As The Raven Dreams Podcast - Scary Stories For Dark Dreams - Vol 57 | ATRD Podcast

Episode Date: June 1, 2026

Today we have 14 More 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; Coworker Stories from Dec 2022, Stalker stories from Sept 2023 & Unexplained Stories From March 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. If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to like or rate the podcast, and leave me a comment with your thoughts if the platform your own supports it! I upload episodes every 3 days, so there are 2 days between new uploads. The podcast consists of new scary story collections, Glitch in the matrix collections, and also what I call the "Dark Dreams" collections (which are older stories, remastered and layered with rain sounds). If you have a story to submit, would like to find where to listen to the podcast, or want to find me on social media platforms, all of that info can be found at https://www.astheravendreams.com You can also send stories into my subreddit (r/theravensdream) or email them to me at [e-mail] Want to check out some ATRD Podcast Merch? ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Or for signed merch ➤ https://ko-fi.com/AsTheRavenDreams I wrote a novel, "The Insomniac's Experiment" by Raven Adams! Check it out on amazon (Or you can email me for a signed copy!) Join Patreon to get early access and support the Podcast! ➤ https://www.patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Check out my gaming channel with my pal Ghost_Ink ➤ @superNefariousBros On YouTube TIMESTAMPS One Ad After the First Story, No ads after that Story 1: 0:25 Story 2: 12:32 Story 3: 18:34 Story 4: 23:10 Story 5: 29:56 Story 6: 39:14 Story 7: 43:47 Story 8: 48:32 Story 9: 58:29 Story 10: 1:07:53 Story 11: 1:12:21 Story 12: 1:21:09 Story 13: 1:24:25 Story 14: 1:28:25 ----- Disclaimer ➤ Episodes include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Listener discretion is always advised. ALL Audio and visuals on this podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format. Bless This Mess. None of my audio is AI Generated, I am a real person reading real stories into a real microphone. Note: The podcast nor the host endorses any advertisements played during the podcast, ads are not chosen by ATRD or Raven Adams, they are chosen automatically by the advertisement systems by the platforms that host the podcast. I do not endorse, support, or promote any opinions or statements made in any adverts played during the show. #ScaryStories #UnexplainedMysteries #GlitchInTheMatrix ➤ And Remember; You are loved, you are important, and you are valid. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hey there, friends. Today's episode is a Dark Dreams episode. For those that are unaware, Dark Dreams episodes are older episodes, remastered into larger collections, with some nice and calming rain sounds in the background to help you just kind of relax. So sit back, close your eyes if you can, and just take in the scariness that is our existence. And hopefully you sleep well. I have a really messed up story to tell about when I worked at an office building for a decently funded software startup. I'm not going to name the company, and I'm going to use fake names throughout the story, but I will say that the company was essentially a software and server load testing, or stress testing, firm. We would stress test products and networks for corporations to give them an over-endowering.

idea of how their systems could stand. It's not important, but it wasn't an interesting job. However, the company no longer exists. And this story is kind of the reason for why. This startup was, as I mentioned, pretty well funded. And the owner, CEO, president, or whatever his title was, was a guy named Jeremy. Jeremy was wealthy from another startup that he had founded,

and sold a few years back. He was an incredibly attractive and charismatic young man. He was also smart when it came to business and tech, but he was socially inept, and he would have anxiety just talking on the phone with people. I know that sounds really strange, charismatic but anxious. It was more like he was charismatic for the camera and the company, but when it came to talking to new people, he would freak out.

because of this, he would oftentimes ask one of us, the technicians, to make calls to clients, or for us to be on conference calls to answer questions. At one point, we all got kind of fed up with him asking us to be front and center on those calls, and I mentioned to him that he should consider hiring a communications person, or someone to just do that job full time. It did take a bit of convincing, but, after a while, us techs actually got him on board with the idea. And one of the other techs, Dylan, actually had a cousin that was into technology and was wanting to get into the field, but wasn't formally educated or trained, like us. Even better, she was currently looking for a job.

He offered to bring her in for an interview, and after just one chat, Jeremy said the day, she was hired. He seemed to be impressed with her enough to give her the job, so I figured things would work out. When she started, things were going pretty well. Amy took her job seriously. She sat with all of us when she wasn't making calls to understand the process for how we did the tests, and she was doing everything she could to become much more knowledgeable about the product and the company. But things pretty quickly got awkward. Jeremy started spending a lot more time with her in his office, and when I say a lot more time, I mean entire workdays.

The only thing about Jeremy's office was that half of it was glass, and you could see it out back from the Smoker's deck, so we all knew very well why he was spending so much time with her. We knew what they were doing. At first it was one of those things you could laugh at, but... but after a week or so of this going on, and the talk's getting pretty well to the point of, okay, this is getting sort of gross, I decided to talk to him.

I ended up calling him and asked if we could chat for a moment. He said, sure, and we went over to one of the one-on-one conference rooms. As soon as we sat down and he asked what was up, I pretty much just let him have the truth. I told him that almost the entire office knew what was going on with him and Amy, and he tried to play ignorant, but I told him that we could literally see him from the back of the building. At first he seemed like he was curious, but I think it clicked that while there were trees in front of his office, it was still a pretty clear shot.

After talking with him about it, he apologized and mentioned that their conduct was inappropriate. I agreed, but... I told him I didn't really care if him and Amy were a thing. Just that he needed to do it away from the office. He agreed and said that he would take that into consideration. I thought that this was the end of it, really, and that they would take their relationship off company property. Well, I was apparently incorrect with this.

Instead of correcting himself, Jeremy had just decided to move his office to that same one-on-one conference room, a room that was half the size of his original office, because it didn't have any windows, and the door locked. So, things pretty much just kept going as they were, just without us being able to physically see it. Now, I know that none of this is creepy yet,

and it's more so just gross, but it's how things fell apart that make this story creepy. We all knew what was going on, and we were all talking about, about it. But there was one person that didn't know for sure what was going on between Jeremy and Amy, and that was Dylan, her cousin. We never talked about it around him, and he didn't smoke, so he didn't go out onto the back deck. I'm sure that he had his suspicions, but he didn't know for sure, and we didn't really want to have that awkward conversation. He would ask where

Amy or Jeremy were when they were in his office, and we would just say that we didn't know. Dylan was a good guy, but he also had a bit of an anger issue. He was the type to get mad and scream at things when something didn't work, or smack his desk and shout whenever he got frustrated. He was smart, but I think he had some mental issues that he really needed to work through, and I'm sure that it was really starting to bother him with what was going on there. Unfortunately, that is where things get messed up. It was about a week or so after Jeremy had moved his office to the small room, when we all got into work and noticed that Amy wasn't at her desk,

and Dylan also wasn't there. At first I thought that maybe Dylan had called in, or maybe he was sick. Amy was a bit more odd, though, as she wasn't at her desk mostly because she and Jeremy weren't typically together. that's early in the morning. I just shrugged it off and got started with my day. By 10, we were all kind of concerned. No Amy, no Dylan, and no Jeremy, which was definitely odd.

10 a.m. on Mondays was when we had our team huddle, so we all got together and waited for about 15 minutes to see if Jeremy would show up. He didn't, so we just started going on with the meeting. talking about what we were doing that week and such. After we got through the discussions, I got up to get some water, and I looked over at Dylan's desk. I noticed that Dylan's phone was on his desk, just sitting there.

I mentioned it to the guys, and one of them rolled over to pick it up. He then commented that the battery was dead. This was really weird, because he wouldn't have left it there over the weekend. That just didn't seem normal. All of this was strange, but none of it was a huge cause for concern, until I went over to Jeremy's office to see if he was there, or if he was okay. I knocked on the door and waited for a response, but there was nothing. I knocked again, but a lot harder, and said Jeremy's name,

basically giving the two of them time to get decent, if they were doing what I thought they'd. were doing. But again, nothing. At this point, I just said screw it, and I opened the door. If I saw something I didn't want to see, that would be my fault. I did see something that I didn't want to see, but it was not the two of them. Instead, I saw Dylan lying on the floor, and, by the looks of it, I could tell that he was not alive. I flipped out. I grabbed my phone and ran out to the guys yelling that Dylan was dead and that I was calling the cops. The rest of us all got out of the building while I explained to the dispatcher what I had found.

The cops showed up, alongside the paramedics, and they confirmed what I had thought. He was definitely dead, and it definitely looked like murder. Based on what information they gave us while asking us questions, he had been bludgeoned by a metal trophy that was in Jeremy's office. They found the weapon covered in blood sitting next to his body. We reported everything to them, the affair, that Dylan had a temper, that this felt like Jeremy may have killed him. They took all the information, and we were all held for a while while they swept the place

for any additional evidence. After they were finished, we were escorted back in to gather our personal belongings from our desk and told that we were not to come back. that this was an active crime scene. None of us really knew what to do. We were all now unemployed, our friend was dead, and our boss was now a potential murderer

and on the run with his girlfriend. We all kind of just kept in touch with each other for a few weeks after this happened, but none of us had any new information. After about a month or two, I did get a call from a detective that was assigned to the case, and I went in to talk to them about things.

I was also shown a picture and asked if it was Jeremy and Amy. It was. And the detective mentioned that this was the last they had seen them. This picture was taken from a security camera at a bus depot and taken about an hour after when Dylan would have died. Basically, they were on the run, and they'd had about two days to get out of town. I really have no idea.

if they were ever caught, but my guess is that they fled the country. Like I mentioned, Jeremy had a significant amount of money, and he had the means to get out of the country, and I would think that they would have contacted us if they had caught them. I know that this story doesn't have the happy ending that it should, and there hasn't been any justice for Dylan. It's still really hard for me to believe that they killed him, and if I had to speculate, Dylan probably showed up on that Saturday to do some overtime work, and he probably walked in on them in Jeremy's office. This probably led to some kind of fight, and Jeremy ended up murdering Dylan.

It's hard for me to believe that he would be capable of doing so, and it's just as difficult to think that Amy is okay with the fact that Jeremy killed her cousin, but it kind of just is what it is. I really do hope that they catch them someday, and maybe they'll slip up, but I'm also not going to hold my breath. I was 22, and living on my own for the first time when this happened. It was the mid-90s. I had just gotten off work around 11 p.m. To reach my apartment building, I could either walk on the sidewalk, lit with street lamps,

decently trafficked, or cut across this communal garden, pitch black and set back from the street. I saved about one whole minutes of walking time by cutting through the communal garden, but, being young and stupid, a lot of the times I took the shortcut. That night, I got that weird feeling to not take the shortcut. I kept to the sidewalk, but there was no one else around. When I got past the garden, all of a sudden this large man pops up from its exit path. There is no way he could have been in front of me or just behind me as I was walking.

I would have noticed him. The only logical explanation was that he'd been hiding in the pitch black garden. A drunk who'd been sleeping it off, maybe? No. My body was screaming at me to get the hell out of there. I began walking fast. My dad had taught me to always carry my keys in my fist, with a key pointed out in case I needed to punch someone, so I had that. But I'm 5'4, and probably weighed 110 pounds.

This guy was tall and big. My only chance was to outpace him. I'm speedwalking at this point, and I feel him matching my pace my pace, getting closer. He's breathing heavily, and I feel this angry energy coming off of him. But my apartment building is right there. So, I put on a burst of speed. When I reached the entrance, two people are leaving and hold the door open for me, and him. I don't know why I didn't tell them that I thought this guy was following me.

My mind froze, and I was just trying to get inside my apartment. Plus, I was still trying to rationalize it. Maybe he was visiting someone in the building. Maybe it was all just a coincidence. Don't be paranoid. Besides, it only took a couple of seconds for them to be out the door. I had missed my chance. I'm climbing the stairs as fast as I can.

It's a three-story building, and I live on the third floor. He's climbing the stairs, too. it's still right behind me. I get to my floor, which has four apartments on the right side, where I live, and four on the left. I pass by apartments one and two, he's still right behind me. I stop at apartment three, where I live, and he stops in front of apartment four, where I know that he does not live. He hasn't said anything.

He's just breathing hard. And I think there's no way that I'm going to open my apartment door and have him push me inside and assault me, or worse. He also hasn't knocked on the door of apartment four. It's worth noting that the apartments are you-shaped, with mine and my neighbor's door being very close together. So, I bang on my own apartment door as loud as I can, but I yell my neighbor's name.

Hey, Kevin, let me in. This startles the guy, even more so when my own apartment door doesn't open, but Kevin's does. Kevin sees the guy standing right in front of his door and asks what he wants. The guy starts mumbling something about having the wrong apartment, but I have my own door open so fast that I'm inside my place in a flash, locking the door behind me. I grab my cordless phone to call the police, but I hear Kevin's, through the door telling this guy he needs to leave. The guy does.

Kevin knocks on my door and asks if I'm okay. I thank him and say that I am. But inside, I am still frozen, adrenaline pumping, scared. I thank him again and tell him to have a good night and lock my door again. I have my phone in my hand just ready to call the police. but I start trying to rationalize it again. What exactly happened? A guy followed me home, but then said he had the wrong apartment.

Are the cops going to care about something minor like that? I try to calm myself down, but I'm also berating myself. Why didn't I run the instance I felt him following me? Why didn't I tell the people we passed when the front door opened that I thought I was being chased? Worse, why didn't I tell Kevin that the second he opened his door and saved me? He could have let me inside his apartment. We could have called the cops together. But, because of my stupidity, everything felt so ambiguous and I was questioning myself.

A couple of weeks later, I'm visiting my grandparents, and my grandfather was reading the paper. He tells me that a woman was attacked in the apartment building across the street. street from mine. It's the same guy. He had multiple convictions for sexual assault, and had just recently been released on parole. I used to hang out with my cousin a lot. We were both 10 and male at the time of this encounter, and I'm now 33. It has stayed with me ever since. We would mostly spend our youth roaming the streets. Not causing trouble, but kicking footballs around fields, climbing, hanging out with kids our age.

The typical stuff before iPads and Netflix became commonplace. One day we decided to go and explore a part of the town that we had never explored before. It meant going through alleys and back streets. The trail would actually end approximately two to three minutes from my house. which was a safe part of the neighborhood. It was a sunny day, albeit not too warm, and my cousin and I had been walking for what seemed like miles. The journey we'd planned was supposed to go on for longer,

but we'd gotten bored and decided to take a detour home. The detour involved cutting through an alleyway that looked a little bit like the Coronation Street General, if anyone is familiar with the TV show. To the left of us were terraced houses, and to the right of us were steel fences with sharp points to deter any would-be thieves. We continued up here, and soon enough, one of the kids from our school lived there, and his mom shouted,

What are you boys doing here? We ran, and I don't know why. We just didn't like her son, and her tone was accusatory. As we ran, we bumped into another kid, "'Don't go that way,' he said, "'as his voice trailed off as he ran further and farther away from us, "'down the opposite end of the alleyway. "'We shrugged and continued on.

"'It got darker with the trees and the foliage, "'but we soon emerged from the alley, "'and that's when we saw the lone boy. "'A boy aged ten to twelve just stood there. "'His eyes were empty. He had a vacant look on his face. Well, the half of his face that we could see well enough. Above his mouth was covered with a veil,

somewhat like a Halloween mask of some description. Except it was June. Halloween was still months away. As we got closer, we noticed the boy had a kitchen knife in his hands. I mean a fully real, stainless steel kitchen knife. Both hands on the hand. The sunlight made the blade glisten.

We cracked a joke like, Are you cooking outside? But he looked at us blankly. No emotion. Nothing. We were too freaked out to move. And that's when we realized that he hadn't moved either. Not a muscle.

We saw him blink, but physically the knife hadn't been raised up or pointed at us. Just held closely to his chest. blade pointing upwards. We figured that we should get away because instinct told us that this was weird and a bit freaky. Going back down the alley didn't seem like a safe option. Being stuck in an alleyway with a strange kid with a knife didn't seem smart. In front of us was a road on a steep hill. It was our best bet.

We walked up to the top of the hill, just keeping an eye on the kid. The top of the hill was two to three minutes from my house in terms of distance. At last, we felt safe. As we looked back down the hill, the lone kid had put the knife by his leg, now holding it in one hand, but remained in the exact same spot and stared right back at us, expressionless. We told our parents what had happened, and they called a local community enforcement team to scout the area. Apparently, the kid was found with the knife. But we never heard why he was there, or what he was doing.

23 years after this all happened, and it is still on my mind. Back when I, male, was about 16, I fell extremely ill. It seemed to start as a stomach bug as I was nauseous. My head was splitting, and there were other unpleasant. Symptoms. My parents let me stay home from school, and when I wasn't better the next day, they let me stay home again. But I only seemed to get worse. I stayed in my bed for three days, only briefly leaving to use the bathroom if I needed to, which was rare, because I couldn't keep anything down, not even water. My parents would come in and check on me, and I would just say that I was

about the same. Thankful that it was at least still coherent. The real problem, and story here, began on the fourth night of suffering through this. I woke up in the middle of the night really needing to use the restroom. The problem with this was that I was too weak to get there. The room was spinning, and keeping my eyes open longer than a few seconds would make me feel sick. So, I resorted to rolling out of my bed and crawling to the bathroom with my eyes closed. I could feel my way to my door, through the hallway and into the bathroom.

I remembered getting to the toilet, but then being too incredibly weak to do anything else. I tried to pull myself up and only became sick. The only energy I had left was now consumed by the dry heaving, and I collapsed on the welcoming cold bathroom floor. I don't know how long I was there, but at some point, I heard my mom say my name and ask if I was okay. All I could muster was a groan, and I felt her presence and rubbed my face. She mentioned that I was burning up, and I felt a cold rag rub my face and mouth.

She then picked me up, and I felt the motions of her carrying me and placing me back in my bed. She held a glass in front of me and said that I had to drink some of this, that it was very important. So as she held the straw to my mouth, I took a few large gulps and stopped. She then said that she was going to take me to the hospital in the morning, kissed the top of my head and left the room.

The next morning I heard my mom's voice once again, but this time she sounded a bit perkier. She asked me if I was feeling better, With the light coming in from the window, I kept my eyes closed and told her no. She seemed confused and mentioned the glass of water that was half full and the rag on my head. I reminded her that she did that, and had also brought me back to my room. I also told her that she said she was going to take me to the hospital. She didn't say anything else, but shortly after, my dad came into my room.

He helped put a robe on me. I was just in my boxers, and carried me to the car. My mom was taking me to the hospital just as she said she would. I was in the hospital for another two days with very little memory of it. But from what my mom told me, after I was home and more coherent, it was a good thing that she did. I was severely dehydrated, and the doctor said that the water I drank that night probably gave me the strength I needed to stay conscious,

but that it could have been a lot worse if I wasn't brought in to get fluids in me. I forget what exactly I had, but yeah, it was pretty bad. Anyways, we talked about something else, about when I was at home sick. That was the night that I collapsed in the bathroom. She had me explain everything again and just went pale. I figured it was because of what I told her, about crawling in there or something, and mentioned that it wasn't her fault

because I probably didn't describe how I was feeling well enough. Boy, was I wrong. The problem with what I said was that she said she didn't do any of that. She said that she didn't wake up at all that night. She didn't find me in the bathroom, and she certainly did not carry me back to my room.

And that's where it really dawned on me. There was no way my mom carried me to my room. I was taller and heavier than her. I was a teenage boy. I asked her if maybe she had dad carry me, and she said no, that he was in bed all night, too. She said that she also didn't clean me up.

She didn't bring me the water or the rag. But then she asked my younger brother about that night. He said that he heard a groaning sound that woke him up because it scared him. He was too afraid to leave his room, but as he listened, he did hear my mom's voice as well. And from there, he just assumed everything was fine and then went back to bed. So, I talked to my mom that night. She helped me, and she carried me back to my room, and my brother also heard her.

But she claims that she did none of that. I could definitely believe the caring part because she could barely lift me off the ground. So, then, who was it? Somebody had to have carried me to my room and cleaned me up, because I certainly didn't. I could believe that talking to her was a hallucination, with how ill and dehydrated I was, but then who carried me? My parents keep saying that I must just not be remembering going back to bed, but it doesn't make sense to me.

I remember passing out on the floor and waking. up to her talking, and physically feeling somebody pick me up. If I did do it, then that means that I would have had to have stood up to even grab myself that glass of water. I still don't know what to believe about what happened that night. I knew that he was scared, and that he was pretty young, but I wish that my brother would have opened his door. He would have at least seen me go to my room and possibly answered some questions.

All I know is that whoever or whatever carried me to my room and made me drink that water could have possibly saved my life. A few years ago, I had started working at a bookstore that was across the street from a university. It was a cozy little place with a small study area and a cafe. Of course, most of the customers were students as we sold a lot of the textbooks, as well as had rental options. The pay wasn't great, but hey, it was a perfect place to work because they worked with students' schedules. And at the time, I was going to the same university.

The work was also simplistic. Other than ringing people up, we put away books that were returned or left out, processed the rentals, and just ultimately kept the store tidy. We also had magazine issues come in weekly, so... We had to bring them in and store or stock them, whatever the manager said. When there was downtime, we were free to do what we wanted, as long as we didn't leave the register unattended, and didn't disturb the other guests shopping or studying. I loved this time because I was a bookworm. If I wasn't finishing my homework, I was reading something.

There were usually a few of us working there at one time, and most of them I even typically got along with. There was one manager that was pretty evil, but she didn't last long. Anyways, most of us got along fine, minus the occasional bickering about how someone organized books, or something petty like that. But the atmosphere changed a bit when we got a new employee. Most of the people that worked there were familiar with her from the school. I'll call her Sarah. To put this in the nicest way possible,

Sarah was a bit strange. I never really saw her talking to anyone outside of a few instructors. She always took a bus or someone dropped her off, but she would promptly walk straight to the classroom without looking up from the ground. I don't know how she never managed to run into anyone either. When she got to class, she laid her desk out the same way. Textbook in the top right corner, notebook opened to an empty page, black pen,

highlighter and pencil all lined up perpendicular from her textbook. You could see her furiously writing throughout the class, but anytime somebody walked by, she quickly covered it up with something. People did tease her, calling her aloof and odd, but I just kind of felt bad for her. I thought maybe she was an only child and didn't have a lot of friends or something. I wasn't one to make fun of people because I did have a younger brother, with disabilities.

But I was also too shy to approach her as well. So, when she started working there, I was the one that was chosen to train her. I thought perhaps this would be a good opportunity to get to know her. Her demeanor didn't change for the first

few days. She was quiet and said very little, mostly just nodding and responding with, okay. She seemed to catch on to the filing system extremely fast without any question. which was great, as I had a few people not understand it for a while. She seemed to prefer working alone, though, so I tried not to bother her too much.

It was probably a month or so into her working there that I finally got to talk to her a little bit when she let me sit by her in the cafe for lunch. She agreed, but then I saw her quickly close up her backpack. I swear that I was probably pretty awkward in her opinion to, because I just sat there, not talking through most of my meal. Before I was going to leave, she actually spoke up and thanked me for helping her at work. I told her she didn't have to thank me, that I was glad to help her any time, even outside of the store. She got quiet again, so I cleaned up and told her that I would see her later.

She actually started talking to me a bit more while in the store, usually small talk, but it was still better. than nothing. Long story short, we ended up being the two people other than the manager, Jackie, to close on this one night. She chose to put back the last of the books while I filed the returns and closed out the register. She was also really quick about the filing, so when I finished everything except taking the money back to Jackie, I was surprised but thought that maybe she had seen a book that had caught her attention. I've been there by her. before too. So, I walked the bag back to Jackie and chatted with her for a few moments, and then returned to the front, expecting to see her there waiting. Yet, she still hadn't

come back. So, I figured I would go and help her, or at least make sure that she was okay. When I got there, she was facing away from me with a book on the ground, like it had fallen from her hand, and a cart almost still full. She was standing completely. still, with her arms down to her side. But for some reason, I immediately felt like something was wrong. I called out her name, and when she didn't respond in any way, I started approaching her, slowly. I went around to be facing her, and this may sound mean, but her face terrified me.

Her eyes were bulging. She was seeming to hold them so wide open, and her mouth was slightly hanging over. open too. The way that she was facing was just a wall, with a TV mounted on it, which had been turned off, and the lounge, so I couldn't imagine there being something over there causing this reaction from her. I then gently put my hand on her shoulder and said her name again, when her eyes shifted to look at me, and the only thing she said to me was, I'm going to die now. And she then collapsed to the floor and began convulsing. I'm incredibly thankful that I approached her, because I had to move the cart to get around her. If I hadn't, she would have busted her head on it on the way down. I freaked out. I didn't know what was happening at first, so I screamed for Jackie, and she quickly came running into the room. Thank God Jackie confirmed that she was having a seizure, so I quickly called 911 as she took care of her,

laying her as you should when a person is seizing. Also, thankfully, they got there quick, as we did have a fire department close by. But by the time that they got there, she had stopped seizing but was completely unconscious. I don't know anything about her family, so I agreed to go to the hospital with them so that she wasn't alone.

And Jackie said that she would contact the superintendents to get her family contact information. Thankfully, Sarah did make it out okay. She actually had a grandparent show up who thanked me for staying with her. She also told me that she suffered from seizures, but since she had started taking medication for them, they had become far and few in between. I told her it was no problem and left for the night.

Let me tell you, it was not easy to sleep that night. All I could see was the look on her face, her telling me that she was going to die, and then collapsing over and over. Long story short, Sarah didn't work for the rest of that week, but she did come in and gave me a bag of chips. I always ate the same chips during lunch, and a thank you card attached to it that said,

Sorry I'm weird and scared you. I felt bad afterwards, but I did laugh when I read it. And then I immediately apologized to her, but she even smiled a bit. She explained to me that she can usually sense when she's about to have one, but what she does or says beforehand is never expected. This was also why she didn't drive, but she said that she remembered feeling scared when it started because she couldn't recall what, if anything, she said, or what she looked like.

But the look on my face was sheer terror. Then everything went black for her until she woke up in the hospital. I told her what she looked like, and then what she had said, and it actually made her laugh, too. She again apologized and said that she has no idea why she would have said that. I learned a lot more about her after this, and we actually became good friends. But I still tease her about it to this day, and that face that she was making, it still haunts me. While I was living and studying in the capital of my country,

I had a small rented basement of a 1917 built house, next to a nightclub. I was preparing to go to sleep quite early since I had class at 8 a.m. the next day. Right before I fell asleep, I remembered that I forgot to lock the door. But since the city I lived in was generally quite safe, and the only way to get to the entrance of my place

was past a front gate, all around to the other side of the house and down some stairs, I didn't think much of it and proceeded to fall asleep. Skip forward to the middle of the night. I wake up and feel someone or some thing slowly pulling my blanket off of me. In a confused state, I extend my hand and feel a hairy male arm under my fingers. My first thought was, oh, this is probably my drunk flatmate. but then I remembered that he's at his girlfriend's place on the other side of town. In pitch black, I jump from my bed, rush to the light switch, and as I turn it on, I find a stranger.

He's around my age, student, standing in his underwear by my bed, with his underwear clearly wet from urine. My initial reaction was to stay calm, since I had no idea if this dude, was violent or what was even going on in the first place. I calmly asked him, Hey man, what the, are you doing here? He was clearly very confused as well and took a sit on a recliner I had in my tiny room. And there we are, both in our underwear, him covered in urine, and I on the border of peeing myself.

And what does he do? he extends his hand and introduces himself to me. At that point, I go, Okay, dude, get out of my house, and start escorting him to the hallway, where I find all of his clothes and shoes on the floor. As I'm escorting him out, he goes into the bathroom and locks himself inside.

I hear him turn on the shower and proceed to knock on the door, saying, Hey, man, if you don't leave right now, I'm going to call the cops. To which he replies, I'm not afraid of the police. Well, that's just perfect, isn't it? A few minutes pass, and he steps out of the bathroom, but naked,

with my flatmate's towel around his waist. He looks at me looking kind of content and says, Hey, did you see? They got a shower here. At that point, I'm fuming. Who's got a shower, a-hole? This is my house. You're a total stranger and you broke into my place.

Suddenly, an expression of complete fear appears on his face. Oh, my God. What have I done? Jesus Christ, he starts exclaiming as he is very awkwardly trying to get dressed in the hallway. Then I managed to get him out of the house. I even called one of his friends from my phone to come pick him up at the club. Turns out, he's from a completely other town,

and came to party to the capital, got kicked out of the club for starting a fight, and somehow managed to get into my place. To this day, I have no idea what he was on, or how the hell he managed to find my apartment, as it is quite hidden from the street. Anyways, I apologize for the long post. I'm not even sure if this is the right place to post this, but I found it extremely creepy.

Let's just say that I never forgot to lock the door from that day. P.S. I didn't sleep well for weeks after. No. And I should add that I actually found the dude on Facebook a while later. Turns out, we have a mutual friend. Hello, Raven. I'm sorry, I don't know what to list this as, but it's something that has scared the hell out of me. I've been many odd things happen to me throughout my life, unfortunately, and I often wish for just a normal existence where I don't see or hear this weird stuff. This very bizarre thing has happened to me three times now, and it's a very scary and unsettling thing.

It's gotten to where I don't want to look in the mirror anymore. I shave by familiarity only. I mean, I don't look at myself when shaving. I'm 72 years old, and I can shave with my eyes closed, because I've done it a lot through the years. I put a towel over the mirror, so I wouldn't have to look at it when I go in there. My wife keeps taking it off,

saying that I'm just imagining this. No, I'm not. I was just shaving one day, and as I looked at my reflection, I stopped cold. My reflection was grinning slightly. I froze just staring at myself. As I looked, I could see the grin relaxed slightly and then again went back to that weird grin.

I wasn't grinning. In fact, my mouth was wide open, not closed like the reflections was. I think I was in shock or something because I couldn't move. It was hard to turn away and get out of there. I didn't say anything to the wife then, but something else happened again that freaked the crap out of me. I was washing up, and I dropped the bar of soap.

I bent down, picked it up, and when I stood up and looked in the mirror, my reflection was looking back as usual, but the eyes were going back and forth very fast. Only a quarter of an inch, maybe a little less, but they were going back and forth very fast. Then they stopped and blinked once. Now, when you're looking in a mirror and blink, you can't see the image blink because your eyes are closed. Try it.

Look in the mirror and blink. No, this was different. I watched the eyes close and then open. I was out of there. I told my wife what I saw, and she only said that she hoped she never sees that. I don't think she believed a thing I said. The last thing that happened was when I went into the bathroom to get something from the medicine cabinet.

I walked past the mirror and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my reflection go past. I got what I needed, and I headed back past the mirror. I saw something standing there, out of my peripheral. It wasn't moving like before, and it was red-colored. I know it wasn't me as I had on a black t-shirt, and I don't own any red shirts at all. I yelled for my wife who came running, and I told her what I had seen. She looked in the mirror, but only saw herself. I asked her to stay there while I tried something.

I went back to the cabinet and did just as before. As I went by the first time, it was just as before. I could see myself out of the corner of my eye in a black t-shirt. shirt. As I returned to go back, I went past the mirror, but this time it was normal, and I tried it a couple more times just to be sure. Whatever I saw was red, and just there, unmoving. Hence, I started to cover that mirror. It's gotten to where I don't like looking into any mirror in the house. We have a full-length mirror on the inside of the door for a hall closet, but any more, I'm half a afraid to open the damn door to get anything out. I've heard stories long ago about mirrors being bridges or openings to other realms,

but I never really gave it much credence. Now, I'm not so sure, but I think these older people were right. What the hell was I seeing? Was it another me? Was it a different reality? Has anyone else had anything like this happened, or am I just imagining it? like my wife wants me to think. All I know right now is that it is very, very unsettling when it happens.

It happened in my bedroom, at the age of ten. I always had trouble sleeping and spent most nights tossing and turning. I was a horror film fanatic as a child, and being scared was something I didn't have much experience with. I was not afraid of the dark, nor was I easily swayed by strange sounds or odd encounters. I did, however, know when to haul back end out of the situation, or to find a trusted adult. I always slept with my closet doors open, which will come to be some significance later in the story.

I should also mention that my family home was in a heavily wooded area, in what some may refer to as the middle of nowhere. One night, around 1 a.m., I always was a. woke to a sound coming from underneath the bed. It sounded like one of my cats was scratching themselves with one of their feet, or doing something to cause a thumping beneath me. I'd heard the same sound many times before, and its source had always been one of my fuzzy friends.

So, this time, I didn't look. I closed my eyes and tried to resume my slumber. I turned over onto my left side, which left me facing the wall, which my bed was. was pressed up against. I heard the sound again, thinking that my kitty was directly beneath me. I said good night, and I was able to fall asleep once again. The next time I awoke, it was to a surreal and shocking scene.

The sheet and comforter of my bed were no longer covering me. I saw a man standing over my bed and poking me, just poking me with his finger, and the way in which he did so was truly horrifying. It was not the way that a child would poke at a friend in jest. It was as if he was touching another human being for the first time, exploring the sensation of the tip of his index finger jabbing at flesh. What I saw was so unbelievable, so impossibly strange, that I believed I was dreaming.

I tried desperately to awake from my nightmare to know, no avail. The poking continued. He poked at my chest, my belly, my legs, my arms. Paralyzed and scared witless, I yelled, wake up! And with this, the man threw himself to the floor and closed his eyes. It was as if he was trying to lead me to believe that he was asleep or dead. I have no freaking idea. It was at this time that I realized I could not have been dreaming. I somehow found the ability to move, and I jumped from the top of my bed over the man lying on the floor next to me, and ran towards my parents' room. When I got to their bedroom door, something came over me. I told myself that it was all impossible, that there was no way a person could have entered our

home without breaking in, as we had always kept every door and window locked at night. I'd seen many strange things in my home whilst either falling asleep or waking up. By the third or fourth time, after speaking to my mom or dad about it, I knew that it was my mind playing tricks on me. Plush toys do not have the ability to turn and whisper into each other's ears. Do not ask why, dear reader, as I have no explanation to offer you, But I turned away from my parents' bedroom door, and decided to hastily check the house for a break-in. What I found was that nothing was out of the ordinary. No broken windows or locks, no busted doors, nothing.

I assured myself that I had to have been dreaming or hallucinating, and blamed my obsession with horror for this. I made my way down the long, dark, and narrow hallway to my bedroom. I peeked inside and saw no one. I turned on the light, got down on the floor just outside the doorway, and looked under the bed. Nothing. I proceeded to check both of my windows for signs of a break-in, which were not present. Both windows were closed and locked. I knew it.

I was totally seeing things. I crawled back into bed and decided to watch some TV in order to calm myself down, and distract from thoughts of the scary as hell dream or hallucination I had just had. I turned on the TV, flipped to a channel with a seemingly boring program, this always helped me become sleepy, and put the remote control on my bedside table. I was lying on my right side, facing away from the wall that I mentioned previously. As I laid there, my eyes began to adjust to the dark room with the faintly. light from the TV screen.

Just beyond the TV, I saw something that made my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. Inside my closet, with one of the doors now slightly closed, I saw the man standing perfectly still, facing the wall, hiding, waiting for me to fall asleep, I imagine. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I sat and stared at the man in my closet for what seemed like minutes, but it was likely only a few seconds. I quietly got out of bed, hoping that the man wouldn't notice and that my dad could catch him hiding in the closet. I once again made my way to my parents' bedroom door, and still remaining as quiet as I possibly could, and went inside.

I shook my dad and my mom at the same time, and when they awoke, I said, shh, don't make any sound. There's someone in my closet. My parents both jumped up and said, What? I repeated myself and asked them to please call 911. My mom immediately picked up the phone. Neither of my parents doubted my claim,

as I had always been honest and forthright. They both knew that there was no way I was making this up or that I was mistaken. I'm sure that the look I must have had on my face made it clear that this was really happening. My dad told my mom and I that he was going to look and urged us to stay in their bedroom and lock the door. So we did. At this point, I was beyond scared. I didn't know what the man was capable of, whether he had a weapon, or whether my dad was safe.

I just stood in the room with my mom and cried. After what felt like hours my dad knocked on the door and told me it was him and that it was okay to open the door. My mom unlocked the door and let my dad inside. I said something to the effect of, Did you get him? And my dad looked at me with the most unsettling and confused look imaginable. He said,

There's no one there. I assured him that, that there was indeed a man in my room, and that he'd been poking me. My dad said that he had just checked every inch of the house and found no one. He had also checked the doors and windows, just as I had done. Then it hit me. He must have had a key. As soon as I said this, my parents looked at each other in absolute terror.

Our nearest neighbor, a trusted and beloved friend whom we consider family was in possession of a key to our house, as she had regularly babysat me since I was a toddler. She was the only person outside of my immediate family with the key to our home. Soon after this revelation, the police arrived, took statements, checked around our property, and left. None of us got any sleep that night. The next day, my dad went to the neighbor's house and asked if she knew where her key. to our house was. She said yes,

and when she went to show him, she saw that it was missing. Her home had no signs of a break-in, and she had always kept her doors and windows locked. My parents had all the locks on our doors changed, and opted to never again give a key to anyone, except in the wake of an emergency. I never discovered the identity of the man

that lurked in my bedroom that night. The event left me traumatized, and it took a very long time for me to accept what had happened and moved on. My sleeping trouble turned into full-on insomnia, and for about a decade, I wasn't able to sleep without a light on. It's been 20 years since that night, and apart from my parents, I have never told a soul about it until now. I've actually found writing this to be very cathartic, and I'm glad that I stumbled across Let's Not Meet. My heart goes out to anyone who has suffered a trauma in their lives, and I hope that you are all able to find peace within yourselves.

Hi, Raven. I wanted to share a story with you, and this is probably the most interesting one I can think of. I hope it's something that you would be interested in, too, because I know it's probably a little different than your normal stuff, but I love sharing it. Anyways, here goes. This is a story about a little family heirloom that's been in the family for generations.

I guess maybe some would call it a knick-knack or trinket because it isn't really valuable, at least not to anyone outside of our family. You see, all it is is a small porcelain, figurine. It has a little girl and boy sitting on a swing, both smiling. There's a tree on it with a branch that goes across the top, which is where the swing attaches. However, the strings of the swing are real, which makes it actually move if you wiggle it, nudge it, or something similar. Now, between the twine that is used and the very small metal rings that attach it to the

porcelain, it makes a very specific squeak, or almost like a whistle when it moves, especially when it swings really hard. As far back as I could remember, it sat on a shelf in my grandma's house, and sometimes she would speak to it in Norwegian, a language my grandparents were fluent in, my mother was also pretty good at it, but I sadly never learned. I did learn a few phrases my grandmother used phrase. frequently, which included, Love you, what to do, and

now the equivalent of I'm a mess. Sometimes she would even say these to the little swing. Being a kid, I always thought it was funny hearing an adult talk to an inanimate object. That was always my grandma.

She was eccentric, funny, and always playful, so I pretended to do the same at times. But sometimes, I would talk to it, too. About random things, or being a child, I would just push it to make it swing.

I liked to pull it back as far as I could and then let it go. Don't worry, I don't do that anymore. But my grandma, our mom, would catch me doing it and would scold me, basically saying to be careful, as great Nana was afraid of heights. Again, being a kid, I didn't really grasp the significance of it, nor what Nana had to do with it, but I just let it be. But then as I grew older, the stories surrounding this particular heirloom started to make more and more sense to me. People would talk more about it, how it was a connection to our departed loved ones, a conduit for them to stay with us.

Grandma explained when I was a little older that great Nana sat there so that she could see us and we could spend time with her whenever we wanted. I met Nana when I was very small, so I unfortunately don't have to. many memories of her. As I grew up and understood death and the meaning of it, it began to make more sense to me. Then when my grandparents passed, I fully understood the significance of the little swing. The swing was then passed down to my mom.

She had four other siblings, and while some believed in it, others didn't. And they all agreed to let her have it. The swing sat on a corner shelf in our living room. Now that it resided in my childhood home, I got to observe it more and experience the phenomenon that was that little figurine. Randomly, we would all be sitting for dinner or maybe watching TV, and it would start swinging.

As I mentioned, if there was a movement or force to cause it to swing, it could. But there was no air near the shelf that would make it move. Not to mention nothing else in the shelf move. Sometimes it was a little squeak, and my mom would respond to it. Then there were times where I may have been arguing with one of my siblings, or maybe one of us was arguing with my parents, and it would swing violently and squeak. My mom would come out to stop the fight,

and she would say to the swing, Thanks, Mom, or tell us to behave as Grandma was watching. It became a joke to us, that grandma and grandpa were telling on us. But then there was one time that I was just having a bad day, and I found myself crying in my bedroom. My door was open as no one was in the house, as my dad was still at work,

and my mom was outside playing with my siblings. I had gotten in trouble and was sent to my room. But as I laid in my bed moping, I heard a very loud squeak, and I knew what it was. I went out to look at the swing to see it violently swinging. I approached it and put my hand on it to stop it. And at that moment, I felt a warm embrace around my shoulders. I knew it was my grandma comforting me.

I told her that I was okay and that it was my fault as I did something bad and even apologized. Shortly after, my mom came in to check on me and she asked if grandma tried to talk to me. I explained to her what happened, and she agreed saying that this was grandma's way of talking to us, so that she could always be with us. For some reason, it made sense. Every time something bad happened, and it would swing, she was trying to stop it. That's how she always was with us, being the mediator of the family. So when I was having a bad day, I would talk to her via the swing and would feel much better.

Such was our life growing up, always talking with each other and consulting with the swing. Even when friends came over, I know I looked funny to them, but I would introduce them to my grandparents by showing them the swing. In 2014, my mom passed away. My father knew how much that swing meant to me, so instead of keeping it for himself, he wanted me to have it. and while I would have accepted him keeping it, I didn't hesitate to call it my own. The swing now sits on a shelf in my living room, right next to a picture of my parents and grandparents.

And as the tradition continues, she talks to me too. I feel like she's a bit more vocal, though. If I don't greet her when I come home, she starts swinging until I acknowledge her. When I have a bad day, I just sit and talk to her. My now husband met her before she passed, and he knew the whole story of the swing. I had to make sure that he didn't think I was crazy before we got too serious. He'll even make jokes with it when we play a fight or something, and it'll start going off.

We're now expecting our first child, and I honestly can't wait to share it with them as well. So there's my story of our little family heirloom That seems to be a conduit for our loved ones lost I've been trying to track down where it came from or who made it But no one in our family knows where it's from My mom told me that she remembered it being at her great grandma's house And my grandma told her the same It seems to always be passed on to the women in our family too

As it seems to be more pasted powerful, or connected to us. There's also no sticker, initials, stamp, or tag anywhere on the piece to tell me anything about it. It's like it was homemade, or maybe a defective item, which I could believe either. On part of the branch, you can make out a small ridge section, like someone touched the wet paint, and left a very small part of a fingerprint. I always wondered if maybe there was a way to have it identified. But knowing that it's old, I would hate to do something to it to change or ruin the way that it works.

So I never did anything with it. It's also small enough to hold in one hand, but as a kid it was heavy enough to use both hands. So what was so special about it? Why this particular piece? What was it that connected our family members? to it. Despite the unanswered questions and the unexplainable phenomenon, I've come to appreciate the connection. It's truly a welcoming presence that I'm happy to be a part of, and I hope to pass along. I hope that you enjoyed this story. This happened a couple of years ago. I, 26, female,

was walking my dog Indy in my local field. It was dark, but it wasn't late. It was wintertime in the UK, so it was maybe 6 p.m. The field is mainly used for rugby slash football, but is completely free to walk through whenever. It's also surrounded by houses and streetlights on the road, but the field itself is dark. So I'd brought a torch with me, mainly so I didn't trod into any dog waste. I've come in one entrance of the field, and I'm following. the path that leads to another exit entrance, I used the field to make a loop back around onto the road and back to my house, giving my dog some off-lead time whilst in the field.

Anyway, as I'm walking up the field, I notice a figure walk in the exit entrance that I was going to use to leave. I keep my eye on this figure as they have very dark clothing on and their hood up. I'm shining my torch as I'm walking, so I know the person knows that I'm there as it's very obvious. At first, I wasn't nervous, more so just being vigilant. Indy is a wonderful German shepherd, so, as you can imagine, I feel pretty safe with her. It wasn't until I saw the person ducked down behind a bush or tree.

There's lots of new trees and bushes planted sporadically up the part. of the field that isn't used for sports, that I absolutely froze. I was about 200 feet from the exit, but would have to walk past the bush they hid behind to get to it. I call Indy over and get her back on the lead so she's close by. By this point, she's also hyper-alert due to the person behind the bush. With that, I hear a weird, high-pitched voice that sounded like they were saying my daughter,

dog's name. I assume they heard me call her, and they said it three to four times, in this longed-out, high-pitch voice. It's clearly coming from the person hiding. Luckily, Andy wasn't reacting to it, as it probably barely sounded like her name to her. I had a moment of, shall I fight or flight. It was either I, one, run past the bush and try for the exit. Two, turn around and run back into the dark field and make for the other exit a lot further away. Or three, confront this mofo. Indy at this point is hackles up, ears up, and very alert in front of me, whilst while still

maintaining a wonderful sense of calm. I went with number three. I confronted that mofo. I mustered up every bit of courage and confidence. I had and shouted at the top of my voice, What the F are you doing? The hooded man came out from the bush very quickly without saying anything, and I said the same thing again.

What the F are you doing trying to scare a young woman? I'm so glad that my voice didn't shake or break when I said it, as I was really terrified at this point. He started to stutter and said, Oh, um, I thought you were someone. that I knew. I answered back and said, Who the F hides from someone they think they know in a dark field? After that, he apologized a couple of times and continued to skulk down the rest of the field,

as I made for a swift exit with Indy. God knows what his intentions were. Maybe he thought I had a smaller dog and was going to try to attack me. Maybe he saw Indy and realized no chance. or maybe he really did think I was someone he knew. Whatever it was, it was weird and scary. I used to work for a local donut shop that was staffed by, for the most part, three people. Myself, the owner's son, and then one other guy that I pretty much never saw because he only worked on days that I was off.

The store was open at 5 a.m. and we either closed when we ran out of donuts, or we closed at 1 p.m., whichever came first. We typically ran out around 9 or 10 at the latest, so really that was when we closed. It was a decent gig. It paid well, and while the short hours meant that I never really had a full check, I did get free donuts, and I didn't have to work a full day. Honestly, I was in my early 20s. so this was an ideal job for me,

because I didn't really want to work full-time hours, and, well, I loved donuts. Enough about the shop, though. That's not the important stuff. What's important in this story is the employees. As I mentioned, it was myself most days, and when I was off, Jeff would take the same shift. However, the owner's son, Hunter, worked every day,

all seven days of the week he was there. The thing about Hunter was that he was obviously just there to get a paycheck, and he did not care about the business, even though it was literally owned by his parents. Every now and then when his mom or dad came into the store, he would actually do work, or at least pretend to, but the minute they left, he would be back to doing a whole lot of nothing.

So, needless to say, He was getting paid more than me for more hours a week, and his idea of working was sweeping the back office for five minutes, and then sitting in the office chair for four hours on the computer. The worst part of this was that Hunter was also a pervy creep. While he was on the computer in the back, he would quite frequently watch adult-oriented content. At first he was trying to be sneaky about it.

He kept it muted, would click off. of it quickly if I had to go to the back, but it was pretty obvious what he was doing. After a couple of months of this, though, he started getting more bold with it. He would leave it on while I was in the back, and he knew that I was cleaning or prepping there and could see it. Then, after a while, he started playing it with the volume on. And, as expected, it started on low, but he quickly started playing it louder. and louder, until it was on full volume.

It got to the point that the customers could hear it, and that was where I drew the line. I was working the front, and a lady came in with her two kids, neither of which could have been older than eight years old. She was asking me about the specifics of some of the donuts. I was explaining which fillings we had, and out of nowhere, the very obvious ambient sounds of two people, enjoying each other's company, came playing from the back room. She looked back with her eyes wide. Her two kids looked back laughing and asked what that was, and I could tell that I was beat

red. I apologized profusely. I gave her all of her donuts for free and apologized a second time. The whole time I'm trying to get this transaction done, the noise is just playing from the back, as if he didn't know it was happening, or as if he didn't know it was that loud. As soon as the lady left, I grabbed the phone and I called his mother to tell her what he was doing. And, much to my surprise, she didn't really seem to care. Her solution was that I should go to the back and tell him to turn it down or ignore it.

I told her that the customers could hear it, and that the last lady had kids that were subjected to the common adult content profanities and sounds. She laughed. She actually laughed when I said this and said that she would have a talk with him, but until then, I needed to do my job and just ignore it. I was honestly shocked. The owners had always been decent people,

and I had never been hit with this level of apathy from them. But it was also the first time that I had to report, an issue involving their son. After I hung up, I decided that I would do what she said. I would go to the back and tell him to turn it down. I walked to the back and knocked on the door at first, just in case, but he didn't respond. I took a deep breath, and I braced myself for whatever I was going to see on the other side of that door. If I told you that I wished I hadn't done that, it would be a deep breath.

the understatement of the century. I won't get into full detail because it's honestly disgusting, but I have to explain a good amount of what was going on to highlight how messed up it was. I will say that it was creepy and disgusting, but

I also know that some people will find humor in the whole thing. And that's okay because I did laugh after the fact. When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was Hunter sitting in the chair, undressed as the day he was born. I had expected that he would possibly have his pants down, but I didn't expect him to be completely naked.

After I noticed that he was naked, I noticed something else. And again, I won't put it into fully detailed words, but I will say that he was enjoying, a donut, if you can put two and two together. He attempted to turn and cover himself and yell at me to get out, but it was honestly like a train wreck. I think that's the best way to explain him, though. Hunter was a train wreck.

I think you would have to be to sink so low as to pleasure a donut at work with customers and a co-worker in the other room. I immediately shut the door, took off my apron, tossed it on the counter, and I left. I was not dealing with him or with that situation anymore. I got to my car, grabbed my phone, and I called his mom again. She asked me what I needed, and I told her that her son was in the back office, naked, and then explained to her in very great detail what he was doing to the donut. I could tell by the fact that she didn't know what to say that she no longer thought it was funny.

I wrapped up the call by telling her that I quit, and that this was officially her problem, not mine. After I hung up is when I literally burst out laughing. It was gross. It was really, really messed up, but also, how low do you have to sink to do that to a donut? Anyways, that's my story about when I worked at the donut shop. I will say that I never went back, and I asked them to mail me my last check, because I did not want to look at Hunter, and to have that image come back into my head. They closed the shop a couple of years later, mostly because they had a lot of bad press,

when Hunter decided to get drunk at work and then sexually harass several customers. which tells me that he was pretty much on that downward trajectory for a while. There wasn't anything his mom could talk to him about that would fix his issues, and I'm pretty sure he caught a charge at one point, hopefully. Anyways, I hope you found some humor in this truly disgusting tale, and I hope that Hunter and I never, ever meet again. So, once upon a time ago, when I had just turned 18,

I decided I wanted to try out exotic dancing. All I had to do to get started was get a pair of heels. The only place to get the heels was two hours away by car. Me and my friend, who was 17 at the time, drove the two hours to get some heels. We went to five different stores, and we couldn't find the ones that I wanted, so we decided to stop at Wing Stop,

to get dinner. Then go back to the first door we stopped at, and just get the heels they had there. We walked into the wing stop, and this dude at the front counter started telling us his life's story, not leaving anything out, which was a little off-putting. Then he asked where we were from, and we told him the county instead of telling him the exact town. He then proceeded to ask why we were so far from where we live, and my friend answered with, well, she's a stripper, and she's looking for heels, to which I elbowed her in the chest for exposing me. The dude proceeded to give us our food for free, and then called his mom to see if she had

any heels. He then asked if we wanted to ride with him. We both said no, but he insisted. He and I had just smoked some with my friend before going into wing stops, so I wasn't thinking. I thought my friend was coming with us, but we pulled out of the parking lot without her, which petrified me. Especially when I realized I left my phone in my friend's car. I sat in that car as far away from him as possible. He pulled into an apartment complex and went inside. he came back out about 30 minutes later with a box of shoes. On our way back, he proceeds to ask me if he could hire me for private dances.

He asked what club I was going to work at, and I lied and told him the wrong club. When we got back to my friend's car, he asked for my number. I was going to give him the wrong number, but he said he was going to call it to make sure it was the right number, so I gave him my number. Then he got in the back seat of my friend's car and tried to smoke with us. He had his own. But I wasn't about to smoke someone else's

when he was being that sketchy. So I texted my cousin and told him to call me and tell me that my grandma was dying in the hospital. I'm not proud. The dude got out of the car and went back to work, and my friend pulled out of the parking lot, and we parked somewhere else so that we could eat our food. Also, on our way home that night,

we almost got into a head-on collision, but we survived. Hello, long-time lurker on Reddit, specifically for this thread. This isn't my main account due to privacy issues. I'll be posting this on this secondary one. I forgot about this instance until recently, and... It may not be the creepiest or most suspenseful events to happen,

but it definitely sparked concern at the time. Also, sorry if my writing isn't the best, as I am on mobile. This happened almost 15 years ago, when I was seven. My best friend's mom would babysit my brother and I before and after school. My mom would usually drop us off at her house around 6 a.m. She would make us breakfast, and the three of us would be. walk to our elementary, that was less than 10 minutes away. For preface, we would walk through an adjacent neighborhood, through the small wooded area that

had an enclosed bridge, and that led us to the back of our elementary school. The elementary sits back in a long tree line that runs about half a mile north and another mile south. Anyways, we're about to get to the turn where we walk into the tree line to the bridge, and This guy comes cruising down the street. At first, I don't even think we noticed him considering how young we were, but right when he's about ten feet away from us, he slows down to virtually zero MPH.

There was nothing that stood out about his appearance either. He was middle-aged, white male, very generic. Well, we all stare at the car and start walking super slowly. If we stop, he would stop. If we walked, he would slowly go. During this whole ordeal, he has a blank expression on his face. Not anger, no smirk, just this sinister deadness, almost. This went on for probably five minutes,

because we were too scared that he would jump out of the car if we turned our backs on him, and I was mainly scared for my little brother. Finally, he speeds off, and we run the rest of the way to school. Immediately we go to the principal's office, and at this point we are bawling. We gave them our version of the story, his description, and whatever else a seven-year-old is actually capable of giving.

They take action by calling the cops and our parents. The cops come and we explain where it happened and the story again. Then our parents ended up taking us out of school. From then on, we weren't allowed to walk to school anymore, and our babysitter would just take us. The reason this ended up being so creepy is because, apparently, there had been reports around that time of a guy who would sit under the bridge we walked over, right by the school, and watch people. They didn't know if he was homeless, or if it was this other guy who we encountered.

They never got the guy. and we never saw him again. Whether this was a more sinister encounter than we thought, or he was just bored, well, we will never know. I do know how bizarre it was, though. Who stares at children that intently while driving by? He even turned his head around as he was driving.

By his chance of luck, no other cars drove by during this whole situation. But, weirdo driver, let's not ever meet again. A little over a week ago, I posted here with my story from this summer that had been sitting really poorly with me. You can read the whole thing here, or for a TLDR, that's too long, didn't read, late at night, and my friend's very remote cottage, I went outside, heard a super-close, super-identifiable sound of a, honka-hunk-a-clown noise. But nothing was visible.

My dog acted super weird all night while there. I didn't tell anyone. A few months later, my buddy whose cottage it was told me that he had relentless nightmares of clowns while he slept there as a kid. There's more nuances to that, if you care to read the full post. Things have gotten weird since. The night that I posted, my boyfriend and I fell asleep on the couch. couch. We went to bed, and while laying there, I asked if he checked the doors were locked,

and he said yes. I decided to get up and double check in case, in our sleepy state, he missed one. They were both locked. I woke up around 2.30 to some weird noises that I chalked up to my downstairs neighbor, just having a late night. I got up to go to the washroom, to find the back door unlocked. Weird. I do a quick look around the house, but nothing's stolen, so I lock it and go back to bed. The following morning, I'm on my couch having coffee. Dog is in her bed in my room still. There's like a sofa table and a couple feet of space behind my couch.

And I heard freaking knuckles cracking. Like one hand and then another. My first thought that ran through my head was, oh crap, the door was broken into last night, and someone's passed out behind the sofa and I didn't check here last night. I live like two blocks from a homeless encampment. Weirder things have happened in my neighborhood. I jumped off of the couch, but nobody was there. I decided that, from the post yesterday,

my best course of action is to control my emotions, set intentions, and be firm. I have a smudge stick that someone gifted me ages ago, so I tear the house apart looking for that. open the doors and windows, and walk around firmly telling whatever it is that it is not welcome here, and that I only accept love and light in this home. It was a nice day, so I left the window right behind the couch open. An hour so later, I'm sitting there, and the freaking window slowly closes, making this horrible squeaking noise, and then slams shut.

The dog, who's now beside it, me on the couch, gets up all freaked out, goes and sniffs the window, and then screws off to behind my bed where she hides in lightning storms. So, at this point, I'm over this. I want to get out of the house, but at the same time I have all this stuff from the thread the day before running through my head about not letting this control my emotions. So I resolved to leave, but still calmly get ready like I normally would. I'm in the shower and and suddenly I feel all wrong.

I turned my whole body so I could see both edges of the curtain, like I was sure something was going to reach in. I decided to be brave and slam open the curtains, only to find my freaking sink cabinet doors open, and I did not open them. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night to two bright orange dots on the wall. The opposite wall has no windows on.

it. I'm weirdly obsessed about no light while sleeping, so there's no electronics projecting light. And when I kind of stared at them, they got brighter. But that kind of felt like it could have been an optical illusion, that the longer I stared at them, the more they came into focus in the dark. And as I'm considering all this, I realized a third one had formed and was now getting brighter. And now, here I am. Unure if I'm going crazy or what's going on. I don't know how to describe the feeling I'm having. It's fear adjacent, but I think I have a grasp on the idea that this thing can't really hurt me if I don't let it. I just feel kind of crazy. I haven't told anyone about this IRL, and just needed to get it off my chest. Maybe to be validated that the

this is weird and that I'm not insane. Edits to add, also I've been having crazy wild nightmarish dreams all week. This is super significant because I haven't dreamed since I was a kid.