeper. I used to play that with my brothers a lot as a kid.

I also had this genius idea, like a lot of kids do, to sell lemonade and cookies, too. When I got a little older, I think I was around 14 or 15, I was always trying to trying to make my own money. So when my mom offered to give me the money I made on my stuff, I agreed to sell a lot more. I had some old clothes that I didn't want to get rid of, even though they didn't fit or were torn up. They held good memories, so I didn't want to part with them.

I also had some toys that I didn't play with that I kept for similar reasons. My mom didn't like the clutter, so any extra stuff that wasn't necessary, she always tried to get rid of it. So I pulled out all the stuff that I didn't need anymore, and she set up a table specifically for my stuff. And they all had pink stickers, so I knew what belonged to me. I was ready to collect my shopping funds at this point. The sale started slow, but it was all right.

I sat out there by the cash box, typically doing stuff on my phone while my mom organized, put more stuff out, and then mingled with the neighborhood shoppers. At one point, there was a guy who showed up alone in a small convertible. He looked normal. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, and just slowly made his way to each table and bin that my mom had set out. He paused at the box of my dad's stuff, which I think had some old tools and shoes in it, and then he walked by the table that had my brother's clothes on it. He picked up a couple pairs of pants, and it looked like he checked the sizes, and then folded them back up and laid them back on the table. The next table had my mom's clothes and my clothes

on it. He again picked up a few items, and one of those was a pair of my old jeans. I remember him holding them out and looking them up and down, almost as if he was inspecting them. Then he flipped them over to the back and kind of smirked. I figured it was because the back had something written across the pocket, like Angel. He looked around and noticed that I was making eye contact with him, and he smiled. I smiled back and then quickly looked back down at my phone, thinking that it was awkward of me to stare. I knew that it had been a few minutes because I had been watching a video that I was in the middle of. He walked over to me and said hello, and I responded.

He asked if I was the manager, joking around, and I said that my mom was, but I was just watching over as she got more stuff. He asked a few innocent questions about the day and myself, but it was nothing weird. So I answered. I remember even making a copy. about his car because I thought that it looked pretty cool. It was a deep purple color. He looked over at the car and then back at me and smiled and said that since I liked it,

he could take me for a ride in it if I wanted. Now, even though he didn't seem weird and nothing felt off, I knew better. So I just smiled and said, yeah, thanks, but no thanks. He then asked if I was selling any of my stuff and I could. confirmed. I pointed to the table as he had already looked at my pants. I also remembered this because I felt like my stuff was pretty obvious. My mom was out there when he got there, and it's pretty obvious that there were two different sizes. The tables were also sorted out by type of clothing and sizing, as my mom was a neat freak. So he smiled again, thanking me and walked back over to the

table with my stuff. I snuck a few glances up from my phone to see him still looking through my clothing. I thought it was kind of weird that he was looking at my clothes and nobody else's. But I also tried to be reasonable in thinking that maybe he had a daughter around the same age. Then, the guy came back over to me and had a few more questions. This time, they seemed a bit more intrusive. He asked how old I was, And I answered honestly.

He asked me how tall I was, and I again was honest. But then he asked me what size I wore, which was kind of weird. Because if I told you where my clothes were, you could check the sizes on them and assume that I'm probably around that size. So I just told him the same size on the pants that he was holding. He kind of laughed a bit, and I guess he could sense my uneasiness and claimed that he was thinking about his daughter. I thought that it was still possible, so I tried to be polite, but I was also starting to feel

awkward at this point. He stood there for a moment, so I was expecting him to walk away, but instead he leaned down towards my face, looked around, and then quietly asked, are you getting rid of any old sports bras? I wanted to yell at this guy, but I was also afraid that he might try to do some. something. If he was brazen enough to ask me that with other people around, what else was he willing to do? However, my dad was in the garage behind me, talking to someone else as I could hear his voice. So, I decided to take the chance and call this guy out. No, I'm not selling you my

underwear, you creep, I loudly shouted. This was the exact reaction that I was hoping for. I looked back at my dad who was already quickly walking toward the front. The guy dropped the item that he was holding on the table in front of me and started walking away and looked at another table. He really thought that he was going to be able to play that whole situation off. My dad immediately approached him, shoved him back, and told him to leave. No questions, no nothing. He just told him to get the F off of our problem.

property right there. The guy walked back to his car holding his hands up and looked offended like my dad was in the wrong. He quickly burned out while other shoppers looked around at him and started asking questions. I explained to my dad what happened and he made my oldest brother sit out there with me while he went in and told my mom. He didn't want me out there alone, nor did I want to be alone. It wasn't even that long after that that they both came back out the front door. We were all talking and helping people pay and leave when I looked up to see a purple convertible driving by. Really, slowly. Before I could even say anything, my dad looked up too and noticed and shouted something out at the guy, causing him to take off again. My brother was

ready to go follow this guy in his own car, but my dad stopped him. Instead, he did call the cops to report him, which we did. They said that they would drive around a few times, but said that if we saw him again, to call 911 immediately and they could patch him to one of the officers so that they could try and stop him if he was out front. At this point, he was being intimidating, and with what he said to me, and the fact that he was bordering on trespassing, they took it very seriously. We ended up putting all of our stuff away early because we didn't want to give that guy something to look at.

but we didn't see him again that day. However, my mom decided that she was going to try the sale again the next day, but I didn't want to be out there, so I ended up staying inside and cleaned and organized my room. And yet, that same creep drove by again. I was getting pretty worried, and every bump that night had me wide awake thinking this guy was going to come back. My dad was getting pretty angry, too. He ended up sitting in his car parked on the street across from my house, and he waited for the guy to drive by again.

My room faces out into the front yard so I could hear him talking to my mom and brother about it, while my window was open and I could see him sitting in his car. I guess that must have really spooked the guy, because he was brave enough to drive by one more time, and my dad was ready to follow him. I heard my mom shout, the convertible guy burned out again, and then my dad followed them. We had more cops over as my mom explained to them what happened. I don't remember how long it was when my dad finally came back.

He said he was following him for a while until he got on the highway, going at some pretty dangerous speeds. My dad wasn't willing to humor this, so he slowed down and came back home. As far as I know, they never caught the guy, but we never really saw him again after that. The conversation I had with him was creepy enough, but knowing that he was driving past our home, not only the day of but the day after that encounter, it was pretty disturbing.

It still creeps me out thinking about what he was planning, but thankfully, we never did see him again. I just hope he didn't try to do that or anything else to another unexpected girl. So, this was a few years back, and I was walking home from a friend's house after hanging at her her place after school. It was around 9.30 p.m. in the summer, so the sun had, for the most parts, set. It was relatively dark, but still bright enough where I could make out the things around me. I was stoned and was walking very slowly down the road to my house, which was only about a 20-minute walk away from my friends. The majority of my walk was spent on a straight,

quiet suburban street that was very familiar to me, as I had done this walk plenty of times before. After maybe five minutes of walking, I noticed the first and only car to drive past. It was an old, beat-up white Honda, which I didn't take much notice to, until another few minutes passed and it drove by again. Still, I wasn't concerned and continued about my walk

admiring the cracks in the pavement, or doing whatever else a stoned 14-year-old does on a walk. Another minute passes, and this car drives by again. This time, more slowly, and I feel my stomach drop. I couldn't make out who was inside, but I knew that something was off. I've always been very timid, so I tried to convince myself that it was just paranoia and that I was being dramatic. until it drives past again, about two minutes later, and then parks maybe ten feet in front of me. As I approached the car, I kept my head down, but I hear a... Hey there.

And sure enough, I look up, and there was a rough-looking man who you could tell just from appearance alone that smelt like stale cigarettes and potty odor, sitting in the driver's seat smiling at me. The lack of teeth and dirty shirt that this man had on gave me a horrible vibe, so I just gave a little smile back and continued walking. I look up and notice that he's driving alongside me and asks if I had directions to the closest gas station. I stopped and pointed in the general direction and told him where to go, and that it was less than a five-minute drive. When out of nowhere he just started to laugh.

I guess I just kind of stared at it. and confusion and fear as he squinted his eyes at me, like he was trying to get a better look at my face. Then, he said, I'll take a guess, but I think I can tell from those eyes. You've been smoking, little miss. I kind of just laughed and tried to walk away when he said, Hey, come back.

So I stopped in my tracks. Why I didn't just keep walking is beyond me, but I turned around and he pulls out a rather large bag of weed, and asks if I want it. I tell him I'm okay and that I don't have any money, and he said something along the lines of, I don't need your money, take it. I reassure him I'm fine,

and that I don't need it. And I just try to continue walking, but nonetheless, he continues driving alongside me. He then asked me if I needed a ride and tells me it's too dark to be walking home alone, which really frightened me. He continued trying to coerce me into his car, and I became more and more unsettled.

I began to look for the closest house with the light on, and after finding one, I tell him, this is my house, good night, and then walk up some stranger's driveway and walk straight into their home. There was a middle-aged couple sitting in the living room, and they looked extremely shocked and equally angry, and I just started to sob out of shock and relief and apologize profusely. I explained to them what just happened, and the very kind lady assured me that I did the right thing, and then gave me a ride home. Looking back, I probably should have knocked, but I was scared, under the influence, and still a child. And the homeowners were very understanding.

This is still one of the scariest things that has happened to me, but I'm so glad that I trusted my gut and got away from the man whose intention seemed anything but pure. I still consider myself lucky that I even got away. Edit, thank you for all the positive responses. I'm guessing some of you were wondering whether or not the police were called. They were. They took a statement from me, but because I hadn't remembered the plate number and didn't know what model or year the car was, nothing really came of it.

The police were super unhelpful. And while taking my statement, the officer was super unprofessional and was almost yelling at me, telling me that I needed to speak up, which made me cry. Keep in mind that that was the day after, so I was still very shaken up by the whole ordeal, and I've always had a very quiet, shy nature to me, like I mentioned before. But there was an alert posted on the local school's website, and the story did circulate around the community Facebook page. telling people to keep an eye out, and to make sure their children were accompanied while playing outside.

I'm glad that my story helped potentially keep other children in my community safe, but it was disheartening that they never caught the guy. I live on a main road in a kind of sketchy area, not completely unsafe, but an area that I've posted about before on here because of some of the creepy stuff that has happened to me. But this one is the creepiest. I had gone out around six for food. It recently snowed, and my city sucks at sidewalk plowing,

so it's an Arctic exhibition for a few days walking through the deep snow and ice. As I trudged through, I passed a man who lives in my neighborhood, and he can act strange. He walks oddly and can be pretty creepy at times. He passed me one way, I pass him the other, and we go separate ways. After I got my food, walking back, I thought that I saw him coming my way. I quietly, but out loud, said, Oh man, not him. But then that slowly faded away as this person walked off the path towards the church on the street.

The church has a big LED sign, which you could hide behind. As I got closer, I realized it was a younger man about my age, with a gray hoodie and beige cargo pants. He was acting strange. He walked like a Disney cartoon character, and his face had a big smile with eyes shifting at a million kilometers per hour. Then I saw as he looked at me approach, and quickly pulled his hood over his head, and stepped beside the sign, obstructing my view of him. I don't know if he saw me see him, but I realized what might be going down. I just stopped on the path.

From the snow, it would have been too much to turn around and head back. My boots were getting sucked into the slushy, snowy path. I waited for a few moments, and he must have realized then that I knew because he came back out from the sign and went up to the church window. The church is also a community center, and there's a room facing the street that kind of looks like a dance room with a large mirror. He took off his hood, and he started to fake dance around in front of the window. He kept looking back as if his little distraction would have been enough to end my interest in a what the hell is happening situation, but it didn't. It disturbed me more. When he realized that we made a sort of shorth of shableness, we made a sort of show.

shuffle around each other. His smile disappeared and he kept trying to inch his way towards me, but he got bogged down in that same slush that I had stopped in. After I got further away, I just watched as he put his hood up again and walked away normally, now towards the restaurant and mall that I had come from. This area gets stranger and stranger every day. I, female, 26. had recently moved into a duplex by myself, away from a messy house situation with my four male housemates.

It was an oasis of rugs, plants, and an acceptable level of tidiness. One night, around 9 or 10 p.m., I was watching TV and probably smoking, because I was bad for that then, when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it, I know, and there was a really scruffy. looking guy, maybe early 30s, just standing on my porch. He seemed drunk or high and mumbled something at me about coming inside. Unprepared for this kind of interaction, I dumbly said the words to the effect of, You're not coming in, I don't know you.

Though he didn't seem to understand. He gave really off vibes, and then mumbled something about meeting someone at a bar, and having drinks with her. I thought maybe he meant to knock on my neighbor's door, a maybe 40-year-old sweet but pretty rough lady that I had met a few times. I pointed out her door and, to my relief, was right, and he left. I locked and chained my door and pulled my blinds right down as my living room was fully visible from the porch.

That should have been the end of it, but I had a really uneasy feeling. from then on, like I was a sitting duck. I will mention that I was a people-pleaser and was too busy worrying about hurting his feelings to immediately slam the door in his face like I should have, and these days I would have. Fast forward six hours in the dead of the night.

I still had my living room lights on, which would have been partially visible from the edges of my blinds. I was still up because, stoner, And I think I had just walked into the bedroom when I heard it. The softest, quietest, don't wake the neighbors knocking on my door. My gut fell out of my butt, and I was rooted to the spot, looking unbelievably at my door as he gently knocked 30, maybe 40 times continuously. It was ages before I was able to move, to think or do anything.

I called my boyfriend and told him in a frantic whisper what was happening, and I think he told me to say that I've called the cops and to leave right now. I did so, in a pathetic, shaking voice, and then heard silence. Too scared to move closer, I stood frozen half in my bedroom, half in my living room for an eternity, until I believed he was gone. The next morning, my boyfriend visited and dragged me over to my neighbor. She told us that he was a really weird guy that she had invited over and then regretted, later kicking him out.

She didn't go into details, but she was very concerned about his coming back to my door. My boyfriend made her text him and share all of the awful things that would personally happen to him if he ever knocked on my door again. Which, thankfully, he never did. Hey, Raven, I just wanted to say thank you for, giving our stories a platform. I appreciate all that you do. Now, on to my experience.

I'm not sure where to start this, but I will acknowledge that there are some religious slash biblical references. I understand that this is not for everyone, and can even add a extra layer of skepticism for some. However, every bit of this is factual, and the timing of everything was too coincidental, to not take a spiritual aspect into consideration. Now, on to the weird story that was, or is my life. At the end of the 70s, my mother had gotten pregnant with me, and she was pushed to get married to my father.

My mother was only 17 and my father 19. They rented a little two-bedroom apartment in a tiny Midwestern farming town, and their relationship could be described as tumultuous and extremely violent. just as her childhood had been. By the time I was three years old, they had gone their separate ways, after my father tried to yeat my mom from this planet. I want to say yes, the story does say yeat, so I didn't just say that to censor something. By four years old, my mom moved us out of that apartment and in with my stepfather, who went on to adopt myself and my middle sister when I was nine.

They are still married to this day. Years passed, and at 19 I found myself apartment hunting, because I was having a child of my own. A few years and two apartments later, at 22, I signed a lease in the same apartment building that my parents had previously lived in before divorcing. I was aware that they had lived in the unit directly below mine, but was not yet aware of all the evil things that my biological father had done there. A few months into living there, I made friends with the neighbors below me, in my parents' old unit. I began to take my toddler down with me to visit, and she would color or watch TV while we chatted. Even though the neighbors didn't have kids, they went out of their way to make sure that my child had crayons, coloring books, juice, and teddy grams when we visited.

She always seemed so content, until one day. We had some children's song playing on the stereo, and my two-and-a-half-year-old was fine, just coloring at the coffee table near us while we talked. The next thing I know, she starts in to the worst tantrum ever, up to that point. I kept asking what was wrong, but got no answer. She was completely inconsolable, and any attempt I made to touch her or get near her would result in her doing anything to hurt me. and she would hit, kick, bite, claw, and just scream bloody murder.

Thankfully, the neighbor guy slung her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs to our place. I asked him to lay her in her bed, and within 30 seconds of her body being in that bed, she went from complete hysterics to totally calm. She asked what had happened. She said that she was hungry and tired. I asked over and over again what had just happened, but she would only say, I don't know. It's like she had no recollection

of the situation at all. Life went on, and of course I was puzzled by it. But I chalked it up to her just being a tired toddler. We continue to visit the neighbors, and things were fine once again. Unfortunately, that only lasted about two weeks. This is when the entire situation repeated.

Only this time, she seemed to be extremely strong and was able to not only scratch the hell out of my chest, but also yanked a chunk of my hair out. She was never aggressive or violent towards anyone but me during these fits, and she was never aggressive towards me before or after them. Not even 48 hours after the second occurrence, and without having discussed this with anyone,

my mom shows up on my doorstep with her Bible. She told me that she was awakened in the middle of the night and was told by a voice to get to her Bible. She says that she picked it up and was shown the book of Matthew, verses 44 and 45. Her interpretation of these verses apparently prompted her to come over and to warn me not to enter the downstairs apartment. I was so caught off guard and my heart started racing.

I asked, why? She informed me that my biological father had done some type of evil seance involving me, and he had burned her Bible in the process. She said that according to the Bible, if someone does evil in a dwelling and the next of kin later returns, demons will attach to them and bring along seven other demons. My mind was absolutely blown, because I had not discussed the situation

or that I had even made friends with those neighbors. I truly believed that my kid was just overly tired, hangary, and, or both. After thinking about the smaller details of the situation, things like the loss of memory, immediate extreme shift in mood, and suddenly exhaustion, I honestly have to question whether I witnessed my child being possessed and then released once those entities had made their way into my home. where they could access me.

Within weeks of all of this happening, the neighbors moved away, and no one moved in the rest of my lease, about four months. My life also took a downhill spiral after this. I lost my job, I lost my car. I was forced to drop out of college with only three credits needed to get my degree.

I eventually got evicted, and about eight months after everything happened to my baby, I found out that her daddy had hurt her in a way that no one should have to experience, let alone a child during that weekend's visitation. Even though I reported it, and she did too, nothing came of it, except he no longer gets to be around her. I swear my whole life fell apart. I'm now in my mid-40s and can still feel the attachment. I know that it's still here. just try to ignore its presence.

It's been with me no matter where I move. Not only can I feel it, but it sometimes messes with me. Like, when I'm standing across the room from the kitchen trash can, but somehow it still opens and closes three times. I've knocked on the bathroom door and been told, I'm busy, even though I'm home alone. I've learned to live with it. I always have a hard time believing that people could hear the voice of God, let alone my mom, until this all occurred.

I can't explain away how my mom would have any clue about what we had seen. I was living 20 miles away and was also very low contact with my family. We have no friends in common. The town has a population of only 254 people, none of whom I knew prior to meeting the neighbors. there was just no other possible way for her to have known. So I live in a pretty sketchy area where there are a crap ton of homeless people, some shootings have happened, and there's been times when people have gotten kidnapped. I can't deny that I am an attractive girl.

I'm 17 and around 5'4, but I do appear a bit older to some people, especially because I have tattoos and whatnot. The point is, men tend to approach me quite a bit, especially old men. I'm sort of used to them staring and cat-calling me, but I've never had anyone follow me before. On the weekend, I decided that I wanted an Arizona and some snacks, so I asked my mom if we could walk to the liquor store. It's a five-minute walk, so it wasn't far at all, but there are a lot of homeless people and prostitutes who just hang around the path to the store,

so obviously you're going to be a bit on edge. I have three sharp pocket knives that I always carry on me, just in case anything happens whenever I'm out. There's nothing unusual happening. I've walked to the store a handful of times, so I was pretty comfortable, especially since I had the pocket knives. I got onto the sidewalk and made eye contact with two men

who were kind of eyeing me. It threw me off immediately, but I just kept walking. The parking lot was kind of full, so I did feel kind of relieved. I eventually got inside and got my snacks, but I noticed that one of the guys had come into the store right after I entered. I didn't notice this until I had realized that he was following me through the aisles, and I instantly felt my heart drop. I saw him hovering over items,

as if he was looking, but he just didn't want to come off as suspicious to anyone else, since there were like five other people in there. I get in line, and he gets right behind me. At this point, I'm shaking, and my mind is racing. I paid for my snacks, and I started walking towards the door, but my gut knew that something was wrong. Like, really, really wrong. I'm very intuitive and sensitive to energy, so I felt this times 10,000.

I instantly turned last minute and started looking at these gift cards right by the door, while the guy walked outside, so I assumed that he left. I called my mom and explained what had happened, so she came and picked me up in her car. She got there, and I walked outside, but what I didn't realize is that the dude was waiting for me. He purposely stood to the left side of the door so that I couldn't see him anymore. I got into the car and my heart dropped when I noticed the whole parking lot was empty, and there were actually two men waiting for me. He walked up to his friend and started saying something in his ear,

and then they both just stared at me while we drove away. This scared me to my core. It's happened a couple more times now, but this was the only time, that there were two people instead of just the one. I wrestled with social and general anxiety for much of my life, a persistent undercurrent that, while not incapacitating, casts shadows on my confidence. My ability to navigate social realms and find self-assurance

owes much to my mother's caring nature, pushing me consistently beyond my comfort zone. A few years back, freshly out of college, I embarked on the tumultuous journey into the professional world, a transition that proved to be more nerve-wracking than anticipated. My initial job experience was far from ideal. While I won't name the company, as I bear no animosity towards my manager, who navigated the same turbulent waters,

the management and working conditions left much to be desired. This job thrust me into socially challenging situations, especially in the realm of sales, exacerbating my anxiety. Frustrated and seeking relief, I turned to my medical provider, who suggested experimenting with various anxiety medications. Unfortunately, none provided the desired alleviation,

though they also didn't entail negative consequences, until I encountered what I now refer to as the demon pills. Now, it's crucial to understand another facet of my experiences. My history of recurring nightmares and occasional episodes of sleep paralysis. These occurrences were potent enough to seep into my waking reality. I vividly recall a night when I felt an ominous tug on my hand hanging off of the bed. Introducing the quote-unquote,

quote, demon pills, only intensified matters. Initially, I faced vague, unsettling dreams that disrupted my sleep. However, the situation escalated dramatically when the demonic figure from my dream began to materialize in my waking world. The first encounter was chilling. I woke up facing the wall, and on it I perceived a black figure, fixated on me. The fear was paralyzing. beyond the typical sensation of sleep paralysis.

Over time, these dreams morphed into increasingly complex scenarios. I found myself in what I termed the hell bedroom, an indistinct space where I struggled to differentiate between my actual bed in this nightmarish realm. A persistent feeling of being stalked permeated these dreams, heightening my anxiety. One particularly unsettling. night, I transitioned from the hell bedroom to a dream of playing basketball with my friends.

The abrupt shift, coupled with my friends expressing concern from my well-being, created a surreal narrative. It was as if the demon orchestrated false hope, only to plunge me back into its nightmarish clutches. In another harrowing dream, I found myself surrounded by family, confessing the ordeal to them and seeking help. Strangely, I believed that I was genuinely sharing my experiences and receiving support. It seemed as though the demon wanted me to cling to false hope, only to shatter it, intensifying my fear. As you can imagine, the cycle continued, and my grip on reality blurred.

I developed a coping mechanism. I would call my dog into the room, and if he responded, I knew I was in reality. Yet the demon transcended dreams, appearing while I was awake. I distinctly remember a night when I believed I had woken up. My dog was in the corner of my eye, but the demon sat at the edge of my bed, a three-dimensional and menacing presence. Eventually, I decided to discontinue the medication. and things gradually improved. While I still contend with intense nightmares,

the demon's influence has waned. Just last night, my girlfriend noted the terror in my sleep sounds, prompting me to ponder if these dreams have always been an intrinsic part of me, lurking beneath the surface. Despite the ongoing challenges, I find solace in the fact that, for now, the demon remains subdued.