Just Creepy: Scary Stories - TRUE Scary Stories Told In The Rain | Terrifying Reddit Horror Stories For A Rainy Night

Episode Date: September 1, 2023

These are 7 (Allegedly) TRUE Scary Stories Told In The Rain | Terrifying Reddit Horror Stories For A Rainy Night Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy These are 7 (Allegedly) TRUE Scary Stories Told In The Rain | Terrifying Reddit Horror Stories For A Rainy Night Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy 💀Do you like Scary Stories? 💀 ► Check out the latest JUST CREEPY gear: https://just-creepy-merchandise.creator-spring.com/ Subscribe Today! ► https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClZEjVu7hZL7FfERd60azTw?sub_confirmation=1 You can submit your own story to my Website, email, or subreddit: ►https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►[e-mail] ►https://www.reddit.com/r/justcreepystories/ Paypal Donation: Any amount is appreciated :) ►https://www.paypal.me/justcreepy Support the Podcast: 😁 Itunes► https://tinyurl.com/5bprz7b4 Spotify► https://tinyurl.com/39r3866w Join this channel to get access to perks: ►https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClZEjVu7hZL7FfERd60azTw/join Support me on Patreon: ►https://www.patreon.com/justcreepy Follow me here: ►Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/justcreepydc ►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Its_Just_Creepy ►Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/its_just_creepy/?hl=en ►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/justcreepy/ Story Credits: ►https://www.reddit.com/user/RaffaRay/ ►Tyler W ►https://www.reddit.com/user/Happycreamcheese/►https://www.reddit.com/user/edumbyy/►https://www.reddit.com/user/krissi510/►https://www.reddit.com/user/Dry_Establishment434/ ►Jamie R Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:09:53 Story 2 00:28:40 Story 3 00:32:27 Story 4 00:35:27 Story 5 00:39:36 Story 6 00:42:16 Story 7 #scarystories #redditstories #horrorstories #truescarystory Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

to your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs.

Execution style killing it's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. MIA. Streaming now. Only on Peacock. Stitch Fix.

Stop Shopping. A plus on the outfit, Ms. Turner. You were about to slay parent-teacher conferences. Oh, these? Just the most perfect fitting jeans my stylist sent me. Oh, hello, you, who didn't set one foot in a mall and still looks amazing? Just share your size, style, and budget, and your stylist sends personalized looks right to your door. Stitchfix. Get started today at stitchfix.com. To my stylist. This look is dedicated to you. Thank you. Thank you.

I need help, man. I don't know what's going on. I'm scared. None of this makes sense. It just can't be real. I'm sorry, I'm panicking. I never expected something so terrifying and crazy would happen to me.

It's currently 1.32 in the morning. Just under an hour ago, I couldn't sleep and decided to go out for a smoke. I rolled my spliff, went to the back door, and unlocked it. As I opened the door and stepped out, I did realize something was slightly off when I couldn't hear anything outside.

the blood rushing in my ears suddenly deafening. I brushed it off and sat down. It was almost pitch black outside, but my eyes would adjust. As I lit up, I began to hear something around the corner, directly opposite the side of the house from where I was. It was like this, movement. It sounded kind of clumsy. It was uneven and would stop and start. I was put on edge by it, but stayed out there, listening to it. It eventually got closer. I could hear it it shifting surfaces and making a different sound, going from grass and leaves to the tiles around my house, meaning whatever it was was much, much closer than I had realized. My heart dropped. Deciding I'd had enough of this, I put out my spliff and went to go inside, looking in the direction

of the back door, I froze. Peking around the corner was a face and hands just staring at me. It looked eerily familiar, but the darkness obscured the face enough to where I couldn't tell whose face it was. I dared not move a muscle, unintentionally beginning a starting contest from hell. I began to think of an escape route. I could run away from the back door, hop the fence, and run to my front door instead. The only problem was that the back door was still unlocked from when I left. I took my chances, and in a split second, turned and booked it for the fence. Hearing footsteps almost immediately heading towards me at a terrifying inhuman pace, I screamed as I ran. By some miracle, the footsteps didn't advance enough to catch me and I made it to my front door, only to realize too late that I needed my keys to get in. I spun around expecting the worst, only to find not much better. The, whoever, whatever it was, was staring at me again. From around the corner, they peeked their head and hands out. I couldn't tell if they were someone I could take in a fight or not because they were obscured by my house in the darkness of the night.

But the eyes they, no, it stared at me with, they bore into me, they were utterly terrifying, inhuman, predatory eyes. I stared back at whatever it was, not daring to break eye contact, and tried to remember where my keys were. They were either at the back of the house where I was sitting, or they were inside, in which case I would have to go in through the back door anyway. Both outcomes meant I was slightly screwed. I stared at this horrible thing, the tension hung thick in the air, and the

the total silence didn't help. I prayed to whatever deity that I would make it back safely, starting to slightly lose hope but desperately not wanting to admit it. I frantically thought of any kind of solution. I slowly moved my arms down to my pockets for any salvation when I felt my keys. They were on my belt loop the whole time. I moved as slowly as I possibly could as to not make any noise and set it off, still silently praying for this to all be a nightmare. With my back still turned to the door, I slowly felt for the keyhole. I took my keys, raised them to the door, and psyching myself up, turned the key, swung the door open, removed the key, and slammed the door shut behind me. I fell to the floor the second I got in. I didn't realize I was sweating until I was

inside and drenched in it. I slowly gathered myself to get up. I planned to go straight to bed, exhausted from the situation in the day beforehand. But it wasn't over. A tap of it. A tap and a sounded from the window right next to the door. My heart sank once again. I didn't want to look, and I couldn't tell you why, but I did look. Inside was just as dark, but I could see from the slightly brighter sky, the silhouette of that thing standing right outside the window. I felt its gaze burning into me with pure, seething anger. Within a matter of seconds, though, it backed away from the window and walked off. Its footsteps became quieter. I was relieved again, until I realized. It walked off in the direction of the back door.

My heart dropped once more. I had to get there first. I scrambled to my feet and bolted through rooms towards the back door, silently praying again as I ran. As I got closer to the door, I heard its terrifyingly fast footsteps on the tiles outside. I dove towards the door and turned the key that was, thankfully, already there. As soon as I twisted the key enough for it to just about be locked,

footsteps sounded from behind the door and the handle started. started turning wildly. I barely made it in time. I was relieved once more, almost collapsing on the floor right then and there. I decided to check the rest of the doors and windows through the house. I returned to the back door once I was satisfied, to double-check everything. And I did double-check it. Everything was in order, so I went to leave for bed again. Yet I was stopped, again this time by a voice. Hey, it spoke. I froze. The voice was weird. I can't describe. I can't describe it. it well. It was a familiar voice like a friend or something, but innately wrong. The pitch was

inconsistent. It sounded warped and unnatural. You open the door. I jumped at the raised voice it used for the last word. It sounded pieced together, like words from a song that might make sense next to each other, but when taken from different parts of the song, it sounds weird. I was completely frozen in place by the voice, unsure of my next move. What I really wasn't expecting, though, was for my cat's meow to come from the cat flap, all distorted and wrong again. It made me want to cry hearing that. I knew my cat was upstairs. He was sleeping deeply on my bed when I left him. I knelt down, and without looking at the plastic window, tried to lock it. I was completely caught off guard when a hand shot through the cat flap and tried to grab me. Thank God it missed me.

I jumped back and stared at the dark shape of a disgustingly long arm feeling around for me. It moved in a truly unnatural way, like a giant serpent frantically looking for food. It made me feel sick watching it. Another distorted meow came from the door and failed to lure me to it. When it didn't find me, it felt its way up the door towards the handle and the key that was still in the lock. Without hesitation, I leaped towards it, snatched the key out of the door, and fell back out of its reach again. I seemed to anger it by doing that. You! It shouted at me. This is going to hurt. Its words unnerved me. It was being patient earlier.

I wondered if it could have killed me outside. The arm finally slithered back outside, its face replacing it. I wasn't sure which was worse. I'm going to get in. The last phrase sounded like someone calling from across the room after someone knocks on the door. It was then that I realized why the voice was so familiar. It was my voice. A wave of nausea washed over me. I wanted to be sick. I ran to the bathroom but stopped in the doorway.

The urge to throw up melted away as I looked at the canister of hairspray. I took it with me back to that thing. Its head was pushing the cat flap open when I got there. It was still too dark to see in detail, but I saw my target. I pulled out my lighter and lit it in front of the canister. The slight glow from the flame lit up the room, just enough for me to see. I wouldn't have looked at its face given the choice, but I was already looking at it when I sparked the lighter. I was looking at my own face. It looked back at me.

My heart dropped yet again. Then it smiled at me. A smile too wide for a human. Its face was wrong in so many ways. Yet it was still my own face. I didn't understand what made it so unnatural, but it scared me. After finally snapping out of it, I jammed down on the hairspray. A giant roaring fireball lit up the room in orange and landed straight in its face. It screeched in pain in my voice but didn't back away. I felt the hatred in its glare. I sprayed it again and it screeched again, this time though. It twisted and contorted its body slowly fitting through the tiny cat flap. Panic immediately set in. I sprayed it for a little too long and burnt my fingers pretty badly, dropping both my lighter and the hairspray. Its face was still on fire for a few seconds after,

yet it was unrelenting. It squeezed and pushed its arms through. After it had one arm, it used it to push itself through. It was a horrifying sight watching it unnaturally fold and crumple parts of its own body to get to me. My fight or flight sense finally took hold of me and sent me sprinting away, shutting all the doors behind me. I'm currently hidden inside my wardrobe. There is blood on my phone from the burns and my fingers are blistering. I can hear it trashing every room it enters. It shouts and screams and what I can only assume is frustration. It keeps speaking

in my voice saying things to scare me, I suppose. It's working. I'm scared. I'm terrified. Please someone help me. Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars. Catch the Jonas Brothers return to the Yamava Theater stage

on April 30th, the powerful vocals of Demi Lovato on May 17th and the signature Southern Country Rock of Eric Church on July 19th. Tickets on sale now at yamava Theater.com, only at Yamava Resort and Casino, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You in? Must be 21 to enter. Evenings were our time, Jerry's and mine. Jerry, my loyal, four-legged companion, had an unwavering love for these nightly walks, almost as if he could sense the veil of serenity that draped over our small town after dusk. It was during these peaceful strolls that we formed an

unspoken pact to leave the day's worries behind and bask in the tranquil coolness of the night. I was just an ordinary man, living an ordinary life in our quiet little town. Days blurred into weeks and weeks into months, filled with mundane routines and familiar faces. But those twilight hours, they held a kind of magic, a special bond between Jerry and me. With every rhythmic crunch of our steps on the gravel path, the stress of the day would slowly dissipate. As the sun sank into its slumber, painting the sky with hues of crimson and amber, I'd leash Jerry up, and off we'd go. The route was always the same, through the heart of our town, down Elm Street,

and into the trail that twisted into the dense woods. Along the path, we'd occasionally catch a deer or two grazing at the edge, their soft eyes glowing with gentle curiosity. One night, about three months into our routine, we set out as usual. The dusk was bleeding into the evening. inky darkness of night, creating an aura of calmness. Jerry was trotting ahead, his wet nose picking up countless scents that were beyond my comprehension. As we ventured deeper into the woods, I felt a sudden prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I shook it off, attributing it to the

chill seeping through my jacket. But there was an unplaceable unease settling in my gut, a feeling of being watched. I glanced over my shoulder, finding only the familiar trail disappearing into the darkness behind us. You're just imagining things, I mumbled to myself, attempting to quell the sudden surge of unease. Jerry, who was usually engrossed in his own world, paused and looked back at me, his eyes reflecting the moonlight.

He tilted his head, as if questioning my anxiety, before returning to his sniffing spree. We continued our journey, the soft rustling of the trees comforting in its regularity. As we neared the bend that marked the half-rength of the half-rengthing, point of our walk, I couldn't shake the sensation of being followed. It clung to me, like a shadow in the fading twilight, growing more palpable with each passing moment. Suddenly Jerry froze. His body became rigid, and a low growl resonated in his throat. He was staring intently

at a spot behind us. My heart pounded in my chest. The crunching of leaves under our feet was no longer the only sound piercing the quiet night. We were no longer alone. And thus, our ordinary was about to take an extraordinarily terrifying turn. Our peaceful nightly routine was shattered. Jerry was stock still, every muscle in his body straining, a low growl resonating in his throat. He was staring at something behind us, his ears pricked and tail stiff. Fear crawled up my spine, gripping me with icy fingers. I turned around squinting into the darkness that shrouded the path we had just walked. And then I saw him. A man stood there, his features cloaked in the shadows of the trees. He didn't move, but his presence was undeniable, an unwelcome interruption in our

solitude. Something primal surged within me, a sense of danger that eclipsed any rational thought. Jerry seemed to mirror my terror, his growl deepening. I instinctively tugged on his leash, beckoning him to follow me as I began to retreat. That's when the man started running toward us. My blood ran cold as I heard the rapid crunch of leaves under his feet, the peaceful path that had once brought solace, was now a spine-chilling trail of terror. I broke into a sprint, Jerry's leash tight in my grip, his snarls echoing in my ears. Our leisurely walks had turned into a horrifying chase. The world around me blurred as adrenaline surged through my veins, pushing me to run faster. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears, drowning out the chilling sounds of our pursuer.

I didn't dare to look back. I only focused on the dim lights of our house peeking through the trees. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, we emerged from the nightmare of the woods onto our street. A few more strides and I was fumbling to unlock the front door, my hands trembling uncontrollably. We stumbled inside and I slammed the door shut, leaning against it, gasping for breath. The once comforting confines of my home now felt like a fort under siege. Jerry was pacing anxiously, his usually bright eyes clouded with fear. With trembling fingers I dialed the number that I hoped I'd never. have to use. 911. The operator's calm voice was a stark contrast to my frantic explanation.

A man chased us dot, dot, dot, dot in the woods. My dog and me, I don't know who he was. My disjointed account was met with assurance that the police were on their way. As I ended the call, I slid down to the floor, Jerry pressing his body against mine, as if trying to comfort me or maybe seek some comfort for himself. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder in the oppressive silence, each second stretching as we awaited the police. When the officers arrived, they scoured the area, their flashlights cutting through the night, but they found no trace of the stranger who had violated our peace, the man who had turned our serene night walk into a scene from a horror story. Despite their fruitless search, the police assured me they'd patrol the area

for the night. Their words were meant to comfort, but they fell on deaf ears. My heart was still hammering in my chest, the image of the stranger on the trail seared into my mind. That night, sleep was a distant dream. As Jerry and I sat huddled in the living room, every shadow felt like a threat, every noise a warning. Our ordinary evening had been transformed into a nightmarish reality, a reality we were forced to confront. The days following our encounter with the stranger were bathed in an eerie calmness. It felt as if life was playing a cruel trick on us, the mundane routines resuming as if nothing had happened. Jerry and I were rattled to the core, but life went on, relentless and uncaring. In the light of day, the terrifying chase through the woods seemed like

a distant nightmare. The fear that had once gripped us was slowly replaced by a fragile sense of safety. During these daylight hours, I tried to convince myself that the incident was a one-time occurrence, a fluke that had disrupted our otherwise ordinary lives. But as the sun would set, the memories would come rushing back, and our house would once again transform into a fortress. Every lock checked twice, every window sealed tight. For two nights, Jerry and I forewent our routine walks. The once-inviting trail now bore the scars of our terror.

The peaceful path warped into a hunting ground. Instead, we spent our evenings cooped up inside, the television blaring in a desperate attempt to, drown out the oppressive silence. Jerry was antsy, unused to the confinement, but he seemed to understand my unease, staying close to me, his comforting presence a welcome anchor in the storm of anxiety. On the third night, as I was debating the safety of resuming our walks, a new fear gripped us. Jerry's ears perked up, his body going rigid as it had on the trail. He was growling, a deep menacing sound that sent chills down my spine. His eyes were darting around as

as if tracking something unseen. An inexplicable sense of dread washed over me. My heartbeat accelerated, pounding in my chest. We were in our house, locked and secure, but Jerry's behavior brought back the terror of that night in the woods. I swallowed, trying to moisten my suddenly dry throat. What is it, boy? I asked, my voice trembling. Jerry didn't take his eyes off the living room window,

his growls continuing, as if on cue there was a sudden rattling sound. a noise that seemed to punch the air out of my lungs. It was coming from the front door, a sound so familiar yet so alien in the quiet of the night. The fragile calm shattered. My mind raced, the horrifying image of the man on the trail resurfacing. I approached the door, jerry at my heels, his growls intensifying.

With a shaky hand, I reached out to the peephole, dread coiling in my stomach. The sight that greeted me sent shivers down my spine. It was him. the stranger from the trail, now hidden under the hood of a black sweatshirt, his presence a grim reminder of the terror we thought we had left behind. The following events were a blur, my instincts taking over as I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911, my other hand clutching Jerry's collar. The fear was back, more potent than ever, shattering the veneer of safety I had tried to construct. The illusion of a peaceful night was completely destroyed, replaced by the terrifying reality

that the nightmare was far from over. As the 911 operator picked up, my voice shook. He's here. The man. He's at my front door. The words tumbled out in a panicked rush. Jerry was still growling, the hair on his back standing on end,

his entire body on high alert. I watched as the man outside turned away from the front door. It was a momentary reprieve, but my relief was short-lived. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jerry's attention shift. He was no longer growling at the front door. His focus was now towards the back of the house. Suddenly, a new wave of dread washed over me.

I think. I think there's someone else, I stammered into the phone, my words catching in my throat. The operator urged me to stay calm and reassured me that help was on the way. She told me to find somewhere safe to hide. Clutching Jerry's collar, I cautiously made my way to the back of the house. My heart pounded in my ears. The eerie silence broken only by the sound of my labored breathing and Jerry's intermittent growls. Peering through the back window, I saw two men outside. Their faces were pressed against the glass.

Their smiles so chilling that they seemed to drain the warmth right out of our home. The sight was beyond horrifying. It was downright macabre. My heart pounded in my chest, fear overwhelming my senses. I ran back to my room dragging Jerry along with me. In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I locked the door, barricading myself and Jerry in the closet. The darkness of the enclosed space was claustrophobic, but it provided a small sense of security.

From our hiding spot, we heard the shattering of glass. The terrifying sound echoed through the silence, confirming my worst fears. They were inside the house. I held Jerry close, trying to stifle his growls. Every instinct told me to flee, but there was nowhere left to run. The footsteps echoing throughout the house were chilling. They moved around, slowly, methodically, like predators stalking their prey. I could only pray that the police would arrive soon.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped. In the distance, I heard the wailing of sirens. Relief flooded through me, even as my heart continued to pound with fear. The sirens grew louder, closer, until they were just outside. The footsteps retreated, growing fainter and fainter. When the police finally entered the house, they found, nothing but the shattered window and a homeowner paralyzed with fear. Despite the extensive search of the area, they found no sign of the intruders. In the aftermath, they reassured me that

they would increase their patrols, an assurance that did little to calm my frayed nerves. As I looked at the broken window and the havoc the intruders had reek, I knew that our lives would never be the same. Our sanctuary had been violated, our peace shattered. And though the immediate threat had passed, the fear persisted. For the nightmare wasn't over, it was only just beginning. In the harsh light of the following day, I found myself standing in a hardware store, staring at rows of security cameras and floodlights. The mundane task of picking out home security equipment felt surreal

after the terrifying events of the past nights. A heavy sense of dread lingered in the back of my mind as I selected the necessary equipment. Jerry, usually excited by these outings, seemed to mirror my tension, staying unusually quiet. After a consultation with the store clerk and a purchase that left my wallet significantly lighter, I returned home, arms loaded with boxes. As I set up the cameras around my property,

I realized how much my world had changed. My once peaceful existence had been shattered by fear and uncertainty. I was no longer just a man and his dog living a simple life. I had become a man obsessed with securing his home, fortifying his walls against unseen threats. With the security system in place, I spent my time familiarizing myself with the camera feeds and motion sensors. The work was tedious, a stark contrast to my usual evenings of leisure.

But I needed to feel secure again, to regain some sense of control in a world that had turned upside down. Night fell, bringing with it a bone-deep apprehension. I stayed up, eyes glued to the camera feeds, straining to catch any hint of movement. The floodlights stood ready, a ring of luminescent guardians around my house. Jerry stayed by my side, his quiet presence a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. Several nights passed in this manner, filled with tension and apprehension, but the figures from the woods did not return. The security footage remained free of shadowy figures, the floodlights

untriggered. The eerie quiet of the nights, once a source of solace, now felt heavy with anticipation, like the breathless moment before a storm. Days turned into weeks, and life attempted to return to a semblance of normalcy. I found myself breathing easier, the fear gradually ebbing away. Jerry seemed less anxious, too, his behavior mirroring mine, but the peace felt fragile, the memory of those horrifying nights never too far from my mind. During this period of quiet, I found myself drawn to the trail again. We didn't venture far, nor did we stay out after dark. But those short daytime walks gave me a fleeting sense of normality. Jerry seemed to appreciate these outings too, the old spark returning to his eyes.

However, the peace was short-lived. The house's lease was coming to an end, a stark reminder of the terror we had experienced. I knew then that I couldn't live there anymore, not with the shadows of the past lurking around every corner. And so, I made the decision to move, to leave behind this house and its haunting memories. We were moving to a new state, a new home. The decision felt like surrender, but it was a necessary one. I needed to start over, to find a place where Jerry and I could feel safe again. We were leaving our old life behind, hoping to find peace away from the haunted trails and the lingering fear. We settled into our new life in Vermont. It was a quiet place, far removed from the turmoil of our past. The house was warm and welcoming,

a stark contrast to the home we had left behind. Jerry seemed to adjust well too, his spirits lifting in the new environment. Despite the change in scenery, I kept the security cameras and floodlights, a tangible reminder of our past, a necessary precaution for my peace of mind. I was cautious, ever vigilant. The nightly rituals of checking locks and monitoring security feeds continued, now a part of my routine. Jerry and I discovered new trails to be able to be able to beets. Jerry and I discovered new to explore, beautiful paths winding through dense woods, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds. Walking these trails, I felt a sense of calm return, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. Months passed, the memories of the horrifying

incidents gradually fading. They remained at the back of my mind, a scar on our otherwise peaceful existence, but they didn't consume my thoughts as they once had. I allowed myself to believe that we were finally safe, that the nightmare was behind us. One evening as Jerry and I were sitting in our living room, I heard a familiar rustle. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make my blood run cold. I glanced at Jerry, his ears perked up, his gaze fixed on the window. There it was again, that familiar growl, a haunting echo of our past. I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. I moved towards the window, my eye, eyes scanning the area outside. My hand reached out, pulling the curtain aside, and what I saw

froze me in my tracks. In the glow of the floodlight, I saw him. The man in the black hoodie, his face obscured by shadows. But it was the smile, that bone-chilling smile, that confirmed my worst fears. He was here. They had found us. The feeling of terror was all-consuming. As I scrambled to dial 911, I felt my world collapsing around me. The nightmare was far from over. It was just beginning anew. Despite changing states, leaving the old trails, taking all possible precautions, they had tracked us down. Our past had caught up with us. The sirens wailed in the distance, their urgency mirroring the chaos of my thoughts. I held Jerry close, feeling his heart pounding against mine. As the police arrived, the man was nowhere to be seen.

He had vanished, leaving only the haunting echo of his presence. As I looked out at the trail, the feeling of dread washed over me. This was not the end. Our journey was far from over. The fear was back, a constant companion in our lives. We were trapped in this never-ending cycle of terror, and as I held Jerry close, I couldn't help but wonder. Would we ever truly escape this nightmare? Our trails were no longer safe. Our peace shattered once again. The man in the black hoodie had returned, plunging us back into a world of terror, as the horrifying reality of our situation settled in, One thing was crystal clear, no matter where we went, the nightmare would follow. The fear was back, and it was here to stay.

This story happened when I was about 13 or 14. I grew up in a town with a lot of walking, biking trails, and a forest area about a 10-minute walk from my house. So I spent a lot of time outside. One of my best friends, we'll call him Anthony, lived in the neighborhood across from mine. I would frequently walk to his house to knock on his door and see whether he wanted to join. me and biking aimlessly around town. On this particular day, he decided to join me, and we went down to the local lake, an extremely popular spot during the summer. It's never empty. There's a trail right next to the local library which leads to the lake. We decided to hang out by the

trail entrance, as it was right next to a tunnel that run under the street above, providing good shade and amplification for listening to music together off our iPods. This tunnel is probably a good 20 feet long or so, with the only easy path back up to the street above being the paved one on one side. The trail itself is gravel, with trees on both sides. No easy way to get off with a bike unless you use the designated entrances and exits. Anthony and I were hanging out on the opposite side of the tunnel from the trail entrance, so as not to bother any families getting on the trail with our music. We had our bikes leaned up on the side of the tunnel when I noticed a man coming through the opposite end, right next to the trail entrance. He entered the tunnel and, once he was about 15 feet away,

called out, I'm a city name police officer. It didn't take more than a two-second glance to tell that he wasn't. He was wearing cargo shorts, a green tank top, sandals, and a big military-style backpack. Even from about 15 feet away, I could tell that his skin looked really greasy and his hair was unkempt. I immediately knew something bad was about to happen, and my adrenaline started to rush. I turned to my friend and just yelled at him, Anthony run! To which he got on his bike and began to ride off. The man was standing between us and the trail entrance,

so there was no easy way for us to take off without either needing to go directly past him, or down the trail in the opposite direction. Anthony chose to try for the main entrance that the man was blocking. As he rode past, the man reached out and grabbed his arm, Anthony sort of stopped, but the man was more focused on me and ended up letting go to which Anthony quickly took off. I knew I wouldn't be as lucky as Anthony was if I tried to push my way past the man, so I immediately started looking for other ways to run. I noticed that there was actually a small dirt trail on the same end of the tunnel that we had been.

I tried to take my bike up it, and the man yelled out behind me. Didn't your parents ever teach you not to run from the cops? The trail grew too small for me to carry my bike down, so I just dropped it on the ground and continued running, hoping that this side trail led back up to the street where he at least wouldn't be able to hurt me without witnesses. He chased me about halfway down the trail, but eventually turned around. I ended up coming out of the library and quickly ran to the top of the tunnel so that I could see what he was doing. All I saw was him riding off on my bike. I called the cops, and they came to my house to give me a lineup after I walked home.

I instantly identified the guy. Apparently he and his twin brother were homeless and on meth, which would explain his demeanor and motivation. They were known for stealing bikes in the area, but never so brazenly. I was just glad that the situation wasn't worse because based on his substance use, he very easily could have chosen violence at the drop of a hat. To the fake cop that stole my bike, let's not meet. This incident occurred back in late 2021. I was currently serving in the military stationed in California, and I lived off base at this time. It was around 9 p.m. when I was driving home from work. I pulled into my apartment parking garage, and I noticed a guy I have never seen before, and knew he did not live here just standing there, leaning against one of the

support columns just staring through my windshield. I tried to gauge what his intentions were by giving the old Midwest hay, by raising my fingers over my steering wheel. I got nothing, just a blank stare right at me. At this moment, I knew something wasn't right. I tried to weigh my options in my head. I can awkwardly back out of the very small parking garage and do a few laps around the neighborhood, or I could call my roommate and tell him to come down, strength in numbers, you know, or I can be a tough and brave military man. I decided to stop overthinking it and just deal with it on my own. I backed into my parking space all the while this guy is directly across from my parking spot just staring at me. I again do the Midwest finger wave over the steering wheel with zero reaction

from the guy. I grit my teeth and get out of my car and start walking towards the only staircase up to my apartment, which he is standing directly in front of. So I obviously have to walk right past him. I start approaching and say, hey, how's it going? Just to gauge his friendliness one more time and got absolutely nothing. So at this point, I'm thinking I'm going to get either stabbed in the neck or shot in the back of the head when I pass him, but nothing happened. I realized I was just overthinking it and began walking up the stairs to my apartment. I get about a quarter of the way up when I hear running behind me. I started to run up the stairs skipping a few steps and completely eating it, cutting my hands and bleeding. But at this point, I didn't care at all. I got up and

kept going up the stairs and got to my door. This scene was honestly straight out of a horror movie. me trying to get my key in the door when I turn and see him running up the stairs. It honestly feels like it was all in slow motion. I thankfully got the key in and was able to get inside the house, but my motor skills were not all there at this point, so I was struggling to lock the door. I braced it with my foot while he tried getting and I was able to lock it. He started messing with the door handle and banging on the door while I went and woke my roommate up.

I grabbed my gun from the bedroom and we both just sat in the living room waiting. After about a minute of this, we decided to call 911, and in about three minutes, around 10 squad cars pulled up and searched the whole area. The guy was nowhere to be found. While finishing my contract in California, I was paranoid every time I went down to that garage. I still don't know what his intentions were to this day, and that's honestly the part that irks me the most. I, female, and 52 at the time, was traveling by car to an out-of-town job assignment. I had stopped at a popular and busy gas station travel stop to fill up the car, stretch my legs, use the restroom, and grab a snack.

I was approached by a developmentally disabled woman who appeared to be in her mid-20s. She was looking for a ride to a town a couple of towns over. Her ride had abandoned her while she was in the restroom. She was a little upset. She didn't have a cell phone and didn't know any phone numbers so I could call someone for her. I checked with the employees at the store, and they said that she had been there for an hour looking for a ride because she said her friends left her while she was in the restroom. I then made the decision to do something I'd never done before.

Offer a stranger a ride I wasn't going to the town she wanted to go to, but I was heading in that direction, and I told her I could drop her off at the grocery store in the next town, where I would be turning off to go to my destination. The grocery store was always busy, and it was very likely she'd have an easier time getting a ride to where she wanted to go. Also, she'd be five miles away from where she wanted to go instead of 25 miles, and she'd have an easier time walking that distance if she had to. This was agreeable to her, and we set off. Right away, I noticed a van following us. I tried to lose the van, but it kept pace.

Meanwhile, the woman wanted to play with my phone. I told her no, it wasn't a toy, it was for work, and I moved it out of her reach. The van speeds up and starts to get closer. The woman suddenly remembers her boyfriend's phone number and we need to call him. I can't use my phone while driving. This was pre-car sync voice-activated operation. And I was approaching the outskirts of the business district of the next town and no cell phone use while driving signs everywhere I told her.

We're almost to the grocery store. We can call him from the parking lot. She becomes agitated and yells, No, you have to take me home. I told you I can't do that. I'm not going there. It's in the opposite direction of the way. of where I need to go and I'm expected soon.

We'll call him from the parking lot. She becomes more upset and frustrated. The van is getting closer. I pull into the grocery store parking lot. It's about 4 p.m. The grocery store is busy. I pull up in front of the store and ask for her boyfriend's number. She can't remember his number.

She won't get out of the car. She's arguing with me and the van is pulling into the parking lot. There is a sheriff's deputy parked nearby and I roll down my window and signal that I need to speak to him. He walks over and asks me what's going on. I tell him where I met the woman and now she won't get out of the car and under my breath I tell him the van has been following us. The deputy tells the woman, she brought you where you asked her to. It's time for you to leave her car now. She slowly gets out of the car and I ask once more for her boyfriend's number and she says, you're crazy, I don't have a boyfriend. Oh, look there are my friends now. And she

points to the damn van. The deputy and I share a look, and he says, give me your contact info. I can delay them for about 20 minutes while I check their license and registration and lecture them about abandoning a special needs adult. You get out of here, and I'll check on you before my shift is over. And don't pick up any more hitchhikers. I left and went on to my destination. He called me to make sure I got to where I was going and told me that they were keeping an eye on the van and its owner. He told me he also contacted a colleague at the sheriff's department in the county where I was working, and that she would contact me in a day or two. While I was on assignment there, I spoke to two deputies and a detective about the woman and the van.

No one ever told me anything about them, but they were very interested in them. My nightmare is one day I'll turn on a true crime show and see a report about this woman and her gang robbing and killing people. So, woman looking for a ride at the travel stop, let's not meet again. This all started a couple of days ago, July 5th, when I'd get a random call from FedEx around 10 p.m. where they would ask me for my name and address, which they already knew. I gave it to them thinking it might be a package that was lost and somehow found its way back to my home. Hindsight, I should have known FedEx doesn't deliver past 8 p.m. here in Canada. I thought nothing of it till I got another phone call saying they can't find my unit number

and asked me to come out to the roundabout nearby my place. My dad thought it was weird so he patrolled the area to find these people. My dad did around four laps. The first lap there wasn't anything there. But then I got curious and joined him for the second lap, yet again nothing. I went back into my home and my dad did a third lap around the house. He found a gray SUV in the corner and confronted them. They told my dad they aren't the delivery person and my dad left to do another confirmation check.

As he was doing this last lap, that same SUV wasn't there. The next day, July 6th, around 6 p.m. to 11 p.m. We hear a doorbell ringing, and I went down to check, and it was two individuals around the age of 20. They knew my name and were calling out for me. I thought it was weird because I've never seen them before. I didn't feel safe, so I didn't pursue them. They kept coming over and over again, so we called the police and talked about what we should do. The cops told me to contact them if this happens again. The next day, July 7th, it was very quiet and nothing weird happened, so we thought the worst has ended and just went on with my day. The next day, July 8th, it was the same quietness, but when the time approached 11 p.m., my security camera spotted an individual with a mask on taking a photo video of my current house. This was the breaking point. We contact the police and inform them about this weird behavior, just when you thought it was over. I was casually in the living room around 3 a.m. the same day, July 8th. I heard something thunking outside my balcony. I thought it could be anything,

and didn't mind it till it thunked again. I went to the balcony to see what I was hearing. Then it clicked. I was face to face with the intruder. I started screaming for help and my family came down to check out the commotion. Thank God I checked the balcony that day. Who knows what else could have happened? Today is July 9th, and I haven't got a wink of sleep in thinking of the terror that I faced. Am I one of the targets of a home invasion? How did they get my name? What do they want from me?

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Got that right. I've always loved our home. Perched on a rise overlooking the rambling countryside, it stood majestically against the ever-changing canvas of the sky. I designed it myself, every corner filled with love, every crevice steeped in memories. It was our sanctuary, our Eden. But that was before everything changed.

It started innocuously enough. I noticed at first a fleeting feeling of something being out of place, A familiar picture slightly askew, a favorite book not where I last left it. At first I dismissed it as absent-mindedness or James' prankish behavior, but soon the subtle anomalies began to mount. The unexplained noises began next, rustling, muted thumps, a faint melody of a song I couldn't place, sounds that danced at the edge of hearing,

vanishing when I focused my attention on them. I tried to explain it away, the house settling, the wind whispering secrets to the old, old timber frame, the normal sounds a house makes, but it was different, it was unsettling, and then the notes started appearing, scrawled messages left on our porch, not threatening, but deeply unsettling all the same. Nice flowers, one said after I'd spent a day gardening. Good read, another hinted after I'd enjoyed an afternoon in the hammock with a novel, a voyeuristic commentary on our lives. I confided in James, but he laughed it off, reassuring me it was

all just a strange coincidence, a neighborhood kid's idea of fun. I tried to convince myself he was right, but the prickling sense of being watched, the unseen eyes drilling into my back every time I ventured out, said otherwise. I turned to the local authorities, but they too were dismissive. They listened politely, their faces displaying practice concern, but their words echoed James's sentiment. Maybe it's just a prankster, Mrs. Hall. Keep an eye out, and let us know if anything else happens. But I knew deep down, something was not right. It was in the air, heavy and invasive. It was in the shadows, lurking and whispering. It was in the silences, loud and eerie. A sinister undercurrent ran through our daily lives, making the hair on the back

of my neck stand on end. Every creek in the night sent icy tendrils of fear slithering down my spine. Every gust of wind against the window made my heart pound in my chest. Our beautiful house had become a stranger to me. Its familiar contours took on a foreign aspect. Its comforting quiet transformed into an ominous hush. Every corner held a lurking dread, every shadow a lurking threat. One day, returning from a grocery run, I felt it more than ever. The front door was slightly ajar, an inviting black void against the fading evening light. I could feel the house breathing, an undercurrent of fear laced in its exhale. Something was very wrong. and as I pushed the door open, every instinct screamed at me that our idyllic life was about to

shatter, that we were not alone. In the weeks that followed, the unseen specter started to etch deeper marks into our lives. The brief respite of daylight did little to quell the ever-growing sense of unease that coiled tightly in the pit of my stomach. Knights were worse. Every cloak of darkness, every crescent moon, every twinkle of starlight became a portal of paranoia. James was a rock, a sturdy bulwark against my rising tide of fear. I admired his fortitude, yet his dismissiveness irked me. Every morning began with the ritualistic reiteration of my nightly terror and his perfunctory dismissal of the same.

Our breakfast conversations took on a macabre rhythm, my recounting of nocturnal noises, and James' attempts to put a logical spin on them. It was maddening, and the harmony of our relationship began to falter under this mounting discord. At times, I could almost sense a smoky figure in the corner of my vision, only to find it missing when I turned. An envelope would appear in the mailbox, its contents and innocent sales flyer, but the accompanying fear was real and choking. The lines between reality and imagination began to blur, a chilling mirage that was indistinguishable.

My once jovial chats with the grocer or the mailman turned paranoid, my eyes constantly searching for something, anything, that might betray the idea. identity of our unseen tormentor. The vibrant community I was once an active part of felt hostile now. Every friendly wave of potential clue, every innocuous conversation a veiled threat. And then one day, while trimming the roses by our white picket fence, I saw him. A figure, obscured by the rays of the setting sun, just standing there, watching, waiting, an ominous silhouette against the backdrop of the glowing orb. An icy dread washed over me, petrifying, me where I stood, shears in hand. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure turned and walked away, swallowed by the shadows of the descending night. With every nerve in my body screaming,

I rushed into the house, barring the door behind me. I tried to explain to James, my words stumbling over each other in their haste to convey the terror. He listened, his expression unreadable, and then he strode out into the yard, into the growing darkness. When he returned, he was alone. There was a tension in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before, but he dismissed it all the same. It's just some drifter, Amelia. He's gone now. But the fear wasn't.

It clung to me, a heavy cloak that refused to be shrugged off, because I knew, as sure as the night was dark and the dawn was inevitable, we were being watched. The once friendly confines of our home had morphed into a stage, our lives a play for a sinister audience of one. The unseen presence had become an unwelcome guest in our lives, turning our idyllic home into a haunted theater of dread. The invisible line that had so far separated us from our tormentor was crossed one unnervingly warm afternoon. I had been in the attic, sifting through old photo albums, trying to find refuge in the happy memories they held.

The nostalgia served as a balm, temporarily relieving the gnawing unease. I came downstairs to the sound of angry voices, a strange sight in our eyes. our usually serene home. As I entered the living room, I froze. There was James, standing head to head with a gaunt, wiry man. Get off my property, Terry, James seethed, a dangerous edge to his voice that I'd never heard before. The man, Terry, spat back a string of venomous words, each laced with resentment and hatred. It was then that I recognized him. A face from our past, Terry had once been an employee of James. His work-related grievance against James had led to his termination, years ago. But what was he doing here? My mind raced, fitting together the puzzle pieces of our

recent terror. I watched, petrified, as the confrontation escalated. Suddenly Terry noticed me standing there, a twisted smirk appearing on his face. I was an unwilling participant in this dangerous game now. Before either of us could react, he turned on his heels and dashed out of the house, disappearing into the thickening dusk. James rushed to my side, his comforting touch, failing to calm my racing heart. The echoes of their conversation rang in my ears. His words, his resentment, his twisted smile, everything fell into place. Our tormentor had a face now. I called the police, but Terry was long gone before they arrived. The officers took our statement, their previously dismissive attitude replaced with genuine concern, but it was too late.

The unseen presence had been unmasked, but the relief was overshadowed by a paralyzing terror. That night, as James and I locked every door, checked every window, and surveyed every corner, our home felt more like a fortress under siege. Each echo of the house settling was a potential footstep, every whisper of the wind a veiled threat. Our lives, previously framed by love and harmony, had been disrupted by the menacing specter of our past. That fear, that invasive, gnawing terror, was no longer a distant threat. It had a name now, a face, a form, it was Terry. He was our ghost, our demon, our stalker.

But knowing this didn't ease the dread. The unseen presence was now a known danger, making it all the more horrifying. I realized then that our lives had irreversibly changed. Our house, once a symbol of safety and love, was a target now. We were trapped in our own home, prisoners in our sanctuary, and there was no escaping this harrowing nightmare. We had unmasked the stalker, but the fear remained, more tangible and terrifying than ever. Fear is a peculiar creature, it prowls in the shadows, growing larger with each passing second.

When your home is violated, when the one place you should feel safe becomes a battlefield, that fear is amplified. It morphs into something monstrous, something all-consuming. One bone-chilling night, the inevitable happened. The line Terry had been dancing upon was obliterated. The stage was set for the final act of his macabre play. It was a home invasion. James and I were huddled in our living room,

every light in the house burning brightly against the oppressive darkness outside. The television hummed a forgettable sitcom, its laughter track a haunting echo in our tense silence. Then a crash echoed from the upstairs bedroom, a clear, sharp sound that shattered the dread-filled quiet. James leaped up, a baseball bat in hand, his face a mask of grim determination. He moved towards the stairs, but I gripped his arm, fear rooting me to the spot. The terror was real, tangible. It was in our home,

shattering our sanctuary, peace by agonizing peace. For a moment we stood frozen, listening to the sinister sounds of our home being invaded, the harsh breathing of an unwelcome visitor in our sacred space. And then the torment began. Terry's voice, cold and distorted, the rooms. He taunted us, a twisted puppeteer enjoying his marionette's dance of fear. His words were daggers, piercing our hearts, lacing our veins with icy dread. Every sentence was a grotesque homage to his obsession, each uttered syllable a nightmarish sonnet. The invasion was more than just a physical violation of our house. It was a psychological assault, a warped game designed to wear us down, and Terry reveled in it, feeding off our fear. He moved through our home,

his destructive path leaving no room untouched. Our beautiful, lovingly curated rooms were being turned into a nightmarish gallery, a testament to our terror. The invasion lasted hours, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness. We were trapped, prey in our own home. I clung to James, his trembling frame a stark reminder of our grim reality. Our world was shrinking, each passing minute drawing the walls closer. We were held hostage in our sanctuary. Our home transformed into a chilling labyrinth. A once familiar world turned upside down,

spun out of control by a vengeful phantom from our past. As the dawn broke, painting the sky with hues of fear, we braced ourselves. We were under attack, the enemy within our walls. Our lives had become a survival game, the house a battlefield. The home invasion had begun, and the end was nowhere in sight.

The ghost had become a monster, our past had become our present, and our future was a dark, terrifying abyss. The dawn was a surreal spectacle, an explosion of color in a world turned black and white. As the first rays of the sun pierced the gloom, reality dawned on us. We were trapped in our own nightmare, a horrifying reality we couldn't wake from. Terry continued his reign of terror, an unhinged maestro orchestrating a symphony of fear. We were his captive audience, forced to endure every core. crescendo of horror. The minutes bled into hours, each tick of the clock echoing our impending doom. Suddenly a resounding crash jolted us. I clung to James, our heartbeat synchronizing in the

rhythm of fear. He tightened his grip around the baseball bat, a grim resolution etched on his face. We waited, the eerie silence a looming portent of the confrontation to come. In the agonizing quiet, we heard the creak of footsteps descending the staircase. Each step echoed in the cavernous emptiness of our violated home. I barely breathed, the world shrinking down to the menacing sound of the approaching danger. Then, he was there. Terry, standing in the doorway, a grotesque figure silhouetted against the growing light of dawn. His eyes, gleaming with a disturbing delight, fixated on us. James Amelia, he drawled, his voice a cold blade. The sound sent shivers down my spine, each syllable a chilling reminder of our predicament. James stood,

His frame erect, gripping the bat tighter. His gaze met Terry's, a silent challenge. An age-old conflict resurfaced. The workplace grudge now a deadly feud. Terry lunged towards us, the air around him crackling with malice. James met him halfway, the clash echoing in the silent house. The ensuing struggle was a brutal dance, each man battling for control, for survival.

I watched, frozen in terror, as they grappled, Terry's manic strength against James's desperate determination. Fear was no longer an abstract concept. It was visceral, raw, clawing at my senses. The fight moved throughout the house, the battleground shifting from room to room. Every precious artifact in our home became a weapon, every familiar corner a tactical advantage. Our once Serena Bode was now an arena, hosting a horrifying showdown. Time seemed to slow, each moment stretching out in its gruesome detail. I could do nothing but watch, a powerless spectator in my own nightmare. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath shallow and rapid. The home invasion had reached its horrifying peak,

culminating in a clash that would decide our fates. Our home, once a symbol of love and harmony, was the stage for a chilling fight for survival. Our past was no longer a memory, but a monstrous villain standing before us. The ghost had taken form, the terror had a name, and it was Terry. The peaceful dawn was a stark contrast to the nightmare unfolding within our walls. Our lives had turned into a horror story, and the end was still out of sight. The battle seemed to last in eternity. The once-familiar walls of our home reverberated with the violence of our struggle. My heart pounded in sync with each bone-jarring impact between James and Terry. Then it happened. The tides turned, the battle reaching its bloody climax. James managed to land a decisive blow,

sending Terry sprawling onto the floor. The sickening thud echoed in the silence, a grotesque crescendo in the symphony of terror. I sprang into action, dialing 911 with trembling fingers. The operator's voice, calm and collected, was a stark contrast to the chaos enveloping us. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second, an ominous requiem to our prolonged horror. As the police arrived, they apprehended Terry, his laughter a bone-chilling requiem echoing through the violated halls of our home. He had been defeated, yet he reveled in the terror he had wrought. His maniacal smile was the parting image of a nightmarish chapter of our lives.

We watched as they hauled him away, his disturbing laughter fading into the distance. The dawn had broken, but the shadows of the night still clung to us. Our home was littered with the aftermath of the battle, each room a chilling monument to our horrifying ordeal. The police commended our bravery, promising us that Terry would face justice, but their words were a hollow comfort. The beast was captured, but the scars were irrevocable. We were survivors, yet we felt defeated. Our home was no longer our sanctuary, but a haunting reminder of the terror we had endured. James and I clung to each other in the heart of our shattered home, a desperate attempt to find some semblance of comfort.

But the ordeal had left us raw, the terror still peasant. palpable. Every shadow was a lurking menace, every creek a potential danger. The fear remained, an uninvited guest refusing to leave. It had a face, a name now, Terry. Even behind bars he had left a horrifying imprint on our lives. The unseen presence had been revealed, the stalker unmasked, but the dread he had instilled was a haunting echo. Terry was locked away, yet he still held us captive. His chilling laughter echoed in our ears, his grotesque smile etched in our minds. The home invasion was over, yet we felt trapped, prisoners in our violated sanctuary. Even as the sun rose, painting the world with a deceptive calm, the terror lingered. We were left

with the ruins of our desecrated home, our shattered lives. The fear was not over. It was beginning. The home invasion had ended, the monster captured, but the story was far from over. We were still in the grip of fear, ensnared in a terrifying tale that showed no sign of ending. Looking for the best place to shop this Mother's Day? Go with the brand that makes it easy to send something thoughtful to everyone on your list. 1-800flowers.com. Right now at 1-800 flowers, order one dozen roses and get another dozen free. More flowers mean more smiles, all backed by the quality, attention to detail,

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