Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Disturbing TRUE Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 8, 2024

These are 5 Disturbing TRUE Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:11:05 Story 2 00:23:07 Story 3 00:31:21 Story 4 00:46:08 Story 5 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #justcreepy 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

How many discounts does USAA auto insurance offer? Too many to say here. Multi-vehicle discount. Safe driver discount? New vehicle discount. Storage discount. Legacy discount. How many discounts will you stack up? Tap the banner or visit usa.com slash auto discounts. Restrictions apply. You're great at protecting your data, but lots of places could still expose you to identity theft. I thought it was safe. If that happens, LifeLock gives you a U.S.-based restoration agent who will stick by your side from start to finish. phone calls, filing documentation, preparing insurance claims, your agent handles it all. In fact, we're so confident restoration is guaranteed, pour your money back. Isn't it nice to have someone like that on your side?

Save up to 40% your first year at lifelock.com slash Spotify. Terms apply. This story takes place in the second largest city in Iowa in 1973. I was a 5'8, 20-year-old, weighing 120 pounds. I lived alone in a large old two-story house with four apartments, two upstairs and two downstairs. My one-bedroom apartment was downstairs. My friend Steve and Gary, along with their infant daughter, lived upstairs. I had gone to high school with Steve and had worked in housekeeping with his wife G in the past. At that time, I was employed as a waitress at a steak and brew restaurant, working both the lunch and dinner shifts.

One sunny spring morning, as I was walking to the bus stop to go to work, a massive man materialized from thin air, as if summoned by demons from the depths of the abyss below. Before I could recover from the shock of his sudden appearance, he viciously grabbed me by the forearms and yanked me off the sidewalk. Quickly recovering from my initial shock, I immediately screamed at him, Let go of me. As he pulled me closer to his massive chest, my nostrils were assaulted by the worst malice. I had ever experienced. The overpowering stench of putrefaction, urine, filth, body odor,

and some unidentified chemical reminiscent of a substance you might encounter in a school science lab gagged me. I've never before or since encountered such an utterly disgusting, gag-inducing odor. I almost couldn't breathe. This coming from me, who has an iron constitution, says a lot. I'm the person you call to clean out a fridge full of of rotting food that's been sitting in the 110 degree heat for three months with the power off because I can handle it. As if his weak appearance wasn't terrifying enough, this man weighed at least 400 pounds and was a good 6 foot 8. I twisted and turned, but he just gripped my arms ever tighter. Finally, I writhed around so I was facing him, and there was my moment of opportunity.

If I could get him to loosen his grip on me for a mere millisecond, I might be able to to make a break for it. There was no traffic, no people passing by. I was on my own. He said, you're coming with me, and you're going to do what I say. Screw you, I said, and I kicked him square in the crotch as hard as I could. He groaned as his grip momentarily loosened on my arms. I wrenched myself away and ran as fast as I could for five blocks to the bus stop. I didn't even look behind me once to see if he was there or following me. I didn't want to be. I didn't want to be a want to see him. I had hoped correctly that I could easily outrun him due to his extreme size, and I certainly didn't want to slow down to look behind me in case he was there. I was shaking as I

boarded the bus to work. When I got to work, the boss and other waitresses asked me what had happened. They saw the giant handprints on my arms that clearly defined his huge fingers on my flesh. My skin was already turning awful shades of green, blue, and black. I told them about my encounter on the way to the bus stop. Horrified. They insisted I call the police, but I just wanted to put it behind me and get on with my day. I figured I most likely would never see this random stranger again, or at least that's what I told myself. That night after work, I took the bus back and walked the five blocks home from the bus stop as usual. The large house where my apartment was had a big front door with glass panels on either side of the door frame and also in the door itself. There was always

a light on in the entryway, but the entry door was never locked. My apartment was on the left inside the vestibule, with my neighbor's door directly across from mine on the opposite side of the stairs leading to the two apartments on the second floor. I took my keys and let myself in, then closed and locked the door immediately. That was my habit. I had to cross the living room to turn the lights on. then went to close the drapes on the Big Bay window in the living room. As I did this, the same man who had assaulted me earlier jumped up from the shrubbery by the window and glared at me with pure anger and violence in his expression.

My jaw dropped as I jumped away from the window in horror and shock. In a flash, he was in the entryway pounding on my door, shaking it in its very frame. He screamed at me, Let me in. If you don't, I'm going to break it down and have my way with you, and then I'm going to kill you. I was certain the door was going to come off its hinges any moment.

It was just a cheap wooden interior door after all. There was no doubt this monster was capable of breaking it down. I screamed back at him to go away because I was not going to open my door. He kept pounding and yelling that he was coming in anyway, throwing more disgusting threats my way, adding that there was no stopping it now. Then he went back outdoors to the front of the house by my bay window and began to bang at it, still screaming.

This went on for another half hour, him coming inside, beating on the door, then back outside to my bay window, screaming all the while what unimaginable things he had planned to do to me. I could feel and hear his escalating anger. I had no reason not to believe him because I was completely aware he was capable of doing those things he threatened, especially killing me. I could hear his rage amping up,

and I knew it wouldn't be much longer, before he broke down my door and came inside to complete his evil plans for me. Now, I'm sure you're probably thinking, why didn't I just call the police already? That's a good question. You see, I just didn't have a phone. I had no way to call 911 or anyone for help. I was trapped in my apartment like a wild animal caught in a hunter's trap.

I felt how livestock must feel upon exiting the shoot in the slaughterhouse, knowing death was only moments away. I knew my time was running out. I had to think of something, anything I could do to save myself. I didn't own any actual weapons, so that was out of the question. Besides, the massive difference in size was not exactly conducive to close contact self-defense. What do I do? I wondered. The adrenaline was pumping through my body.

Every nerve raw is jagged glass and on edge ready for action. I took some deep, calming breaths to try and clear my mind and get some control. over this pure terror. The longer I waited, the worse it could be. Suddenly, I had the beginnings of an idea. Maybe, just maybe, I could open my bedroom window, which was towards the other side of the house. But what if he was back there waiting for me in the pitch darkness? What if he heard me opening the window, taking out the screen? What if he heard me jumping to the ground into the bushes? The thought of being caught by him outside was just as terrifying as remaining put. which wasn't really an option if I wanted to survive this.

But wait, maybe if I made it outside undetected, I might be able to run around to the back of the house. There was a rear stairway there, probably for the household help back in the day. It was always unlit and pitch black, but the narrow and steep stairway had but a single exit point to my friend Steve and G's rear door. No one really ever used those stairs. There was no light source in the cramped stairwell, so consequently it was cloaked in an o'clock.

opaque pitch blackness. I felt fairly confident they would be home, as they rarely ever left their apartment. One of them surely had to be there, and they would have a phone. So now I had a plan. I bolted into the bedroom and began to open the old wood-framed window, trying to be as quiet as possible while the wood complained around the pane of glass in its center. Great. The window was raised, and it was time to take out the old wood-framed screen from the window sash without making a sound. It came free from its confines with a pretty audible scrape. Oh God, it was the hardest thing I had to do, launching myself out the window into the blackness cloaking the house, into the untidy shrubbery beneath. My heart pounded in my ears. It seemed so

loud that anyone nearby could clearly hear it thump, thump, thumping away, trying to control the rushing blood and heat in my body. I held my breath, hoping the madman was not in these bushes and had not registered the soft thud and rustling of the bushes I'd made as I landed. I felt exposed outside but swallowed my terror down. I then made a mad dash around to the back, running and stumbling up those steep stairs in the dark. I knocked on my friend's door, praying they would hear me and answer my cries, and oh, please be fast, I thought, before he discovered. He me. After what had to be the longest weight of my life, I heard Steve asking, who was out there? In a curious tone, obviously because no one ever used that stairway. I whispered through the door,

It's me, Sandra. Let me in. There's someone outside threatening to hurt me. Steve opened the door immediately, a confused and surprised expression on his kind face. I jumped inside, practically almost knocking him flat in the doorway. I then locked. I locked the deadbolt latch, catching my breath a little. I shakily told my friend what was going on. Wasting no time, he dialed 911 and explained the situation, providing the address. We waited silently in the apartment for the police to arrive, and I remained wide-eyed in total fear. To my surprise, a short time later, the police were knocking on my friend's door.

They informed me the man was captured hiding in the bushes under my front window. They were familiar with this man too. He'd apparently escaped from some institute nearby, and they'd been looking for him. That was part of his life without parole sentence he'd had, because he was apparently a convicted assaulter, I will say, of a particular kind. I was so shocked as I stared at the officer. I had no idea this man could have been stalking me for some time before I'd ever seen him. That was his typical modus operandi, selecting a victim.

I asked the officer why they didn't inform the public about his escape, to which I never received a direct response. When I was a young child, I was not one of those children who were afraid of monsters. They just didn't seem scary to me. Well, that has changed now. And if you were to ask me if I believe in monsters these days, my response would be very much, yes.

This episode is brought to you by Netflix's remarkably bright creatures. What if a Pacific octopus held the key to a mystery that could heal your heart. Well, that's Tova's reality. An elderly widow working at an aquarium. Tova forms an unlikely friendship with their crumudgeonly Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend, only on Netflix May 8th. She does a lot for your family. Mother's Day is your chance to show her you see it, with a gift from a brand trusted for generations to help people get the moment right. One-800 flowers, with double blooms from 1-800 flowers, buy one dozen roses and get another dozen for free.

It's a bigger gesture, backed by 50 years of experience delivering fresh flowers, so you can feel confident sending something that lands. Show up for her with double blooms at 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. That's 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. I was born in Edgewick, an area in the English city of Coventry, and I grew up in the 1970s. Like most kids lucky enough to have their grandparents still around, they were two of my favorite people in the whole wide world.

My granddad was a fantastic bloke who taught me to fish and shoot pellet guns, but my nana was an absolute saint. She always had a tray of gingerbread men ready whenever we went around for tea, and she made the best roast potatoes I've ever had, even all these years later. Almost everywhere she went, people would stop her to say hello or would simply say something nice as they walked past her in the street. As a young lad, I didn't really know any better. I just thought Nana was as popular with everyone else as she was with me, but they didn't love her because she made good roasties or baked a cracking apple pie. They loved her for a very different reason, as I learned later in

life. My Nana was a popular and rather famous figure in Coventry because she had served as an air raid warden during the Second World War. I imagine not many of your American listeners will know what one of those is, so if you'll excuse a slight diversion, let me explain. During the war, every fit fighting-age man was sent off to the army, or what have you, meaning women had to take their places in jobs they wouldn't be traditionally expected to do. You had lady police officers, firewomen, and ladies digging through the rubble of bomb sites and helping to rebuild essential infrastructure. In the case of my Nana, you had Lady Air Raid wardens too. When German airplanes started dropping bombs on us, the air raid wardens would go around to make sure everyone was in their shelters.

They also went around to make sure no lights were showing, as they did these full citywide blackouts back then to confuse German bombers. So, if there were a crack in your curtains, and your warden could see light coming from inside, they would bang on the window so hard that the glass would almost break, and that was your warning for the night. Anyway, that's what Nana did, walked around all night, making sure everyone stayed blacked out and all that. One night, Nana was doing her rounds when she heard a scream coming from a good few streets away. As you can imagine, the blackouts meant that the nights back then were deathly quiet, so Nana could hear the scream from quite a distance away. As she was running to investigate, she bumped into another air raid warden, a bloke this time.

As they reached the area they suspected the scream had come from, they started looking around to locate the source of it. Minutes later, they found her, a young woman stabbed almost to death in an alleyway. The young woman was rushed to the hospital and survived her wounds, but everyone agreed that she had been very fortunate to do so. She claimed her attacker had been a very nondescript working-class gentleman, wearing an overcoat and cap. They also discovered that the woman was a prostitute, or rather she wouldn't admit to being one, but there was very little other reason why a woman would be all dressed up and out on her own like that, especially when there was a bloody war going on. She was never about to admit it, though, not even so much as to avoid arrest either, because of

the deep shame associated with it. But that being said, she wasn't the only one who attempted to defy the blackout regulations to ply her trade, and they ended up paying a very similar price a few nights later. And Nana wasn't there to hear it happening this time, but another young lady was attacked in roughly that same area, just too far for Nana to hear it on her rounds. Again, the woman was suspected to be a prostitute, but sadly she wasn't as fortunate as the first young lady. Her attackers seemed to have learned a lot from that first attempt, and on his second, he very literally went for the jugular. When all was said and done, the air raid wardens were scared that they had a sort of Coventry version of Jack the Ripper on their hands,

and the timing of it was just bloody awful as well. The Germans were raining bombs from the sky, and as grim as it was, that brought a real sense of togetherness to the people suffering from it. So to think this bloke was, how to put it battling against his own team in the middle of a war, it put the absolute fear of God into people. People said he was a German agent, some commando sent over to terrorize the people. He wasn't that at all, as it turned out, but it gives you an idea of how frightened people were.

Anyway, this carries on for a few more weeks until, in the end, there were no more prostitutes walking the streets at all after sundown. But then, the psycho still wanted to satisfy his thirst for blood, so after having no luck on one of his hunts, He tries to break into the home of a woman he believed to be alone. Thankfully, the woman wasn't alone, as her husband was in the bath upstairs, and he chased the attacker away without a stitch of clothing on him, which probably added to the shock factor and scared the attacker off.

The fact that no one was hurt was no doubt a good thing, but it was a very thin silver lining to a very dark sort of cloud, because if this blackout ripper, as the people had taken to calling him, was willing to break into houses to find a victim, then it wasn't just prostitutes that were in danger. No one was safe, as you can imagine. People weren't happy. They thought the police should have caught the bloke after the first attack,

but they'd let him commit two or three more attacks before he finally went for someone minding their own business in their own home. They were outraged, saying it never should have gotten that far in the first place, and they raised such a fuss that the local superintendent promised to beef up local patrols and hire more air raid wardens to watch the streets. But then, that was no good, was it? The police couldn't very well neglect other areas of the city for a prolonged period of time,

and the blackout ripper avoided officers and wardens like the plague. What's even worse? They couldn't let lady officers or patrol women out on their own, so they had to double up for safety, meaning even though they brought in help from other areas of Coventry, it still wasn't enough to cover all the necessary ground. Then that night, when the patrols were supposed to be boosted and everything was supposed to be fine again,

the blackout ripper struck again. Some of the prostitutes who had gotten word of the boosted patrols had decided to take their chances out in the street again, and for one of them, that proved a deadly mistake. That night's murder was the most savage yet, and it seemed only a matter of time before the Ripper decided to go kicking down doors again. Something had to be done, or rather, someone had to come up with a plan. And that's when my dear old Nana suggested something incredibly

brave, that she would pose as a prostitute to bait the man into trying to attack her, at which point she could blow very hard on a whistle to summon officers who would be waiting nearby. And you read that right, by the way. They didn't give her a gun, or a club, or anything else she could use to actually defend herself. The police gave her a tiny tin whistle, and then basically told her off. You pop, go and catch us a murderer. I think it might have been a bit more of a sophisticated operation than that, but I remember feeling an acute sense of outrage when I found out that they wouldn't

give her any kind of weapon. Granted, not even the police were armed with guns at the time, and British police still patrol mostly unarmed, not counting your taser, baton, and CS spray. But back then, they had even less to work with if they wanted to subdue a criminal. But then, the officers standing by to catch the blackout ripper would be armed with batons. Nana had nothing but her wits that bloody whistle, and a will to catch the monster that had been preying on the good people of Edgewick.

And so, one night, Nana makes her way down to the local police station to go over the plan one last time before heading off into the night. Then, down at the station, she dolls herself up in all her finest glad rags, slaps on a load of war paint, makeup, that is, and then, once all the officers are in their various hiding places, off she goes towards the Cap Martin Road, which was where she'd first pose as bait. She said she was walking up and down for hours,

heels clacking on the pavement, but she didn't see so much as a soul. And after a while, Nanna started to think that they wouldn't have any luck. Finally, she turned down the back street between Chival Avenue and Grammouth Road, and took a little wander down that, not realizing it was a dead end. She then turns back, only to see someone blocking her exit. The figure is about 50 feet down from her, but she knows it's not one of the policemen, because he's clearly not wearing that very distinct Bobby's helmet that they were all wearing. Nana said she called out to the man, and she could tell that it was a man by the way he was dressed,

but that he didn't reply to her. Instead, he started walking down the back street towards her at a brisk pace, still without saying a word. She sees him reach into his jacket and take something from a pocket, something which he fiddled with for a second before she saw the glint of a blade in the moonlight. Nana's hand went straight for her pocket, straight for that little whistle she'd been given. She knew that there were policemen just a street or two away, so blowing the whistle would have them there in seconds. But as she pulled it from her pocket, the tiny tin whistle got caught on a brass button, and it slipped from her grasp. She thought she'd had it. There was no finding that whistle before the bloke reached her, but she also sort of instinctually kneeled down to grab it back up off the floor.

She said she was frozen in terror for a moment, convinced that she was about to die when suddenly, This wave of defiance rose up in her, and she whipped off one of her shoes and brandished it like a weapon. Nana said this. Ripper laughed and asked her, What are you planning on doing with that? But in reply, she told him, and she didn't just say this either. She barked it so loud that people streets away heard her. My name is Warden Eileen Topsbury, and you're bloody well under arrest. That got another laugh from the bloke, that one, a little bit more nervous than the first.

and then Nana started screaming something equally loud, things like, I'll have your bloody eye out with this heel if you come near me. And maybe that was a bit more fight than he was used to, but just for a moment the Ripper hesitated. And the next thing Nanna knows, she can see two Bobby's coming bombing around the corner at full pelt shouting, Oi, you stop where you are. In that moment, Nana went from being trapped in the back street with the blackout Ripper

to having successfully trapped him in with two approaching officers. The stroke of bad luck turned into a stroke of good luck in a matter of a few moments, and it's a bloody good job too. My mom hadn't been born yet, so if Nana was murdered, there's no mom, no me, and none of my kids either. Since he knew he was boxed in, the Ripper tried to scale a wall to get away, but it was too late for him. The two bobbies grabbed him by the leg, brought him down,

and then beat the living crap out of him before they dragged him off to the police station. After that, Nana was a hero. We still got the newspaper clipping from that time, too, and she was intensely proud of them, right up until the day she passed away. She was a bit loopy towards the end, too, and started losing her memory in all of that. But she never, ever forgot the night that she saved Edgewick from the Blackout Ripper. I'm a female, and when I was 16, I lived in the Valley Area, of Los Angeles. This was many years ago. At that time, the best part of my week was Saturday nights

when I would meet my friends at our beloved under 21 nightclub to dance the night away. Eventually, I got the great idea that since I was there every week anyway, I might as well work there. All I had to do was ask the manager, and I landed the prestigious job of snack bar cashier. It took me just a couple of hours to realize my mistake. If I worked there, I couldn't dance, laugh, and have fun. But I'd made a commitment, so for the next several weeks at least, I was working there, not dancing on the vast majority of those Saturday nights. Usually I'd have to get a ride to the club and back.

It wasn't too difficult since I didn't have my own car until a couple of years later when I was in college. But on occasion, a family friend would lend me his little blue Toyota, and on the Saturday night of this story, he did. I felt so independent and free to be able to take myself to and from the club. On that night, I drove to the club and had a relatively good time serving sodas and dancing with my group of friends during my break to music, by Prince Michael Jackson and Earth Wind and Fire. At the end of the night, I got into my borrowed car and headed toward home. For those who don't know, the San Fernando Valley is made up of many suburban towns.

None are really small, some are very nice, and as you'd expect, some are less nice, with higher crime. I lived with my family in a medium area in the northern part of the valley. It was neither very nice nor very bad, with middle-class homes on mostly respectable, if not professionally manicured, lawns. Being in the greater Los Angeles County area, there were many differing routes I could take home,

whether freeways, highways, or city streets. It was after midnight, and most routes I could take at the moment would be bustling on a Saturday night. I'd had my fill of loud music, laughter, and chattering voices as I headed home, so I opted for a quieter route. I took some major busy streets, then veered into some quiet neighborhoods that I could cut through to get home. I figured if I drove through some quiet, house-lined streets with no traffic nor stoplights, I'd get home a little faster, and I was tired. GPS built into your car wasn't a thing at the time, and if it was, it was nowhere near common.

cell phones weren't a thing either, so I had to rely on maps or just knowing the chosen route. I'd heard bad things about an area called Pima, but I'd only been through it during the day, maybe once. Still, I knew how to get through to shave a few minutes off my time. Being someone used to walking or taking buses, I felt blissfully, perfectly safe in a well-running car with gas in the tank. I believed I was safer in this moment than at almost any other time. As I entered a very dark residential area in Pekoyima, I only had to go north a couple of blocks to get to the next town, then to my own. As I slowly drove down a dark, quiet avenue of modest, slightly run-down homes, there were very few streetlights illuminating the unknown.

On my right were some small, still houses so sealed up and quiet, I could almost imagine no one had ever lived there. On my left was a completely unlit neighborhood park. I thought of families playing there in the sunshine, but now in the pitch blackness, it looked very uninviting. I felt almost as though I were an observer in a theme park ride, looking at the attraction from the safety of the carriage seatbelt and all. I smiled to myself at the little thrill of seeing something spooky while I was perfectly

safe. That's when I noticed some people walking down the deserted street toward me. While this was the first sign of life I'd seen in quite some time, At first, I didn't give it much thought. My left turn out of Pacoima was coming up just past the park anyway, but as they got closer, I very quickly realized it wasn't just a few people. This was a group of approximately 8 to 12 young men, probably in their early 20s, and they were not casually walking down the sidewalk.

No, they were aggressively running down the middle of the street and right towards me, the only moving car around. I suddenly had to slow to almost a stop as not to hit anyone, and this is when they all got a real good look at me. Their looks turned instantly more excited and animated as they realized I was a young girl, all alone. Some of them exchanged smiling glances. Others were whooping, whistling, and calling out things to me like,

Hey, little lady, come out and play, or babe, I can treat you real good. Smoothly, effortlessly, as if the... they'd rehearsed ahead of time. Several of them stopped me completely by standing right in front of my car, putting their hands on the hood, all the while others walked around to my driver's side and passenger side doors. They unapologetically pulled at the handles, trying to open the doors. I didn't always lock the doors when I drove, and cars didn't have auto door locks back then, but I was thanking God that I'd had the foresight to do so on that night. Of course, it all happened very fast, and

But in my shock and terror, it felt like slow motion, adjusting my mind from carefree to possibly being abducted, or worse, by this large group of men. For what felt like several minutes I just sat there, no longer feeling safe. I realized it would just take one easily broken window, and I would be at their mercy, and they did not appear very merciful. They seemed more like a gang of hungry tomcats drooling over a tiny mouse. They had me trapped. I couldn't drive forward nor reverse out of there because, at the time, the car was completely

surrounded by these men. And when I saw a couple of the guys picking up rocks or other objects to probably try to break the windows, I knew I had to think clearly and act fast. I did the only thing I could think of. I made the knee-jerk decision that I was going to drive through them, and they would just have to get out of the way or pay for it. Showing no hesitation once my decision was made, I began to drive forward. Having blocked my car completely, I could see the surprise on some of their faces as they realized they quickly had to move out of the way or risk being run over.

All the men standing in front of the car managed to jump out of the way, and I sped up, taking the left turn out of Pacoima. I didn't even check the rear view as I heard some of them running after me, yelling angrily. About 15 minutes later, I did make it home safely, but my heart didn't stop beating out of my chest for the remainder of the night. Of course, I thought about it for a long time afterward. I felt proud of the way I'd handled the situation, but of course, I'd learned a hard lesson, and I kicked myself for my stupidity. I kept running through possibilities of what could have happened. What if they didn't get out of the way, and I actually had to hit someone with a car? How would I have lived with myself?

What if one of the men had pointed a gun at me or gotten a window broken? What if one of them had a car nearby and chased me home? I'm very happy that it turned out the way it did, because it could have been much, much worse. I hope we'll all keep in mind that we're not invincible inside a car, no matter how safe and cozy our heated leather seats are. Dark, quiet shortcuts are not a good idea, especially late at night. and always drive with your doors locked. Pima gang that tried to grab and do who knows what to a teenage girl driving alone late one Saturday night.

It's been a long time since then, and I'm very glad we didn't become better acquainted. Own it all. Pay off your home, travel for life, drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly Big Board Buckslot Machine by Aristocrat Gaming, Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is giving one person a $1.6 million dream package.

The biggest prize in Yamava's history. Club Serrano members can earn daily instant prizes and secure a spot in the finale May 29. Don't pass go and own it all. Only at Yamava, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You win? Details at yamava.com must be 21-20. Please gamble responsibly.

Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right. So I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell them. the manager you'll sue.

Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right. You tell yourself, no one wants your college-era band teas, but on Deep Hop, people are searching

for exactly what you've got. You once paid a small fortune for them at merch stands. Now, a teenager who calls them vintage will offer that same small fortune back. Sell them easily on Deepop. Just snap a few photos, and we'll take care of the rest. Who knew your questionable music taste

would be a money-making machine. Your style can make you cash. Start selling on Deepop, where taste recognizes taste. If you put a gun to my head and demanded the craziest true story I knew or else you'd shoot, I'd tell you this one.

I used to be an undercover cop here in D.C., pretending to be a street junkie. I was good at it too, having completed three full stints before they killed off my character, so to speak. My success stemmed from the same traits that make an Oscar-winning actor. It's all about how you carry yourself, your mannerisms, or what I always called a person's physicality.

For example, to portray my junky character, I'd draw in my stomach tight as if I were having stomach cramps. Then I'd drop my shoulders low, walk fast, and occasionally pretend to wipe sweat off my brow or cheeks to add that real sense of authenticity. It was all in the stomach cramps, though. If people saw you holding yourself like that, or if I looked like I was going to ask them for change, I became the invisible man. It was like my superpower.

I saw everything and everyone, but no one saw me, except other street junkies. By the time I won those guys over, everything else just fell into place. In as few words as possible, my role was intelligence gathering. I'd stay on the job for a few months at a time, really living that lifestyle, aside from all the dope and disease. Then I'd take a vacation, telling the junkies I was going to visit my parents out in the country, and then I'd be back on the line again in a week or two, refreshed, renewed. One of the first major things we accomplished as a task force was closing a violent gang assault case connected to the narcotics trade. I won't go into details, but the whole thing was essentially a punishment for a missing package.

and it sent shockwaves around the whole city, seeing as the victim was basically a civilian. It meant a lot to everyone to send these jerks to federal prison. But little did we know that it would be what they called a Pyrrhic victory. Not long after we put these people in cuffs, the number of bodies being found around D.C. increased by 500% over the course of about a month. As you can imagine, the chief of police wanted to know why. officially speaking all the deaths were chalked up to overdoses and some suspected a bad batch of heroin was to blame but some of the OD deaths were veteran street junkies although junkies tend to be desperate

their vocation relies on them being street smart not street stupid if they knew that there was a bad batch going around they'd try to isolate and avoid it but some of the deaths were people who should have easily known better my point is i knew something was wrong almost right away, not just that there was some bad dope going around. I had to figure out what. I started doing my usual rounds, not asking too many questions, just putting out feelers like I always did. That's how I found out it wasn't coming from one particular corner, or dealer, who might have cut his products so hard he didn't mind a few dead addicts. It was coming from everywhere. People were avoiding one dealer thinking it was coming from them, and then they dropped dead

after spiking the bag they got from their safe guy. Rumors were flying around. People were getting scared and sick from running out of dealers to turn to. We had four pharmacy robberies in one day. That's what I mean when I tell people that in a city like D.C., any city really, everything is connected, and when that rot sets in, it's like mold. You need bleach to get it out. At times, the BPD looked more like a dry wet wipe than a bottle of chlorox.

Anyway, the part where I feel like I fell down was unlike a lot of the other junkies who were avoiding the regular hookups in an effort to stay safe. I was hunting bags like it was the last batch of dope ever made. I wanted to find whoever was selling that bad dope and get them off the street. Locking up junkies is one thing, but letting them die off in their dozens every week was no part of my job description. Don't get me wrong, street addicts do each other pretty dirty, and you'll meet some real bad ones too, but I'd say around 40% are just good people who made terrible decisions. Some of them, I might have even called friends in some other lifetime. So as I was saying, I was running around Deanwood trying to find the source of this bad dope.

But then, instead of being everywhere, it seemed to be nowhere all at once. Everyone seemed to be able to get their hands on the bad dope when they weren't looking for it. But me, going out of my way to try and get my hands on it, I couldn't seem to find any at all. Every bag of dope I bought went straight into evidence. After the spike in drug deaths, every other bag was being tested for toxins and whatnot. Not a single one ever came up as hot, meaning fatally poisonous. So, as you can imagine, I was starting to get pretty frustrated.

Everyone seemed to be able to get their hands on that bad dope except for me, at least until one day when I finally got my wish. So, early one morning, I get myself on the street and start doing my thing, putting out feelers and asking the junkies who's holding. Eventually, I get hooked up with the one guy I've been buying from, and we meet in our usual spot to make the exchange. But then, instead of being there on foot or on bike, the delivery guy is in his car, and instead of just giving me the dope and taking the cash, he says something like, get in, we got to go someplace to get it. I'm thinking, okay, this is out of the ordinary, but whatever, and I get in his car and off we go to get the product. We ended up in some trap house, which was to be expected, but what I didn't expect was to be given the bag of dope by someone you might call a lieutenant, that is, someone

who would never regularly involve themselves in direct sales. He didn't just hand me the stuff either. He asked me to sit down in the upstairs bedroom that doubled as their kind of office. Then I was subjected to what I can only describe as a minor interrogation. I didn't get the impression that they were looking for an undercover. It was all minor questions. What's your name? Where are you from? How long you've been in D.C., that kind of stuff. They wanted to know who I'd been buying from, who I thought had the best product,

if I'd never been picked up by the cops. I answered everything as honestly as I could, even the question about being arrested. me and the boys had faked one or two arrests while I'd been working, just to give me a little authenticity, so I brought up those times, figuring that they could corroborate them if they asked the right people. They asked a few more questions,

just seemingly basic stuff, and then after that they gave me the bag and told me to get lost. I asked him straight up if the stuff was safe, and they said, yeah, that it was like a new package, and the old one was off the streets. I didn't take their word for it. And like everything else I bought, the bag went straight to evidence and then on to testing. Testing also takes time, a long time given the backlog of crap the lab has to test.

So we didn't get the results until days, sometimes weeks, after we sent off samples. Usually that kind of time scale worked for us. But on this occasion, it almost got me killed. The next morning was the same start as usually. bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by 7 a.m. out in the streets by 7.30. Everything went as normal, and then come early afternoon, I went to my usual spot outside a liquor store to beg for smokes from people coming out. It was part of a daily effort to establish presence in the area, and part of my routine was harassing the store owner for a free bottle,

or a free pack of smokes, or anything. He never gave me anything, which was fine because I wouldn't be able to take it without catching hell from the higher-ups, but it did big things for my character in terms of establishing that presence and authenticity. Every time I walked into that guy's store, it'd be a case of, you again? What the hell do you want now? And that's if he didn't open straight up with, get the hell out of my store, you crackhead. But that day, the day after the visit with the lieutenant, I walked into a store to have him address me by my street name, and the thing that really grabbed me was how he didn't know my street name. And if he knew my street name, that meant someone had been talking to him about me. But if that was the case, why was I being talked

about? So the store owner calls me by my street name, and right away, my guard is up. When he tells me that someone is looking for me, I'm posturing like I always did, asking who's looking for me in an aggressive way, and adding things like, you tell whoever is looking for me that I'm right here, I ain't hiding. I'm right here. But then, instead of telling me who was looking for me, the store owner told me that someone had called into the store, as in, on a cell phone, and asked for me by my street name. They asked the store owner if he had seen me, and that when or if he did, he was to tell me to call him back, whoever he was. A lot of y'all might think that that's a little too vague to know who was calling,

but you got to understand something. None of my street comments, ever used a phone, and neither did I, or if I did, it was always a payphone. No true street junkie could get their hands on a cell phone and not try and sell it for drug money. So me having one would have been a dead giveaway that I was undercover. No one who knew me on the street would ever ask me to call them back, and if they did, there was no way that they wouldn't have left a number or a street address or something for me to head up. That meant that whoever wanted to talk to me was from the department, in which case it was probably important if it couldn't wait for the next debrief. I found the nearest payphone, fished through my spare change to find enough for the call,

and then placed it directly to our office. I kept in character, used my street name, then the person who picked up passed the phone to the person who tried to contact me, and that's the proverbial crap hit the fan moment. As soon as he picks up the phone, he's like, Jody, you need to get your ass off the street and you need to do it fast. I asked him what the hell he's talking about, and he says these five little words I don't think I'll ever forget. You should be dead already. He told me, and then repeated that I needed to bring my ass in before I got myself killed. It was like a movie or something. I'm asking him to tell me more, and he says something like, there's no time, I'll explain later. Anyway, so we coordinate a pickup point

somewhere discreet that didn't involve me hiding in a goddamn dumpster like he'd only half-jokingly suggested. He shows up, I get in his car, and I'm goddamn furious because doing that completely burned my cover. I didn't see anyone see me get in, but that doesn't matter in undercover work. You always assume someone's watching you. You either go total immersion, or you might as well assume that your cover's been burned, and for me, there's no in-between. So, as I said, the moment I stepped in my co-worker's car, years of work went to crap in the time it took me to buckle up. I told him that he better have a damn good explanation for pulling me out like that. But boy, did he ever.

We didn't know it at the time, but narcotics had a mic in the apartment I'd been questioned the day before, and that's how we learned that the baggy I had been sold contained what we like to call a hot shot, basically drugs that have been tampered with so that instead of getting you high, they kill you. Following the gang assault arrest, the dealers somehow got wind that one of the street junkies was an undercover cop. In other words, they knew I was there. They just didn't know who I was. So, someone had the bright idea to load up a bunch of hot shots and sell them to whatever street junkie they suspected of being the undercover. They must have murdered at least 50 junkies by poisoning before they finally found out it was me, and the way they did it was kind of genius.

They were so effective in murdering their suspected undercovers because no junkie on the planet doesn't shoot up or snort the dope they just bought. So, if I bought the bag, and I was still alive, that was because I hadn't taken the dope I bought from them. And the only reason I wouldn't do that is that I was an undercover cop. The surveillance team heard the dealers put a green light on me with their own ears. They used my cover name and everything. They heard how I must have been an undercover because I clearly hadn't taken the hot shot they'd given me. At the time I was picked up, there must have been like a hundred little hoppers running around with pistols in their waistbands, just hoping to run into me so they could ice me and enjoy the reputation boost

associated with that. And what I'm trying to say is, I should not be alive right now. To outsiders, it seems like the system worked. Surveillance heard my cover name, got in touch with the boss, and then that started the frantic effort to get a hold of me before I ended up with several bullet holes in my face. But the probability of that all happening exactly as it should is like winning the lottery of life. Surveillance didn't know my cover name, so if the dealers hadn't talked the whole thing out and explained exactly why they knew that I was undercover, the call wouldn't get made. If I didn't stop by the store for some reason at that exact time, the call doesn't get heard, and I'm dead within an hour. I could have got shot on my way to the

pickup, shot as I was getting into the car. I've gone over it in my head like a thousand times, and in every scenario I don't make it out alive. But then, somehow, by the grace of God Almighty, I made it out of there. And I'm not a religious person, and I kind of admire people that do have faith, but after some of the crap I've seen, I can't bring myself to share it, no matter how hard I try. And that's why I don't talk about guardian angels, or any of that stuff. And I talk about the lottery. I don't need to believe in angels to appreciate how awesome, literally awesome, it is that circumstance and coincidence aligned and saved my life. I know my angels. I met them. They're my co-workers, and I owe them everything.

Nuggets. It's Taco Bell's new Diablo-Dusted crispy chicken nuggets. Are they mild? If they were mild that have to change the name to Little Rascal Nuggets or minor nuisance nuggets, definitely Diablo. New Diablo Dusted Krispy Chicken Nuggets, a brand new classic. Only at Taco Bell. At participating U.S. Taco Bell locations for a limited time and while supplies last. I have to tell you about the freakiest thing that ever happened to me. I'm really into nature photography, and I even make some cash from it on the side. Last summer, I decided to head out to Zion National Park to get some shots of the local birds. I figured I'd make a weekend of it, so I drove my truck out there with my camper attachment on the bed. I arrived in the late afternoon,

found a nice secluded spot to set up camp, and spent a few hours hiking around and snapping photos until the sun started to go down. After a quick dinner, I decided to call it a night. I climbed into my tent in the back of the truck, placing my keys and other items beside me, and dozed off. Sometime in the middle of the night, nature called, if you know what I mean. I grogly crawled out of the tent and headed a little way away from the campsite to take care of my business. I was still half asleep, and it was pitch black out there in the woods. All of a sudden I heard a stick snap beside me. I whipped my head around toward the sound, and I swear to God I saw the most bone-chilling thing I've ever laid eyes.

on. There, perfectly framed between two trees, was the silhouette of something. It looked vaguely human-shaped, but was way too tall, about seven or eight feet, and it was far too thin to be a normal person. What looked like its arms were freakishly long, longer than I am tall, and I couldn't make out any hair, clothes, or anything, just the black shape of this thing. For a second, I thought I must be seeing things. Maybe it was a weird tree catching the moonlight in a strange. way. But then, as I began to take my gaze off of it, trying to make sense in my head of what I just saw, the silhouette began to move. For the brief moment my eyes had turned away, it slowly and steadily began taking long strides in my direction, as if trying to sneak up on me. I was horrified.

My brain kept trying to rationalize it, a tree, a shadow, my tired eyes playing tricks, but I knew then this thing was moving. My eyes shot back towards it, and at the same time its movement stopped. I wasn't hallucinating anything because it was closer than it was before. Then I heard the sound, this awful, raspy, wheezing sound, like something struggling to breathe and also trying to hide the sound. It was coming from the direction of that silhouette. At this point, I was freaking out inside but trying my best not to show it. For some reason, I did not want this thing to know that I knew it was there, so I turned back around, facing forward. pretending I hadn't seen anything, but I kept watching from the corner of my eye.

About ten seconds later, it began to move again, taking those same, quiet, creeping, deliberate steps towards me. I couldn't take it anymore. I spun around, and the silhouette froze once more. My voice, cracking in terror, I yelled out, I see you! The thing didn't react. It was like someone had pressed the pause button and left it there, but the wheezing breaths continued, louder than before, maybe because it was closer. I was covered in goosebumps, every hair on my body standing on end. I stared at that black silhouette, trying to force my eyes to see more details, to pick up some clue as to what this thing could possibly be.

But there was just the unnerving shape and those awful rasping sounds. I don't even really remember deciding to run. Suddenly my legs were just pumping, tearing through the underbrush back to my campsite in a wild, clumsy, desperate sprint. I practically dove into the cab of my truck, frantically searching for my keys before remembering I'd laid them down in the tent attachment. There was no way in heck I was going back out there. I knew I couldn't reach them through the rear window because the dang thing had been jammed shut since I bought the truck. So I just locked the doors, turned on the engine to blast the radio, flipped on every light I had, and hunkered down to wait

for dawn. I sat there, rigid, clutching my pocket knife, jumping at every nighttime sound I heard outside, until finally, the first rays of sun started to brighten the sky. As soon as it was light enough to see, I bolted from the cab, snatched my keys, and got the heck out of there. I didn't bother lowering my tent attachment, which had to be raised when you used it. I was so rattled after these events. I didn't go camping or on any photography trips in the wild for a full year. I kept thinking about that silhouette lurking in the dark. I've never been so deeply scared in my life. I still don't know what to make of it.

I've heard about skin walkers, wendigows, and other creepy legends out there in the wilderness of the southwest. But I never put much stock in that stuff until that night. Now, I don't know what to believe. All I know is, I came face to face with something out there in those woods, something in Zion National Park, something that didn't move like any human,

or animal I've ever seen. Whatever that pale, gaunt, and deeply unnatural thing was, I'm glad I got away from it. Be careful out there. You never know what you might see in the dark.