Just Creepy: Scary Stories - I BARELY AVOIDED MY END | 5 True Scary REDDIT Stories Will Give You Chills

Episode Date: July 3, 2024

These are 5 True Scary REDDIT Stories Will Give You Chills Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/prodshebi/ ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Hobosam21-C/ Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:08:18 Story 2 00:20:25 Story 3 00:41:27 Story 4 00:50:39 Story 5 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #parkrangerstories #redditstories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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It's full coverage with a matte finish and perfect for any look, whether you're building it up for a full glam moment or targeting correction for a more natural vibe. At only $12, it's great for affordable touch-ups on the go. Get this new must-have concealer at Sephora or at Sepora.com today. I'm a geologist by training, but my heart led me to become a ranger in the southeast United States. The serenity of the wilderness, the whispering pines, and the untouched beauty of nature, it was all I ever wanted. But as time passed, the isolation grew on me. My only company was the occasional visitor and the memories of my college days.

Of course, we all have the typical ranger riffraff, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't make at least a few friends. I'm a bit of an introvert, so a majority of the ranger types I met reminded me a little bit of frat boys. However, I did find some folks I like to hike and fish with, but for the most part, I did my duties and spent a lot of time alone. I worked in the fields for about 20 years in total. One day, about a decade ago, an elderly couple caught my eye. They were not your typical tourists. There was a certain familiarity in their eyes, a kind of longing. They were from out west, visiting the park they had gotten engaged in many moons ago.

They were searching for a particular spot, a fragment of their past encapsulated in a photograph, but age and time had reshaped the landscape. Moved by their story, I offered to help them. We poured over the photographs, their wrinkled hands pointing out landmarks, their voices trembling with anticipation. I escorted them in my vehicle, the silence punctured, by their soft whispers and the crunching of gravel underneath the tires. We hiked the last stretch, the forest echoing with the rustle of leaves underneath our feet.

When I say I escorted them, I mean they followed along in their Toyota forerunner. There was no way I was going to help these city slickers way out into the wilderness, only for them to have no way of getting back. They had boots in a 4x4, enough to tell me they took off-road travel seriously, but I was still pretty cautious about how far I would take them. It was still early in the afternoon, and my duties were finished for the day, so I spent an hour or so bumping around the backside of a basin along the river, as I knew their location had to be near this area.

The rock, the trees, the way the earth dipped away in the photo, this area had all the stuff it needed. It was a dead ringer. Sure is sunrise, I ended up being right. We parked our rigs and hiked down. the short ravine that took us very near the water's edge and right down there in this earthy little pocket looked exactly like what they showed me in the photographs i got down first helped out the wife next and then the husband they were over the moon we found the spot a

picturesque bend along the river bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun i left them there two silhouettes against the dying light a picture of timeless love it's beautiful to me that they made such a trip, not just the miles over the land, but through the very envelope of time itself. They were out here to satisfy their younger devotions of love. I know it all sounds silly, but this was the kind of affection that swayed me to be a ranger, affection for the land, for mankind, for every fleeting moment in between. All that, it's bleeding heart-drivel, but it's how I feel. As I returned to my station, a strange unease gripped me. I couldn't tell you why, but something was just off.

They explained it clear as day. They wanted to share an afternoon in that old area, retake some photos and all that good stuff. For the most part, pretty typical visitor activity. However, the vibe of that old couple just carried a different energy. By the time I got back to my post, I had convinced myself that I had messed up. As a park ranger, you can imagine that's a poor feeling to have, like you failed to do your job. I decided to wait for them to ensure that they would leave safely.

Night fell, and the park was bathed in eerie silence. The other day-trippers trickled out like sand through an hourglass, but as the closing hour approached, all the traffic choked off into nothing, not even a straggler's headlight bumping along in the distance. I called to the other checkstations in the area and got vague reports, but nobody could confirm that the elderly couple had exited, in a Toyota four-runner. The couple hadn't left. I could feel it in my damn bones. Never since

that day have I had such a gut feeling like that, anxiety gnawing at me. I left my assistant at the entrance station and retraced the drive I took back into the canyon. There wasn't a soul, save for a couple of overnight campers that we already knew about, as they had the proper permits and paperwork. I bumped along until I got to the drop-down, and there I saw the forerunner just sitting there in the dark. It was eerie and made me start to sweat. I actually remember my mouth getting oversalivated like my glands were about to go haywire, and I was about to throw up. Fingers shaking beyond belief, I shifted into park and killed the engine but left the headlights on. It was dark out there, and I knew I was going to need all the help I could get finding them. I hiked down to the ravine,

lost my nerve, and just kind of waited there for a minute. Their car was here, so I knew what I was about to find, probably something bad. I called out a few times, hoping maybe I'd be wrong, that they just got a little off course, or maybe couldn't make the short climb back up to the car. Only silence answered me, though, so I manned up and finished the descent down to the shore of the river. The sight that greeted me was as beautiful as it was horrifying. Moonlight helped me out a bit. I could see some form sprawled out in the dirt below a tree, legs pointed toward the water. It looked like I maybe even disturbed them, as if they were just bundled up, cuddling beneath the endless stars overhead.

Hey, Ranger District here, I called out softly. They didn't move. I took a quaking breath and lit the scene up with my flashlight. There they lay, spooning on the riverbank motionless. Their faces were serene, a sense of finality hung in the air. They were both dead, but they didn't look scary or miserable. It was the weirdest thing, coming up on them like. that and having that premonition earlier, like this would be their fate. They clearly weren't

murdered. This was some kind of planned suicide by the look of it. I seriously doubted they both dropped dead of strokes or heart attacks at the exact same time. I called the cops, my mind in a whirlwind of confusion and sorrow. The following hours were a blur of flashlights, hushed conversations, and deep overwhelming sadness. The police disclosed their identities, but little else. It was only later on that I learned the heartbreaking truth of the matter. The wife was terminally ill, her life slowly being claimed by cancer. They had chosen to end their lives together in the place where their journey had begun. That news hit me hard, but I found solace in the thought that they were at peace together

in death as they had been in life. They hadn't asked for help because they didn't want to implicate anyone else. Their final act was a testament to their love, a love so profound that they chose to embrace death at a place etched in their memory under the vast, indifferent sky. Their story, though tragic, touched me deeply and was a stark reminder of the transience of life and the enduring power of love. As I walked the trails of the park, under the towering trees and along the winding river, I'll always remember them, two souls who found their final resting place in the corner of the world that they loved, leaving behind a story that echoes in the silence of that wilderness.

I've spent years working as a ranger in a desert park, growing accustomed to the harsh conditions and eerie silence that comes with patrolling this unforgiving landscape. The park is a remote gem, offering breathtaking views that few other places can match, but it's not for the faint of heart. Temperatures soar during the summer months, and the isolation can be overwhelming.

That's why, during the off-season, we only allow day visitors. It's just too dangerous for anyone to venture in alone, especially when the mercury rises. As a non-peace officer for the Ranger District, my days are usually filled with routine tasks, maintaining trails, monitoring wildlife, and assisting the occasional lost hiker. But one particular summer a few years ago was very different. The heat was oppressive, even for a seasoned ranger like myself. It beat down relentlessly, making every step feel like a little bit.

chore. My colleagues and I were restless, searching for anything to break the monotony. That's when we received the reports. Multiple cars had been spotted entering and exiting the south side of the park, and some visitors claimed to be seeing masked individuals running along the roads. At first, we thought it was just some college kids filming a project or a group of thrill seekers looking for some kind of rush, but as those sightings continued, we couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Our supervisor, a grizzled old ranger named Alan, called a meeting to discuss the situation. We gathered around the map table, sipping coffee and swapping theories. Some thought it might be a group of poachers,

others believed it was just a prank gone wrong. But Alan had a hunch that it was something more sinister. He proposed that we break into patrols and conduct a full survey of the park, covering every trail and road to get to the bottom of this mystery. There were a lot of us that off-season, so we had the manpower to conduct a thorough, top-to-bottom investigation of the park. We couldn't check every little back road, but we covered all the main drags, intersections, parking lots, and campgrounds, the places that would be able to house a lot of traffic, cars, and people.

I was paired with my colleague Rachel, a new ranger with a keen eye for detail, We set out in our truck, armed with water, snacks, and a healthy dose of skepticism. The sun beat down on us as we drove, the radio crackling with static as we ventured deeper into the park. Rachel and I had our own theories. I was convinced it was some kind of poaching scenario. The masks that were reported were just an image in my head. Guys and trucks, tailgates down, ready to load up their kill. As we patrolled, the silence was eerie.

No birds seemed to be chirping, no insects were buzzing, just the hum of our engine and the soft crunch of gravel beneath our tires. We saw no other signs of life, no indication of what we were searching for, just the endless expanse of the desert stretching out like an oven-baked canvas. We stopped at each trailhead, scanning the horizon for any sign of activity. Rachel checked the maps, keeping an eye out for anything that might attract the riffraff. I searched for any sign of recent human activity, footprints, tire tracks, anything that might give us a lead. Between the map and landscape, we were coming up dry. That being said, there were 20 teams looking over the lowlands.

We were only searching one little part. Just because we didn't find anything didn't mean the same for the others. The hours ticked by, the sun climbing higher in the sky. We still found nothing. no signs of life, no signs of trouble, just the desert waiting patiently for us to uncover whatever was going on out there. After a while, though, Rachel and I ran out of things to do. We were looping through the same trailheads, checking the same backways. There wasn't a sign of anything out there. We were starting to get hungry and low on fuel. We decided to buzz back to

base, refuel ourselves in the truck, and then maybe get orders for a different area. As we drove back to the station, the radio crackled alive. Alan's voice came through, his tone very serious. All patrols be advised, we received another report of a masked individual, this time near the old mine shaft, proceed with caution. Rachel and I exchanged a look. This was getting serious. We hit the gas, our truck now speeding towards the mine shaft, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Alan sounded dreadful over the radio, so we really did. didn't know what to expect or what to think as we arrived at the mine shaft. The other rangers were already scouring the area, their trucks parked haphazardly around the entrance. We joined the search, our eyes scanning the dusty terrain for any sign of these masked individuals. There was nothing. No sign of them, no sign of any recent human activity, just the remnants of past visitors,

cigarette butts, spent shell casings, and all kinds of various litter. It was creepy. The mine was this old derelict thing, dropped right into the top of the hillside. There was a wooden frame and a portion of a ladder that fed you straight into darkness, but beyond that, it was just collapsed. There might be little offshoots a person could hide in,

but there was no way we were going down there to look for anybody that didn't need help. Rachel and I exchanged a look, our initial excitement dwindling. Now it seemed our theory about college kids was correct, some artistic project or prank, whatever the kids do. We were about to pack up and head back to the station when Alan called out. Hold up, folks. Let's leave a pair of rangers behind to keep an eye on the place, just for a few hours, just in case. Two rangers volunteered

to stay behind. The rest of us loaded into our trucks and headed back to the main base. As we came around a bend, a voice crackled over the radio. We got a vehicle parked behind some rocks at the dog campground, look suspicious. We were coming down from the steep slope hill that the mine was on. We had a great vantage point of the area on the south side of the park, including a couple of the outlying campgrounds. One of the rear rangers, while looking down off the cliff, just happened to spot a vehicle hiding at one of these campgrounds. Our convoy quickly reoriented, beginning the long, slow descent down the hillside towards that campsite. This area was notorious for a track undesirables, riffraff and troublemakers who thought they could escape the law by venturing

into the park's furthest reaches. The campground was a hotspot for illegal activity. We approached it with caution. It's why we dubbed it the dog campground. There was always something dodgy going on out there. It was usually harmless, but still, you can never be too sure. There were stories of tweakers and all manner of whack jobs squatting on those fringes. As we entered the campsite, our eyes scanned the area, taking in the scattered trash and abandoned

gear. The car was parked behind a cluster of rocks, partially hidden from view. We spread out, our boots crunching on the gravel as we began to investigate. The first thing that we noticed, the car was inoperable. It was white and black, burned out so bad that nothing remained. None of us wanted to approach. Obviously something seriously illegal was going on. Allen immediately called in the local sheriff's department requesting deputies on the scene right away.

Then he sent a pair of us back to the district building so they could lead the lawmen back to the scene of whatever crime that we just discovered. The air was heavy with its ominous silence, the only sound of creaking trees and the distant hum of a fly buzzing around our heads. Rachel and I walked the perimeter, our eyes scanning the ground for any sign of activity. The sun continued to beat down on us, casting long shadows across the dusty terrain. Again, nobody wanted to approach that car, so we just milled around, looking for any other clues. There were more casings, and a big chopping log that had some cuts in it,

as well as some dark staining. We really didn't know what to make of that. Every step just seemed like a slow-motion nightmare, as if we were being watched by unseen eyes. The trees loomed over us, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to snatches, us. I just couldn't shake that feeling that we were walking into some kind of trap, that something or someone was waiting for us just out of sight. As we approached the car, I noticed it was old,

rusted, and covered with a thick layer of dust. The windows were blown out, leaving long, jagged shards like teeth in the frame. I tried the door handle, melted in place. Rachel and I exchanged another look, our instincts screaming at each other that something was off. we began to circle the car, searching for any signs of forced entry or exit. And that's when I saw it, what looked like a head resting in the front seat. I froze in place, just kind of hollered for everyone to freeze. Everyone did, and Alan slowly crept up to my side. My heart began to race as I called out to the others.

We got something here. What is it, man? Quit screaming, Alan instructed me. I pointed down to what I was looking at. Alan peaked over my shoulder and sucked in a breath, then took a few steps back. He could see a little more than I could. Just one more step was all it took. I could see the corpse for what it was. Not just burned to a crisp, but methodically dissected, like a frog on a sixth-grade science lab table.

It was hard to tell what was what, but it looked like someone had chopped the guy apart. We all retreated from the car and tried to calm ourself. down, but at this point we were desperate for the sheriff to arrive. That was at least an hour out. I wish I could say that we got the answers and relief that we desired when the law got there. They taped it off and started taking photos. But when we explained the body and when they saw it, their entire demeanor seemed to change. They dismissed us, said they would reach out if they had any further questions. When we came back to check on the scene the next day, that vehicle was gone, as well as all the trash from the area.

We got the official report a few weeks later. All of us were stunned. The conclusion was suicide. The man had been seatbelted into the vehicle, and then set it on fire. But before that, someone had laid him out and removed his arms and legs with a wood chopping axe, probably the chopping log that we saw with those dark stains on top. So how did he cut his own limbs off? Climb into the car, put a seatbelt on, then lighted on fire.

Allen, the lead for the district, said there was a lot of illegal drug trafficking in the area. It had to be related. No other scenario made sense. It also made sense why the sheriffs weren't too keen to investigate. There wasn't going to be any leads or breakthroughs in a case like this. This was a make-or-break experience for our department that year. A lot of people moved on to different parks, different occupations altogether. Murder at the edge of the world wasn't in the job description.

and a lot of us felt like we were moments away from walking into our own deaths that day. Not me, though. I stuck with the district and still work in that unforgiving desert to this day. I have a lot of cool, weird stories, but this is definitely the darkest thing to ever happen on the job. You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough.

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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 will be a money-making machine? Your style can make you cash. Start selling on Deepop where taste recognizes taste. I thought I had hit the lottery when I met my boyfriend's family. His mother was so nice and welcoming from day one.

She immediately wanted to include me in family traditions. even though I was just a girlfriend back then. My boyfriend's father was a little quiet and a typically manly man, but he was nice enough to everyone. It felt beautiful, and things only got better when my boyfriend proposed. I invited my mother-in-law, along with my mother and sisters, to almost every event that I was having as the bride. She cried when she saw me in my dress at the fitting,

and I can't describe the kind of speech that she made at the wedding. Those were some of the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to me in my entire life. My own mother told me that I was the luckiest girl alive to find such wonderful in-laws, because my paternal grandmother was, I guess, a raging lunatic. In short, she was never our grandma because she hated my mother so much. But as it stood, my future children, if and when I decided to have them, would have both sets of grandparents. So my mother was excited for me.

I should probably give everyone some fake names to make things a little clearer here and keep things relatively anonymous. I'll call my mother-in-law Laura and my husband Ron. You should also understand that we're a Caucasian-American family, and this happened this century. Obviously no one was really religious. My husband's family were Protestant Catholics, but not really churchgoers, and my family only attended church for weddings. Really, in short, there were no special clashes. or really any signs of what would come next.

I can't say that there was any evident flip of the switch because it all happened so gradually. I was the literal frog in a pot of slowly boiling water, as I like to say. Ron and I went on our honeymoon to the Bahamas and had a wonderful time. We talked about nothing and everything at the same time. One thing I made clear is that I was considering graduate school, so I wanted to wait a few years before we started having any children. We had only discussed these things in general terms, but after marriage, you have to set a few

ground rules to really let each other know which direction you're going in. Ron was completely supportive. He said it was a wonderful idea to wait and we could save money for the future, get a better house, etc. Amazing, I thought. When we got back from our trip, we settled into our daily routines as a married couple. I should have noticed at that point what I didn't when we were dating. or you could say that it started at that time,

but I began cooking all the meals, and Ron got sloppier than ever. We only lived together for a year before we were married, and he was never really that sloppy. He liked cooking for me, but in this sort of new normal, he was leaving things around, not washing dishes, telling me when he needed laundry done,

and what I needed to make him for dinner. I know that was a red flag right away, but you don't notice this stuff when you're still riding the high of a wedding and honeymoon. I was working too and researching how and where to apply to graduate school, how much money we would have to spend, and if I could juggle it with my job. By the end of that first week back, I was completely exhausted. On Sunday I was looking forward to sleeping and just sort of rotting in bed all day. Instead, Ron dropped the bomb on me that his parents were coming for lunch, so I needed to get the house ready.

I asked him why he didn't tell me sooner, and he replied that he thought he did, and anyway. This would be our weekly routine now, he said. Excuse me? I asked what he meant by that, and he said that his mother had decided that we needed to have a weekly lunch or dinner because she didn't want us to lose touch with daily life. I told him I would have been fine with that

if only he had discussed it with me earlier, and I'm tired from that crazy week previously. Ron said that if I didn't want to do it, I should be the one to call his mother and tell her. I was so angry, and honestly, I loved Laura so much that I wouldn't dare do such a thing. I got up from bed and told Ron that if we were working so hard on a Sunday, he had to help, and he agreed.

Laura and her husband, whom we'll call Anthony, arrived after I spent the entire morning making a nice lunch. And what did Ron do? He mowed the lawn. I guess that was something. But anyway, we sat down to lunch. Laura wanted to know all about our honeymoon, and we laughed, telling her story.

and such. After lunch, Ron and his father went to the back patio to drink and talk. I didn't like that because it left me with all the dishes. Luckily, I had Laura, who volunteered to help, and I thanked her gladly. I felt comfortable enough to talk to her about the few things that I was currently dealing with. I told her that her son was becoming sloppier than he'd ever been, and she just sort of laughed and said something along the lines of, that always happens to men when they get married. I asked her what she did to change that, and she looked at me funny. She didn't understand why I wanted to change that. She told me I simply had to follow along because I was married,

and becoming a wife meant taking care of my husband. I laughed. I honestly and truly thought that she was kidding in that moment, and there was no way this amazing woman was telling me something so 1950s. She had to be joking. When I looked at her again, she wasn't laughing with me. Laura was staring me dead in the face, and I kind of lost my breath for a second from how creepy it was. I'm not kidding, she said, and showed only a little annoyance as she continued.

She said it was her job for years to take care of her husband, and she also asked if I was looking down on her. I immediately shook my head. I couldn't believe that she would interpret my laughter that way, but I also explained that I was working just as hard as him, and that we should be sharing the how to be sharing the household responsibilities and everything that entails. Laura grabbed my arm and squeezed a little too hard for comfort, but not enough for me to complain in the moment. And she says, this marriage, and when you have kids, it'll be harder, and you have to prepare for that.

I want my grandkids to grow up in a good home. I tried to loosen her fingers and said that was fine, but Ron and I had discussed kids and we wouldn't be having them any time soon. The arm squeezing got painful this time. She asked what I was talking about, and I told her that Ron and I had agreed to wait because I was going to grad school. Finally, she let my arm go and threw the dishplate that she had been helping me dry onto the sink. I actually jumped at the noise. She told me I couldn't wait to have children. I was getting too old, I guess. Twenty-eight is old, and I needed to start having children immediately, or they would come out, and I won't write this. But she used the R-word and and other not-so-nice terms. Then she went into a lecture about women prioritizing the wrong things.

According to her, a career wasn't important for a woman. What mattered was family only. Besides, I already had a college degree and a good job. Why would I need anything else? I had accomplished everything, and it was time to focus on the future. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't being persuaded by this very antiquated rant, but I was in such shock that she would say these kinds of things to me. One reason I mentioned our country, race, and religion, and more, is that I understand people in other places still have these sorts of expectations in their society, but not in modern America, I thought. Not the one I grew up in, or the one I thought I was marrying into. Yet I was so stunned that I just sort of took it. When Laura finished her rant,

she went to grab the dishplate again, but I lowered my voice to something very soothing and asked her to sit down. I served her some tea and got back to work to finish the dishes. When I picked up her empty cup, she gently took my arm again and said, Don't tell Ron any of this. These are wife worries. He doesn't need to know. Screw that, I thought. I sat Ron down that night as soon as his parents left, which took way longer than I expected, and lunch almost turned into a nightmare. I was worried about having to make them dinner, but I also told my husband that I wasn't going to put up with any of this attitude, and I didn't sign up to be a housewife. I was going to advance my

career, and he was going to be my partner, not a child that I had to take care of. If he couldn't do that, I thought that we might have to get divorced, and he panicked, and he apologized, and said that he hadn't noticed what he was doing, and he was sorry. Well, good, I thought, but I needed more than just apologies. I wanted a real change in him. And this did work. Following that conversation, Ron went back to being the partner that he had been before marriage. The problem was, of course, Laura, my mother-in-law, whom I really couldn't talk to like I did with my husband. I agreed to Sunday lunch every week just to keep the peace, but Laura began to show up more often. It was always after I had arrived from work on the first surprise visit.

She knocked, and I opened and let her in. Not so gladly, but what could I really do? She came to show me something under the guise of welcoming me more into the family. It was a cookbook, a copy of the one all the women in their family had at home. It was very nice, but she made me cook one of the recipes that night, and she stayed, and she didn't help at all. Laura said that I had to learn on my own because she wouldn't be there forever. Ron arrived, and we sat down, and she left without helping to clean up.

Another day, she showed up with my father-in-law's shirts to teach me how to sew buttons. Another time, her lesson was a special way to do laundry that left things softer and better. And I was kind of losing my patience with her. I told Ron, and he said he would have a talk with her. Later she wanted me to come over, and at first it was different because she was buttering me up. She fed me cookies and showed me old photo albums of Ron as a child. I knew this was a sort of persuade me to have kids type of day, and I just sort of nodded and smiled. But one night was terrible for me.

I don't remember if I had a bad day at work, or if I was just feeling awful. But when I saw that Laura was waiting for me, I just knew that something would happen. I tried to hold it in and led her inside the house, listening to her happy chatter about some friend of hers who had just become a grandma. She looked at my house and told me that I needed to start vacuuming more often, because it was getting too dusty, and I said that I would soon. She started making sniffing noises and said that I needed to do more cleaning too, because the house smelled musty. I stepped into the kitchen for some water, and she followed.

There were honestly like two dishes in the sink that I hadn't cleaned that morning because I was running a little late, and Laura started clicking her tongue and shaking her head. She said something like, Dear, it's your responsibility to keep the house in shape. I'm coming here more often. I need to train you. And that was it. I spit out the gulp of water that I had just taken, and coughed for a while before I could start speaking, or really shouting, but I did. And I told her there was no training me. I wasn't a dog. I wasn't a maid.

Two dishes and a little dust doesn't matter. And her son didn't marry me to get live-in help that he could sleep with. I admit that I was very rude and kind of hysterical. And to be honest, I expected a little push back. Laura should have gotten just as crazy with me, and I thought that she would scold me for raising my voice and go into another 1950s rant. But she didn't.

I saw her face become completely stoic, and her mouth was tightly shut, and her nostrils were flaring only a little. Then she left the kitchen and got out of my house. I would have followed and apologized, but I was too tired. I was sure that I would see her, later, obviously, and we could just have that conversation. I considered that Ron probably never spoke to her about our agreement. Perhaps Laura would call him crying about the way that I spoke to her.

I look forward to that, to this open communication, you know. But my husband got home, kissed me, and we went about our night as normal as ever. He was tired, but he helped me with the dishes, was affectionate, and we went to bed on great terms. All right, I think. thought. Laura wanted to keep these things between us, and maybe that's why she had asked me not to tell Ron about these wife worries. But the next morning, I decided to apologize when she came over, and we could sit down and talk. Laura didn't come, and she didn't answer any of my calls. I asked Ron if everything was all right with her, and he said that he talked to her, and everything seemed fine. I gave her a few days before I decided to go to her house. My father-in-law answered

the door and said Laura wasn't feeling too well, so I left. And then, I have to admit that I didn't try harder. I got busier at work and with the upcoming deadline for grad school. Ron and I were happy at home, so Laura kind of just slipped into the back of my mind. Also, my boss was supervising everything I did more than usual for some reason. Months passed, and things were a little sad for me because none of the schools that I had applied to accepted me, and I was pretty bummed out. Around that time Ron got busy at work too, life, you know, and before I knew it, it was now Thanksgiving, and we were going to Laura's house. She was hosting the extended family, and I hadn't seen most of them since the wedding. And so, to be nice and a little kiss-ass,

I cooked an apple pie from the recipe book that Laura gave me. I brought it in, and she wrinkled her nose and said something snarky, like she didn't think that I wanted to be a maid and a cook. I let it go because she obviously was still angry at me. The issue later was that almost everyone at the party avoided me. At first I thought that I was just imagining things, but people stealthily left rooms whenever I was around. A few conversations stopped when I stepped out of the kitchen onto the back porch. Throughout the evening, Ron didn't even notice, but I was getting more concerned. After dinner, while everyone was still outside, I managed to corner Laura in the kitchen. I apologized for yelling at her and went through my list of excuses and justifications,

and I blame myself entirely just to get on her good side. Laura put down a tray of empty drinking glasses on her kitchen counter and turned to me, and she started thanking me for the apology, but it was too late. I had shown her that I wasn't good enough for her son, but she was going to make sure that I changed that soon, she said. I asked her what she was talking about. Laura crossed her arms and insisted that I would be arranging my attitude soon. Laura was never a scary person, but the way she looked at me, she wasn't the woman who had cried at seeing my wedding dress. I held my ground, though. I said that I wasn't going to change, and what's more, Ron loved me the way I was.

She smiled and chuckled, all very condescendingly. Laura said that he didn't love me fully right now because he needed a real wife, just like his mother. I had a chance to become that type of wife with her help, but I had squandered it, which gave her no other choice but to intervene. What? Intervene how? And Laura came out with the entire truth. She said that she had called all my schools because my husband told her which ones I had applied to, and made sure to speak very badly about me. She also found out my boss was married to her aunt's friend, called him too. She said soon I won't have school or work, so you only will focus on Ron.

That's your purpose. And I really couldn't believe it. Our thing happened months ago, and never in my wildest dreams would I have suspected anything like this. I asked her why she was telling me, because I could easily expose her wrongdoings to the family. and she laughed at me again, the sort of little huff sound, and asked who would believe me. And I knew this was the reason people were avoiding me that day. She had said something to turn the family against me, and they were only being polite for Ron's sake. Except it was obviously more than that, as she smugly started telling me. Laura told everyone that I was alienating her

from her son. She told me that Ron barely visited her because I didn't allow it, and that I wanted to make him have a vasectomy so we would never have kids. It was insane. It was diabolical, really, and nothing like the woman I had known. I think Laura had been waiting to tell me her plans, like a villain in a movie who details his entire plot right before killing the hero, because she just sighed happily after she was done. It was insane, though. I was barely breathing, thinking what would be her final blow, and would I even survive all of this. But I guess I did. But Ron and I didn't.

As soon as we got home, I just broke down. I was sobbing and snot was coming out of my nose in a disgusting display. And after a while, I realized that Ron wasn't very comforting to me. He had sat on our couch and crossed his arms and he looked so much like Laura, and his next words were an echo of what she said, and I didn't want to hear it, but I did. Ron told me that I should have listened to his mother, and he thought that I'd be a great housewife just like her, and that it was my duty to become what I was meant to be,

and that meant that he had wanted all of this, although he hadn't said a thing and had supported me before. When he was done, practically scolding me, I asked why he had taken my side the times that I had talked to him, and Ron thought that I would come around to what really mattered, he said. Also, he hoped that getting me pregnant might help, but he shut up and just stood. I don't think he meant to tell me that part, though.

But he did, and I don't know precisely what he was doing about my birth control, but I believed him capable of anything at this point. Either way, I knew things at that moment were over, but I had one final question for him. Did you and Laura plan for all of this together? And Ron didn't answer, but he got that same stoic look, just like his mother's. I can't describe it very well, but his silence just made me violent. I lunged at him, slapped him as hard as I could. Now I know I was wrong.

I know I shouldn't have laid hands on him, but I told him to get that look off of his face immediately. I was repeating myself, but I told him more like screamed at him in no uncertain terms, that I was not some perfect housewife to be bullied around, and that's not what we had planned. And out of nowhere, a slap came back at me. Logically, I knew it was payback because I had done it first,

but the pain that radiated from my cheekbone all the way down to my toes was nothing like I had ever felt before. I wanted to fall back down on my butt and sob some more, but the look of hatred in Ron's eyes stopped me in my place. I wondered if he would hit me more, but he shook his head and just left for the night. I don't know whether I had been stupid not to leave earlier, as soon as his mother started acting weird, but I wasn't going to be an idiot any longer. I came from a family full of strong women who would tell me, me to walk away, but it was just so bittersweet. The entire last year of my life, the dream wedding, honeymoon, and family that I had started to make was over. I packed my bags and was

ready to go in less than an hour. Ron returned as I was readying my car, and I braced for something, but we only stared at each other before he gave me a parting shot saying, you'll never find anyone like me. And of course he was right. I found someone even better. As time went on, Ironically, I am a stay-at-home mom, but I have a real partner who wants me to be a real parent and husband once he gets off of work. I did go to graduate Dell, and I hope to get back to my career once the kids are older. Oh, and I quit that job almost immediately, and I am sad to report that I do believe Ron and Laura found themselves a little Cinderella to exploit. But to make a long story short, they're not my circus, not my monkeys anymore. life drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly big board buck slot machine

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This story happened in the early 2000s at my grandparents' place in Ohio. It was early summer, July. Every summer my sister Emily and I spent two weeks at our grandparents' old farmhouse, nestled deep in the woods. It was a cherished tradition, filled with laughter, games, and the comforting scent of grandma's homemade pies. The sprawling fields and dense forest were our playground, a stark contrast to our suburban life. This was where our fondest childhood memories were made. The days were idyllic. We'd help grandpa tend to the cows, milking them in the early morning mist.

and feeding the chickens as the sun rose. Grandma's garden was a colorful patchwork of flowers and vegetables, and we spent hours weeding, watering, and picking the ripest produce for dinner. The evenings were spent around a bonfire, roasting marshmallows, and listening to Grandpa's stories about the old days. We would fall asleep to the sound of crickets, feeling safe and loved. But as we grew older, subtle oddities began to surface. The first time we noticed something strange was during the summer when I was 14 and Emily was 10.

It started with sounds, soft rustling outside our room at night. At first we dismissed it as the creaking of an old house or the natural sounds of the woods, but as the nights wore on, the noises became impossible to ignore. One evening, after an especially joyful day spent playing hide-and-seek in the forest, Emily and I lay in bed, whispering about the curious sounds. Do you think it's just the house settling? Emily asked, her voice trembling slightly. I don't know, I replied, trying to sound braver than I felt.

Maybe it's just the wind. But deep down we both knew something wasn't right. The next night, as the house grew quiet and the familiar rustling began, we heard something new, hurried footsteps echoing through the halls. At first they seemed to stop outside our room, but soon they traveled throughout the entire house. We clung to each other, our hearts pounding. The sound was too deliberate, too human to be the wind or settling wood. One night, the footsteps grew louder, sounding almost like someone was sprinting through the house.

Terrified but curious, Emily and I decided to investigate. We crept out of our room, the floorboards creaking under our weight. As we moved down the hallway, the sounds grew more intense. echoing off the walls. Maybe we should ask grandma and grandpa, Emily whispered, clutching my arm. They'll know what's going on. We hesitated outside our grandparents' bedroom door, the footsteps seeming to come from all around us.

Gathering my courage, I knocked softly. There was no response. I turned the doorknob slowly, pushing the door open a crack. Suddenly, a voice behind us made us jump. What are you two doing up so late? Grandpa's voice was gentle, but it startled us. We spun around to see our grandparents standing behind us in the dim hallway. Their faces were shadowed, making their expressions hard to read.

We heard noises, I stammered. It sounded like someone running through the house. Grandma smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. You shouldn't worry about that. It's just the house settling. You two should be asleep. They ushered us back to our room, their presence both comforting and unsettling.

As they tucked us in, we tried to shake off the fear, but the look in their eyes lingered in my mind. The next morning everything seemed normal again. Our grandparents were their usual loving selves, but Emily and I couldn't forget the events of the night before. Determined to uncover the truth, we decided to stay up late again and see if we could figure out what was causing the noises.

That night, Emily and I crept into our grandkids, grandparents' room while they were still in the garden. We hid in their cupboard, leaving the door open just a crack to peek out. We waited, hearts pounding in our chests, as night fell and the house grew silent. The footsteps started again, the sound of hurried, almost frantic movements through the house. Then, with an unnerving suddenness, our grandparents stood up from their bed and sprinted out of the room. Their movements were so rapid and unnatural that Emily and I could hardly believe our eyes. We sat in the cupboard, barely daring to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, they returned to the room, their faces blank and expressionless. They moved around the room with eerie speed, and then, to our horror, Grandma stopped directly in front of the cupboard. She bent down, peeking through the small gap in the door, her eyes locking onto ours. She began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle, but soon grew louder, more manic, and it went on for hours.

hours. Her eyes never left the small opening where we hid. She didn't move, didn't blink, just laughed that terrible, endless laugh. We were paralyzed with fear, unable to move or make a sound. As dawn broke, Grandma suddenly stopped laughing. She straightened up and walked to the kitchen as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, we heard her calling us down for breakfast. Kids, come on down. Pancakes are ready. Emily and I stumbled out of the cupboard. Our numb from crouching all night. We glanced at each other, fear etched into our faces. How could she act so normal after what we had just witnessed? The day after our chilling encounter with grandma's laughter, Emily and I were on edge. The events of the previous night played over and over in our

minds, determined to find answers. We decided to search their room while they were in the garden. We scoured every inch until Emily found something strange. A slight draft, coming from behind the cupboard. We pushed it aside, revealing a hidden door. Our hearts raced as we opened it and saw a dark staircase leading down to an underground room. That night, the house was eerily quiet. The usual sounds of hurried footsteps and rustling were absent. It was as if the house was holding its breath. Emily and I crept out of our room, drawn to the unsettling silence. We tiptoed to our grandparents' room, finding the cupboard moved to the side and the secret door ajar. We descended the narrow staircase, our steps slow and deliberate.

The air grew colder with each step, and a faint, acrid smell filled our nostrils. At the bottom, we found ourselves in a dimly lit room, candles flickering on the walls, casting eerie shadows. In the center of the room, our grandparents were performing a grotesque ritual. They were making cuts on each other's arms with rusty knives, then licking the blood off each other's wounds. The sight was horrifying. We stood frozen in the doorway, unable to comprehend what we were seeing. Suddenly, our grandparents stopped and turned their heads towards us, their eyes locking onto ours.

The shock and confusion on their faces quickly shifted to an unsettling calmness. I quickly closed the door and locked it with a rusty key hanging on the wall. Kids, Grandpa said in a voice that sent chills down my spine. It's just us, your grandparents. You should be asleep. Run, I whispered to Emily, and we sprinted up the stairs and through the house. We could hear rapid footsteps behind us, but we didn't dare look back. We burst out of the front door and kept running until we reached the edge of the property.

When we finally turned around, we saw our grandparents standing in the doorway, waving their hands in a grotesque parody of a cheerful goodbye. We didn't stop running until we reached the nearest bus stop. Emily was in tears, and I did my best to comfort her. It's going to be okay, I whispered, even though I wasn't sure I believed it myself. When the bus finally arrived, I let her fall asleep in my arms while I stayed awake, watching the road, my mind racing with unanswered questions. 20 years have passed since that terrifying summer.

Emily, who was only 10 at the time, has struggled with trauma ever since. She refuses to speak about it and avoids any contact with our grandparents. As for me, I meet them occasionally, but only in broad daylight, and never at their house. The fear and confusion from that night still linger, and I often wonder what dark secrets our grandparents were hiding. Sometimes I lie awake at night. replaying the events in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. But no matter how much time passes, one thing remains clear. That summer changed everything.

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order with confidence and get double blooms at 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. That's 1,800 flowers.com slash Spotify. If you're local, I'm sure you've noticed the old yellow gas station has been closed for a long while. They say it was because of low

revenue and vandalism, but that's a lie. I was there the last night it was open. I know what happened. I know why the doors are chained shut. If you have driven the mountain loop highway, then without a doubt you've seen the run-down little station on the corner of 20 and 530. And if you stopped by on a weekday between 5 o'clock and midnight, you would have been served by either myself or Iris.

I was 16 at the time. Technically, I couldn't work the hours that I was, but the owners were pretty relaxed when it came to certain things. Iris was two years older, and in my teenage, opinion, simply beautiful. She stood equal to my five-foot-eight, had long, dark brown hair that she kept in a ponytail while working, and the most mesmerizing blue eyes imaginable. It was the winter season. The pass over the mountain was closed due to snow. This meant we went from being nearly overrun by customers to seeing one or two people an hour. The later hours were even slower.

Sometimes we would go the entire shift only getting a single customer. During these times, I would wander around bored out of my mind or watch movies that I had downloaded at home. There was no cell service or Wi-Fi, so scrolling social media wasn't an option. Iris preferred to lean back in her chair behind the register and read books. I would try and make conversation occasionally, but it would always die quickly. The night of the incident was like all the rest. the sun had set depressingly early. We hadn't seen a soul in hours.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket out of habit, realizing there still wasn't any service I put it away. What time is it? I nearly jumped at the sound of her voice. What? I asked in confusion. She took her feet off the register and placed her book on it instead, raising an eyebrow she repeated, What time is it?

Oh, it's... I had to pull my phone. out again. It's 9.45. She sighed. We still got another two hours until closing. I just nodded, dumbly. An awkward silence hung in the air for a minute. Iris picked up her book and continued reading. Feeling the moment slipping away, I blurted out, hey, you want to do something? Like what? she asked without looking up from her book. I don't know. Something to help pass the time. as in, I just shrugged. She sighed and put her book down.

Listen, Clyde, we're paid to keep an eye on things and help people buy stuff, not to goof off or socialize. Her rebuke stung a bit, and it must have shown somewhat because she quickly followed with, Tell you what, go take the trash out and I'll check once again if the bathrooms are clean. Then we can inventory the beer cave together. I hated taking out the trash, but if it meant we could do something together afterwards, it was worth it. Carrying the large black bag over my shoulder,

I used my free hand to fumble with the bolt on the rear door. The door knob never properly latched, so the owners had installed a large gate-style locking bolt. It usually required two hands, one to pull the door closer, and the other to rotate, then slide the bolt back. Finally working it free, I pushed the heavy metal door open. in front of me stretched a gravel driveway that led to the highway at the end of the driveway was a worn green dumpster. Iris hated taking the trash out for the same reason I did.

At night there was a single light above the door. The rest of the walk was in near blackness. One night I had stupidly bragged about how I didn't mind taking the trash out, how I kind of liked the fresh air. From then on, Iris had let me take it out every night. Willing myself forward, I walked out into the all-absorbing darkness. I felt eyes on me. Despite knowing it was just my imagination, I couldn't hold back a shiver. I lifted the dumpster lid and swung the bag inside.

The lid slammed shut, echoing through the night. I almost didn't notice the rustling bushes just off the path. I froze. The sound grew closer. I nearly screamed as a figure stood from the blackberry bushes, leaves and twigs sticking out of their hair and clothes they took a step closer. I let out the breath I was holding. I knew that face. Geez, Iris, you nearly scared me to death. Why are you in the bushes? She stared at me without

blinking. Her eyes were completely void of emotion. She slowly opened her mouth. To death, she whispered in a voice that was not her own. Instinctively, I took a step back. She matched it with a step forward. Iris? She took another step closer. I read. She whispered, despite her mouth being open too wide to be whispering anything. Fear coursed through my veins. Her enunciation was wrong. But even worse, it wasn't her voice. It was mine.

My legs were beginning to shake. There was something wrong with her. Not only was it the way she sounded that freaked me out, but she looked incorrect. The color of her hair and skin was just a little off. Her dimensions weren't quite right. It hadn't been enough to notice at first, but the more. the more I looked, the more off she felt. She spoke again, drawing closer with each word,

Iris, to death, Iris, why to death, Iris. The words were flat and emotionless. Each time she spoke, she sounded more and more like me. A car happened to drive down the highway. Her right eye jerked to the side, watching it pass as her left stayed focused on me. I snapped. I turned tail and sprinted for the building.

Bursting through the back door, I slammed it shut behind myself and barred it. I slid to the floor with my back planted firmly against the door. I waited for something to happen, but the only sound was my ragged breath. Regaining my composure, I started to doubt what I had just seen. I don't know how she did it, but Iris had pulled one hell of a prank. I started to get pissed off. She had made a total fool of me. I could just imagine her out there doubled over in laughter. She probably even had a camera set up. I stood up ready to throw open the door and give her a piece of my mind when I heard her in the main room. About time you finished, what we're doing out there this whole time, she asked.

Confused, I stood up. She couldn't see me in the back room. How did she know I was back inside? She spoke again. Are you going to come in or just stand outside? It was then that I heard my voice come from the room she was in. Iris. Stand outside Iris. Are you okay, Clyde? She asked. with obvious concern. I heard her walk towards the front door. The voice that sounded like me encouraged her, come outside Iris. The inflection was still wrong, but it sounded so much like me. Realizing what was happening, I ran out of the back room. Iris, wait, I yelled. She jumped in surprise, spinning around. She looked at me in confusion. Then back to the empty front door.

How did you? She trailed off. There's something outside. I don't know what it is, but there's something out there. She looked quite annoyed with me. Clydwork isn't the place for pranks. You got me. Now stop goofing off before we get in trouble. I glared right back. Listen, Iris.

I'm not doing anything. And unless you were crawling around in the bushes a few minutes ago, there's someone out there messing with both of us. She didn't look entirely convinced, but apologized anyways. Sorry, I just assumed since it sounded and looked like you that you were behind it. You saw it? I asked. Yeah, well, you know as best as I could.

These windows are so old they distort everything. We agreed to hang out together. So long as we could see each other, nobody could pull any more pranks. I was actually starting to enjoy the evening. For the first time Iris and I were having actual conversations. I leaned she was paying her way through community college and was an only child. I told her about myself and my plans for after I graduated. We talked about dream vacations and what?

plans we had for next summer. It wasn't long before we had both forgotten about the night's previous incidents. Iris stood. I got to use the bathroom. I'll be right back. While she was gone, I went over to the soft drink fountain and filled up a cup. Iris walked behind the register, picking up her book she began to read. You want something? I asked, holding up my cup. Before she could reply, something metallic clattered in the back room. Iris jumped to her feet. We both looked at the door marked employees only with apprehension. Stay here, she commanded. Before I could protest, Iris ran through the door into the dark room.

A panicked cry came from the dark. Clyde, just as I was about to rush through the doorway, a toilet flushed. I froze. Behind me, the bathroom door opened and Iris walked out. I felt sick. In the darkness of the back room, I could make out a figure standing just a few feet away. Iris noticed something was up. What's wrong, Clyde? I didn't take my eyes off the figure in front of me.

There's someone in the back room. She ran up to me. What? She demanded. Who? Looking through the doorway, she gasped. You better leave. We're calling the cops, she yelled.

The figure stepped farther into the dark, disappearing from sight. To death, Iris, came my voice, followed by Iris's voice. Come here, Clyde. There was a pounding of footsteps as the face. figure charged us. I slammed the door shut just in time. An inhuman scream rang out as the creature slammed into the door. Iris and I held it closed as the door was assaulted over and over again. We didn't relax until we heard the back door slam shut. What the hell was that? Iris asked. I didn't know what to say. This was too much. Iris jumped

to her feet. I'm calling the police. I don't care who or what is out there. It just tried to attack us. I nodded. Yeah, that's a good idea. Iris went to the payphone behind the counter. She punched in 9-1-1, then held the phone to her ear. She hung up and tried again. Damn it, she muttered, trying a third time, without luck, she slammed the phone back into the receiver. Clenching her fists, Iris groaned in frustration, the phone's dead clied. I felt a knot form in my stomach. This wasn't uncommon. The phone was just as often broken. as it was working, but it was really bad timing. Now what? I asked stupidly.

Iris threw her hands up. How should I know Clyde? This isn't exactly in the employee handbook. She slumped down in defeat. Hey, Iris? Yes, Clyde? We don't have an employee handbook. A small smirk played across her lips.

I know we don't smart ass. With the mood successfully lifted, we went back to our original plan. We would stick together until sunrise. Then we would drive to town and report what happened. That was until a tattered soft-top fox-body Mustang pulled up to the pump. Oh, crap, muttered Iris. We both cautiously peeked out the window. Do you think they're part of the prank? I asked.

Iris bitter-lipped nervously. I don't know. I'm not even sure it is a prank. An old man slowly climbed out of the car. He was balding and wore thin-rimmed glasses. He reminded me of a short, I was a portly teacher I had in middle school. The man fumbled with his wallet completely unaware of us.

After swiping his card, the man stiffened. He looked over his shoulder at something we couldn't see. Iris' doppelganger came striding into the light. Behind me, the real Iris let out a soft gasp. I was frozen in place. I stood there as that thing approached the man. Suddenly, the doppelganger jumped impossibly high and landed on the man's shoulders. He collapsed to the ground under its weight.

rushed from behind me to the automatic doors. Her movement snapped me out of my days and I chased after her. With the opening of the doors we could hear the man yelling out in pain. The doppelganger had long black fingernails that it was using to try and gouge out the man's eyes. Before we had even made it out the door, the second doppelganger rushed from the dark. It still looked like me, but more battered and dirty. It held a large rock above its head as it ran towards the man. Raising the rock higher, it brought it down on the man's skull. Iris turned and blocked my view, but I still heard the crunch. It sounded like a watermelon landing on a sidewalk from a great height. Iris shoved me back inside. Once the doors closed, she locked them. I chanced a peek outside.

The car stood abandoned in the yellow light. All that remained of its owner was a thick red puddle leading into the dark surrounding bushes. Iris looked at me with tear-filled eyes. Clyde, I don't know if we're getting out of here. I didn't know what to say. We just watched someone die. My thoughts were a mess. I hugged her. We stood there holding each other scared to death.

Iris angrily wiped her tears. Come on, Clyde, we need to lock this place down. We pulled down the security gate and locked it in place, hopefully, sealing off the front door. Not that it would do much good if something really wanted to get in. The windows on either side of the door. of the door were plenty big enough for someone to crawl through. The back door was locked, but for good measure, we pushed the baked goods display in front of it. We both froze at the sounds of footsteps above us. Iris covered her mouth to hold in a gasp. They're on the roof,

she whispered shouted. We both looked to access hatch that led to the roof. It was locked, but how sturdy was it? My heart lurched and a scream slipped out of me. At the front window was my face, blackened and grinning with its eyes open far too wide. No, it wasn't black. From the nose down the face was stained with blood. It had been feasting. Iris jumped when I screamed, seeing the face she turned me and pulled me into a hug. Rapping her arms around my head, she pulled it against her chest, blocking out my view of the thing outside. Just don't look at it, she whispered. Don't acknowledge its existence. That didn't last. The creature wearing my image started tapping the glass. At first lightly, but with each tap the force increased. Soon the old glass pane was flexing under the force.

I looked up at Iris. I saw in her eyes that she knew as well as I that the glass wouldn't hold. The second creature dropped from above to join the first. Cracks began to appear. I was frozen in place, but Iris sprang into action. She managed to move the display blocking the rear exit all by herself. The window shattered. The creatures stood there seemingly surprised by the sudden destruction. Iris came from the supply closet. In her hand was the broom we used to sweep the floors at the end of the shift.

She snapped the head off, leaving a sharp point. Iris had a look to her. It was as if time itself slowed in respect. She took my numb hand and put her car key. in it. She shoved me towards the back door. I stumbled into the back room. I looked over my shoulder to see her charging across the store. Improvised spear held out in front of her. The creatures were coming through the window, their faces twisted with hatred and hunger in their eyes. I made it out the back door. I made it to her car. I made it home that night. As soon as I had service, I called

911. I bawled my eyes out as I tried to tell the operator what happened. They heard. enough. Someone had died at the gas station and someone else was in danger. The next morning the police came to my door. They cuffed me and drug me out of the house. I spent hours getting brutally interrogated. Finally I was able to go. From what I picked up, the officers arrived to the scene. The body of the Mustang owner was mostly consumed and laying next to the store. Inside there was bloodied hand and footprints everywhere. Iris was nowhere to be found. If it wasn't for the fact that there was no DNA evidence pointing towards me, I would probably have taken the blame. We moved within a week, despite the charges being dropped within a 48 hours the court of public

opinion had determined I was guilty of murder, and probably worse when it came to Iris. It's been seven years now since they closed that station. I drove past it yesterday. I had to take that route for my job. The windows are boarded up and the blackberries have taken over half the building, but it didn't feel empty as I drove past. Thank you, Iris. You were braver than I could ever hope to be. I hope you can see what I did with my life and are proud. I miss you. I'll be taking the long way home. The extra four hours of driving is worth not having to go past that station again. Have no fear. Chosen Foods is here to defend your favorite foods from the forces of seedy oils and sketchy ingredients. With cooking oils, salad dressings, and mayo all powered by the good fats

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