Horror Stories - 2 Disturbing True Sugar Daddy Horror Stories You Won’t Forget

Episode Date: June 11, 2025

2 Disturbing True Sugar Daddy Horror Stories That Will Haunt You These are not your average dating nightmares. In this chilling video, we reveal 2 disturbing true stories of sugar daddy arrangements that spiraled into terrifying experiences. What started as harmless encounters for money, gifts, or companionship quickly became dark and dangerous. These cautionary tales expose the risks, manipulation, and fear that often hide behind the glamorous facade of sugar dating. Told with unsettling detail and grounded in real-life events, these stories will make you think twice before chasing easy luxury. Viewer discretion is advised. #SugarDaddyHorror #TrueHorrorStories #DatingHorror #DisturbingStories #OnlineDatingHorror #SugarBabyNightmare #CreepyEncounters #StorytimeHorror #DarkSideOfDating #ScaryTrueStories sugar daddy horror stories, true horror dating stories, disturbing sugar baby tales, scary sugar daddy encounters, real sugar daddy horror, online dating horror stories, sugar baby nightmares, creepy sugar daddy experiences, dating gone wrong, horror sugar dating, dark dating stories, true scary sugar baby stories, real life horror, terrifying dating encounters, luxury turned horror, horror storytime, scary sugar baby experiences, toxic sugar daddy relationships, dangerous sugar dating, storytime horror, creepy real stories, sugar dating horror, horror narration, scary money stories, emotional manipulation stories, red flags in dating, horror encounters online, shocking sugar daddy stories, dating horror truth, glam life gone wrong, unexpected horror dating, true disturbing relationships, false luxury dating, psychological dating horror, unsettling dating tales Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Be careful. I wish Nikki love me more than anyone in the entire world. Who you wish for. Obsession is 96% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. I love you so, so, so, so much. It's blood-soaked nightmare fuel. What kind of sponge you put on her? You have been warned.

Obsession, rated R. Under 17, 90M, Without Parent. Only in Theaters May 15th, with special engagements in Dolby. Hello everyone and welcome back to horror stories. I know many of you use these episodes to fall asleep so before you drift off, I'd love it if you could leave a comment letting me know where you're listening from around the world. Also, don't forget to like and subscribe if you're enjoying the episodes. Story 1. My name is Mallory Luke. I'm 23 years old and I'm a student at the University of Utah. This is my story. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. And you Yes, the pun is intentional.

At first glance, I looked like just another college girl, focused on my studies, spending time with friends and working hard to build a good future. But there was a side of me no one knew, a secret I kept well hidden to support myself financially. I was a sugar baby. I never imagined it would become such a significant part of my life. It all started in my second year of college when I began to struggle financially. between tuition, rent, and food, the expenses piled up mercilessly. I tried working regular jobs, but the shifts were exhausting and barely covered a fraction of my bills. One night a friend jokingly mentioned how some girls found sugar daddies who gave them money

and gifts. At first I laughed, but curiosity got the better of me. I cautiously explored the idea. I signed up on an app for sugar babies and carefully created my profile. Nothing provocative. just a photo of me in an elegant dress, smiling, and a short description stating I was looking for mentorship and mutual respect. Within hours, dozens of messages poured in. I quickly realized how lucrative this world could be. There were all kinds of men, middle-aged executives looking for company, wealthy and eccentric men who wanted a young, attractive woman for social events. But it wasn't as simple as receiving money just like that. Every arrangement came with conditions and expectations. One man wanted weekly dinners where I had to wear designer clothes. Another

took me on business trips covering everything, from flights to luxurious nighttime treatments. One in particular was more straightforward. He deposited money into my account every month in exchange for meeting up for coffee for a couple of hours each week. They all had one thing in common, absolute discretion. Most of the time I felt in control. I set my own boundaries and never agreed to anything that made me uncomfortable. Still, there were moments that made me uneasy, like the man who suggested I move in with him, or the one who hinted I should cut off my friends and family because, according to him, they were distracting me from my path to success. And then Lucas A. Johnny appeared. Lucas A. Johnny messaged me unexpectedly. His profile stood out, photos and

suits posing in front of a luxury car. His bio described him as a successful businessman, a lover of travel in the arts. He didn't seem like the others. His messages were confident but respectful. He said he admired independent and ambitious women. He offered mentorship, financial support, and connections in exchange for a genuine connection. The conversation started innocently. He praised my independence, asked about my studies, He seemed genuinely concerned for me, but I would later discover it was all a facade. He proposed meeting in person to discuss the terms of our arrangement, emphasizing that he preferred privacy due to his professional status. At the time, it seemed like a reasonable request.

Most Sugar Daddy's valued discretion, and I had already dealt with similar personalities. However, unlike others who suggested meeting at upscale restaurants or exclusive bars, He proposed we meet her to park near the Salt Lake City Airport. I hesitated. Something felled off, but he insisted politely. His messages were persuasive. He promised safety and understanding. You can trust me, he wrote.

I only meet women I truly respect. The appeal of a new arrangement, combined with his reassurances, led me to agree. I convinced myself it was just another meeting. One more step toward financial stability. I carefully packed my bag, phone, keys, and some personal items. As I got into the car, an unease ran down my spine. I ignored it. I thought it was just nerves.

I'd done this before. I didn't know that night would change everything. The flight from California to Utah went smoothly. Just another overnight journey that gave me too much time to think. I had been visiting my family after my grandmother's funeral, an emotionally heavy weekend. As much as I loved them, there were aspects of my life they could never know. Things like my role as a sugar baby. To them, I was just a diligent young woman with a part-time job, nothing more.

I wanted to keep that image intact. When the plane landed in Salt Lake City, it was already past midnight. The airport was silent, the kind of silence where you can hear your own footsteps. I took my phone from my bag and called an Uber. The destination wasn't typical. a park in North Salt Lake. Meeting a stranger late at night wasn't ideal, but I convinced myself it was just another discreet encounter.

Nothing I hadn't done before. The driver didn't ask questions, though his occasional glances in the rearview mirror made me nervous. Maybe I was imagining it, or maybe he too noticed how odd the destination was. When we arrived, the park was cloaked in shadows. The dim light from the street lamps offered little comfort. I stepped out of the car clutching my bag tightly and scanning the surroundings.

That's when I saw him. Lucas A. Johnny stood beside his vehicle, a sleek black car that looked completely out of place in such a modest setting. He didn't match the image I'd formed of him through our messages. He was bulkier, more imposing, with a distant aura that made me feel uneasy instantly. His expression was hard to read. Not friendly, but not hostile either. His gaze studied me intensely.

Mallory, he said calmly, too calmly, as if hiding something. Yes, I replied, with more confidence than I actually felt. He gave me a polite, though, hollow smile that didn't reach his eyes. Long flight. I nodded unsure of how much I should say. Something inside me told me to turn around, order another Uber and get out of there. But my rational side dismissed it. after all he'd been polite why be suspicious still a chill ran down my spine when he opened the passenger door shall we he asked i hesitated for a moment i looked at the empty park then at the car the interior was spotless it smelled like leather and something else i couldn't identify like a chemical product it's just another client i repeated to myself another night

another arrangement. I got into the car, forcing a smile as he closed the door behind me. The sound of the locks engaging felt louder than usual in the silence. The car started and I tried to keep my attention on the road, ignoring the growing nod in my stomach. The atmosphere inside the car became suffocating. The gentle hum of the engine couldn't mask the tension building in that enclosed space. Johnny began asking me questions that, although seemingly innocent,

had a tone that was far too probing. He asked where I grew up, who I lived with, whether my family knew I was going out that night. Each sentence delivered with disturbing calmness seemed to be fishing for something beyond words. Do your parents know you're meeting someone tonight? He asked his voice firm, emotionless. No, I replied curtly,

looking out the window and wishing the ride would end soon. I tried to give vague answers, hoping he would lose interest. but he didn't. On the contrary, he leaned in slightly, as if proximity would coax more information out of me. We should go somewhere more private, he said after a brief pause. His tone casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I froze. His suggestion caught me off guard. He hadn't even offered a gift or financial help, as Sugar Daddy's usually did in the beginning. Yet here he was, already suggesting something intimate.

I felt disrespected. Even in this kind of relationship, there were boundaries. I needed to assert myself to show I wasn't someone easily manipulated, but I also didn't want to provoke him. With my heart pounding, I gave him a faint smile and nodded, feigning indifference. Sure, I said quietly, tightening my grip on my bag. He didn't say another word. He turned the wheel and veered away from down.

town. The streets grew narrower, darker. The lights faded, leaving only patches of shadow. With each passing minute, my anxiety grew. This man was nothing like the others I had met. His demeanor was too cold, too calculated. Still, I kept repeating to myself why I was there. I tried to stay calm, to act natural, hoping the moment to leave would come soon. Finally, the car stopped in front of a small rundown house at the end of a deserted street. It wasn't what I expected from someone claiming to be a successful businessman. The yard was overgrown, weeds pushing through cracks in the pavement. The paint on the facade was peeling and the porch sagged.

There were no lights on, no signs anyone else lived there. Everything had an eerie abandoned feel. We're here, Johnny said, getting out of the car and gesturing for me to follow. I froze. Every fiber of my being screamed not to go in. to stay in the car, to make up an excuse and leave. But his stare pinned me in place, sharp, expectant. I swallowed hard and got out of the car, my legs heavy as lead as I approached the door.

Inside the air was thick, carrying a musty smell embedded in the walls. The furniture was sparse and outdated, like it had been scavenged from a thrift store. Papers, empty cans, and food scraps littered the floor. The dim lighting cast long menacing shepherds. shadows. It was a brutal contrast to the image he had sold me. Make yourself comfortable, he said, almost mockingly. I sat on the edge of a tattered threadbare couch, my eyes scanning every corner of the room for an escape. Everything inside me screamed that I was in danger. Want something to drink? Johnny asked, lifting a bottle of cheap wine with a twisted smile that

couldn't mask his discomfort. No, thank you. I answered quickly with a firmer tone that I expected from myself. He frowned slightly but didn't press. Instead he came over and sat beside me. His knee brushed mine and that simple contact made me shiver, not from attraction but from a dry suffocating fear that sat heavy in my chest like a stone. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. Your tense, he murmured as one of his hands slid to my shoulder. I recoiled slightly, uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to notice. His hand moved slowly down my arm, testing my boundaries, seeing how far he could go. My heart was pounding. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to get out, but I was trapped. All I could do was smile and try to buy time. Johnny kept inching closer,

invading my personal space in a way that made my stomach turn. His fingers traced down to mine, as if gauging my response. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as if the entire house was urging me to stay still, to not try to escape. You're special, you know, he said in a low voice. I don't usually meet women like you. I gave him a weak smile and suddenly pulled my hand away, but he noticed. His eyes followed my every move with a dark amusement, like it was all a game to him. A strong odor filled the room, a mix of sweat, cheap wine, and a nice.

overpowering cologne. Thanks, I replied, trying not to betray my anxiety. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, wanting to appear composed, even though I just wanted to run. But Johnny didn't stop. His hands led casually to my knee. The touch was calculated, pretending to be innocent, but the intention was clear. Tell me, he began, his tone heavier. What are you really looking for in all this. Is it just the money, or is there something deeper? His question froze me. It caught me completely off guard. I tried to keep calm. I thought I was clear from the beginning, I answered cautiously, hiding the tremor in my voice. I shifted slightly on the couch, turning my body to create more distance. But the couch was too soft, like a trap, making it impossible to stand without drawing

attention. He chuckled quietly, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I can tell when someone is holding back, he muttered, as his hand crept higher up my thigh. You're strong and I like that. My stomach turned. The way he spoke, the way he looked at me, as if I were something he already owned, was unbearable. I swallowed hard and summoned every ounce of courage I had. I think I should leave, I said, trying to sound firm, though my voice cracked slightly. His smile faltered. His hand paused for a moment. His expression became unreadable, and the atmosphere already tense grew even colder, like the air itself had frozen. Leave, he repeated, leaning back without taking his eyes off me. His gaze was sharp, like a predator studying its prey, but we're just getting to know each other.

I shook my head and stood up abruptly. This isn't going to work. There are plenty of other men who know how to treat me. Generous men with class. This, I said, motioning to the dark, messy room. This isn't what I'm looking for. His eyes darkened. The forced warmth in his face vanished instantly.

You think you can just walk out? He said, his voice sharp as a blade. I'm leaving, I declared, taking a step toward the door. But I didn't get far. Before I could reach the door, he moved faster than I could have ever imagined. His hand shot out and grabbed me with such force that I screamed. You're not going anywhere, he spat. His tone venomous as he gripped my arm violently.

Panic surged through me. He shoved me against the wall, and his other hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cries. I fought back, kicking, scratching his arm with everything I had. But it was useless. His strength was overwhelming. His fingers were like clamps that held me in place. Tears blurred my vision.

My nails dug into his skin, but he barely flinched. He slammed me back into the wall again, and the impact knocked the air from my lungs. The cold, hard surface burned against my back. My legs flailed wildly, desperate to find a weak spot. His knees, his shins, anything to make him back off. I managed to strike him once. He growled and for a brief moment his grip loosened. I seized the chance and twisted, pushing myself with every bit of energy I had left.

But it was no use. He caught me again, this time by the hair, yanking it so violently that a sharp pain shot through my scalp. I screamed again. You're not leaving, he snarled. His face was only inches from mine, his eyes. They weren't human anymore. They were voids.

cold, soulless. One of his hands slid to my throat. He wasn't choking me, but the pressure was enough to make me feel powerless. I clotted his wrists trembling, trying to find any sign of mercy. But there was none, no trace of humanity left in him. I sobbed, I screamed. My voice had become a fragile threat of sound, frayed and broken by terror. Why are you doing this? What did I do to deserve this? I managed to cry out between gasps. He paused just for a second as if my words amused him. His grip didn't ease. His hands held me tighter. Then he said it. With the same calmness someone might use to talk about the weather, as if what was happening was perfectly normal. I just wanted to know what

it feels like to kill someone. His words hit me like a hammer. My chest tightened. My stomach twisted. My mind screamed at me to do something, anything, but my body no longer obeyed. This wasn't a misunderstanding. It wasn't an impulse. It was his plan from the beginning. I wasn't a person to him. I was an idea, an experiment, a victim. In that moment, everything became a whirlwind of fear, pain, and despair. My mind kept screaming to fight back, but my body began to fail. The adrenaline wasn't enough. Terror consumed me. I felt myself slipping into darkness. Time lost meaning. My thoughts became a blur. Tears streamed down my face as my vision faded. I tried to move, to resist, to stay conscious. But with each second I grew weaker, the darkness closed in around me,

wrapping me in a thick suffocating fog. Everything blurred. His empty eyes, his breath on my skin, the pressure of his hands. The last thing I clearly remember before losing consciousness was a wave of overwhelming regret crashing over me. I was wrong. I thought I had control. I thought I could handle everything, that I knew what I was doing.

But I didn't. I had lied to myself. I had underestimated the danger. I had ignored the signs. And now, as the darkness claimed me, I understood the truth with brutal clarity. I was completely wrong, tragically, horribly wrong. Everything went black. I don't know how much time passed. It could have been minutes or hours. When I came to, everything hurt, every muscle, every bone, every thought. There were no lights, no sounds, no signs of the outside world. Just that place, that body over mine, and a coldness that pierced through me. I couldn't comprehend how I got there. But I knew one thing.

I let it happen. I let it happen by not listening to my instincts, by justifying the unjustifiable, by choosing logic over intuition. Fear had been my silent companion for weeks. Now it was my executioner. My mind repeated his words over and over. I just wanted to know what it feels like to kill someone.

That sentence cut through me like invisible knives. It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a moment of passion. It was a choice. Planned. Calculated. Cold. I wasn't a person to him.

I was an experience, an object, a test. I had never felt so fragile, so invisible, so exposed. I wanted to scream, but I had no voice. I wanted to run, but I had no strength. I wanted to turn back time, but it was too late. And the saddest part of all was that deep down, I believed I had everything under control. I thought I could play with fire and walk away unscathed. I thought the rules were clear that I could choose how far to go.

But I was wrong. I was wrong from the start. And that night in a house lost in shadows with a stranger whose face I'll never forget, it all became devastatingly clear. I was never safe. I was never in control. I never imagine that this seemingly harmless state would be my greatest mistake. My story isn't an empty warning.

It's a silent scream from the heart of a real-life nightmare. This story is based on a real-life case that shocked the United States in June 2019. Mackenzie Luke, a 23-year-old student at the University of Utah, vanished after meeting Ajai, a man who would later be identified as a serial predator. She had flown back to Salt Lake City after visiting. her family and agreed to meet him in a park late at night. That meeting would be her last. Police discovered her charred remains in the backyard of Ajai's home. Investigators revealed that he had meticulously planned the crime. When questioned about his motive, he coldly stated that he

simply wanted to know what it felt like to take someone's life. The details of the crime and his methods were withheld from the public due to how horrific they were, but prosecutors described his actions as calculated and merciless. In 2020, Ajayah was arrested, tried, and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. This tragic case serves as a harsh warning about the dangers of trusting strangers and the very real risks of online interactions. Story 2. My Sugar Daddy asked me for strange favors. His Tinder profile said he was 45, but in the photos he barely looked over 30. He offered $700 a way. week, no sex. It sounded too good to be true. But as a broke college student, I decided to take the

risk. I swiped right. It was an instant match. His message came seconds later. Hi, gorgeous. I got chills. I hated being called that, but $700 was $700. So I held back and just replied with a simple, hi. His name was Jack. He said he owned his own. business, though he never specified what kind. We chatted for a while before he asked for my Venmo to send the first payment. A few minutes later, the notification came through. I stared at the $700 for at least 20 minutes, waiting to wake up from a dream, but it wasn't a dream. You still there? I read in his next message. Yes, sorry if you don't mind me asking. What do you expect in return? I replied. I stared at the chat until he finally answered.

I just need you to do a few small favors for me. That sounded like it was about to take a sexual turn after all. Like what, for example? The first thing I need is for you to pick up a package for me. It sounded innocent, but I still didn't quite buy it. $700 just for picking up a box. Even I knew it couldn't be that simple. From the post office or something, I asked.

No, I'm going to send you the address. Then he added, but I'd rather not keep doing this through Tinder. Do you have Kik, or would you prefer to give me your number? Kick. What year was this, 2011? I decided to give him my number and he texted me right away with the address where I was supposed to pick up the package, followed by the address of his house, where I'd be dropping it off. I'm not home right now, but there's a key under the blue flower pot near the door. Go in, leave the package.

on the living room table. Make sure to lock the door behind you when you enter, and also when you leave. I grabbed my keys and wallet and got in the car. I put the address into Google Maps. Got it. I'm heading over now. As I backed out of my driveway, my phone buzzed with another message. Seriously, make sure to lock the door both times, please. It seemed excessive, but I promised him I would. The house looked abandoned. A broken wire. fence surrounded it, and the small gate was barely hanging on. It stood in stark contrast to the neighboring homes, which were much more well kept. This one stood out like an open wound in a decent neighborhood. You hear for Jack, said a deep voice. I looked up. There was a man standing in the

doorway. He filled the entire frame. His head nearly touched the top of the door, and his body was a wall of muscle covered in tattoos. Ah, yeah, I think so, I replied, not moving from the edge of the sidewalk. Stay there, he ordered. And I did. Honestly, I don't think I could have moved even if he had asked me to. I looked around. The street was empty.

I was a 21-year-old girl, alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I clenched my keys in my hand. A few minutes later, the man came out carrying a cardboard box. It was about the size of a shoe box, but it had wet stains on the corners. Can you pop the trunk? he asked. I opened the trunk. I didn't want that box on my seats. He carefully placed it inside.

All set, he said. Thanks, I replied. I walked to the driver's side and opened the door. Oh, one more thing, he added. I paused, looked at him. Be careful. I didn't say anything. I just got in, shut the door, started the engine, and turned the music up loud, trying to drown out the anxiety.

It didn't work. I drove to Jack's address. The driveway was made of stone, and when I pulled up, I sat there for a few minutes just observing. It was a massive house with stone columns on the porch and the greenest lawn I had ever seen. I turned off the car, grabbed the box from the trunk, and approached the front door. Just like he said, the key was under the blue flower pot. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it behind me. I thought about how insistent he had been about locking the door from the inside.

It seemed over the top, but I did it anyway. My feet sank into a thick burgundy carpet as I walked. The inside of the house was incredible, carved wood furniture that looked ridiculously expensive. One of those armchairs alone could probably pay off my entire college degree multiple times. I placed the box on the coffee table in the living room, and just as I was heading back to the door, I heard a phone ringing from another part of the house. I froze. Right then, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the message. Don't answer any calls unless it's from Marvin. I put my phone away and cautiously followed the ringing sound. I peeked into several

rooms until I found the phone on a desk in what looked like an office. I walked over to it and saw the caller ID. Jack calling. I frowned. I checked the message again just to be sure. I was feeling more uncomfortable by the second, so I decided not to answer and to leave as quickly as possible. Before leaving, I remembered to lock the door behind me again, just as he had asked. Since then, I've done several more favors for Jack. Once he asked me to drive a BMW to a park in another city. When I got there, I got out and took a different car to bring back to his house. Another time he had me meet one of his employees for lunch. The man handed me a briefcase that I was instructed to return to the same rundown house from the first time.

He warned me that Jack would know if I dared to open it. On multiple occasions, Jack asked me to go to that house and spend time with someone named Julio. He never explained why. All in all, I had made about $3,500. But the most recent favor was what truly made me nervous. Jack asked me to spend the night at his house. That morning I woke up to a message from him. I need you to sleep at my house tonight.

I had never seen him in person, though we had talked on the phone a few times. He promised $1,000 in exchange for spending the night there, on the condition that I follow a very specific list of rules. I agreed. That afternoon I drove to his house. As usual, the driveway was empty, but this time the porch light was on. I climbed the steps, unlocked the door with the key I already knew and stepped inside. I locked the door behind me.

Everything looked exactly the same. He had told me over the phone that he would leave the list of rules on the dining room table. I left my things in the living room. My bags looked ridiculous compared to the luxury of the furniture around me. I walked into the kitchen and then the dining room. Sure enough, there was a sheet of paper on the wooden table held down by an empty glass. The paper said the following. Lock the door when you enter.

Only answer calls from Marvin. Do not turn on any water faucets between 9 p.m. and 11 p.m. Do not open the door for any reason after 10 p.m. no matter who claims to be there. If the closet door at the end of the hallway is open, sleep in the library. If it's closed, you can sleep in any of the bedrooms. The gardener arrives at midnight. If he knocks on the windows, hide. turn on the TV and leave it on static all night.

Don't forget. Feel free to take anything from the fridge. I'll pay you in the morning. Good night. I read each line twice, feeling a chill run down my spine. I followed every instruction exactly as written. Although, to be honest, I was already starting to regret agreeing to this. But I was there, and I was going to get paid a thousand dollars.

I convinced myself that as long as I followed the rules, everything would be fine. Still, if something felt off about all of it. What was this? A haunted house? I spent a few hours wandering through the house. My plan was to fall asleep around 9 p.m. because according to the list, that's when the weird stuff started. At 8.50 I brushed my teeth, using the faucet one last time before 9. I checked the closet door at the end of the hallway. It was open. So I brought my things into the library. and got ready to sleep on the couch. Just to be safe, I locked the door and settled in with my phone in hand,

scrolling through social media while I slowly drifted off. At some point I fell asleep, but at exactly 10.16 p.m., the doorbell woke me up. I sat up about to get up and see who it was when I suddenly remembered one of the clearest rules on the list. Do not open the door for any reason after 10 p.m., no matter who claims to be there. I stayed still on the couch holding my breath.

I didn't even dare move, afraid whoever was outside might hear me. This is the police open the door. I didn't move. Police open the door or we will force entry. I remained frozen. My heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. A few minutes passed in silence. Then the doorbell again.

It's Jack. Let me in. The voice sounded like Jack's. but something didn't feel right. I thought, if it's really him, why does he need me to open the door? Shouldn't he have his own key? For nearly an hour, the same pattern repeated. Different people rang the doorbell, claimed to be someone I knew,

then disappeared when they got no response. I stayed completely silent, holding my breath each time I heard footsteps outside. Eventually the silence returned. The gardener never showed up. There were no knocks on the windows. With my body tense and my heart still racing, I eventually managed to fall asleep again. The next morning, I woke up with a slight headache. I heard sounds coming from the kitchen.

I got up slowly, making sure to open the door as quietly as possible. I held my phone in one hand and crept through the living room until I reached the kitchen doorway. There was Jack, standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a pan while the coffee maker gurgled behind him. Good morning, he said casually when he saw me. Hi, I replied nervously. It was the first time I'd seen him in person, but he looked exactly like his online photos. Scrambled eggs, he asked, motioning toward the pan with a wooden spoon.

Yes, thanks, I said, stepping forward to take the plate he offered. I ate in silence, sipping the coffee without making eye contact. How was the night? he asked after a few minutes. It was fine, nothing too much. weird, I replied. Unsure how to sound casual. I'm glad, he said with a calm smile. An awkward silence followed.

I felt like I needed to get out of there as soon as possible. I think I'll head out. I've got class. I lied. I didn't have any class, but I needed an excuse to leave. Oh, sure, we'll talk later, he said, still speaking with that same calm tone. I gathered my things and he walked me to the car. As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw I'm still standing in the driveway, watching me leave.

When I got home, I started unpacking my things. That's when I noticed I still had the list of rules. I sat on my bed and read it again, scanning each line until one sentence made my blood run cold. Turn on the TV and leave it on static all night. Don't forget. My body tensed. I stared at that line again and again, as if it had taken on a new more sense. sinister meaning. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. Just then my phone buzzed. It snapped me out

of the trance. It was the deposit. The $1,000. I stared at the screen, then at the paper again. I told myself maybe that rule wasn't that important. Maybe nothing would happen because I hadn't followed it. But while I was thinking that, another message from Jack arrived. I'm not in town right now. I'll be back next week so you can take a break from the errands. I already sent the payment. Go have some fun. I froze. Not in town. I thought back to the morning before. Jack had been in the kitchen. He made me breakfast. How could he be at his house if he wasn't even in town? My heart sank. A few minutes later I received another message, this time from an unknown number. Did you forget something. The text came with a photo in the picture Jack, or at least the person I believed was

Jack, stood in front of the TV, turned off. I didn't reply. But then another image came in. This time it was a photo taken from outside my house and then one final message. Be careful.