Snook - 4 Disturbing Scary Stories

Episode Date: June 20, 2026

These are 4 Disturbing Scary Stories! Thank you guys for listening! These were some of the scariest and weirdest stories I have ever read! Let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! But they are all amazing, so make sure to watch the whole vid! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe! CREDITS - JJX2525 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/7abptp/notes_to_the_girl_whose_house_i_live_in/ [deleted] - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/7z7ci7/my_wife_came_home_early/ antipogger - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1hx0fci/help_me_there_is_a_man_pretending_to_be_my_dog/ EndTheMadnessPls - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1hsv2uu/im_either_experiencing_psychosis_or_my_family_is/ IF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you. NEXT SUB GOAL - 100,000 followers I love you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another scary stories video. And today we're going to be getting into five disturbing scary stories. And I appreciate you all stopping by. I'm sure you guys will love these stories. I love them too. And like I said, thanks for stopping by. And before we get into the video, please like the video and subscribe to the channel. I appreciate it tons.

And the channel's goals, 500,000 subscribers. So please subscribe and help the channel reach that goal. I appreciate you all. And now notes to the girl whose house I love. live in. It took me a week to find where you keep your Wi-Fi password. A whole week. I was really worried you'd thrown it away. But lo and behold, there it was in the cutler you drawer of all places. Everything about the way you organized things confuses me. I guess because you live on your own now, you just put things any old place. I know there was someone else before. I heard you talking

about him on the phone. Johnny, I think, Jimmy? Anyway, I know because you said it was tough being alone, but you're not alone, of course. You have me. There's a crack in your roof where I can see down onto the street below. Don't worry about the roof, by the way. Yes, it's pretty crant, but I like my space as small. I've actually stepped a few things up there to make it smaller, just bits and bobs from the recycling. I don't think you'll miss them. I can sit with my face against the wall and see down onto the street. That's where I saw you meeting up with all those people wearing black. It would have been weird anyway because you never meet anyone. But they were all rubbing your back and holding your hand and stuff. I was scared you were going to bring them in, but you just went off together, so that was okay.

I don't know what I would have done if the house had filled up with people. You know, it really explains a lot that there was someone else before me. Like the fact you have two sets of drawers in your bedroom or how you're living in such a big house all by yourself, and do weird things like leave the Wi-Fi and the cutler drawer, or watch the same TV show all day on a weekend. I'm not one to talk, mind. I'm addicted to my toys. Like the big lump of blue tack I found a while back, which is great fun to fiddle with but doesn't taste too good, or the cigarette lighter that's fun to flick on and off,

or the tube that has all the patterns in you can change. I could look down that thing for hours. I often have. That's what I normally do when you're home. Or I just sit back and listen to you do the washing dishes or run a shower or something like that. I crawl up the walls and hang there with my ear. ear to the pipes and listen to the water rushing by. That kind of things makes me happy. Plus, you never have anyone around, so once I got your schedule memorized, I could move around

pretty freely. I know what we have. It's a symbiotic relationship. That means you help me by giving me a warm place to stay around Wi-Fi, and I help you by eating all the spiders. Of course, there's no need to thank me. I fell asleep under the towels in your airing cupboard once before I found the roof, and I saw you trying to get rid of one that was living under your sink with a broom. I've never seen so much ridiculous fuss in my entire life, but it makes no difference to me how many legs something has. So I just eat them up whenever I find one, and any other thing that makes its way into the house without permission, aside from myself, of course. Since I only pay rent and spiders, I try to keep the things I take to a minimum, but I can't say I feel

too bad about stealing your socks. You have so many socks. Why would one girl need so many? I get a lot more out of them than you do anyway. I like to take them apart by the threads and then wrap all the threads around my fingers and pull them tight till the tips go purple. I can nibble my own fingertips and not feel a thing. It's pretty great. I try not take too much food either. I found I can usually survive all the things you leave out or throw away. Why don't you eat the banana skins? Another habit of yours that confuses me a lot. I like to open my mouth all the way and drop them in whole. No chewing. I've never needed too much food to get by. I really, really, really like butter, though.

Not to eat as much as just to play with. You once left out a block by the window in the sun, and it went all melty while you were at work. So I sort of started playing with it. Once I had stuck my finger in, once it was kind of hard to stop. I had it looking like a puddle by the end. But then I realized it was five and you'd be home soon. So I had to press it back into the rectangle as best as I could.

But then I heard you open the door, boy, I was so startled. I went into the cupboard under the stairs, you know, the one you never go in, as it's full of men's shoes and coats and things, and I watched you coming through the doorway. But then came the weird part. You didn't even notice the butter. All you did was make a cup of tea, and then give up halfway through and start crying. Then you ordered a Chinese and barely ate any before throwing it away. You see what I mean about your habits? I'm sorry, but it's just weird.

Sometimes if I'm having a bad night, I like to get under your bed while, you're asleep. It's nice because I can hear your breathing, and then I can match my breath up with that. I lie there for ages, gasping in and out. And if you get up for the bathroom or anything, I have to go completely still and hold my breath. I don't know why I do it. I guess it's fun. You're the first person whose company I've ever enjoyed. You cook dinner the other evening. I noticed because you played music, but you never do. And he made something, which almost an hour and a half with about a million ingredients. I crept down to the top of the staircase, and I could see you bounce around doing moves with a spoon. It's so funny I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

Then I saw something that got me really scared. You laid two places at the table. I thought there was someone else in the house and climbed all the way up to the ceiling thinking they'd see me. As I was hanging there, I saw you serving two plates and I couldn't move for the panic. Another person. I just knew I wouldn't like them as much as you. That they would ruin everything and make me go all crazy like I used to be. I didn't know what to do. I was ready to hurt them. Really, really hurt. That's how scared I was. Then you sat down, you lit the candle on the table, and started eating by yourself. Nobody else showed up. And after you're done, you took the other food and threw it away. Even though I was relieved, I kind of felt bad that the other person never showed up. He didn't seem sad,

though. It was like you'd expected it just to be you. After you went to bed, I went through the bin and ate some of the food you threw away. It was delicious. I knew something was wrong the next day because you didn't leave for work. And then he ran a bath in the middle of the afternoon. After you've been in there for ages and ages, I started to get this horrible bad feeling. I crawled down to the landing. The bathroom door was open a crack, so I peeked through. I saw your hand. It was hanging, not in a natural way. And there was this long red line going down it. And then I realized, I ran back upstairs. I'm a coward. I know. I know. I know I'm a coward, I hid under my pile of stuff and started to cry. I thought about running away.

I thought about the color. A pink bath mat goes when it's covered in blood. I thought about how much I wanted to be somewhere else. But most of all, I thought about you and how little sense you made. What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry I let your roof on fire. It was the only way I could think to get people to come. It actually worked better than I expected. That recycling stuff sure did burn. I ran down to the cupboard under the stairs and curled up with my hands over my head until I heard them kicked on the door and carry you out. There was a lot of confusion and bad language, but they found you. And I heard one say you were still breathing. So my favorite place in the whole world is gone now. Most of my things as well. Though I did think to grab the pattern

tube, the rest is just a big black wig on top of your house. But I'm not scared. You'll get better. and when you come back, I'll still be here. I don't think it's nice to be alone. My wife came home early. My wife, a spoiled only child to wealthy parents living in rural New York. We've been married for eight months at the time, and things could not have been going better. We had a house, great careers, and a couple of cars to really sew in the American dream. We've been planning on getting a dog, with thoughts of children not too distant either.

though things wouldn't go as planned. One morning my wife got a call from the police informing her that both her parents had died in a car crash. I had never seen her so distraught in my entire life. After the wake and funerals came the nitty-gritty legal stuff nobody ever wants to talk about after a death. When we went over the will, we found that her parents had left her estate, a 200-acre plot of land with a million-dollar home on the lake.

We are shocked to say the least. We began moving in as soon as possible. We sold our old house and our cars and graciously accepted all the belongings their parents wished us to have. There was one problem, though. The house just felt dead. It was so large, yet somehow cramped. All the walls seemed tighter than they should have,

and you could scream from one end of the house and not hear it at the other. It took some getting used to, but the old behemoth finally grew on us. At least, that's what I told my wife. When I was home alone, there was just, something disconcerning about the place. A creek on the floor and rustle on the windows the chill on my neck when I walked past a reflective window, feeling as if I was being watched. I truly hated it. My wife worked a late every weeknight. She took care of people in a home from the ARC and her shifts ran from four to midnight. I usually enjoyed that brief alone time.

I would often read or write and sometimes pack a huge bong and really get into a movie. and this was just one of those nights. I settled in for the night. I took a few big hits off my bong and wrapped myself in the blanket and started my movie. It was a Friday and only 8 o'clock. So I figured a few beers wouldn't hurt either.

I had four and a half hours until my wife got back. I cracked a few, and made it a halfway through my movie before I heard something downstairs. I swear I thought it was the house playing tricks on me like it's done many times in the past. I tried to acknowledge,

ignore it. But then I heard something slam. I quickly got up and went downstairs. My heart froze when I could see the glow of the kitchen light that I know I had turned off. I quietly inched my way to the large doorway that entered into the kitchen. I could hear movement and overwhelming sense of dread seeped over my body as I finally peaked around the wall. It was my wife. Jesus Christ, woman, I half-jokingly shouted out to her. She jumped, startled of my presence. God, don't scare me like that, she said. Don't scare you. I just thought I was about to die.

You don't think you could have called out to say hello or something? And why are you home so early anyways? Is Julie all right with that, I asked? Yeah, she's fine. I told her I wasn't feeling well, she said. And are you feeling well? I asked, seeing that she seemed perfectly fine. She had a guilty look.

I'm totally fine. I just didn't feel like being there. She said with a half giggle. I found it surprised. She never comes home early, and she didn't seem to make a big deal about it. I quickly changed my focus when I noticed she had a few bags of groceries. I asked her what she was making, to which she excitedly responded, Chicken Alfredo.

Oh, damn. Can't wait. Need help? I asked. She turned around with a knife in her hand as she laid out the chicken. She smiled and said no. She slowly pointed the knife towards my face with lusty eyes. Tonight is about you.

She said, get in the knife. closer to my face. I'm going to make you this dinner. And maybe later, you can help me with a few other things. She smiled again, deviously. I bit my lip and watched her continue to prepare the meal. I grabbed her butt and told her I was going to watch the rest of my movie. I went upstairs and sat down for my movie. About 15 minutes later, my wife walked into the room. The knife still in her hand. Dinner is ready. Is all she said as she slowly left the room. I went down minutes later to find the dinner are all nicely set up and ready to eat. The table looked amazing. Too amazing. Oh my god, you outdid yourself. I've got to get a picture of this for Instagram. I shuffled through my pockets

and noticed I had left my phone upstairs. I quickly went up and couldn't seem to find it anywhere. I'm sure it was just lost in the blankets. I went to the top of the steps and shouted down. Can you call my phone? She laughed. No, you got to work for this Insta picture. Come on, I said. My food is getting cold. There was no response. I continued looking for about three minutes until I finally heard it vibrating. I found it on the ground underneath one of my shirts. It was my wife finally calling me. Finally, I said, and hung up the phone as I stood up to go downstairs. The phone rang again. My wife again. I answered my phone. What do you want? Excuse me. What was that finally for? And why are you being rude? she said.

You wouldn't call my phone, I said. Sorry, I can't call you whenever you think about it. I'm at work, I've got shit to do, she said, sending a cold spike through my core. What did you just say? I asked. I said, I'm busy. I've got another hour of work, and I was just calling to tell you I miss you, but you got to answer the phone like a dick, she said. So you're saying you're not home? In the kitchen?

I said. My voice now quiet and shaking. Oh, I'm not in the kitchen. Good one, she laughed. No, no, I mean there's someone here that looks exactly like you downstairs. I thought you came home early. I gulped as my realizations paralyzed my body. You need to lock the bedroom door right now and find whatever weapon you can. I'm calling the police, she said frantically. Babe, what the hell is going on? Who is that? I asked. Fear flaking from my voice. It's my sister. I stayed in the room until the police, arrived. Turns out she had gotten skittish and left far before the cops got there. They found

arsenic in the food, the knife stuck in the table, and a note with four words. The house is mine. My wife never told me about her twin sister. Apparently she'd been in and out of prison and psych words her whole life. She'd been disowned by the family and was as good as dad. That is until she heard about the accident. Now all those strange feelings I was getting feel a lot more. more valid. And those feelings haven't stopped. Help me. There's a man pretending to be my dog.

Hi. My name is Sidney. I am 13 years old. My best friend's name was Honey. She was a 9-year-old Goldie. The man pretending to be honey looks like he is around 40 years old. He wears her skin and my family believes it is her. They brought him home three weeks ago.

My mom cried when she saw him sitting on the porch. My dad dropped to his knees, calling him our sweet girl, as he scratched behind Honey's floppy ear, reaching his pink, white, human ear. He didn't seem to notice how Honey's ear was slightly falling with each scratch. Danny, my little brother, hugged his neck and buried his face in the man's skin, rubbing the rolls of his back like his fur. But it's not, honey. It's a naked man wearing my best friend's fur.

Honey didn't walk like that. She didn't stumble over her own paws or, well, hands and knees because that's what they are. Hands and knees. He crawls awkwardly, shifting his weight like he's never done it before, like he's learning how to be a dog. The worst part is I think he believes it. He barks when my parents tell him to, his deep and manly voice sounding nothing like my honey. He growls when Danny plays tug-of-war, getting in a dog-like playful position as drool drips from his chin and his body is unfurts. full display. Even wags what's left of her tail. It's unsettling. It makes me cry.

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I tried to tell my mom. I told her it wasn't honey, but she just stroked his head and said, Don't say that, Sidney. Look how happy she is to be home. The first night he got here, I heard scratching outside my mom. window. I peeked through the curtains and saw him in the backyard digging with his bare hands. His nails were caked with dirt, and he was muttering to himself between shallow, panting breaths. I stayed up all night, listening to him clawed the ground. The next morning, I found out why.

When I went outside, there was a fresh hole near the fence where he'd been digging. It was sloppy, dirt scattered everywhere, and right at the bottom of it was honey's old collar. It was torn, the leather shredded, and the metal buckle was staying dark red. I didn't hear him coming. You shouldn't have gone out here, he said. His voice was low, and when I turned around, he was crouched by my legs. His head tilted like he was trying to understand me. His hands were dirty, trembling as he reached for me, but I bolted before he could get any closer.

Honey, come here, girl, my dad called out, and he went back to barking and tail wagging, trotting to him on hands and knees, but not before looking at me with his tongue out. Since then, he won't leave me alone. He follows me around the house, sniffling at my toes and licking my legs. Anytime I'd yell at him to stop, my family would tell me I've turned into a dog abuser. They'd make me pet him, and he'd bark happily. He sits outside my door at night, whining softly, scratching at the wood. Last night, he finally pushed the door open.

Scoot over, he growled. climbing into my bed without waiting for me to answer. He curled up beside me. His knees pulled to his chest and rested his head on my pillow. He smelled like dirt and sweat and something I don't want to name. I didn't sleep at all. I just lay there, stiff and silent. And he muttered and whimpered in his sleep.

His breath warm against the back of my neck. I could hear every human word that left his lips. yet my family doesn't believe me. They really think it's honey. I am the only one mourning my best friend. I don't think he's going to stop, and I'm scared. I'm either experiencing psychosis or my family is playing a cruel trick on me.

It's a big jump between those two options. I get that, but at this point, I truly cannot tell what the truth is. I think there needs to be a bit of context here. I'm 24 and I live in the UK, but I was born in New Zealand. And that's where my parents and brother still reside. I moved to board after university and haven't seen my family since before the pandemic. There's a lot of history there.

Like most families, we have unresolved issues. The short of it is my parents and brother get along great, a complete unit, and I'm the odd one out. I think it's also important to admit I've been diagnosed with generalized anxiety. eddy disorder, the rest of my family is normal. 2024 was the year I finally came home for Christmas. New Zealand, being Southern Hemisphere, has a summer Christmas, and I have desperately missed that. Birmingham can be so grim in winter, even with the Christmas decorations. I grew up with a summer Christmas.

Barbecues, trips to the beach, a family game of touch rugby, that's what I miss. Maybe coming back would remind me that all those bad feelings I had about my family, were just part of my own histronics. That's something I've been working on with the therapist, learning to accept that I had a catastrophizing tendency and things weren't always as bad as I remembered them. In New Zealand, summer homes are called botches. Our family one was near the beach in a town called Otaki.

That's where we always spend Christmas. On the drive up, my parents revealed my brother, we'll call him Johnny, was bringing his girlfriend, Emmy. This is where things get weird. I had heard a lot about Emmy. My parents adored her, and it was hard not to feel a little jealous. They spoke about it as if she was just such a natural fit in the family. They'd all gone to Australia together, didn't invite me,

and done a life-changing outback tour. I saw the photos on Facebook, but Emmy was always the one taking the photo. She was never in any frame. Admittedly, I had spent a few late nights stalking Johnny's social media to try and gain more insight into Emmy. I had to admit to my therapist that a part of me wished they'd break up so my parents could see I wasn't replaceable with some other girl. I hated those feelings, even if they were intrusive. Emmy had an Instagram, but it was locked down.

All I could see was her tiny profile pick, a mannequin head with a black wig, that told me nothing about her, or I thought it didn't. My parents and I arrived first to the Bach. Johnny and Emmy were coming up the next morning. It was hard to listen to my parents talk about all the memories they'd made since I'd been away. They'd retired, gone on cruises, tours, and made a comfortable life for themselves. They couldn't stop gushing out about how great Emmy was for Johnny and how proud they were of my brother and what he'd accomplished. Not once did they ask me what I was up to or what was going on in my life.

Not much was going on, to be honest. I had an admin job with no upward mobility, and I'd never had a serious boy. friends right home about. Everything I'd done since getting my degree was disappointing. I'd barely even traveled the UK in Europe, fucking Brexit in a pandemic, because it was expensive, even going to Tesco. We saw the Volkswagen Golf pulling up the next morning. The favorite child had arrived. I made sure to bring enough anxiety medication on this trip. I almost considered doubling my dose just to make it through this Christmas. Johnny came in with the luggage. His dog barged past him and jumped right on me. I dogs. I was actually scared of them. He didn't tell me he was bringing a dog. By the time I got back

from the bathroom and calm myself down, Emmy and Johnny were on the couch in the living space. This may seem pedantic, but in the box, we all had our sitting spaces. Dad got the green armchair, mom got the ratten chair, and Johnny and I got the couch. He sat on the left and I sat on the right. Emmy, of course, was sitting in my seat. That's what I noticed first before I even figured out what else was amiss? Awkwardly, I went to the kitchen to get myself a spare chair and pulled it up to the conversation.

Only then did I get a proper look at Emmy. It was a mannequin. She had a black wig on, but no facial detail. Only the faint outline of eyes, lips, and a petite nose. I could see the bendable joints had been positioned,

so she was sitting rigidly upright. Oh, I said, laughing with a surprise. I assumed it was a joke. Where's, uh, where's Emmy? Everyone looked at me as if I'd grown a second head. Johnny looked at the mannequin as if it was talking, then back at me. This is Emmy, he said flatly. You gone blind or something?

I looked at my parents to search for any answers. Neither of them had humorous expressions. They looked more concerned that I was going to ruin Emmy's trip. Okay, I'd play along. See how far this joke was. wind. Sorry, uh, hi, Emmy, I said, awkwardly putting out my hand to shake. I looked at the rest of them for approval. Emmy did not shake my hand, no shock. Awkwardly, I retracted it. A moment of silence, then they all laughed at a joke I hadn't heard. The dog jumped on the couch and started licking

the page white plastic on the mannequin's face. Johnny laughed. Such a mama's boy. The joke did not relent. I went to my room. My brother and I used to share a room, but now I've been put in the sleep out so he could share with the giant doll and tried to regroup. My family had never been pranksters. This seemed excessive and like an exhausting show to put on. Was it going to be like this all Christmas? It was time to get some answers. I was too afraid to ask them directly because of how I was ostracized, so I went to call grandma. Her and I had affinity that I didn't have with the rest of my family. I tried to ring her, but she didn't pick up. Not too surprising, given she was staying with my uncle and his kids for Christmas.

She'd probably left her phone off. My mom swung by the sleep out with a very stern expression. Why are you hiding out here? She demanded. You're worrying to know everyone. I apologize and said I would be back in soon. Mum started sliding the door shut and then paused. Also, we need you to get over whatever you've got against Emmy.

She was sensing that you didn't like her. She's a lovely gal. and I don't want her to feel unwelcome this Christmas, so get yourself together and at least pretend you care about this family. Those words pierced me like icicles. She slid the door shut before I could even reply. If her goal had been to hurry me up to come inside, it only slowed me down because now I was crying.

Why were they making me feel so guilty over a doll? It was just cruel. Dinner came and went. I watched Emmy out of the corner of my eye, but tried my best to play along. laughing with the family laughed, asked questions to Johnny about how they met. They served her a plate of food, but she didn't eat any of it. Not surprising. Her position only changed when I was out of the room or not looking.

My family must have been moving her. It was very unsettling. I moved to take my plate to the sink, and when I looked back, her head had been turned to face me. I shuddered and ignored it, doing my best to keep up a smile. As adults, we didn't exchange Christmas gifts anymore. I still brought them back, little trinkets from the UK, but they didn't get anything for me. It was just a coincidence they all got each other a gift, including for Emmy. She got a bottle of perfume from mom and dad and a beach towel and swimsuit from Johnny.

I brought her a little statue of a bull since it was iconic to Birmingham. Maybe my family would start pretending it was a real bull, and the joke would get bigger. We went to the beach as was a Kiwi tradition on Christmas Day. I forgot to bring a bloody swimsuit because it was hard to pack for summer when you're living in winter. I put on shorts and brought my Kindle. Mom took Johnny's dog for a walk along the beach while Dad and Johnny went into the water. That left Emmy and I on the beach house together. She was sunbathing.

And by that, I mean she was lying completely flat with sunglasses popped over her eyeless face. It's absolute crap. I'd they're playing this game with me, I told her. She did not respond. Pretending you're real and all that? It's not funny at all. I don't get why they're doing it. Is it just because they hate me?

I rolled onto my side and plucked the glasses off her face and put them on myself. She didn't need them. I then flicked her face. Sure enough, plastic. Mum came back. Her smile instantly faded when she looked to Emmy. What's wrong, darling? She crouched down and listened to what the mannequin had to say.

She said my name with all that scorn of a mother finding a child who broke the fine china. Why would you say those horrible things to Emmy? what is wrong with you? Johnny and Dad seemed to hear the commotion and came out of the water. I was now sitting upright, legs hugged in my chest of protection. Johnny looked so furious I was actually worried he'd hit me. You assaulted her? he asked. Fucking Christ, did you come back from England just to make the rest of us as miserable as you? It all felt like a nightmare. How could they have known what I said and done to Emmy, but none of them were around? Maybe they had some sort of audio recording device inside her, but at that point

I was beginning to doubt myself. The ride back to the beach was painfully silent. I shot off to the sleep out and began to pack my things. I don't know if it was just a joke or if I was insane. Either way, I had to get away from here. I wasn't wanted and I'd make things worse. I ordered an Uber to take me to Parapara-Umu so I could get the train back to Wellington. I'd find some accommodation and get my flights changed so I could fly home earlier. Surely some hotels would have some room even if it was Christmas Day. Nobody came out to say goodbye as the car pulled up. I was grateful for that.

I didn't want any more conflict. Only as I was driven away did I look back and see the mannequin standing in the window looking out at me. Grandma got back to me later. She didn't know about what had happened at the Bach yet. Have you met Emily? I asked Shagley. Johnny's a girlfriend? I have, she said joyfully.

She's a bit quiet, but she's a lovely girl. I'm so glad you had got to meet her this Christmas. I had a lot of time to think during the 30 hours of transit back to the UK. The entire experience felt so surreal. When my workmates asked how my trip was, I didn't mention any of the details about Emmy. Nothing had ever made me question my reality more in my entire life. Maybe I was experiencing some sort of psychosis stemming from my anxiety about seeing my family. Maybe they had set up some elaborate trick because they hated me so much and wanted me to stay away forever.

Either option is horrifying. And all right, guys, that wraps up. Five disturbing, scary stories. Let me know if you'd like me to continue this series, just the scary stories series. It kind of goes Jason to the Reddit story ones, but it's a little bit different, different enough. And let me know down in the comments,

which you enjoyed about this video, what you didn't enjoy, and just thank you so much for watching. I appreciate you all. Thanks for watching at the end of the video. This was Snook, and I'll see you next time.